The Case of the Secret Tunnel Read online

  Maisie nibbled her bottom lip, hoping she hadn’t sent the police off on a wild goose chase. The crowd in the booking hall was thinning out – she was going to have to go down to the platforms, or Bert Dodgson would see her. She took the stairs this time, thinking that Eddie might not like the lift. The ticket clerk hadn’t mentioned that dogs weren’t allowed on the Underground, so she let him stay out of the basket. It would only make him grumpy to be shut up.

  Down on the platform there were benches set into the brick walls, with posters stuck behind them. The station was well lit, with great glass lamps hanging from the ceiling – there weren’t any shadowy corners to lurk in, but the platform seemed quite busy. Maisie walked along it as far as she could and sat down on a bench. How long would she be able to sit here, without someone noticing? She could say that she was feeling ill, she supposed, if anyone asked why she wasn’t going anywhere. She’d just explain that she wanted to sit and rest for a while. When they had travelled back from Richmond, the lady who had fainted on the train had sat on one of the benches, with the guard fanning her with a newspaper, and other passengers crowding around offering advice and smelling salts.

  Maisie got out her handkerchief and held it up to her face, trying to look as though she might feel faint. But most people on the platform were chatting to each other, or peering impatiently into the tunnel, looking for the next train. No one seemed to be looking at her.

  And then, of course, when the train arrived, they all crowded on. Maisie smiled at her own foolishness. There was no one left to notice that she was still there! There were passengers waiting on the opposite platform, but their train would be along soon too, whisking them away.

  It was only the railway staff that she needed to worry about now. There was a man in uniform on the other side, but he seemed to be busy shooing passengers away from the edge of the platform, and answering questions about when the next train would come. If he crossed over and questioned her, Maisie would move on and disguise herself with the scarf and hat before he came back. But several trains puffed in and out of the station, and no one came to ask why she was still there.

  There was no one sneaking around looking like an art thief, either. Maisie yawned and peered down the platform into the dark mouth of the tunnel. Would anyone really hide stolen paintings in the Underground? It was all starting to seem rather unlikely.

  Eddie dozed under the bench, and Maisie felt her own eyes closing too.

  Maisie woke up with a jump. Someone had shouted quite loudly right next to her. She’d been caught!

  But it was only a gentleman in a silk hat, complaining about the trains. “Really, this is ridiculous! I’ve been here fifteen minutes already. The delays on this line are shameful!”

  There was a man in the railway uniform on the platform now too, apologizing to the grumpy passengers. Maisie huddled back into the corner of the wall, hoping he hadn’t noticed how long she’d been there. It was nearly ten o’clock at night, she realized, peering in horror at the huge clock hanging above the platform. How had she got away with sitting here so long? The platform must have been busy all evening. Gran would be frantic, Maisie thought, hurriedly stretching her cramped limbs. She’d have to explain what she’d been doing. Gran would never believe she’d been at Alice’s all this time.

  “Yes, there’s been a delay – someone taken ill on the train. It’ll be here soon – so sorry, sir.” The attendant from the railway was threading his way along the platform, muttering apologies. “Ah, here we are.”

  The train steamed into the station, and the passengers surged towards the carriages. But the attendant shooed them away from the first compartment, opening the door to escort out a couple of ladies, one of whom had obviously been taken ill on the train. She was drooping, and the attendant was half holding her up as she went to sit on one of the benches.

  Maisie looked at her curiously, as she and Eddie walked up the platform. She wondered how often people fainted on the train. That huge hat couldn’t have helped, she thought to herself. It looked so heavy.

  Maisie stopped with a jolt, and then forced herself to walk on by. She knew that hat – with the thick veil, and the puff of purple feathers, and the long trailing ribbons – the lady who’d fainted on the train last time had been wearing the same hat!

  In fact, she was fairly sure it was the same lady. The same person who had stopped the train before…

  Maisie knew she ought to go home. Gran would be worrying about her. But she couldn’t leave now! This was another clue! She crept on down to the other end of the long platform and huddled back into the corner of a bench, watching as the woman got up at last and made for the stairs. Should she follow her? Or wait?

  The lady in the hat had stopped the train again. That was the important thing. She had pulled the communication cord, but it must have been for a reason – so that something else could happen. Maisie didn’t know what, but if she waited, maybe she’d find out.

  The platforms were emptying now and the station would soon be closing. Maisie nibbled her thumbnail anxiously, watching a tall man pasting up advertising posters further along the platform. She’d have to leave when the last train came in, just before eleven o’clock – the attendants would check that no one was left behind, and anyway, she didn’t want to be shut in all night. What was it that had happened when the train stopped in the tunnel? Maisie thought furiously, but she couldn’t work it out.

  Even the man sticking up the posters was leaving now, she noticed. He bounced up the stairs with his tin of paste, going four steps at a time. His legs were enormously long, Maisie thought wearily, getting up to follow him. Whatever had happened, she had missed it, and she’d better get home to Gran.

  Maisie picked up Eddie, cuddling him up against her shawl – he seemed as sleepy as she was. She yawned as she went past the new posters, which showed a little boy smiling as he held up a steaming mug, and then sighed. She knew that little boy – he was on the tin too. The posters were for Gran’s favourite, Bartram’s Creamy Cocoa. Oh, Gran was going to be so cross with her!

  Maisie had got to the bottom of the steps when she turned back, nearly bumping into the lady who was following her.

  “Sorry!” she murmured, hurrying back to stare at the poster, to check. She hadn’t just imagined it…

  Bartram’s Creamy Cocoa had gone out of business. Mr Jessop the grocer had told Gran so. So why had that man been putting up posters for something that wasn’t made any more?

  It was another signal. It had to be! Just as strange as the red clothes on the washing lines. Maisie stared at the little boy on the poster in bewilderment. What on earth did it mean?

  “I’ll just go down and check no one’s fallen asleep on the platform,” someone called from the top of the stairs, and Maisie looked around wildly. She couldn’t go yet! She hadn’t worked out what was going on. What if there was a painting hidden somewhere? This could solve the whole case! She had to stay!

  With a nervous little gulp, she darted back along the platform and crouched down, tucking herself underneath the nearest wooden bench. It was a tight squeeze, but she fitted, just about. “Shh, Eddie,” she murmured, and he peered at her, confused.

  The man came all the way down the stairs and walked along the platform. Maisie peeked out as he passed her and saw, with a funny little lurch inside her stomach, that it was Bert Dodgson.

  He was looking for something, hurrying along the platform, gazing up at the walls. Maisie felt her stomach skip again – she was right! He was looking for the posters!

  When he came to the space where the man had pasted up the cocoa poster, Bert Dodgson thumped his fist into his other hand and muttered something. Maisie couldn’t hear what, but it was easy to see that he was very pleased. He walked briskly past her, and she knew exactly where he was going.

  Back to Albion Street, to put another signal on the washing line.

  It was all very well being a great detective and solving the case, or at any rate almost solving
it, Maisie thought. But she was still locked up in Baker Street station with no way to get out. And no idea where a stolen painting might be hidden, either.

  Most of the lights were out now. Just the odd one here and there was still flickering, for the sake of the night watchman, she supposed. He had come down once, with a lantern, and she had ducked back under the bench again. Then afterwards she had crept back up the steps to make sure he was safely out of the way. She had seen him, sitting in a little cubbyhole by the ticket office, snoring away. But down here on the platform, she and Eddie were all alone.

  “I still don’t understand how everything fits together,” Maisie murmured to Eddie, huddling him against her to keep them both warm as she stared up at the cocoa posters again. It was chilly down here in the middle of the night. And spooky. She kept hearing rustling noises and rumbles, and what sounded like trains in the distance – except it couldn’t be, because all the trains had stopped now. “There are so many different bits. The washing lines. And the posters. And that lady fainting on the train… She’s mixed up in it too, I’m sure she is. But I don’t see why she was doing it… Why would anybody want to pull the communication cord?” Maisie blinked. People were always collapsing on the Underground because of the fumes. So no one would think it was that unusual. But when the communication cord was pulled, it stopped the train, so the guard could go and find out what was wrong.

  “She wanted to stop the train…” Maisie murmured, turning round to look back into the dark tunnel. “So someone could get off…”

  Perhaps a person who needed to get into the tunnel without being noticed – a person with something to hide.

  Maisie nodded slowly. She had worked it out, she was almost sure. Charlie Sparrow stole the paintings, hid them somehow, then he just walked to the nearest Underground station. The lady in the big hat made sure she got on to the same train, and then shortly before they arrived at Baker Street, she would pretend to faint, and someone would pull the communication cord and stop the train. There would be a minute or two before it started again, just long enough for Charlie to slip out. He hid the painting somewhere in the tunnel, and then took some of their stash of posters and pasted it up for his brother Bert to spot. And Bert went home and signalled to … to someone else that Maisie hadn’t seen yet. Whoever sold the paintings on, maybe?

  Maisie frowned. If she was right, then Charlie Sparrow must have been on that same train from Richmond that she and Gran had travelled on. Otherwise there’d have been no point in the lady fainting. Her eyes widened as she remembered the tall workman she had seen on the platform at Richmond Station. Had his grubby toolbag been large enough to hide a painting, rolled up?

  Maisie gulped. She had been down here a good while since the station closed and Bert went home. Someone could have seen Bert’s signal already. They could be coming to pick up the painting now.

  So it was up to her to get it first.

  She froze as a slow, wheezing grunt sounded from the tunnel. Another train! But the trains had finished running for the night. No one was here to catch a train… Maisie definitely didn’t believe in ghosts, but down here in the cold half-light, it was hard to remember that… She pressed herself back against the bench as the noise of the wheels grew louder, clanking slowly into the station. Ghostly wreaths of greyish steam floated out around her as the train puffed by. Maisie peered from behind her hands, wondering who would be in the carriages, staring out at her.

  But there weren’t any carriages – Maisie let out a shaky breath and shook her head as the train rumbled by. A goods train – with trucks, covered in tarpaulins. Of course. The goods trains must use the tunnels at night, when the lines weren’t busy. She watched the trucks disappear into the tunnel, and stood up determinedly. She was going to have to follow the train into the tunnel, to find the painting. It must be hidden in there somewhere.

  Maisie walked down the platform, and peered into the tunnel as the dim lights of the goods train faded away into the blackness. Then she marched back along the platform to the steps, crossing her fingers. The night watchman had looked quite cosy and comfortable napping in his chair. He wouldn’t need the lantern if he was asleep, would he? And she was definitely going to need a light – it was blacker than night in the tunnel. It was borrowing, not stealing.

  She stopped at the top of the stairs, and smiled to herself. The night watchman was still snoring loudly and the lantern was sitting there, just by his chair.

  “Stay, Eddie,” she murmured, patting his bottom to make him sit by the top step. “Shh.” Then she tiptoed out through the dimly lit ticket hall and waited, holding her breath, eyeing the lantern. The night watchman let out a rattling snore and Maisie seized her chance, grabbing the lantern under the cover of the noise, and scuttling away in triumph.

  It was only when she got back down to the platform again that her stomach twisted, and the excitement faded away. Now she had the lantern, there was no excuse not to head into the tunnel.

  Maisie crouched at the end of the platform, looking for a way to climb down into the tunnel. She could just about manage to jump on to the track, she thought, but not with Eddie and the lantern to carry. And besides, she wanted to know how to get back up again.

  She shivered as she spotted the rickety-looking iron ladder, fixed into the stone under the platform edge. Without stopping to think about it too carefully, Maisie tucked Eddie into her basket and wriggled round, reaching down with her foot to find the first rung. It wobbled, but she gritted her teeth, scrambling down until she was standing on the track, dwarfed by the huge opening of the tunnel in front of her. The light of her lantern didn’t seem to go very far into the darkness, and Eddie peered out of the basket and whimpered.

  “I know it’s scary,” she whispered. “But I’m sure the painting’s here. Somewhere. And if we could get it back, or even just find where they hide them – then the police would have a chance of breaking up the gang, wouldn’t they? Detectives have to be fearless, Eddie. Or at least, almost fearless,” she added, being honest. She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a step into the tunnel, and then she opened them again. “Don’t be stupid, Maisie Hitchins,” she told herself. “You’re no use as a detective if you trip over the rails because you’ve got your eyes closed. It’s just dark.” And she marched on, holding the lantern up high and looking for hidey-holes.

  “The hiding place must be a little way into the tunnel,” she murmured to Eddie. It felt better to talk aloud, even though her voice echoed horribly in the arched shape of the tunnel. “Because the train stopped just outside the station. And it has to be big enough for the posters as well, I suppose. And some pots of paste.”

  Just then, Eddie let out another whimper, and Maisie gasped.

  There was a swinging light coming towards them!

  Maisie flattened herself against the wall of the tunnel and hastily wrapped her thick woollen shawl around the lantern. It could only be one of the gang, come to pick up the painting. She could hear his footsteps, clumping along the track. He wasn’t being particularly quiet – he thought no one would be around to hear. He was whistling to himself, even! The tune bounced along in Maisie’s head, and she bit her lip. She wanted to join in, just like last time. Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay! Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!

  It was the man who’d disappeared in Albion End.

  She could see his dark curls now, as he lifted up his lantern to look into a niche in the wall of the tunnel, and his whistling broke off mid-phrase. “Ah … look at you, you little beauty…” He’d propped his lantern in the niche and unrolled the blanket-wrapped canvas that had been stashed there in a workman’s tool bag. He gloated over it for a moment before slipping it carefully back inside. Then he set off down the tunnel again.

  It only took Maisie a second to decide – she had to follow him.

  The man strode off and Maisie waited, her heart thumping. She couldn’t let him get too far ahead, though – she might lose him if he turned off into a different tunnel. And then she�
��d be lost as well, she thought with a shudder. After a few seconds, she picked her way along the tunnel after him, following as closely as she dared, and trying to mask her footsteps in his own heavy footfalls.

  Every time the man stopped, Maisie stopped too, freezing against the tunnel wall and wondering if he’d heard her. Was he going to turn round, hold up his lantern and catch her huddling there?

  But he kept on walking, until at last he paused and reached up for something on the wall. Maisie hung back, pressed against the bricks, hoping that Eddie wouldn’t suddenly decide to bark and give her away.

  With a last look round, the man began to climb up the wall, as nimbly as a monkey. Maisie stared, and then she realized that there was another ladder, metal rungs set into the bricks, like the ladder she had climbed down to the track. This was his way out. He was about to escape with the painting!

  Cautiously, she crept closer, uncovering just a little of her light and peering up. She watched his boots disappear into a shadowy hole at the top of the ladder and held her breath, hoping that he wouldn’t close some sort of trapdoor, and shut her inside. But all she heard was heaving and scuffling, and then footsteps on paving slabs.

  “I bet I know where this goes,” Maisie breathed, hooking the basket over her arm and reaching for the ladder. “Now keep still, Eddie. Bet you anything we come out somewhere in Albion End.”

  Eddie crouched in the basket, looking worriedly over the edge as it swung around. Maisie was trying to keep it still, but it was tricky with the lantern to hold as well, and trying to be quiet. She had to be quick too – she didn’t want to lose the man in the streets above.