[Lord Edgington Investigates 05] - The Tangled Treasure Trail by Benedict Brown

Author:Benedict Brown [Brown, Benedict]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 8419162035
Publisher: Heathdene Books
Published: 2022-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

While Grandfather gave Todd more instructions, I took in the rather imposing building I was standing before. The construction had a somewhat fairy-tale-like appearance, with two turreted towers on either side of it and an immense granite base. Bands of red brick and Portland stone decorated the higher floors, and I found myself in quiet awe of our new surroundings.

“What do you think of that?” Grandfather asked, a proud note in his voice.

“Scotland Yard,” was all I could murmur in reply as, in my head, I was recalling all the wonderful stories I’d read that were connected to that famous location.

“It’s New Scotland Yard, in fact.” Grandfather is a stickler for accuracy. “Come along, Christopher.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. “Can we go inside?”

He was already a few steps away when Delilah barked a similar question.

“No. You stay here… and this time I mean it.”

I must have looked terribly glum as I sat down on Todd’s running board and waited for him to return.

“Not you, Christopher. The dog!”

I got to my feet and happily scampered after him through the discreet entrance, where a small plaque on the wall was the only thing to reveal the significance of that uniquely famous address.

“How can I help you gentlemen?” a young constable standing behind the front desk enquired. As soon as he said the words, an older, tubbier sergeant gave him a quick elbow and whispered something into his ear. The superior did not appear to be a fan of my grandfather, but the young chap clearly was. “Oh, my stars… Lord Edgington… What an honour.” He came out from behind the desk to shake the old superintendent’s hand. “That’s the only word for it. Really, it is. I became a policeman after my old dad used to tell me stories of what you achieved here all those years ago.”

He was still shaking Grandfather’s hand, and the sergeant was still glaring, when Lord Edgington replied. “It’s always a pleasure to meet young officers. I’m here to see P.C. Simpkin.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” Still moved by the encounter, the uniformed constable looked one way and then another, uncertain what to do next.

“Simpkin ain’t on duty today, Edgington,” the older chap said.

“Which is why I’d like to go to the Museum to see if he is there.” Grandfather could have lived to be a thousand and not been caught out by such an obviously grumpy character as Sergeant not important enough in this story to deserve a surname.

The constable looked at his superior for assistance.

“The Black Museum, boy. He’s talking about the Black Museum.”

His eyes grew just as wide as mine at that moment. Everyone had heard of the Black Museum. It was the room in Scotland Yard where they kept artefacts from some of the most notorious crimes of the last fifty years. It was normally only open to serving officers, and I was struggling to believe that I’d be allowed to set foot in such a remarkable – though admittedly terrifying – place.

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