The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (42 page)

Moonlight
fell in silvered shafts through windows high above, touching upon most
wonderful jewels and ornaments of gold.

Chief
Inspector Case lit up his bull’s—eye lantern and flashed it about at
jewel-bedecked crowns, orbs and other precious things.

‘Do
you know what?’ said he, a-making a thoughtful face. ‘Perhaps the two of us
should just steal all the jewels and abscond to the Americees to live the life
of Riley.’

‘Let
us start filling our pockets,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘Are
you serious,
man?’

‘Of
course not,’ said the great detective. ‘But then neither were you.

The
chief inspector shook his head. ‘Shall we hide over there?’ he said. ‘And I’ll
put out the lantern.’

It is always the
waiting that does for you. When whatever is going to happen, no matter how
horrid it might be,
does
happen, it’s almost a relief, really. The
actual waiting is the worst part of all.

‘Do
you hear
that?’
whispered Cameron Bell.

Chief
Inspector Case did not reply, but a curious lip-smacking sound was to be heard.

Cameron
Bell struck out in the darkness. ‘Wake up, there!’ he muttered.

‘I
was only resting my eyes. What time do you think it might be?’

A
nearby clock struck midnight. An owl asked, ‘Who?’ A bat flew upside down.

‘There,’
whispered Cameron Bell. ‘Look up.

The
chief inspector peered towards the windows high above as a shadow fell upon
them, stood still for a moment, then moved on.

‘Somebody
up there,’ whispered the chief inspector. ‘I trust you have your ray gun, Mr
Bell.’

‘Raised
and ready,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘And a few more things besides.’

It happened so
fast that none could say exactly what happened for certain. One moment the
chief inspector was huddling next to Mr Bell and the next minute he lay
unconscious on the floor. There were brisk movements, a struggle in the
darkness and then the Jewel Room door was flung open and a figure in a high top
hat, a death’s-head mask and a long and trailing cloak sprang from the Jewel
Room bearing a bag marked SWAG.

He
took off along the stone lane that led to the outside world at extraordinary
speed, moving with queer and bouncing strides. Constable Reekie raised his
gun. The man in black with the death’s-head mask clubbed the constable down.

Out
across the courtyards, into shadows and out again.

Down
from the Tower of London and on towards Tower Bridge.

Above,
something glittered in moonlight. A tiny airship secured to the uppermost
ironwork of the tower — a getaway craft for the modern-day criminal
mastermind.

Into
the north tower went the figure and up the many flights of steps that led to
the topmost structure of the bridge.

Alarm
bells now sounded from the Tower of London. Lights were flashing on in tiny
windows. Beef-eating guardians were awakening from unauthorised slumbers.
Constable Reekie was out in a courtyard blowing hard on his whistle.

The
cloaked and frightful figure of the Masked Shadow issued from a tiny doorway in
a lofty peak of the bridge’s northern tower and sprang onto one of the iron
maintenance gantries that spanned the bridge from one side to the other. Fifty
yards ahead of him, the tiny airship hung, moored to the gantry, awaiting him
to make his sleek departure.

The
Masked Shadow merged with darkness.

Beneath
another shadow now and one cast from above. Something rather wonderful was
moving through the sky. It appeared to flutter, as might a falling leaf, but
then to ripple and twist, as a flock of starlings. It looked as some aerial
jellyfish, transparent then opaque, and at its centre a single figure.

That
of a striking woman.

Short
of skirt and high of boot, with a corset of brass and a black rubber headpiece,
Lady Raygun drifted down from above.

The
Masked Shadow was gone into darkness, then reappeared beneath his tethered
airship.

He
turned and beheld the vision that dropped to the gantry.

The
curious jellyfish-something appeared to dissolve into nothingness and the
Mistress of Mystery, the Angel of Death, stepped lightly forwards on towering
heels, a ray gun in her hand.

‘So,’
said she, ‘the Masked Shadow. Prepare yourself for death.’

40

oonlight
tinted Tower Bridge with silver.

High
upon an iron gantry figures stood defiant, one a shapely woman in most exotic
garb, the other clad in cloak of black, with high top hat and death’s-head
mask. A chill breeze blew and an airship hung above.

‘Any
last words?’ asked Lady Raygun.

‘Last
words?’
said the man in black. ‘Now why would I say those?’

‘Because
you are about to die.’ The lady’s ray gun pointed at the death’s—head mask.

‘You
cannot kill
me!’
cried the figure in black. ‘I am the Masked Shadow.’

‘Evil
men die as easily as do the good.’ Lady Raygun squeezed upon her trigger and
electrical fire darted forward. Struck the figure all in black. Passed
completely through him and crackled against ironwork beyond.

The
lady’s shoulders stiffened. She fired her ray gun once again, then fired it
many times more.

The
Masked Shadow laughed and waved his arms.

The
lady clicked her trigger, but the ray gun’s power was spent.

She
cast aside the dissipated weapon, strode forward and kicked the Masked Shadow
straight in the death’s-head mask.

To
find herself kicking at nothing whatever at all.

‘It
is a fine illusion, is it not?’

The
Mistress of Mystery turned at these words to find the Masked Shadow behind her.

She
paced forward and he aimed a ray gun towards her. ‘Fire it, do,’ said Lady
Raygun. ‘Then prepare yourself for death, as you can harm me not.’

‘Then
take not a single step forward or I will press this button.’

The
Masked Shadow held in his other hand a small polished-brass contrivance.

‘Look
down,’ said the Shadow. ‘To your feet, my dear.’ The Angel of Death glanced
down. Beneath her feet and secured to the gantry were sticks of dynamite.

‘I am
aware that you are immune to bullets,’ said the man in black. ‘I suspect, however,
that dynamite will be the match for you.’

‘You
will die, too,’ said the lady.

‘That
is a risk I am prepared to take.’

The
two stood staring, one at the other. Figures frozen against the backdrop of
London and the star-strung sky.

A
long minute passed and then the Shadow spoke.

‘I
only wish to offer you a proposition,’ he said, ‘and I hope you will take it,
Miss Violet Wond.’

The
lady drew back and cried, ‘How do you know this name?’

‘I
know that it is a name you choose to go by. I doubt that it is the name that
you were christened with.’

‘I
was never christened,’ said the lady on the bridge.

‘And
you have so very much anger. Give me your word that you will listen to what I
say and I will put this aside.’ The Masked Shadow waggled his brass
contraption.

Lady
Raygun slowly nodded her head.

‘Then
firstly, know this,’ said the Shadow, removing his mask. ‘My name is Cameron
Bell.’

‘Mr Bell, are
you there?’ Chief Inspector Case did flounderings in darkness. And then the
light of a bull’s-eye lantern fell upon his face.

‘Are
you all right, sir?’ asked Constable Reekie.

‘I’ve
a bump on my head,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Where is Mr Bell?’

‘Perhaps
chasing after the Masked Shadow, sir. There’s an awful lot of confusion.’

‘Come
on, then,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Let’s get up and at it.’

Up upon high,
Cameron Bell removed his high top hat. The moonlight glinted on his baldy head.
‘I have gone to a very great deal of time and expense to arrange this meeting,’
said he, ‘for it is most important.’

Lady
Raygun clapped her hands together. ‘And why not?’ said she. ‘How perfect, this,
a famous detective, and I know well of you, Mr Bell, for I once saved your life
from an East End bare-knuckle fighter and an unconvicted poisoner.’

‘And
I am grateful, fair lady,’ said the gallant Mr Bell.

‘But
how perfect that
you
should be the Masked Shadow.’

‘There
is
no Masked Shadow,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘He is pure invention.’

‘And
yet you have robbed the Jewel House at the Tower of London and are preparing to
make your getaway aboard this airship.’

‘Firstly,’
said Mr Bell, ‘my SWAG bag contains nothing more than Chief Inspector Case’s
sandwiches and Thermos flask. And secondly, I do not believe that the tiny
airship hanging there could actually carry my weight, do you?’

‘Then
you have gone to all this effort simply to arrange a meeting with me?’

‘I
could think of no better way of drawing you out. I had the Masked Shadow’s
Manifesto printed and posted up around London by a close acquaintance who owed
me a favour. I leaked stories about the Masked Shadow to the press under the
name of
SWORD OF TRUTH.
I put the word around Scotland Yard that the
Shadow would strike tonight because, having studied your file, I drew the conclusion
that you have a contact inside Scotland Yard who supplies you with
information.’

‘You
are very clever,’ said Lady Raygun.

‘Thank
you,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘But I am not quite done yet. I moored the little
airship here on one of the highest points in London where a female avenger who
has the gift of flight could clearly see it. I acquired a pair of Rutherford
Patent Spring-Heels, designed for the military to enable infantrymen to double
their marching speed. Believe me, I could not have climbed all those stairs
without them. And of course I paid out a great deal of money for the illusion.
An improvement upon the popular Pepper’s Ghost of the theatre. It creates a
most lifelike image, does it not? I stood below. It is all done with mirrors. I
reasoned that you would be employing your ray gun. I decided it better that you
use it upon an image rather than myself.’

‘Have
you quite finished blowing your own trumpet?’ asked Lady Raygun.

‘I
just felt things might need an explanation,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Oh, and I
might also mention that another reason for the creation of the Masked Shadow
character was so my associate Chief Inspector Case could apprehend this
criminal mastermind, take all the credit and earn a knighthood in the New
Year’s Honours List.’

‘And
continue to pay you a handsome salary,’ said Lady Raygun.

‘Well,
now,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘your informant at the Yard is
most
informative.’

‘And
as
you
are in such an informative mood,’ said Lady Raygun, ‘then tell me
this. How could you possibly know that I use the name of Violet Wond?’

‘Ah,’
went Cameron Bell. ‘Well, I have the chief inspector to thank for that. He had
discovered that a Miss Violet Wond was the owner of the Martian spaceship that
crashed into Lord Brentford’s Bananary.’

Lady
Raygun stiffened slightly. She knew nothing of
this.

‘I
knew,’ continued Mr Bell, ‘that Ernest Rutherford was the brains behind this
particular spaceship’s interior workings. I wondered what he might tell me
about this Violet Wond, so I paid him a visit two days ago. But I did not speak
with him because I saw him leaving his house in the company of a heavily veiled
lady. I took the liberty of following this veiled lady —
you,
madam — to
your lodgings. And I took the further liberty of searching your lodgings during
the next time you were away. I discovered a portmanteau beneath your bed
containing the Lady Raygun costume.’