The Pirate's Blood and Other Case Files Read online

“Ah,” I said, feeling inside my empty pocket, “I’ve left it at home. I’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  As I stood up, I noticed a thin line of something pale up against the base of the tall baseboard. I kneeled down again and blew at it. It puffed aside, scattering across the dark floorboards. It was sawdust.

  “Have you had any alterations done in here?” I said. “Any wood been sawed up?”

  “Definitely not,” said James. “There are very strict rules about even decorating in this building, because it’s so old and historic.” I stood up again and cast an eye over the whole display case. “I ought to get a sample of the stuff that made that print, if I can. Do you think your dad would let us open this case up?”

  “I doubt it,” said James. “It’s hard to move, because it’s so tall and heavy—even Dad struggles with it. And it’s locked to the wall and floor. And it’s got an alarm system.”

  I put on my best lost-puppy-dog expression. “Could we just ask him?”

  “He’s not even here, he’s on the other side of town,” said James. “He’s been out every day since this exhibition started. He’s really cross about it, because he wanted to be here to tell visitors about the exhibits.”

  Suddenly, a little bell sounded at the back of my mind—a little bell marked: Hmm, that’s a strange coincidence.

  “So, where is he, exactly?” I said.

  “He’s assessing a load of historic artifacts. Some rich person’s offered to sell their collection to the museum at a bargain price. We can’t afford to turn down any opportunity like that, because this place runs on such a tight budget. If there’s a chance to acquire items of local interest, then Dad has to—”

  “What rich person?” I interrupted.

  “Dunno,” shrugged James. “They want to remain an anomaly.”

  “Anonymous,” “I said.

  “Yes, that’s it, anonymous! Dad has to deal with some fellow who’s this person’s solicitor.”

  “What, and your dad’s just going along with it?” I said. “Surely he’s got to know who this mysterious benefactor is?”

  “Well, eventually, yes, if he accepts anything for the museum,” said James. “But like I said, we can’t afford to turn down offers. There was an early Victorian diary came up for auction a while ago—huge historical importance for the town, apparently—and we were outbid for it by a museum in Oxford. Dad was fuming that whoever uncovered it didn’t donate it to us. Ever since then he’s been determined not to miss out on any possible leads.”

  I went slightly red with embarrassment. Readers of my earlier case file The Treasure of Dead Man’s Lane will realize why.

  “And your dad’s had to go out assessing this collection since the Captain Blade exhibition started?”

  “That’s right,” said James. “Talk about bad timing. And none of the stuff he’s seen so far has been worth buying.” He leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. “We’re supposed to have a proper security guard for the Captain Blade exhibits, that was one of the conditions of us borrowing them. But there’s no money for one…Dad was going to handle the security himself. There’s only Mrs. Pottersby on duty all day at the moment and her hip keeps acting up, so she doesn’t like to move around too much.”

  Like a sudden flash of mental lightning, a nasty possibility zipped into my head. I dashed back over to the big display case and pointed to the wooden chest inside.

  “Those coins!’ I said. “Are they real gold?”

  “Yes, I think so,” said James. “Part of their value is in the fact that they were made so long ago, but the gold itself is worth loads, too. Why?”

  That nasty possibility was looking more definite by the second! An idea had struck me, an idea that involved a serious crime and the museum’s anonymous new benefactor.

  Have you worked it out?

  “I think that anonymous person is a decoy,” I gasped.

  “A what?” said James.

  “It’s a trick, to keep your dad away from the museum, and so leave this display case unguarded.”

  “You mean, someone’s planning to steal those gold coins?” said James.

  “Exactly!” I cried. “Once they’re stolen, they could be melted down and turned into something else. They’d be almost untraceable!”

  “But I told you, the display case has alarms and everything.”

  “Yes, and nobody on guard. Someone could walk in here, break the glass, and be off down the street before anyone could stop them. Mrs. Pottersby’s hardly likely to be able to tackle a bunch of smash-and-grab thieves, is she?”

  “Well…no…” said James. “Not with her hip. But why go to the trouble of getting my dad out of the way? Why not just raid the place in the middle of the night?”

  “Well,” I said, “for a start, they’d have to break through that huge front door first. And I bet there are separate alarms on the doors and windows at night, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, much simpler to just come in here in broad daylight. Then, all that stands between them and the gold is one piece of glass.”

  James suddenly went all boggle-eyed. “That could explain the haunting! Captain Blade’s ghost knows there’s a robbery planned and he’s waked up to terrify the life out of us all!”

  I tutted. “Forget about ghosts. We need to discover the truth about that handprint—and fast. Are you sure we can’t get into this display case?”

  “Well, Mrs. Pottersby has a set of keys for the locks and alarm, but it’s so heavy I really don’t think we’ll be able to shift it.”

  “We’ll show her the handprint,” I said. “Then she’ll understand why we need to open this thing up.”

  James went to get Mrs. Pottersby. She tottered over, adjusting her lopsided cardigan. I warned her that I was about to show her something mysterious and disturbing. She bent over and peered at the area of glass I indicated.

  “I haven’t got me specs on,” she said.

  She tottered back to the gift shop. Then she tottered over again with her glasses clutched in her hand. I warned her once more that she was about to see something mysterious and disturbing. She put on her specs.

  “Nothing there, luv,” she muttered, turning her head this way and that to get a better look.

  “It’s faint, but look, there are the fingers, there, you see? Pointing that way. And there’s the palm. You see it?”

  “No.”

  “Just there. Made out in reddish, pinkish stuff. Quite large, do you see?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes blinked behind her chunky lenses. She kept shifting her head around and moving her glasses back and forth along her nose. “I’m sorry, luv, but me eyesight just isn’t good enough these days. I’ve had to give up me car ’cause I can’t focus.”

  “Could you undo the locks and disable the alarm anyway?” I said. “It’s vitally important.”

  “I really can’t, luvvy,” said Mrs. Pottersby, shaking her head slowly. “I’m under instructions from James’s dad, from Mr. Russell. These exhibits aren’t to be touched, not by anyone.”

  “We don’t want to touch the exhibits, Mrs. Pottersby,” said James. “Just the inside of the glass. Pleeeeeease?”

  Mrs. Pottersby shook her head. She’d clearly made up her mind, and I got the impression that once Mrs. Pottersby’s mind was made up, it stayed made up.

  I turned to James. “I’ll be back tomorrow, straight after school, and I’ll bring a camera. We might even be able to get a couple of actual fingerprints, if Izzy can enhance the photos enough. In the meantime, you make sure your dad stays right here in this museum, guarding this stuff.”

  “How do I do that?” said James.

  “Tell him about my theory, of course,” I said.

  Mrs. Pottersby was getting ready to close the museum for the day. As I passed by the gift shop on my way out, I remembered something I’d jotted down in my notebook.

  “By the way, Mrs. Pottersby,” I said. “Have you heard any spooky noises
recently, during the day?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Spooky noises. Clanks, scraping sounds, the tormented moaning of the undead?”

  “No, luv. But then, me ears are worse than me eyes.”

  “Oh well,” I muttered to myself, “no clues to be had there, then.”

  Stepping outside into Hanover Street again, the late afternoon was so warm and sunny that it was hard to believe I’d just been inspecting the gruesome relics of a seventeenth-century pirate. Maybe the weather’s why they’re getting so few visitors, I thought to myself.

  I couldn’t help noticing the first fiery streaks that were slinking across the sky, as the sun dipped out of sight behind the tall buildings, and the overhead blue melted into yellow and orange. And, as I noticed the sky, I also noticed something else.

  There was—as usual—a police CCTV camera mounted on the wall directly opposite the museum. I tend to notice that sort of camera anyway, because I find them rather creepy, but this one had clearly been repositioned. Normally, it faced down the length of Hanover Street, but now it had been turned ninety degrees to face across the road instead.

  Two deductions popped into my mind, the second following on from the first. Both had a direct bearing on the Captain Blade case!

  Have you worked them out?

  * * *

  Deduction 1: Obviously, the camera was no longer watching the street, so what was it watching? The museum.

  Deduction 2: If the police were watching the museum, it seemed highly likely that they’d also got wind of a planned raid on that gold, just as I had!

  I wasn’t sure what to do now. Wherever the police had got their information from, they clearly hadn’t shared their suspicions with anyone at the museum. If they had, James’s dad wouldn’t still be staying away from the museum all day. Anyway, now that Saxby Smart was on the case—ha ha!—and James’s dad would soon know what was going on, that little problem would be dealt with.

  However, I was still unsure about a course of action. On the one hand, I didn’t want my investigations to muck up whatever operation the police were working on. On the other hand, the thought of me getting to the bad guys before the police was almost too good to resist! My guess was that the police had learned about the crooks’ plans via the criminal underworld. I decided to return home. I needed to sit in my Thinking Chair.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  At school the following morning, I scooted over to James before the bell for home room rang.

  “Did you tell your dad about my suspicions that there’s going to be a raid on that gold?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. And about how I think this anonymous benefactor is a decoy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. So he’s staying at the museum today, then?”

  “No.”

  “What?” I spluttered.

  “I don’t think he believes you,” said James.

  “What?” I spluttered again. “He does know it’s me that’s said this, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, I even told him about all your past cases. Well, all the past cases you told me to casually mention, anyway. He said he can’t go missing any more opportunities to get stuff for the museum. He said this anomalous benefactor’s people seem very nice and he doesn’t believe they’re trying to con him.”

  I suddenly remembered the CCTV camera I’d noticed and told James about my additional suspicions that the police were involved. “Give your dad a call during break. He can’t possibly ignore the evidence of that camera.”

  Speaking of cameras, I needed to borrow one from my other great friend, George “Muddy” Whitehouse, the school’s resident Official King of Gadgets. I’d decided I was going to need a far better image of that handprint than I could get with the camera in my phone.

  “Oh, before I forget,” I said, turning back to James just as the bell for home room sounded. “Has the museum got a cellar?”

  “A cellar? No,” said James.

  “Sure?”

  “Absolutely,” said James. “We could do with the extra space, so a cellar would be very useful. But no, there definitely isn’t one.”

  “Oh,” I said, a little surprised. “Okay.”

  The morning’s classes crawled by at the speed of snail races. I was anxious to get back to examining the handprint, because with James’s dad still away from the museum, that raid could happen at any moment. I needed more clues!

  At break time, I made a beeline for Muddy. He was busy finishing his math homework. His work sheet looked almost as crumpled and stained as he did. How anyone can stay so permanently grubby is one mystery I’ll never solve.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but I need a camera.”

  An excited expression suddenly lit up his face. He was about to speak, but I raised a hand to keep him quiet. “Before you say anything, Muddy, let’s not mention spies this time, okay? You’re always going on about spy gear. I’m a detective. This is detective work. I am not a spy. Okay? Now, then. I need a camera that can take a close-up of something quite faint. Have you got something like that?”

  Muddy paused for a moment, with raised eyebrows which managed to say, “Oh, can I speak now?” in a sarcastic tone of voice. “Yes,” he said at last. “I have the Whitehouse SpyMaster Double-O-Eight, with undercover espionage attachment.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve just made that up.”

  “No I haven’t,” said Muddy, with a grin. “It’s got the name etched onto the case and everything. I adapted the optics from the camera you used to catch Harry Lovecraft when he tried to cheat in the essay competition.”

  “Hmm. Right,” I said, my eyes narrower than a needle’s. “I’ll pick it up after school.”

  “Okey dokey,” said Muddy. His eyebrows were bouncing up and down, managing to say “Spy gear! Spy gear!” in a delighted tone of voice.

  Just before the next class, I hurried back to James.

  “Did you phone your dad?” I said.

  “Yes,” said James.

  “Good. And you told him about the CCTV camera? And how I think the police are involved?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. So he’s coming straight back to the museum right now, then?”

  “No.”

  “What?” I spluttered, all over again.

  “He still doesn’t believe you,” said James. “He thinks if the police had any suspicions they’d have told him already. He thinks there’s no way they’d be watching the museum and not letting him know.”

  “Yes, well,” I grumbled, “I suppose the same thought had occurred to me too. In that case, it’s even more vital that I gather proper evidence relating to that handprint.”

  Cut to that afternoon.

  As soon as school finished, I zipped over to Muddy’s house, borrowed the camera, and then zipped over to the museum. By the time I got there, I was totally out of breath.

  “You are so unfit,” said Izzy. I’d arranged for us to meet up outside the museum, as she was keen to get a look at the handprint for herself.

  “It’s a hot day,” I said, defensively. “The heat drains your energy, it’s a well-known fact.”

  “Yes,” she said, “especially when you’re so unfit. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  Pausing only while I took my regular squirt of anti-hay fever nasal spray, we entered the building’s cool, dim interior. James had stopped at school for soccer practice, so I was hoping that Mrs. Pottersby’s memory wasn’t as off as her eyesight and her hearing.

  “Oooh, hello again, luv,” she chirped. As the day before, she was rearranging all the cardboard boxes that littered the floor of the tiny gift shop. I nearly asked her whether it wouldn’t be easier to simply move all her stock back into her empty stockroom, but thought better of it.

  “This is my friend Isobel,” I said. “We’ve come to take another look at the Captain Blade exhibition.”

  “Hi,” waved Izzy.

  “You’re my four
th and fifth visitors today!” said Mrs. Pottersby proudly. “We could be in for a record at this rate!”

  I showed Izzy the exhibition room. Once she’d stopped going “wow” at the old documents and clothes, and “eww” at the bottle of blood, I steered her around to the side of the huge exhibit case against the wall.

  Then I gasped.

  Then I ran back to the gift shop.

  “Mrs. Pottersby!” I cried. “The Captain Blade exhibition case! Has it been moved today? Or opened? Or dusted? Or anything?”

  “No, luv, it’s not been touched,” she said, peering at me as if I was asking whether a pink elephant had driven past on a motorbike. “I said to you yesterday that case is all locked up and got its alarms on.”

  “James’s dad hasn’t been in there? He could move it.”

  “He’s been out since early this morning.”

  I ran back to the exhibition case. Izzy was bent over, examining the glass closely. I examined it again myself, from every angle I could think of.

  But there was no denying the truth.

  The handprint was gone.

  “Maybe James was right after all,” whispered Izzy. “Maybe the ghost of Captain Blade really has come back.”

  Chapter Five

  “Impossible,” I said. “There is a logical, rational explanation for this, and I’m going to find it.”

  I headed for the exit.

  “So, what’s the next move?” said Izzy, trotting along beside me. By now we were back out on Hanover Street, and I was looking up at the immense facade of the building that housed the museum.

  “The next move,” I said, “is to establish if anyone else in this block has heard the same spooky noises as the lady at the cheese shop mentioned in that newspaper article.”

  “I thought you said ghosts were illogical and irrational?” said Izzy.

  “They are,” I said, “but those spooky noises must have come from somewhere. And if they were heard in a shop that backs onto the museum, I bet they were heard somewhere else too. I’ll go right around this block and ask questions. In the meantime—”