Strange Goings-on at the Castle
It was vital, Agaton Sax realised immediately, that the crooks remained unaware of his presence. He therefore went back to eating his ice cream, drawing on every ounce of the dramatic training he had undergone as a young man during an investigation into the theft of a missing page from an otherwise pristine copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio.[1]
Quite by accident, he had given a well-received Hamlet on that occasion. Pretending to enjoy a bowl of odour-tainted ice cream was nothing by comparison.
From behind his dark glasses, he watched as the two men conversed between enormous chomps of garlic clove. They appeared to be having a disagreement of some kind; there was certainly much flailing of arms and pointing of fingers.
Oh, and of course, he could hear every word that they were shouting. Most of the park could.
‘You are the lousiest louse that it has ever been my misfortune to meet,’ boomed the larger man. ‘It’s a damned scandal that you should be paid in genuine money, rather than false – and an even bigger one that you’d allow it to happen, you snake!’
With such lack of caution in evidence, it was clear to Agaton Sax that neither crook had any idea that Agaton was in attendance. He was, however, further convinced that the King of Spades had been left deliberately for him to find. But why? And by whom?
Was it a trap? Had they intended to get him out of the way by luring him to Edinburgh?
Agaton felt ill at ease and it was not entirely the fault of the ice cream. He was confident enough that he could handle most any criminal or nefarious plan, but it usually depended on him knowing who the criminals were and what the plan entailed. In this case, he knew almost nothing, and it set his teeth on edge.
Before he could make any decisions, he needed more information. Much more information.
However, it could not be denied that he had garnered one major advantage. He had seen them, but they had not seen him.
Alas, within moments, even that was taken from him. He had risen from the table, intending to slip away and find a better position from which to observe the two men. Unfortunately, his movement coincided with a brief break in hostilities to allow each crook to get in a much needed period of sulking.
The larger man noticed him first. Then Agaton Sax noticed the man noticing him. The first man kicked the second’s man shin under the table, drawing his attention to the departing sleuth. They remained seated at first, but Agaton had only made it a few steps further when – he noted via a small periscope held in the palm of his hand – they left their table and began to follow him.
Fortunately, he was still Agaton Sax, and his incredible mind had already prepared a Plan B. Also Plans C through to Z, but he was hoping not to descend too far down the alphabet.
Agaton had with him a small suitcase, packed with his ordinary clothes in case of just such a misadventure. He kept to a leisurely pace, showing no sign that he knew he was being followed, and made his way to the gentleman’s cloakroom located on the opposite side of the gardens. Nipping in, he hastily replaced his travelling disguise with the more familiar garb of Agaton Sax, complete with an elegant walking stick and the periscope hanging monocle-like from a black ribbon around his neck.
The two men were standing either side of the entrance when he emerged. It was the perfect test. He pulled a pipe from his pocket and marched up to the nearest of the two.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, with a tip of his bowler, ‘Might I trouble either of you gentlemen for a light?’
The two men stared back, as though they’d seen a ghost. Both fumbled in pockets and both produced books of matches, the contents of which they attempted to light one after another with shaking hands.
Agaton Sax stood patiently, pipe clamped between his lips.
On the sixth attempt, the smaller man managed to keep a match aflame long enough to light the pipe. Agaton gave an experimental puff, then smiled.
‘Thank you, sir. I am most obliged.’
The detective had set down his suitcase as this little dance took place and when he bent to pick it up again, he seemed to lose his balance for a moment, coming close to falling.
He grasped at the larger man’s substantial arm to prevent himself from toppling. It didn’t work, and both men tumbled into an untidy heap.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he apologised quickly, leaping to his feet and blushing with embarrassment. ‘I am only just recovering from a seriously sprained ankle.’ He extended his hand and, improbably, pulled the larger man upright.
‘We’re sorry to hear that,’ the smaller crook managed.
‘I tripped and fell in my home country of Sweden… while pursuing a bank forger whose workshops I had uncovered.’
The men grew so pale that they looked as though they had no longer simply seen a ghost, but crossed over to join it.
‘I’m a detective, you see,’ continued Agaton Sax, with not only a flourish but also a dramatic pause for good measure.
Then he clicked his heels together as if signalling the end of the performance and shook each of the men firmly by the hand.
‘Again, I am deeply grateful. Thank you so much, gentlemen.’ A final tip of the hat, a turn, and he walked away, somehow aware (even without the periscope) that he had left behind two men shaking with fear.
Two men with one thought.
‘That was Agaton Sax.’
Neither said it aloud. They didn’t have to; they could each see it written on the other’s face.
That didn’t mean they couldn’t discuss it.
‘You damned fool,’ said the larger. ‘Why didn’t you recognise him sooner?’
‘Me? You’re supposed to be the big expert.’
‘What does that mean? The big expert. Is this about my size again?’
‘That’s not what I said,’ insisted his companion.
‘It’s what you meant.’
‘Don’t tell me what I meant.’
The larger man threw up his hands and addressed the heavens.
‘Why am I always saddled with snivelling, cowardly cretins?’
‘How dare you!’
***
Meanwhile, Agaton Sax was pondering his next steps. He had revealed himself with good reason. He was under no illusion of his renown in criminal circles; he would have been recognised eventually. He also knew the effect he had on the criminal type, especially if they weren’t expecting him. It was usually, as with these two specimens, utter terror.
Their fear and surprise had proven especially useful when it came to planting a radio transmitter in the big man’s pocket during his carefully calculated fall.
The receiver was light and thin, about the size of a Brosnian kronsk. It would be some time before the crook realised that he had been bugged.
Until that moment, Agaton Sax could track their movements using the equally small radio receiver in his own pocket. The closer the transmitter, the stronger the signal would register, Despite this, he surmised that he would be able to maintain a safe distance from the crooks. It wouldn’t do to be recognised a second time.
He permitted himself a small grin at his own cleverness, and then set off in pursuit.
***
‘What are we going to do now?’ asked the little man, wringing his hands nervously. They were making their way through the city via the back streets, so as to avoid any other world famous detectives that might have been lurking about the place.
The big man did not reply immediately. He was too busy thinking that if his partner in crime did not stop wringing his hands, he would be forced to wring his neck.
‘Do you think he recognised us?’ the nervous crook continued.
‘No,’ said his partner finally. ‘If he had, he wouldn’t have just walked away and given us a chance to escape. Still, it’s bad enough that he’s in Edinburgh in the first place.’
‘What about the Boss?’
‘What about the Boss?’
‘Do we tell him?’
‘No!’
‘Why not?’
‘Why do you think? He’ll find a way to make this our fault. We’ll talk to Mike. He’ll know what to do.’
‘He’s the Deputy Boss. He’ll tell.’
The big man shook his head.
‘Mike only cares about getting the job done. Trust me on this.’
‘If we end up at the bottom of a river somewhere, I swear… I’ll drip all over you.’
The big man grunted and they walked on.
***
Agaton Sax could not hear what the two men were saying. He had strolled across the bridge that led to the older part of the city, and was only aware of the strong, steady pulse from his receiver.
Suddenly, it built in intensity.
‘They’re coming this way,’ he muttered to himself. ‘At some speed. Perhaps they’ve taken a bus.’
He ducked into the nearest doorway and flattened himself against the wall. If they were travelling by bus, or some other conveyance, it would pass this very spot in moments. He craned his head out, ever so slightly and stared down the street.
There they were, on an almost empty bus, headed in his direction. He was still in no hurry to run into them again, so he simply made a mental note of the bus’s number and destination. It seemed to be headed up the hill towards Edinburgh Castle, though Agaton had a feeling the crooks would be alighting before it reached its terminus. There were endless small streets and courts branching off from the main road, any of which could provide a useful hiding place.
Confident the bus was out of sight, he exited his hiding place and hailed a taxi. He was fortunate enough to get one almost immediately. A few minutes later, it had caught up with the bus; the driver had waited all his life for a demand to follow someone (or something), and had given it everything he had.
From the taxi, Agaton could see the crooks – still in their seats – arguing once again. They continued to do so all the way to the Castle, before departing alongside the small number of other passengers.
Agaton exited the taxi – gently turning down the driver’s offer to accompany him – and continued on foot, once again at a safe distance.
It was a frustrating chase, not so much for the patience required, but because the crooks didn’t appear to be doing much of anything at all. They wandered – seemingly aimlessly – through the Castle’s halls, looking less like tourists and more like two men trying to remember where they’d left their keys.
They certainly did not give off the impression of master criminals. Agaton was beginning to think, in fact, that if they were any less competent as criminals, they might just circle all the way round to being inadvertent crimefighters.
However, what he did not know was that they had managed – in the brief time they were out of the detective’s sight – to put in a call to Mike, the Deputy Boss of the gang. It was he who had ordered them to the Castle, where they could mingle with the crowds and discuss plans without being overheard.
Agaton was not wrong, however, about the men’s level of competence. Mike had simply told them to meet at the Castle, and they had not thought to arrange a particular meeting place. The aimless wandering was quite genuine.
The detective paused as they disappeared around the next corner. He needed a plan.
***
‘This is your fault,’ the big man growled. ‘The moment you get mixed up in anything, it always goes horribly wrong.’
They had stumbled into a large, empty and badly-lit hall.
‘I think you’ll find that the one person who is always present when things go wrong for you is… you.’
‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You’re a jinx, that’s what you are.’
‘Better a jinx than a—’ The smaller man completed his sentence with a word in Cryptic that would get you a serious telling off from your mother if she heard you use it in polite company.
‘Who are you calling a—’
‘Look, we don’t have time for this. We need to find Mike.’
‘Does it look like Mike is in this dusty hole?’
‘He could be in that metal skeleton?’ The small man pointed towards a suit of armour, barely visible in the low light.
‘That’s not a metal skeleton,’ said the other, scornfully.
‘What is it then?’
There was an awkward pause.
‘Well, it’s not a metal skeleton, anyway.’
‘This is getting us nowhere. Look, there’s a courtyard through there. Let’s check if he’s there.’
They moved across the hall and towards the open door leading outside.
Suddenly there was a clatter from behind them. Both men jumped several feet in the air.
‘What was that?’
‘You don’t think…?’
‘Agaton Sax?’
‘It had better not be. If Mike thinks we’ve been followed, we’re for it.’
‘Come on, quickly. Let’s get out of here.’
From the opposite end of the hall, Agaton Sax watched the jittery crooks flee into the courtyard. A neatly aimed rock had sent the suit of armour clattering to the ground.
He knew from experience that nervous crooks made mistakes[2] and mistakes made them easier to catch.
Agaton moved into the gloomy hall and crept towards the courtyard door. But no sooner had he reached it than he heard the sound of the bickering crooks headed back inside.
‘I told you he wasn’t out there.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.’
Agaton’s eyes whipped around the room. He needed a hiding place and quickly.
The suit of armour!
Needless to say, Agaton Sax had considerable experience with medieval armour and weaponry, as he did with most things. It was the matter of a moment to slip inside and retake the plinth on which the suit had previously stood.
Through the visor of the armour’s helm, he watched the squabbling criminals march back into the hall.
The heat of their argument seemed to have intensified; they were clearly growing more frightened by the moment. Perhaps they were expecting someone who hadn’t arrived? Or perhaps he really had struck terror into their hearts.
Their nerves were not eased by the sudden appearance of a loud, unruly tourist group led by a tall, hefty guide. What had been an almost unnaturally quiet and spooky hall was then filled with excited chatter, questions flying between group and guide at a dizzying speed.
It didn’t seem to faze the guide, however, who threw answers back with practiced ease.
‘1542.’
‘The Duke of Hertfordshire.’
‘One small ferret and a bucket of tar.’
‘Yes and no.’
Through the visor, Agaton Sax became aware for the first time, of a row of ancient portraits around the uppermost section of the hall. They seemed to be looking down on the whole display with a sense of distaste.
The two crooks stood in the centre of hall, frozen by the sudden onslaught.
‘Ah hah!’ said the guide. ‘There you are.’
The small man looked around, desperately hoping that someone else was being addressed.
‘Me?’
‘You are the attendant for this part of the Castle, are you not?
‘What?’
‘I mean, what other reason would you have to be here? It is closed to visitors, outside of the official tours.’
The big man nudged his compatriot.
‘Of course he’s the attendant. I mean, we both are.’
The tour guide’s eyes narrowed. Now that he took a better look at them, these two men seemed awfully suspicious. Shifty, even.
Then he remembered how little he was paid and decided that he didn’t care.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘If you could tell the group about the history of the room, I’d be most obliged.’
‘This room?’ said the small man.
‘Yes.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
Agaton stifled a laugh from inside the suit of armour.
‘Well… you see…’ The crook cleared his throat. ‘This room. Yes. Fascinating story. It was the… imperial bedchamber, you see.’
An elderly hand shot up from within the mass of tourists.
‘The imperial bedchamber?’ said a fierce-looking older woman, her hair tinged with blue rinse. ‘I wasn’t aware that Scotland had emperors.’
The two crooks exchanged a glance. The big man took up the story.
‘Well, no. Not as such. But… a great many emperors and empresses would visit the castle, and when they did, they’d sleep here.’ He looked pleased at his improvisation.
‘Such as?’
‘The Emperor of Greenland,’ blurted the smaller of the two crooks.
‘Greenland never had an Emperor,’ said another of the tourists.
‘Look, lady,’ said the big man. ‘We’re the experts and if we say that the Emperor of Greenland slept here, then he slept here and he slept good.’
‘I mean,’ said his companion, warming to his theme, ‘why wouldn’t he? If it was good enough for the King of America…’
Inside the armour, Agaton winced. If the crooks had been paying more attention, they might have noticed that the vast majority of the tour group had, pinned somewhere about their persons, some version of the Stars and Stripes.
The accents should have given them away as well.
‘KING OF AMERICA?!’ several of them shouted at once. ‘Why I’ve never heard so much rubbish in all my life. Kenton! Do something!’
‘What am I gonna do, Ellen? Hit the fella?’
‘The man I married would have.’
‘Best ask him then.’
Half-heartedly, the tour guide tried to calm them down.
‘Look, let’s just move on, shall we?’
‘I want to speak to the manager!’
‘It’s a castle, madam. It doesn’t have a manager, per se.’
‘Typical.’
‘Of what?’ snapped the guide, reaching his boiling point. ‘Of castles?’
‘I’ve never been spoken to in such a fashion!’
‘Well, Ellen, that’s not strictly true.’
‘Kenton!’
‘Look, my wife wants to speak to someone in charge,’ said Kenton, trying to hide the rolling of his eyes. ‘If you want any peace, you’d better call them.’
There was a general cheer of consensus from the other tourists.
The tour guide shrugged.
‘Fine. I’ll call the superintendent.’
He moved to a small telephone, mounted in a dark corner nearby. He picked up the receiver and cradled it against his neck as he dialled.
‘But he’s not going to be happy.’