Sammy only heard the one short sentence: ‘You’re coming with me, boy.’ There were a few steps into the cellar, a gasp of pain from Alfie and a scuffling noise, and then footsteps – boots and bare feet, it sounded like – moving away.
The door slammed closed and Alfie was gone.
Left to himself, Sammy sat very still. One minute, he and Alfie were chatting, sharpening their wits on each other. And then he was alone.
Alfie had been dragged off.
The strange thing was that Alfie had not protested, had not shouted for help, had not tried to escape. He had gone with the rough-voiced stranger, gone without a word of protest.
There could only be one reason for that, thought Sammy, who knew Alfie well and knew the extent of his brother’s courage.
Alfie had been threatened with a pistol and had gone with the man in order to avoid the two of them being shot here in the cellar below Bow Street.
Sammy sat very still and waited. There was no point in pursuit. Over the years Sammy had learned what he could do, and what was not possible for him. By the time he had managed to stumble out, there would have been no sign of Alfie and his captor. Even if he managed to get someone to go after them, the result would probably be a body – Alfie’s – found in a dark doorway the following morning.
After a while, Sammy got up. Moving carefully, with outstretched hands, he made his way to the door. If only he had Mutsy, but the dog had gone with Tom for the breakfast sausages. The butcher was friendly and often gave Mutsy a bone, especially if he managed to catch a rat in the yard behind the shop.
Bow Street Police Station, thought Sammy, as he carefully crawled up the wet and slippery steps that led from the cellar to the level of the street.
Once he had reached the pavement, he clung with one hand to the iron railings which prevented pedestrians from falling from the street into the open area in front of the cellars and made his way slowly along, waiting for someone to offer to guide him.
‘These children should be shut up in some institution,’ muttered a woman as she passed him. His groping hand accidentally touched her dress and she shouted, ‘Constable, can’t you keep the streets clear for respectable women like myself?’
‘You get on home, sonny,’ said the constable’s voice in Sammy’s ear and Sammy turned his face in that direction and decided to trust the policeman. It sounded like PC 27.
‘I have a message for Inspector Denham.’ Sammy wished that he had not had to come out with these words in public. The trouble with being blind was that you never knew who might be listening. If only he could have had a quick look around, before speaking. The woman was still there; he sensed her anger.
‘Could you take me to him?’ He allowed a shake of anxiety to come into his voice.
‘All right, sonny,’ said the constable. Sammy decided that it probably was PC 27. He was a decent fellow; Alfie always said that about this particular policeman.
Sammy leaned back gratefully as the constable put a large firm hand under Sammy’s elbow. In another few minutes he would be with Inspector Denham and he would get help for his brother.
‘I’ll take him, Constable, if you wish?’ Sammy listened anxiously to the voice. The accent was unusual. Was this man, also, a Russian? Another of the spies?
‘That’s all right, sir, I’m going that way myself.’
Sammy breathed a sigh of relief. But would the man be waiting for him on his return?
Still, at least he would have given the message to the inspector by then, and perhaps by then some police constable would be on Alfie’s trail.
Inspector Denham greeted Sammy warmly, sent the constable for cakes and hot chocolate for both of them and settled down to hear what Sammy had to say. Sammy could hear the pen scratching across paper as he explained how he and Alfie worked out the code and Inspector Denham told him to slow down a few times.
‘He’s done well, your brother,’ he said when he had heard the whole story. He spoke with a seriousness that Sammy appreciated. It struck him that Inspector Denham respected Alfie and was concerned about him, as though he had been someone important. ‘Well, I’ve certainly got some good information for Scotland Yard.’
‘Alfie wanted to get it all sorted out for you, sir,’ said Sammy. ‘He was wondering who had murdered the organist, the Russian spy, and why he was murdered in the yard outside the school. If you could get him back from the Russians – he’s probably been taken to their Embassy – then he might be able to tell you the answer, sir.’
Inspector Denham sighed. ‘The problem is, Sammy,’ he said with a lowered voice, as though he did not wish any of the policemen in the outer office to hear him, ‘the trouble is that if Alfie has got himself into the hands of the Russian Embassy, it’s very difficult for us to rescue him. They have something called diplomatic immunity and that means that we cannot really send a party of policemen along to the Russian Embassy and rescue your brother.’
‘Does that mean that they can murder him, sir?’ asked Sammy. He was amazed to find how calm his voice sounded.
‘No,’ said Inspector Denham and he spoke slowly and carefully. ‘I don’t think that they would go as far as that.’
He paused for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t know if you have ever played a game of chess, Sammy – I’d say that you and your brother could be good chess players – but I’ll just explain to you what I’m going to do. If it were a game of chess, then they have made a move and now it’s up to us to make the next move. What we’ll do is this. We’ll send a policeman, armed with a truncheon, to walk up and down Welbeck Street, opposite the Russian Embassy. I’ll give the order straightaway. No one can object to that. He can chat to the nursemaids with children, keep an eye on the street hawkers, but . . . ’
‘But all the time,’ Sammy broke in, ‘if anyone looks out of the windows of the Russian Embassy, they will wonder what the policeman is doing and they will not want to have a body to dispose of . . . ’
‘Precisely,’ said Inspector Denham, and there was the hint of a smile in his voice. ‘We’ll keep a man on duty there, day and night, until your brother is back with you all in Bow Street. And for the moment, I will send my men around to Westminster School to work with the Scotland Yard crowd on the murder of Boris Ivanov and they will find out what’s happening there.’
Inspector Denham’s chair creaked and when he spoke again Sammy knew from his voice that the man had got to his feet. He took Sammy by the arm. ‘Try not to worry too much. I promise you that I will get Alfie back for you as soon as possible. Here’s a shilling for you; I’ll put it into your pocket. Now the constable will see you home and make sure that one of the other lads has returned before he leaves you. And, Sammy, you stay there until we have news for you.’
He paused for a moment and said in a low voice, ‘The streets of London are dangerous places for all of us, Sammy, sighted or not!’