she’d beaned with a cricket ball. She hoped his head was still splitting. He must have a good-sized bruise under his hood.
The Moth Club silently made their way down the spiral stairs.
Then, they heard voices – and froze, a tableau of cloaked, masked figures. On the next landing was a room. Lantern-light spilled out.
‘… there, the princess won’t slip from that so easily,’ drawled an all-too-familiar voice – Crowninshield. ‘My sis is an expert in these things. Houdini himself couldn’t get out of one of her corned-beef constrictor knots. Much less Nut-Brown Nancy here.’
Frecks quietly slapped her hockey stick into her hand.
Kali was here! And the worst of the Witches!
‘Wriggle all you like,’ Crowninshield crowed. ‘The rope only gets tighter. Minnie had more badges for knots than anyone in the Brownies, before they court-martialled her for demonstrating grief strangle knots on Brown Owl’s Pekingese.’
‘She does look funny, Beryl,’ said Crowninshield II. ‘I didn’t think girls her colour could go red in the face.’
An mmpphing noise suggested Kali was gagged. The tone of her muted protest indicated dire promises.
‘Now, give us some of that bottled beer, like you promised,’ Crowninshield demanded of her unknown confederates. ‘You chappies may be the most desperate Thuggees in far-off Whateveristan, but you’re no match for a Drearcliff whip! It’s a wonder Red Flame lets you hang around.’
Red Flame – the Leader of the Hooded Conspiracy!
Of course, who else would be the arch-enemy of the Moth Club but a flame?
Frecks was all for charging in, but Amy held her back. They were too close to blow the game by indiscriminate action.
A hooded man came on to the landing. The Moth Club stuck still, hiding in the dark. The wretched sisters trotted after him. Crowninshield was smoking a black cigarette and wearing make-up. Crowninshield II was fiddling with a cat’s cradle.
‘Beer’s down below, eh?’ said Crowninshield. ‘Makes sense. Keep it cool in the depths.’
‘Drink meeeee-eeeee,’ came a tiny, shrill, liquid voice from the lower floor.
The Hooded Conspirator, unused to Crowninshield’s vent act, clutched his throat in terror. She laughed nastily.
‘Give all your beeeeeer to Beryl,’ said a voice from nowhere. ‘Or face the wrath of the Great God Jumbo-Omooo!’
Crowninshield II tittered nastily.
The Hooded Conspirator produced a curved knife from his loose black blouse, but Crowninshield brushed it aside.
‘I say, for desperate characters, you mob are utter clots, aren’t you? There are Firsts who wouldn’t fall for that. Come on, bucko, let’s get that beer!’
Crowninshield prodded the knife-man with rather more confidence than Amy would have shown around such desperate fellows. With abduction and assassination to their credit, they’d scarcely stop at tossing a couple of extra heads on to the pile.
The sisters were led downstairs, away from the landing.
In the room, Kali mmmppphhed some more. Amy judged that at least one Hooded Conspirator was left to guard her – but probably no more. These were the best odds they would get.
She gave a low whistle, and the Moth Club sprang into action.
XVII: Desperate Rescue
K ALI WAS TIED up. Seemingly every part of her was individually tied to a particular part of a stout chair. A white scarf wound round the bottom half of her face, lipstick smile painted mockingly over her mouth. Her exposed eyes were darkly furious.
There was indeed but one Conspirator in the room, not even Hooded. He had taken off his mask to drink a mug of tea, and looked stricken to be caught with a naked face when the Moth Club burst in. He was an Englishman, to judge by his colour – but unthreateningly middle-aged. Hood-wearing had scraped his hair into a funny shape.
Frecks conked the Hoodless Conspirator squarely on the noggin. He went down like a slaughtered bull. His eyes rolled up and blood came out of his nose, but Amy
The Moth Club silently made their way down the spiral stairs.
Then, they heard voices – and froze, a tableau of cloaked, masked figures. On the next landing was a room. Lantern-light spilled out.
‘… there, the princess won’t slip from that so easily,’ drawled an all-too-familiar voice – Crowninshield. ‘My sis is an expert in these things. Houdini himself couldn’t get out of one of her corned-beef constrictor knots. Much less Nut-Brown Nancy here.’
Frecks quietly slapped her hockey stick into her hand.
Kali was here! And the worst of the Witches!
‘Wriggle all you like,’ Crowninshield crowed. ‘The rope only gets tighter. Minnie had more badges for knots than anyone in the Brownies, before they court-martialled her for demonstrating grief strangle knots on Brown Owl’s Pekingese.’
‘She does look funny, Beryl,’ said Crowninshield II. ‘I didn’t think girls her colour could go red in the face.’
An mmpphing noise suggested Kali was gagged. The tone of her muted protest indicated dire promises.
‘Now, give us some of that bottled beer, like you promised,’ Crowninshield demanded of her unknown confederates. ‘You chappies may be the most desperate Thuggees in far-off Whateveristan, but you’re no match for a Drearcliff whip! It’s a wonder Red Flame lets you hang around.’
Red Flame – the Leader of the Hooded Conspiracy!
Of course, who else would be the arch-enemy of the Moth Club but a flame?
Frecks was all for charging in, but Amy held her back. They were too close to blow the game by indiscriminate action.
A hooded man came on to the landing. The Moth Club stuck still, hiding in the dark. The wretched sisters trotted after him. Crowninshield was smoking a black cigarette and wearing make-up. Crowninshield II was fiddling with a cat’s cradle.
‘Beer’s down below, eh?’ said Crowninshield. ‘Makes sense. Keep it cool in the depths.’
‘Drink meeeee-eeeee,’ came a tiny, shrill, liquid voice from the lower floor.
The Hooded Conspirator, unused to Crowninshield’s vent act, clutched his throat in terror. She laughed nastily.
‘Give all your beeeeeer to Beryl,’ said a voice from nowhere. ‘Or face the wrath of the Great God Jumbo-Omooo!’
Crowninshield II tittered nastily.
The Hooded Conspirator produced a curved knife from his loose black blouse, but Crowninshield brushed it aside.
‘I say, for desperate characters, you mob are utter clots, aren’t you? There are Firsts who wouldn’t fall for that. Come on, bucko, let’s get that beer!’
Crowninshield prodded the knife-man with rather more confidence than Amy would have shown around such desperate fellows. With abduction and assassination to their credit, they’d scarcely stop at tossing a couple of extra heads on to the pile.
The sisters were led downstairs, away from the landing.
In the room, Kali mmmppphhed some more. Amy judged that at least one Hooded Conspirator was left to guard her – but probably no more. These were the best odds they would get.
She gave a low whistle, and the Moth Club sprang into action.
XVII: Desperate Rescue
K ALI WAS TIED up. Seemingly every part of her was individually tied to a particular part of a stout chair. A white scarf wound round the bottom half of her face, lipstick smile painted mockingly over her mouth. Her exposed eyes were darkly furious.
There was indeed but one Conspirator in the room, not even Hooded. He had taken off his mask to drink a mug of tea, and looked stricken to be caught with a naked face when the Moth Club burst in. He was an Englishman, to judge by his colour – but unthreateningly middle-aged. Hood-wearing had scraped his hair into a funny shape.
Frecks conked the Hoodless Conspirator squarely on the noggin. He went down like a slaughtered bull. His eyes rolled up and blood came out of his nose, but Amy
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