The Apple Spy (4 page)

We hurried over the Tay Bridge and had crossed to the south side before Mr Murdoch told us its terrible tale. ‘Sixty years ago, on a wild December night, there was a terrible storm. The wind was hard as a wall and fierce as a hungry dog. It chewed and tore at the Tay Bridge till the struts and spars began to crack. That's when the 7.13 train from the south headed out onto the bridge, picking up speed. The signalman waited to see the train appear on the north bank. It never did. The train had plunged in the river. Seventy-five people were on the train, poor souls. Not one of them lived.'

The old man's stories kept us amused for an hour or more. I forgot about the spy in the coach ahead. Suddenly Jamie asked, ‘Is he really a spy?'

Mr Murdoch nodded. ‘I phoned Edinburgh from Dundee and they told me they'd heard from your friends in Portgordon. They searched the man and the woman they'd caught. And what do you think they found in their suitcases?

‘A gun?' I said.

‘A radio?' Jamie added.

The guard chuckled. ‘You are a bright pair. That's exactly what they found. They also found three hundred pounds in money…and a German sausage. Oh, they're spies all right. And dangerous ones too. The army will be waiting in Edinburgh when we get there at half past four. You two must stay here till it's all over and our friend is arrested.'

I was annoyed. Jamie and I had found the spy but we were going to miss out on the fun of seeing him arrested.

I never did what I was told in school. I wasn't going to do what I was told now.

 

Chapter 11

Carriages and clowns

At 4:30 exactly we pulled into Waverley Station in Edinburgh. I peered through the smoky glass of the guard's van window. It was gloomy under the sooty station roof. There were few lamps lit because of the blackout.

The police were waiting and so were half a dozen soldiers. But you had to look hard to see them. They were half-hidden by the newspaper stalls and the coffee shacks and sandwich-sellers' trolleys.

Mr Murdoch opened the van door and gave one last warning. ‘Stay here till it's over.'

The carriage doors opened and as the passengers spilled onto the platform Jamie and I slipped out too.

A man in heavy black boots and a cream mac moved forward. He was a plain-clothes detective, I guessed. They didn't want the spy to see a policeman in uniform and run for it before they could arrest him.

The detective stood by the door to the last carriage as people swirled past him like water flows round a rock in a stream. The spy didn't get off. The detective's face looked as if it were carved from wood…worried wood. He gave a signal with his finger, and two policemen and six soldiers clattered over the platform to the last carriage.

They were a mass of elbows and rifles and boots and belts as the khaki clowns all rushed to be first through the door. There was a lot of shouting and arguing.

I saw the family from the front coach with their mother whirling down the platform. The baby was bawling, the toddler was tumbling and the young ones were yelling.

A man walked alongside them trying to chat and cheer them up after their weary trip. He was just like any other father with a brood of bairns.

Only he wasn't their father. I had looked into that carriage and there had been a mother and five children but no father. The man with the children had his hat pulled down to shade his face. I knew it was the spy.

He must have known the police would be waiting for him. He had simply walked to the front of the train and got off at the other end.

I turned to Jamie. ‘That's him.'

‘Tell the police and the soldiers,' he said.

‘They're jammed in the carriage. They're running up and down like rats in our barn. He'll be out of sight before they get out.'

‘So we'll have to follow him,' Jamie said.

And that's what we did.

The family crossed towards a sign that said the Glasgow train would be leaving in five minutes. The spy left them and walked quickly over to a porter with a greasy grey waistcoat and a battered cap. He spoke a few words, pushed something into the porter's hand, then looked at his watch. He turned and half-ran up the stairs to the street.

I raced across to the porter. ‘What did that man say?' Jamie asked as I watched the spy's heels vanish over the top step.

‘He asked if this was Edinburgh. I said, “Well it's not New York!” He didn't laugh. He just asked where he'd get the London train and I said platform six. Then he asked what time, and I said ten o' clock tonight. He looked a bit upset at that.'

Jamie grinned. ‘We just have to keep him in sight till ten o'clock. Then he'll be back here.'

‘But the police and the soldiers won't,' I said. ‘They'll give up and go home. You need to go back and tell them to lay a trap.'

‘Me?' Jamie asked.

‘Yes. I'm the one who knows what he looks like. I have a better chance of finding him in the crowds. Hurry.'

Jamie looked worried but he turned away. I raced up the steps after the spy into the gloomy, smoke-dark streets.

 

Chapter 12

Brownies and boots

I had only been to Edinburgh twice – once on a school trip to the Castle and once with the Buckie Brownies to a jamboree. But I knew that the old town and the castle were on the left when I came out of the station. The new town with Princes Street and all the modern shops was on the right.

When I reached the road I peered out towards the old town but couldn't see him. He only had twenty seconds' start but I had lost him already. Then I heard the sharp blast of a taxi horn. The spy had looked to his left and stepped off the pavement. In Germany they drive on the right. He forgot we drive on the left.

I turned sharply towards the noise and saw the man jump out of the path of the taxi. He was headed for the wide streets of the new town. I followed him up Princes Street and ducked into doorways when he stopped to look back. Then he turned up a side street. I raced to the corner and was just in time to see him vanish into a doorway.

I followed and squinted up at the sign above the door. ‘The Stag Inn', it said. He was planning to spend three hours in a pub. They wouldn't let me in.

I crossed the road and found the doorway to a cobbler's shop that seemed to have closed down. I sat back in the shadows to wait.

The ground was cold and my thin school dress didn't keep out the chilly, damp Edinburgh air.

As I shivered I almost wished I was in Miss McLennan's cosy classroom again, listening to soppy stories of princesses, giants, fairy godmothers, wicked witches and frog princes. But my story was better.

A distant clock chimed every quarter hour. When I heard it strike half past nine I rose to my feet. My legs were stiff as a witch's broomstick and I couldn't feel my feet. I stamped on the pavement and slapped my arms till they warmed.

I almost missed him. He slipped quietly out of the pub and started to walk back down towards the station. I followed.

The man swung his suitcase by his side and headed for platform six. I saw figures step out of the shadows. The spy stood on the platform and waited, silently. Then he seemed to sense the men moving towards him. I saw my idiot brother at the front of the gathering group.

The spy snapped open his case and slipped something into his pocket. I knew it was his gun. He would shoot Jamie. Mum would kill me if I let that happen.

A soldier's steel-studded boot sparked on the stone path to the platform. The spy swung round and pulled out his gun. Six rifle-bolts clattered as the soldiers put bullets in the breeches of the rifles, ready to fire.

The detective stepped forward. He spoke quietly. ‘Put down the gun. There are twenty rifles aimed at your head right now.'

The spy shook his head sadly. He threw the pistol to the ground. A policeman ran forward and picked it up while another snatched the suitcase. The detective snapped handcuffs on the German and led him away.

That should have been the end of our adventure…but it wasn't quite.

* * *

The detective's name was Inspector Nixon. He took us to the police station. He told us our parents had been told about our journey and we were heroes back in Portgordon. We could sleep in the police cells and go home the next day.

We walked through the police station, down the shabby green corridors until we came to the cell that held the spy. The prisoner turned and pleaded. ‘My apples,' he said. ‘You have my apples in my case?'

‘I have,' Nixon said.

‘May I have them. Please? Fetch my apples and I will tell you everything. The codes, the drop-off points, the names of agents already in your country. The whole of the German spy network. Anything.'

‘I wonder where we can find two wrinkled apples at this time of night?' Jamie asked quietly.

‘We'll give him his own apples,' Nixon shrugged. ‘Can't be any harm in that.' He reached into the suitcase and took the fruit out.

‘Oh, but you can't do that!' Jamie said.

Nixon frowned. ‘Why not?'

‘Because they're poisoned. One bite and he'll be dead. You won't get a word out of him.'