“Is it a three pipe problem?” she asked.
“It may be,” he answered. “And I haven’t got Watson with me, so I am going to have to rely on your help.” That was a stupid thing to have said! Now she would think it was her fault if this turned into a disaster.
“Was it a black taxi, or like an ordinary car?”
“A black taxi.” She sounded certain.
“Where did you get it? Do you remember?”
“Of course I do. At the railway station.”
“Do you know which airport you landed at?”
“Heathrow.”
“Then it was Paddington. We are progressing.” He felt appallingly guilty for lying to her, building up hope he could not possibly fulfil. He should tell her the truth now: Sherlock Holmes is make-believe! There is no such person!
“Mummy called the company last night, to see if they had found Raffa,” she said, watching him intently. “But they didn’t say.”
A wave of relief welled up inside him. “Excellent! Then we will go back to the hotel and if we ask the right questions, we will be able to trace the call. If we can find Raffa then the people who have taken your mother will find us. Come.” He stood up.
“Is the game afoot?” she asked, scrambling to stand up as well.
He found himself smiling at the grown-up reference. “Yes, I rather think it is. Come on.”
“Yes, sir,” the receptionist said in reply to Marcus’s question. “Mrs. Waterman made a call yesterday evening. I have the number on her account. I’ll look it up for you.”
Sarah was watching Marcus with wide eyes, almost as if the problem were on the brink of solution. If the mother had spoken to the cab company last night, why had she not told her kidnappers the truth, that the giraffe had been left in the cab? Why risk being kidnapped? And above all, why leave Sarah alone? There had to be some other major factor that he did not know.
Maybe the giraffe was not in the taxi? Or maybe it wasn’t about him at all. But he must not tell her that. He needed her to be calm and thinking, remembering. He would have no idea what to do with a frightened and weeping child.
Also, he did not want to hurt her.
He thanked the receptionist, took the address of the cab company, and, holding Sarah by the hand, went out to the foyer to find a cab of their own.
As they sat side by side in the back, seat belts fastened, he began to ask her more about herself, her mother, where they lived and how long they were going to stay in England.
Most of it was just talk, to stop her sitting motionless and afraid. From what she said, she had a very nice house, plenty of space, always enough to eat, nice clothes and nice toys. It formed a picture of comfort and innocence. Then why the stolen toy giraffe, the kidnap and ransack of the hotel room? The real Sherlock Holmes would have a major clue by now—but there he was again! There was no “real” Sherlock Holmes. The whole thing was a good storyteller’s invention.
“Tell me more about Wayne,” he said with a note of desperation. “Do you like him?”
She hesitated. “Mummy likes him.” An answer in itself.
“What does he do?”
She stared straight ahead of her at the road jammed with traffic.
“He’s some kind of a banker. I asked him, but he said it was too complicated for me to understand. I don’t know why he said that. I know what banks are. They look after people’s money, and keep it safe. I told him I’m nearly nine, and I understand things, but I don’t think he believes me.”
“Maybe he’s not very good at explaining,” he suggested. “Some people aren’t.”
“My daddy was.”
He did not know how to answer.
“What did your daddy do?” He had to think of something, or it would sound as if he did not care.
“He was a diplomat.” She said it with pride. “That’s how we met Wayne, I think.” She sniffed. “He would know what to do. But he’s dead.”
More to think about. And it made the situation more complicated.
“How long ago was that?” he asked aloud.
“Two years,” she answered. “I suppose it’s all right for Mummy to marry Wayne now.”
“Well if it isn’t, I expect she won’t do it.” The moment the facile words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.
“I don’t think I want her to,” she said gravely. “We’re all right just the two of us.”
He had no answer to that at all.
“I suppose he is in Malaysia now?” he asked.
“Yes. This holiday is just for us.” She gulped. “When we find Raffa and get Mummy back.”
The taxi swung wide around a corner, dodging a motorbike, and Marcus spotted another black taxi with a light blue advertisement on the side. He had seen it before, far closer to the hotel. He saw it again a couple of blocks later, but when they pulled up at the taxi company offices it went on by. Had it been following them? Oh, if only he had a script written for this adventure!