‘But might it be hers?’ asked Daisy casually.
‘No!’ said Alexander. ‘Maybe. I can ask.’
‘It’s fine stuff,’ said Hetty. ‘Pretty.’
‘Too pretty to be Sarah’s?’ asked Daisy.
Hetty frowned. ‘She’d never be able to afford anything like that, but—’
I heard what she did not want to say: but we knew that Sarah sometimes helped herself to Mrs Daunt’s things. What if this were one of them?
‘Daisy, we ought to hand it in to Dr Sandwich,’ Hetty pointed out.
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ said Daisy. ‘He won’t know what to do with it. He’s a bumbler!’
‘Miss Daisy,’ Hetty scolded.
‘Anyway, they’ve already found the handkerchief that was used in the murder. It was in Mr Strange’s room, remember? There’s no need to confuse things.’
‘Miss Daisy!’ said Hetty again.
‘I will give it in!’ said Daisy. ‘Eventually. But let’s wait a little. Please. Be a dear, Hetty.’
‘Oh,’ said Hetty, ‘well . . .’ I could tell that she was thinking of Dr Sandwich. ‘As long as you give it in eventually,’ she finished.
‘But what is it doing here?’ asked Daisy, and I understood the question she was trying to ask. Who had thrown it out of their compartment, and why? It was all very puzzling.
‘It might have fallen out by mistake,’ said Alexander, looking upset. I understood. This was a new clue – and it had not ruled out the Countess at all. On the contrary, if it really was linked to the murder, it seemed to point to a woman rather than a man – either Sarah or the Countess, rather than Mr Strange.
‘So we’re agreed,’ said Daisy. ‘We keep this our secret – for now.’
We all nodded. I was full of nerves – and it only took a moment before I recognized the feeling I always get when a case begins to rush down into its conclusion. We were close – and getting closer – but could I hold onto all the separate pieces of the case until we reached the end?
‘What do we do now?’ I asked.
‘Turn back, of course,’ said Daisy. ‘I want to see the other side of the train before we have to go inside again.’
So round the cold stopped engine we went; it loomed above our heads like a great black cliff, so solid and stationary; I could hardly believe that at a moment’s notice it could be fired up and set off down the track. Then we began walking along the carriage again, on the corridor side this time. It really was strange to see it from the outside, as if we were looking at its reflection. The windows were too high up for me to be able to peep in properly, but I saw the heads of people drifting past, ghostly behind the glass.
And suddenly, there in front of us, tucked into the gap between our sleeping car and the dining car, we saw two figures. They were lurking close together, standing out of the sun, but all the same I recognized them at once. It was Mrs Vitellius and Il Mysterioso. Her face, under the dramatic picture hat, was tilted upwards, and he was hunched over her – exactly like a vampire.
Then he caught sight of us. He threw out his arm and Mrs Vitellius staggered against him. I was sure he was about to do something dreadful to her – she must have been confronting him about his spying – and let out a yelp.
‘UNHAND HER AT ONCE!’ cried Daisy, rushing forward.
‘What’s Daisy doing?’ asked Alexander.
‘He’s the spy!’ I said frantically. ‘I mean, there’s a spy on the train, and he’s it!’
‘Oh,’ said Alexander. ‘Right. YOU! LEAVE HER ALONE!’ and he rushed forward too.
Mrs Vitellius waved her arms. I thought she was warning us to run and save ourselves – until I heard what she was shouting. ‘Stop it!’ she shrieked. ‘Stop – good heavens – DAISY!’
Il Mysterioso turned away from her and, quick as a wink, grabbed Daisy with one hand and Alexander with the other. He must have been really strong – they both struggled, but seemed to make no headway at all.
‘Children – stop!’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘Good heavens, do you want the attendants after us?’
‘But – Il Mysterioso – is the spy!’ Daisy puffed.
I was in a panic. What should I do? How could I save everyone?
‘Don’t be an idiot, Daisy!’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘He’s no more the spy than I am. Oh, stop for a moment and let us explain!’
4
At first I was not sure that Daisy would obey. In fact, I was not even sure about obeying myself. Should we listen to Mrs Vitellius? What if Il Mysterioso were forcing her to pretend that everything was all right? I stared at him, and he held his hands up, letting go of Daisy and Alexander.
‘Listen to her,’ he said.
Daisy rubbed her shoulder, eyes narrowed.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find that you’re still interfering,’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘Or that you’ve dragged more people into your schemes.’
Hetty bobbed a curtsey, blushing, and Alexander said, ‘What’s going on? Is he really a spy?’
‘You can’t ask a detective not to interfere!’ said Daisy, eyes blazing. ‘Hazel and I and our assistants are doing our jobs, just like you, and I don’t see that you have the right—’
‘Daisy,’ said Mrs Vitellius, ‘for all your many good qualities, you are fourteen years old. The British government has not hired you.’
‘Yet,’ Daisy muttered to me.
‘You cannot come blundering into the middle of an interview and—’
‘So this is an interview? I thought you said he wasn’t a spy!’
‘I did,’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘And if you’ll listen to me for one moment, I can explain. Mr Zimmerman’s story is quite a different one.’
‘Mr Zimmerman?’ I said, confused. ‘Who’s that?’
‘That is my real name,’ said Il Mysterioso, and he bowed to us all. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’
‘German really is an important skill, the world being what it is today,’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘I recommend that both you girls learn it. If you had been able to read those documents, you could have solved the mystery of Mr Zimmerman some time ago.’
‘But . . . we know what the papers were, don’t we?’ I asked, bewildered. ‘Birth certificates, forged ones. Or isn’t that right?’
‘No, that’s perfectly right,’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘And that’s why I am speaking to Mr Zimmerman now. As soon as I saw them, I knew that he was not the spy I’m after. Those birth certificates are meant to confuse governments, certainly – but not the British government. You see, if you happen to be Jewish, as Mr Zimmerman is, and you live in many of the countries of Europe, you find yourself in a very difficult position at the moment. If you try to leave your country with your own identity papers, you will be stopped. But if you stay, you will be treated very badly indeed. Alas, short of going to war, which of course we all want to prevent, there is really nothing we can do to help the Jewish people. It is left to people like Mr Zimmerman to step in – he carries forged identity papers across international borders and hands them to his Jewish friends, so they can escape.’
‘But . . . that’s smuggling!’ I exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that wrong?’
‘It is,’ said Il Mysterioso in his rumbling deep voice, ‘but in this instance, not smuggling would be worse. The Fascists in Europe are not well-disposed to people like me.’
‘Why can’t you just bribe officials to let you cross the borders?’ asked Daisy. ‘Aren’t European policemen frightfully lax about things like that?’
‘The officials in question hate Jews more than anything else,’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘And most Jews, like most people, do not have enough money to bribe anyone.’
‘Why would they hate the Jews?’ asked Daisy. Her nose was scrunched up, and I could see that, to her, it was not logical. But of course, there are some things that Daisy will never see; things that I know. The way people look at me, and speak to me – I have to tell myself not to mind, and so when Mrs Vitellius said what she said,
about hating Jews, I understood.
Mrs Vitellius stared at me, and I gritted my teeth and looked away. Sometimes I do not like it when people understand me.
‘People do not like difference,’ Mrs Vitellius went on. ‘You ought to know that, Daisy.’
It was a reprimand, although a very gentle one.
‘Mr Zimmerman’s . . . unfortunate incident with his new magic trick proved to me that he was not guilty of the murder of Mrs Daunt,’ said Mrs Vitellius. Il Mysterioso rubbed his beard awkwardly. He was obviously still dreadfully ashamed of what had happened. ‘And from what I saw of the documents that were found in his compartment, I guessed what he was really doing. But I needed to make sure, and so I made an excuse to take this walk with him, to ask him to confirm my thoughts.’
‘And you told him about what you do?’
‘It was the only way to get him to trust me,’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘I’m sure you both understand.’
I remembered the moment, at Fallingford, when we discovered who Miss Livedon really was. Had Il Mysterioso been as surprised as we had been? I peered up at him, and suddenly found that I was terribly embarrassed. Everything I had thought about him had simply been wrong. He was not wicked, or dangerous, or a murderer. Underneath his beard and his cloak and his frightening face he was a nice man who was only trying to help other people, just like we were.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to him.
‘No she isn’t,’ said Daisy. ‘We have to suspect everyone, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair. We were only doing our jobs.’
‘The girls won’t say anything about this,’ Mrs Vitellius told him. ‘They’re very good at keeping secrets – aren’t you, girls?’
‘We have been known to be,’ said Daisy. ‘For a good cause – which I suppose this is. Oh, all right then. And Alexander and Hetty won’t say anything either.’
She turned to Alexander and mouthed, ‘Medieval tortures!’ at him.
‘Of course I wouldn’t!’ said Alexander. ‘He’s helping people. It’s exactly what the Pinkertons would do.’
‘I won’t say a word, madam, sir,’ said Hetty. ‘Cross my heart.’
‘The next time I’m in London I shall give you all tickets to my performance,’ said Il Mysterioso.
‘After you’ve perfected your trick, do you mean?’ asked Daisy, a little mischievously. ‘And will we get ices in the interval?’
For a moment Il Mysterioso looked as though he were about to say no. Then he unclenched his jaw and said, ‘Naturally.’
‘Have you ever been to America?’ asked Alexander excitedly. ‘Did you know Houdini?’
‘I travel all over the world,’ said Il Mysterioso. ‘New York is no exception – and yes, I met Harry.’ Alexander’s eyes lit up, and even I was amazed. Fancy having been able to call the world’s most famous magician by his first name! ‘Funny, that was where I met Madame Melinda, though she was calling herself Mrs Fox then. Quite an astonishing act she put on – she truly had talent. Had the whole place spellbound. Pity she’s gone into mediumship now, but I suppose it pays better.’
‘What did she do?’ asked Alexander politely.
‘Oh, a voice act, you know . . . Very impressive.’
So we had been wrong about Madame Melinda being an actress! But this was even better. I giggled at the thought of her singing.
‘Now,’ said Mrs Vitellius, ‘we ought to get back to our carriage before we’re missed. It really will begin to look odd if I spend any more time with you.’
‘Indeed,’ said Daisy blandly. ‘People might think you were our governess.’
‘Oh, heaven forbid,’ said Mrs Vitellius. ‘My hats are much too nice.’
And she turned and hurried off, stumbling rather on the loose stones in her high heels; the courteous Il Mysterioso offered her an arm back to the steps.
We walked behind her, and suddenly I felt rather deflated. We had been so wrong about Il Mysterioso!
‘Oh, buck up, Watson,’ said Daisy cheerfully. ‘We’ll get there. I’m sure we’re on the right track.’
‘But it isn’t Grandmother!’ said Alexander. He looked horribly worried again, and I did not blame him. Daisy ought to be nicer to him, I thought – after all, she knew exactly how he must be feeling. But Daisy is not very good at noticing when she is like other people.
‘It’s a good thing neither of you blabbed to Mrs Vitellius about the scarf we found,’ said Daisy. ‘We may have established a truce with her, but we are still rivals in this mystery. We must get to the truth before she does! Alexander, you must keep watch on Dr Sandwich’s investigation. Let us know if he does discover anything useful by mistake. Hazel and I will follow the clue of the scarf, and see if we can narrow down our suspect list again.’
‘OK,’ said Alexander. ‘I – I hope you do.’
I wanted desperately to reassure him that we would prove his grandmother hadn’t done it – but that would not have been good detective work. I knew by now never to make promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. So I only smiled at him, and he smiled back; a half-smile not at all like his usual wide grin.
‘Come along, the three of you,’ called Hetty. She was next to the carriage door, waving at us – I think she wanted to get inside again.
‘Coming, Hetty!’ Daisy called. ‘All right?’ she said to Alexander.
‘All right,’ he replied. ‘Gosh, I’ve never worked with other detectives before.’
‘Well, with is—’ Daisy began. I glared at her. ‘No, nor us,’ she went on smoothly, as though she had never meant to say anything else. ‘We’ll see you at dinner. Come ready to hand over your information in the most cunning way possible.’
5
When we got back to Maxwell’s compartment, my father had a surprise for us. He had ordered a delicious afternoon spread. There was a plate of éclairs and lemon tarts, and a pot of tea. It’s funny how my father has embraced so many English things – even drinking tea when the weather is hot. After a year and a half of English school, I have nearly come to terms with it, but it still surprises me sometimes.
‘Did you enjoy your walk?’ he asked, smiling at us.
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Wong,’ said Daisy prettily.
‘I have good news,’ he told us. ‘I have done all the work I can until we get to Belgrade, and so I shall be able to spend time with you again. I know I’ve been dreadfully remiss this holiday – not much fun for you, is it, having to amuse yourselves? And after I promised to show you Europe—’
‘But we are seeing Europe,’ I said, thinking of the policemen, and the bomb, and Il Mysterioso’s secret identity, and the unknown spy (who was it?) still waiting to hand over the papers in Belgrade.
‘This is not the real Europe,’ said my father firmly. ‘Europe is history, and culture, and beauty.’
Daisy stared at him, and I knew she was marvelling at how blind grown-ups can be sometimes. But I felt very defensive about my father. He did not understand, but that was not his fault. For once, it was up to me to look after him.
‘We could solve some of the puzzles in our books,’ I said, and was rewarded when he smiled at me.
The three of us sat together and worked at crossword clues. It was oddly peaceful, and although I thought I should feel frustrated, I found myself enjoying it. It was good to be with my father, playing the sort of logic games that we used to in his study in Hong Kong, before I went away to school. I could tell that Daisy was frightfully bored, of course, but she disguised it well, and even pretended to get a few questions wrong, so that my father could be proud that I was cleverer than her.
At last the tea was finished, and all the éclairs and tarts had been quite eaten up. I felt hot and full, and very sleepy.
‘Why don’t you go back to your compartment and rest?’ asked my father, noticing my eyes begin to droop.
‘Oh, smashing idea,’ said Daisy, yawning daintily behind her hand. ‘I simply can’t seem to think any more.’
She was so convincing that I quite b
elieved her – until we got out into the corridor, where she turned right and stopped outside the Countess’s door.
Jocelyn was back at his post, the room searches over. I smiled at him politely, and tried to look as though I was not at all worried about what Daisy was planning.
I could hear scuffling inside the Countess’s compartment – bumps and scrabbles, which stopped the moment Daisy knocked on the door. There was a pause, and then the Countess opened the door. She looked flushed, little spots of colour on her thin cheeks. Behind her I could see clothes and bottles of scent and pots of face cream all flung about the floor – she must be searching for something, and I knew exactly what it was. She had discovered that the necklace was gone. I saw one other thing too – her cane was leaning against the far wall. The Countess had been searching her room without it; she was indeed more spry than she let on.
‘Hello, my lady,’ said Daisy, bobbing a curtsey. ‘We’re so terribly sorry to disturb you, but Hazel and I have just found a scarf, and we wondered if it might belong to you. It’s a red one – terribly pretty—’
‘It is certainly not mine,’ the Countess interrupted. ‘I don’t wear red. It brings back too many dreadful memories. Those Soviet barbarians – they called themselves Russians, but no true Russian would behave as they did!’ She seemed ready to launch into her favourite topic once more.
‘Oh dear,’ said Daisy politely, ‘how terrible. Many apologies for having disturbed you. We’ll leave you now.’
‘Indeed,’ said the Countess. ‘You have excellent manners, young lady. Not like some young people these days. If there must be a new generation, I suppose it is a good thing that children like you are a part of it.’ And she shut the door on us.
Daisy made wide eyes at me. I was not sure what to think. The Countess had sounded certain about the scarf – and not at all afraid or worried – but then again, she was such a fierce person that she would be able to bluff.
Daisy was off again, heading for our compartment – but of course she went on to the door next to ours and knocked on Sarah and Hetty’s door. Hetty opened it.