Buffalo Bill Wanted! (13 page)

But by the time Wiggins and his friends had finished, the patrons—as scurvy a bunch as Wiggins had ever seen—hadn't said a thing worth spying for.

The ordeal wasn't over, though. Wiggins, Owens, Jennie, and Dooley faced a truly horrible meal. The pub owner's wife did the cooking. She was a fat, blowsy woman who was, if possible, even filthier than her husband. The potatoes were burned; the meat was tasteless, gray, and tough as shoe leather. The plates were greasy and spotted with earlier meals.

Wiggins gritted his teeth and choked the stuff down. This was their payment, after all, and refusing it might make the owner and his patrons suspicious. Pretending to cough, Wiggins spat a piece of gristle into his hand and let it drop to the floor.

The place would be filthy again soon enough. Why should he care?

He was doggedly chewing away when a group of men came swaying and staggering into the Bucket. Wiggins glanced over.
Sailors, by the look of them,
he thought.

After buying a round of drinks, one of the men raised his glass, saying in a slurred voice, “Here's to our friends on the good ship
Sea Foam
, leaving on the tide.”

Another of the men brought up his glass as well. “So long as the old tub don't sink on the way to Hamburg.”

That brought a roar of drunken laughter from the group. The sailors continued to exchange rude jokes and banter as they slurped gin from their tumblers.

“So,” one man said, “are you going to have any passengers without tickets on this trip?”

One of the
Sea Foam's
crewmen nearly spilled his drink from laughing so hard. “Our cap'n has started to discourage regular folk from sailing with us. The old skinflint makes more money from the other kind of cargo. Knowing him, I wouldn't be surprised if he were fiddling the accounts for supplies as well.”

“Me, I feel sorry for Mr. Quick,” another seaman said. “He has such a hard time keeping workmen at his warehouse.”

Wiggins put down his plate. “We can go now.”

He got sidelong glances from his friends, but they were happy enough to put down the muck they had been eating. No one said anything until they were well away from the pub. At last, Jennie burst out, “We all heard it, but I'll be hanged if I understand what that sailor said.”

“I wouldn't suppose you would,” Wiggins replied, “nor Owens, or even Dooley. He's often down around the docks, but he's never been on the river as much as I have.”

From the time he started organizing the Baker Street Irregulars, Wiggins had gone out of his way to make friends with people who might help him on jobs for Sherlock Holmes. Some of the most useful had been the river men who ran small boats up, down, and across the river. They'd often given Wiggins rides along the banks of the Thames. When Dooley's brother had been killed, the boat-men had searched the river and found him.

Wiggins explained this as he led his friends down the street. “Downriver, toward Gravesend, we'd pass a run-down warehouse. In better days, the owner had painted his name on the wall facing the river in letters at least ten feet tall. It's a sort of landmark for the river men. I've seen it a dozen times. And now that I know my letters . . .”

Stepping over to a grimy doorway, he traced five letters on the dirty wood: Q-U-I-C-K.

“Dooley, are any of your dad's mates around here? We need to know when the tide goes out.”

“Right over there.” Dooley pointed to a knot of men by a wharf. The Raven Leaguers rushed over but let Dooley do the talking.

“That will be this evening, about a quarter after eight,” a man with a pockmarked but genial face told them.

Thanking him, they moved off so they wouldn't be overheard. “I think I know how the smugglers work,” Wiggins said. “The ‘passengers without tickets' wait at the old Quick warehouse. The smugglers come out by boat to deliver their cargo—”

“Human cargo,” Jennie muttered.

Owens spoke more plainly. “Crooks on the run.”

“—to outgoing ships,” Wiggins finished. He glanced up at the sun, trying to judge the time. “That means we have a few hours before the
Sea Foam
sails. So the question is, how can the four of us, and a hunted Indian, scuttle this whole scheme?”

Chapter 14

“IF ONLY MR. HOLMES WERE HERE.” DOOLEY'S MOROSE voice seemed to sum up their problem.

“Well, he's not,” Wiggins replied. “He's in Scotland, so we can't talk to him. And the police are busy looking for Silent Eagle, so they won't leap onto a suggestion from us to raid the Quick warehouse—”

His eyes grew wide. “Or would they?”

“You usually say the police wouldn't do anything on our say-so,” Jennie reminded him.

Wiggins nodded. “But they might go to the warehouse—if they believed Silent Eagle was there.”

Jennie looked ready to argue but only stood with her mouth open.

“That's brilliant!” Owens exclaimed. He broke off as a detachment of police officers came marching down the street. They entered each building while scouring every possible outdoor hiding place.

One of the men in blue mopped his red, sweating face. “How long do we have to keep this up?” he asked.

“Inspector Desmond says until we catch the savage,” the answer came from a police sergeant. “He's got the lads out all over the East End.”

The members of the Raven League hurried away.

“We've got to get Silent Eagle out of Mr. Shears's shop—and the East End,” said Wiggins.

“And fast,” Owens added.

“How?” Jennie asked. “Silent Eagle stands out in a crowd.”

Wiggins's brow furrowed as he thought hard. “Benny Flagg isn't out with his cab. His horse is still recovering —and
he's
still recovering from all the drinks he got after the horse came back. Suppose we rented the cab—”

“Colonel Cody didn't give you enough money to do that,” Jennie objected. “And even if you did get it, then you'd have a cab without a horse and driver.”

“But we know someone who can solve all those problems, don't we?” Wiggins replied. “Colonel Cody could provide the money and the horse. He could even drive the cab to pick up Silent Eagle—”

“He
could
,” Jennie said doubtfully. “But
would
he?”

“Buffalo Bill said he'd do anything to help Silent Eagle,” Wiggins said. “We can only ask him. That means a trip to Piccadilly.”

“And he can think up a place to stash Silent Eagle too!” Dooley said.

Jim the valet wasn't much pleased to see them, but he took a message to Colonel Cody. A moment later, he was ushering them into Cody's rooms.

“You have news for me?” Buffalo Bill asked eagerly.

Wiggins waited until the servant left, then reported what the members of the Raven League had found out, along with the plan he'd hatched.

Cody nodded and grinned like a young lad. “Deal me in.”

“Er —” Jennie looked slightly embarrassed as she spoke up. “I think you'll need a disguise, sir. Your face is on posters all over London.”

“By golly, you're right.” Buffalo Bill went to the door. “Oh, Jim. Can I borrow that new round hat I saw you wearing?”

The valet stared. “My derby, sir?”

“Yes, I'll need it for this afternoon. On the bright side, though, you've got the rest of the day off.”

Jim walked off, muttering about eccentric Americans. Wiggins told Cody how to find the stable where Benny Flagg kept his cab. “We'll take care of a disguise for Silent Eagle,” he promised. “Meet us there in an hour and a half—and bring money.”

The next hour passed in a blur. The Raven League returned to the East End. Jennie and Dooley went off with more expense money to buy new clothes for Silent Eagle. Now he'd have to look like someone who could afford to ride in a hansom cab. Owens went to Mr. Shears, bringing the news of the coming move. Wiggins began hunting through neighborhood pubs in search of Benny Flagg.

He caught up with the cabman in the Raven, where Benny was working his way through a pint of beer.

“Got some business for you, Benny,” Wiggins said.

“I got no business,” Flagg responded with a shrug and a beery sigh. “My horse is laid up, and so is my cab.”

Wiggins lowered his voice. “I've got a gent who wants to rent your cab.”

Benny put down his beer. “Why would someone want to do that?”

“It's for a joke,” Wiggins said with a shrug.

“Oh.” Benny often told tales of gentlemen who'd had too much to drink and the lengths they went to play pranks and jokes. “Has he got money, then?”

“Come to the stables and see,” Wiggins told him.

Flagg almost called off the deal when he saw the apparition awaiting them. Buffalo Bill leaned against a wall well down the line of horse stalls, far away from the open double doors and the light that came in. He had tucked his trademark long auburn hair into the derby. A stained long cloth coat, a duster, covered most of his clothes. He'd turned up the collar of the coat and wound a scarf around as well to hide his face and the distinctive imperial beard and mustache he wore.

Benny began backing away. “I don't think—”

Buffalo Bill reached into his right coat pocket, then opened his hand to reveal a small stack of gleaming coins.

“Five guineas!” Benny gasped. He stared as if mesmerized as Cody brought out his left hand and slowly clinked another five gold coins onto the pile.

“Well,” Benny said, licking his lips, “I suppose I can enjoy a joke as well as the next bloke.” He rushed down the central aisle of the stables to snatch the offered coins, muttering, “You done me a good turn, young Wiggins. I'll remember that.”

Moments later, Benny was scuttling off, his pockets a-jingle, as the stable man showed Buffalo Bill the available horses. Cody broke all the rules of horse-trading, paying heavily for the healthiest-looking cab horse without bargaining. Climbing onto the two-wheeled rig, he leaned over and whispered to Wiggins, “You know, son, as soon as that cabbie gets a few drinks in him, this story will be all over town. We need this business finished, and quick.”

Climbing into the passenger's compartment in the front of the cab, Wiggins sat as Cody whipped up the cab horse, taking them out of the stables. Minutes later, following Wiggins's directions, they pulled up in front of Mr. Shears's barbershop. Wiggins spotted Jennie and Dooley peering out between the multiple panes of glass.

As Wiggins leaped to the pavement, the shop door opened and Owens led out an elderly invalid. Wiggins blinked.
Wait a tick! That's Silent Eagle!

The Indian walked slowly, with a slight crouch. He had a white shirt and a tie under a slightly worn but still presentable jacket. Over his shoulders he wore a shawl, using it to shade his features. After taking a careful look, Wiggins had to grin. Apparently, Mr. Shears had added an artistic touch, powdering Silent Eagle's face to give him some pallor.

When he climbed into the cab and sat back, the Sioux warrior looked like any other London cab passenger. Cody gave the Raven Leaguers an appreciative nod and started the cab off at a sedate pace for his rooms in Piccadilly.

Wiggins rubbed his hands together. “Now all we have to do is find Inspector Des—”

As if on cue, Inspector Desmond came around the corner, heading toward them. “We've had several reports of people spotting your Indian friend hereabouts,” he said with a smile. “So we're starting a house-to-house search.”

Wiggins sent up a silent prayer of thanks that they'd just sent Silent Eagle on his way. “Actually, we were looking for you, sir,” he said. “We think Silent Eagle is hiding farther along the river, in a warehouse.”

Desmond frowned as Wiggins spun a quick story about spotting the Indian skulking around the old Quick warehouse. Then Desmond nodded. “Right. We'd better get over there and have a look, shouldn't we?”

He gazed down the street, and Wiggins's heart sank. Buffalo Bill's cab had gotten caught behind an unloading wagon. “I say! Cab! Cab!” Desmond called after it. He began moving toward the disguised Western hero, with the members of the Raven League trailing nervously behind.

“Oh!” the policeman said as he got closer to the cab. “It's taken.” He shrugged and looked back at Wiggins and the others. “Well, a hansom would have been a tight fit for all of us. Let's go round here and see if we can't hail a growler.”

That was a narrow squeak,
Wiggins thought, his heart returning to its normal pace.

Soon, they were boarding a larger, four-wheeled cab. Wiggins boosted Dooley into the seat beside Desmond while he, Jennie, and Owens sat facing the inspector.

As they rattled along the streets to the riverside, Wiggins glanced at his friends. They looked as nervous as he felt. This was not falling out the way he'd imagined. He'd expected Desmond to gather up as many constables as he could and then rush off to surround the warehouse. Instead, the inspector apparently intended to scout the area first and wanted them along.

Desmond dismissed their cab some distance from the warehouse, then slowly approached the building on foot. “The place certainly looks deserted,” he said to Wiggins. “Are you sure this is where you saw him?”

“This is where we saw him,” Wiggins insisted.

“Aren't you going to get some reinforcements?” Jennie asked in a worried voice.

“I think we'll take a look first.” The police inspector walked right up to the door and pushed it open.

Wiggins's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe this copper was going in alone! Did Desmond have some clever plan up his sleeve?