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- Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
A valuable painting leaves the train station in Galway in a guarded carriage. When the train arrives in Dublin, the painting is gone. Suspicion immediately falls on Mr Kavanagh, the train's guard. Twins Deirdre and Tim know their father isn't the thief, and they're determined to find out who is. Along with their friend Joe, they race against time to track down the painting … but as they close in on the thief they find themselves up against powerful enemies. Soon the children are battling not just to clear Mr Kavanagh's name – but for their very lives!
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Dedication
To Max, with much love.
Cast of Characters
Deirdre Kavanagh, twin sister of Tim.
Tim Kavanagh, Deirdre’s twin.
Mr Kavanagh, Deirdre and Tim’s father, guard on the Galway to Dublin train.
Mrs Kavanagh, Deirdre and Tim’s mother.
Joe Martin, Tim’s best friend.
Mr Martin, Joe’s widowed father, a clerk in the railway company.
Charles Wilson, a director at the National Gallery of Ireland.
Sadie Nolan, Maura Breslin, and Beth Breslin, local girls.
Superintendent Leech, police officer leading the investigation into the art theft.
Con Furlong, captain of a trawler.
Contents
Part One
Accusations
Chapter One
Iona Road, Dublin
FRIDAY 9 JUNE 1911
Deirdre Kavanagh had never committed a crime before. And if she got caught now, breaking into someone’s house, she would be in huge trouble. So make sure you don’t get caught. Because this was something she simply had to do for her father. Although Da – law-abiding, peaceable, and honest to his core – would be horrified if he knew she was breaking the law for him.
Deirdre knew, though, that she must put all that from her mind and keep her wits about her. She could feel her heart pounding. Mostly it was from fear of being discovered, though there was also a tiny hint of excitement at what she was doing.
She quickly scanned the study of the comfortable suburban house, eager to complete her mission and escape. The house was richly furnished, with polished mahogany bannisters on the stairs, deep pile carpets throughout, fine paintings on the walls, and a 10beautiful piano that Deirdre recognised as a Steinway. Even to a twelve-year-old it was obvious that this was the home of someone with money and taste.
Although she had a good reason for being here, she couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for invading another person’s privacy. Forget that, she told herself, concentrate on what you’re here for. What exactly she might find though, was hard to pin down. Evidence of some kind, clues to indicate that the owner of the house was involved in crime. But what precisely that might be she couldn’t say.
Deirdre understood that the owner of the house was unlikely to leave something incriminating in open view, but she still had to look for any hint of wrong-doing, any clues that might be of use. You’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, she reasoned as she went to examine the folders that were on the desk before her.
Quickly scanning through them, she saw that they contained notes about holiday schedules for staff at the National Gallery, travel and accommodation expenses for a recent trip to Galway, and dates, times, and list of exhibitors for a planned art exhibition. Nothing about any of them seemed suspicious to Deirdre, and she moved swiftly on, aware that every moment spent in the house added to the risk of being caught.
Her brother Tim was keeping watch in the road outside, and Deirdre had arranged that he would blow a football whistle to 11warn her if she needed to get out quickly. They had waited until the housekeeper had left to do the morning shopping before Deirdre had climbed the rear wall and gained entry to the back garden. It was a hot summer day, and Deirdre had guessed correctly that a kitchen window might be left open to let some cool air into the house. Entering through the downstairs window, Deirdre had quickly explored the empty house. She had decided that the study was the room most likely to provide clues to the owner’s activities, with the room full of files, ledgers, and notebooks.
The problem was time. The housekeeper had gone out with a shopping basket, but there was no way of knowing if she would be back soon after buying one or two items, or if her shopping trip would be more leisurely. And if she came back too soon…
Deirdre forced the thought from her mind, aware that if she gave way to fear it could paralyse her. Instead, she tried to concentrate on her task. She looked at the owner’s desk and read with interest a letter that lay open there, then she tried the top drawer. It wasn’t locked, and Deirdre opened it and saw that it contained an address book. She took it out and scanned through it. Deirdre had an excellent memory, and she trusted herself to memorise anything that might strike a suspicious note. But the names and addresses, written in neat, round, handwriting, all seemed to be either business contacts, or people – presumably friends and acquaintances – with addresses in the wealthier districts 12of the city. Which doesn’t rule out the possibility of them still being criminals, she thought.
Nothing struck Deirdre as being noteworthy, however, and she closed the address book, making sure to replace it exactly where she had found it. At the side of the drawer was another smaller book, and Deirdre took it up. Opening it, she realised that it was a planner, with names, dates, and times of appointments, written up in the same neat hand. She was scrutinising entries for the current month of June when she saw an entry that caught her attention. She paused for a moment, reflecting on it, then heard a sound that stopped her dead. A loud whistle blast had rent the air. Deirdre felt a stab of terror and she stood immobile. The housekeeper was returning.
Deirdre could feel her stomach tightening into a knot. But she couldn’t just stay here and be discovered. Moving quickly, she replaced the planner and shut the drawer. Please, God, let me not be caught, she thought. She strode across the study, hoping that she could swiftly descend the stairs and exit from the kitchen before the woman entered the house. She reached the landing and moved to the top of the stairs. Then she heard the sound of a key in the hall door.
Deirdre stopped, rooted to the spot in horror. For a second, she stood unmoving. Suddenly her survival instinct kicked in, and she did a fast about-face and reached the safety of the study just as she heard the front door opening.13
Deirdre stood motionless inside the study. Her breath was coming in short bursts, but she knew she had to calm herself and try to think clearly. The housekeeper was likely to bring her shopping into the kitchen, which meant that Deirdre couldn’t exit from the house the way she had entered. Could she chance descending the stairs at speed, and getting out the front door while the woman was in the kitchen? Maybe. It would be risky, but she might get away with it. Then again if the housekeeper heard the front door closing she would probably investigate immediately – and see Deirdre walking away from the house.
Deirdre heard the woman stepping into the hall now and closing the hall door behind her. Suddenly a new thought entered Deirdre’s head. What if the housekeeper didn’t go immediately to the kitchen. What if she came upstairs?
Frightened as she was, Deirdre was clear in her mind about one thing. She couldn’t let herself be arrested. Da was already in enough trouble, without his daughter being brought home by the police. She strained her ears and heard the sound of the woman’s footsteps going down the hall, then the kitchen door being opened and closed.
Deirdre felt a flood of relief. She knew though that her reprieve was temporary, and that there was no guarantee the housekeeper would stay in the kitchen. Deirdre thought again about quickly descending the stairs. If she went out the front door – but didn’t close it after her – the woman might hear nothing. And what of 14it if she later found the hall door slightly ajar? By then Deirdre could be walking innocently down the road.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the best that Deirdre could come up with. She took a deep breath, trying to get her nerve up for the risky act of descending the stairs. She was just about to move off when she heard another sound from down below. Deirdre stood stock still as she heard the housekeeper moving back along the hall. She prayed that the woman would enter one of the other rooms downstairs. Time seemed to stand still as she waited to see what would happen. Then her mouth went dry, and her knees began to tremble, as she heard the housekeeper beginning to climb the stairs.
15Four days earlier16
Chapter Two
GREAT WESTERN SQUARE, DUBLIN
MONDAY, 5 JUNE 1911
‘We need to talk, Joseph.’
Joe Martin had just finished a juicy slice of apple tart and he pushed aside his plate and looked across the dinner table at his father. Nobody except Dad ever called him Joseph, and he much preferred the more informal Joe, but he could hardly tell his father what to call him. Joe had been looking forward to returning to the Sherlock Holmes detective story that he was engrossed in, but now he would have to postpone that pleasure.
‘OK, Dad,’ he said. Although he was eager to resume reading, part of him was curious about what it was his father wanted to discuss. Dad wasn’t normally a great one for talking, so this was unusual.18
‘It’s eh…it’s a little tricky, Joseph,’ he said, looking uncomfortable.
Joe knew it must be something important for Dad to raise an awkward topic. He loved his father, who was decent and kind, but sometimes Joe wished that he wasn’t so reserved. But then Dad had never been good at showing his feelings – even before Mam had died. After the heartbreak of her death, though, Joe had thought he and Dad might form a closer bond. But in the three years since then Joe had had to accept that Dad hadn’t really changed. He looked at his father now and tried to help him out.
‘Whatever it is, Dad, just tell me.’
‘It’s Tim. Tim Kavanagh.’
‘What about Tim?’
‘I know you’re good pals, and he’s a nice boy, but…’
‘What?’
‘I think it might be wise to step back a little, Joseph. Just for now.’
‘Step back?’
‘Perhaps not see him too much. Until this theft business has been sorted out.’
Joe was shocked by his father’s suggestion. The previous week there had been a sensational art theft when the train from Galway to Dublin had been transporting valuable paintings back to the National Gallery after an exhibition. The most valuable of the paintings had somehow gone missing between the train leaving 19Galway and arriving in the capital. Tim’s father, Mr Kavanagh, was the guard on the train, and along with the driver, fireman, and three mail clerks, he had been questioned by the police.
‘Ah, Dad!’ said Joe. ‘You don’t really think Mr Kavanagh was involved?’
‘No, Joseph, I don’t. But it’s not what I think that matters. This reflects badly on the Midland Great Western Railway. Management are most unhappy.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘The newspapers are having a field day, Joseph. The police are in a tizzy. So, the whole company is under a cloud. I have to think of my position, for the sake of our family.’
Joe knew that his father put a high value on the fact that he was a white-collar worker in the Midland Great Western Railway’s Headquarters at nearby Broadstone Station. The houses in the Great Western Square complex had been built for employees of the railway, but there were deliberate differences in design, with general workers like Tim’s dad living in a terrace of smaller houses while Joe and his father lived in a larger house that had a pocket garden in front. Joe thought that such distinctions were foolish, but he knew his father – and the railway company – took these things seriously, so he had to go carefully here.
‘I know, Dad, that the robbery was awful. But I thought that under the law you’re innocent until proven guilty.’
‘Well, yes, that’s true. But…’20
‘But not Mr Kavanagh?’
‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Joseph. I told you I don’t doubt Mr Kavanagh’s honesty. And this would only be until this issue is sorted out.’
‘What happens if it’s not sorted out? Supposing they never catch the thief?’
‘We must hope and pray that’s not the case. It’s just…this is a difficult time, Joseph.’
‘Is that not when a true friend should stand by his pal?’
Joe looked appealingly at his father. In fairness to Dad, he had always had a strong sense of justice, and Joe hoped that his arguments might have swayed him.
Dad looked torn, then seemed to reach a decision.
‘All right, then. You don’t have to break off contact with Tim. But be discreet, Joseph. Tim’s father is certain to be questioned further. So when it comes to the Kavanaghs, try to keep out of the public gaze, all right?’
Joe looked at his father and felt a surge of affection for him. ‘All right, Dad,’ he said. ‘And…and thanks…’
* * *
Golden evening sunshine flooded the backyard, the heat of the June day lingering in the air. The puffing of a steam train approaching Broadstone station drowned out the earlier sound of 21birdsong, and clouds of smoke from the train’s engine rose into the blue summer sky as Tim Kavanagh and Deirdre, his twin, sat on a bench in their small backyard.
‘This feels like rubbish!’ said Tim, putting down a sheet with lyrics written on it. ‘I can’t concentrate. I can’t make this better.’
‘I’m the same,’ said Deirdre.
They were supposed to be working on a comedy song that they were to perform with their friend Joe Martin at the annual Great Western Square residents’ concert, but Tim breathed out in frustration. ‘It feels kind of silly now,’ he said. ‘Compared to what’s happening with Da.’
‘I know,’ agreed Deirdre. ‘I hate the way they’re acting like he’s a thief. I mean, anyone who knows Da could tell you he’s dead honest.’
‘They don’t care,’ said Tim. ‘They just want to arrest someone for the stolen painting.’
‘Did you know that when the train reached Dublin they didn’t just question Da, they searched him too?’
‘What?’
‘Like he was a pickpocket or something,’ added Deirdre disgustedly.
‘Did Da tell you this?’
‘No. You know him, he’s bending over backwards to shield us. But I heard him talking to Ma before he left, and he’s worried sick.’22
Tim felt really bad. His father had gone fishing in the Royal Canal, and Tim suspected that it was to give him a break from putting on a brave face.
‘It’s so unfair,’ he said. ‘People who don’t know him could think he’s a thief now.’
‘That’s not his biggest worry,’ said Deirdre.
‘No? What is?’
‘He said to Ma he was afraid he could lose his job.’
‘They can’t do that!’ said Tim immediately.
Deirdre didn’t answer, and Tim looked at her enquiringly. ‘Can they?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Surely they’d need proof to sack you for being a thief.’
‘You’d think so. But maybe if there’s a question mark over your good name they could decide they don’t want you working for them.’
‘I wish they’d just catch the thief and end all this,’ said Tim.
‘Me too. But we can’t do anything right now, so we should probably try to work on the song.’
‘All right. I wonder what’s keeping Joe?’
‘He said he’ll be here, so he will be.’
Tim nodded as he picked up the lyrics again. Deirdre was right, and Tim knew he was lucky to have a friend like Joe who was always as good as his word. In some ways they were unlikely friends. Joe was strong and sporty, and the star of their school’s 23Gaelic football team. Tim by contrast was slightly built and not very good at sports. But both boys loved reading, and the combination of being bookworms, close neighbours, and the same age had made them firm friends.
‘I wonder would the sketch work better if I did the song in a different accent?’ said Tim, studying the lyrics again.
Deirdre considered for a moment ‘Well, you brought the house down when you did the Scottish accent at last year’s concert.’
Tim knew he was good at acting – it was what he wanted to do when he grew up – but he looked at his sister uncertainly. ‘Or maybe that would feel like we were repeating ourselves.’
‘Look who’s coming,’ said Deirdre. ‘Why don’t we ask himself?’
Tim looked up from the lyrics as the back door opened, then Joe stepped out into the yard.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late.’
‘It’s grand, sure you’re here now,’ said Deirdre.
‘What kept you anyway?’ asked Tim.
‘I was doing a bit of thinking,’ answered Joe, a hint of excitement in his voice. ‘Maybe you’ll say I’m mad, but I’ve had this idea that…I think you should hear.’
‘OK, Joe,’ said Tim with a smile. ‘You’ve whetted our curiosity. What is it?’
* * *
24The back door swung open, and Mrs Kavanagh stepped out into the yard carrying a tray of mugs of milk and plates of soda bread smothered in jam.
‘Refreshments for the artistes!’ she said jokingly doing a French pronunciation on artistes.
Joe grinned in return, recognising that his friends’ mother was striving to keep things normal despite the tension that he knew the family was under. He liked her outgoing personality, and he appreciated the way she treated him almost as though he too were one of the Kavanaghs. Partly it was to do with him being friends with Tim and Deirdre. Joe suspected though that it was also rooted in kindness, and her awareness that although on two days a week a housekeeper prepared meals and cleaned the Martins’ house, living with just his father could sometimes be lonely.
Joe hadn’t had a chance to share his big idea with Tim and Deirdre, but he was happy enough to wait a little longer if it meant enjoying Mrs Kavanagh’s home baking.
‘Rhubarb jam. Mouth-watering, if I say so myself!’ she said.
‘Thanks, Mrs K,’ answered Joe, ‘it looks great.’
‘Let me at it,’ said Deirdre. ‘After strawberry jam, rhubarb’s my favourite.’
‘Don’t scoff it all, greedy-guts,’ said Mrs Kavanagh.
‘As if I would,’ answered Deirdre playfully in a pious voice.
All of the friends took their mugs of milk and slices of soda 25bread, then Mrs Kavanagh paused before heading back to the kitchen.
‘On a serious note,’ she said, her face suddenly grave.
‘What?’ said Tim.
‘Did you hear about the accident at the jam factory?’
‘No,’ said Joe.
‘Nothing could be preserved!’
‘Mam, that’s terrible,’ said Deirdre in mock protest, but she was smiling, and Joe laughed with Tim despite the joke being silly. He knew that Mrs Kavanagh must be worried about her husband, and he admired her for trying hard to keep life normal for her children.
After she went back inside, closing the door after her, the three friends eagerly tucked into the jam-covered soda bread.
Tim wiped a tiny moustache of milk from his upper lip, then turned to Joe. ‘So, you were about to tell us your mad idea?’
‘Yeah…’ Joe paused, unsure how best to proceed.
‘Well?’ prompted Deirdre.
‘All right,’ said Joe. ‘Believe it or not, it started with the latest Sherlock Holmes book you lent me. I love the way Holmes’ mind works. And it got me thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘About the art theft. And how Holmes might try to solve it. I thought…I thought maybe we could try to do that.’
‘Find out who stole the painting?’ asked Deirdre.26
Joe could hear the disbelief in her voice, and he quickly held up his hand. ‘Please. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not treating this like a game. I know it’s serious for your family.’
‘OK,’ said Tim. ‘But…what would we do?’
‘If we discovered who the thief was, it would clear your da’s name. And the other people who are under suspicion.’
‘That would be brilliant,’ said Deirdre. ‘But if the police can’t do it, how could we?’
‘Maybe by thinking in a way the police don’t think.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Tim.
‘I wrote it all down – everything I know,’ said Joe, taking a piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolding it. ‘So let’s go through what we have, and lay out the facts.’
‘All right,’ said Deirdre.
‘So am I right that there were three mail clerks, a driver, a fireman, and a guard – your da – working on the train that night?’
‘Yes,’ answered Tim.
‘And there were three passenger carriages?’
Tim nodded. ‘Two second-class carriages and one first-class. Mr Wilson, the man from the National Gallery, travelled in the first-class carriage.’
‘But no one else from any passenger carriage would be allowed into the guard’s van,’ said Deirdre. ‘And that’s where they sorted the mail and stored the paintings.’
‘So the people who could go in are the staff working on the 27train – the three mail clerks, your da, the driver and the fireman.’
‘And the station-master in Athlone where they stopped to take on water,’ added Tim.
‘All right,’ said Joe. ‘And Mr Wilson, the Director from the National Gallery, supervised the loading of the right number of crates of paintings into the guard’s van?’
‘Yes,’ said Deirdre. ‘Our da and the three mail clerks all saw that.’
‘Fine,’ said Joe, lowering his notes. ‘So what it boils down to is that the paintings were put onto the train leaving Galway, and when the train reached Dublin the most valuable painting was gone.’
Tim nodded again. ‘The police reckon one of the workers on the train has to be the thief. Mr Wilson checked all the paintings when the train arrived in Dublin, and he called the police the minute he found that one frame was empty. He made sure all the staff on the train were questioned, and searched, before they were allowed to leave the station, and nothing was found.’
‘But the painting can’t have vanished into thin air,’ said Joe.
‘No,’ said Deirdre. ‘But how are we supposed to see it in a different way to the police?’
‘That’s where the Sherlock Holmes thing got me thinking. Holmes claimed that when you rule out the impossible, then whatever you’re left with must be the truth, however unlikely it seems.’
‘Yes, I love the way he does that,’ said Tim. ‘But how do we do 28it in this case?’
‘If the painting was gone when the train arrived in Dublin,’ answered Joe, ‘and none of the staff had it, and it didn’t vanish in thin air, what does that leave?’
Deirdre and Tim looked thoughtful, then Deirdre shook her head. ‘Sorry, Joe, I can’t come up with anything.’
‘Me neither,’ conceded Tim.
‘The only explanation is that it wasn’t on the train leaving Galway.’
‘But…but that doesn’t make sense,’ said Deirdre. ‘We know it was.’
‘How do we know?’ asked Joe.
‘Mr Wilson confirmed it.’
‘Exactly,’ said Joe. ‘Mr Wilson confirmed it. But nobody else actually saw the painting in its crate on the train in Galway. We’ve only Mr Wilson’s word.’
Joe could see that Tim and Deirdre were taken aback.
‘But…why would he lie?’ asked Tim.
Joe looked his friend in the eye. ‘Why do you think?’
‘You’re not saying…that he robbed the painting he was in charge of?’ said Tim incredulously. ‘Da says he’s a director in the National Gallery – it would be like robbing himself.’
‘But he wouldn’t be robbing himself. He’d be robbing his employer. And the fact that it seems unthinkable is the clever part. He makes himself the victim of a crime, and makes it seem 29that one of the train staff must be the thief. Why would the police think the unthinkable? Why would it occur to them to suspect a highly respectable Director of the National Gallery, someone who raised the alarm in horror, and seemed the victim of a crime?’
‘It’s…it’s still pretty outrageous,’ said Deirdre.
‘It is,’ agreed Joe. ‘So it’s much more likely that the police – and everyone else – would jump to the wrong conclusion.’
‘My head is reeling,’ said Tim.
‘Mine was too when it first hit me. But no other answer fits all the facts, and this one does.’
‘So, what can we do?’ asked Deirdre.
‘Take it on as a case the way Holmes does. We could look into this Mr Wilson. What do you think?’
There was a pause as Tim and Deirdre looked at each other. Joe said nothing further, figuring that it was their decision.
‘If there’s any chance of clearing Da’s name, we should do it,’ said Deirdre.
Tim nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
‘So, the three of us take it on?’ said Joe.
‘Yeah, count me in,’ said Deirdre.
‘Me too,’ added Tim.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Joe. ‘Let’s check out Mr Wilson.’
Chapter Three
‘Train, train, number nine,
Run along a crooked line,
If the train goes off the track,
Do you want your money back?’
Deirdre listened to the skipping rhyme, then timed her move perfectly, stepping under the skipping rope and jumping easily each time it spun down towards her feet. The local girls often played street games at the entrance to Western Square park, and Deirdre now jumped in tandem with Sadie Nolan, one of her classmates from school, while two other girls, Beth and Maura Breslin, swung the skipping rope and chanted the rhyme.
Classes had finished for the summer the previous week, and there was still an air of novelty about being off school that had the girls in good humour. Though they were neighbours and classmates, Deirdre had never really liked Sadie Nolan, who tended to talk about people behind their backs and to play off one friend against another. Still, Mam always said that everyone in life was on the same journey, and that we should try to get on as best we can with anyone we met.
Although it was only ten o’clock in the morning the air was warm already, and the bright June sunshine held the promise of a hot summer day. Despite the cloud hanging over her father 31because of the art theft, Deirdre felt better this morning than she had in the six days since the painting had gone missing. Partly it was the sunshine and the summer holidays stretching in front of her, but also she felt energised by the decision made last night with Joe and Tim to start their own investigation. Deirdre wasn’t as keen on detective stories as Joe and her brother were, but the fact that they were planning to take action had given her a lift.
