The World's Greatest Detective Read online

  Two floors below, there was a huge and echoing crash. “THAT PUFFED-UP, SELF-SERVING OLD OSTRICH!” shouted Uncle Gabriel.

  Toby took the stairs three at a time. Even a junior detective could tell that something awful had happened.

  CHAPTER 3

  A CURIOUS INVITATION

  Toby found Uncle Gabriel in the kitchen. He was standing in front of a bowl of pancake batter and wearing one of the cook’s frilly flowered aprons, with a spatula in one hand and a steaming frying pan at his feet. Something thick and brown was leaking out of the frying pan onto the floor. The square envelope that had arrived in that morning’s mail lay on the counter, covered in a fine layer of flour. There was a fine layer of flour all over Uncle Gabriel, too. But he didn’t seem to notice the mess or the steaming pan; he didn’t even seem to notice Toby. He just kept glaring at the envelope.

  “What is it, sir?” Toby asked, remembering too late that he wasn’t supposed to say sir anymore.

  Uncle Gabriel looked up at him as though he’d been pulled away from a dream. “Hugh Abernathy,” he muttered, poking at the envelope with the blade of his spatula as though the letter inside might bite him. “Hugh Abernathy has ruined my pancakes.”

  Toby couldn’t believe this accusation was entirely fair. “I heard you call him an ostrich again,” Toby said, picking up the hot frying pan and putting it back on the stove before it had a chance to burn him. “Why did you do that?”

  Uncle Gabriel glowered. “Because I hate ostriches.” He lifted the flour-covered envelope onto his spatula and held it out to Toby. “Just look at what that insufferable man dared to send me!”

  Gingerly, Toby took the envelope. It had been ripped open without much care, and the green-inked letter inside was splotched with pancake batter. “You can read the dratted thing if you’d like,” said Uncle Gabriel, “but it might put you off your breakfast.”

  Dear Esteemed Friend and Colleague,

  For twenty years, I have earned my livelihood here on Detectives’ Row. I have tried to uncover the truth of every circumstance, unravel the most tangled of plots, and bring even the most dangerous criminals to justice. More often than not, I have been fortunate enough to succeed in these aims. Even the greatest detectives must make way for a new generation of talented investigators, however, and I am no different. It is time for me to pass on my good fortune to one of my neighbors: in other words, to one of you!

  On the first weekend in May, I will be hosting a friendly competition at Coleford Manor. Food will be served, games will be played—and a crime will be committed. Who will the guilty party be? That is for you to deduce. You must work quickly, though, for whoever is first to solve the crime will win ten thousand dollars, my personal recommendation, and the title of World’s Greatest Detective.

  I hope you will join me in this contest of wits, and I look forward to seeing you soon.

  Yours,

  Hugh Abernathy

  “Disgraceful, isn’t it?” Uncle Gabriel spooned more circles of batter into the frying pan. “‘Esteemed Friend and Colleague?’ We’re barely colleagues, and we’re certainly not friends.”

  Toby didn’t hear much of this. He wasn’t sure he’d taken a breath since he’d started reading the letter, and he worried he might faint into the bowl of pancake batter. “Ten thousand dollars!” he shouted. “We could buy Mrs. Arthur-Abbot a whole new motorcar with that!” It was more money than he’d seen in his life, maybe even more than his parents had ever seen. It was enough to keep Uncle Gabriel from worrying about clients and heating bills and groceries and nephews; it was enough to shove all thoughts of Inspector Webster’s correspondence course out of Toby’s mind. Ten thousand dollars could change his life.

  Then he saw the look on Uncle Gabriel’s face.

  “You are going to enter the competition,” Toby said, “aren’t you?”

  Uncle Gabriel set down his spatula and put both his large hands on Toby’s shoulders. “We may not know each other very well yet,” he said, “but I promise you I have more self-respect than that. I’ve been doing this work for decades, I’ve done it well, and I don’t see why Hugh Abernathy’s opinion of my talent should matter in the least.” He snorted. “Can you imagine it? Wasting a perfectly good weekend sipping champagne in the countryside, solving a made-up crime when I could be working on a real case instead? The idea is ridiculous!”

  Toby thought of all those bills stacked on Uncle Gabriel’s desk, and all the ones that hadn’t arrived yet. “But the money—”

  “Yes, Tobias, it’s true we don’t have any.” Uncle Gabriel looked Toby straight in the eye. Behind him, the pancakes were starting to smoke. “Our roof leaks whenever it rains, our pipes freeze whenever it snows, our floorboards creak, and our walls are overrun with mice. I can’t deny that ten thousand dollars would be enough to solve our troubles, but I’ve got too much dignity to beg for it from Hugh Abernathy. We don’t need his charity, and we certainly don’t need him to tell us who is the world’s greatest detective.” He frowned. “Oh dear. Have I upset you?”

  “It’s the pancakes,” Toby said nervously. “They’re . . . well . . . they’re on fire.”

  Uncle Gabriel wheeled around. “I need tea towels!” he boomed. “The damper the better. This is all Hugh Abernathy’s fault!” Toby scrambled through the kitchen, gathering the towels that had been tossed into drawers and flung over chairs, while Uncle Gabriel doused them in water and did his best to smother the flames. “Take that letter away from me, Tobias,” he called across the smoky kitchen. “Put it out with the trash. And don’t bother to send a reply. It would only flatter Abernathy’s ego, and I can’t think of anything worse than that.”

  Toby couldn’t bring himself to throw the letter away. In the washroom, he smoothed out the corners of the paper that Uncle Gabriel had crumpled. Then he folded it so its edges and corners were perfectly lined up, and he tucked it into his pocket. There it sat all through breakfast, poking into Toby’s leg and refusing to leave his thoughts as he spread the last of the week’s butter on his blackened pancakes. “Uncle Gabriel,” he said, “may I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” said Uncle Gabriel, “and always.”

  “Why do you dislike Mr. Abernathy so much?”

  Burned bits of pancake crunched between Uncle Gabriel’s teeth. “I didn’t always dislike him. We were friends once, if you can believe it. Then we quarreled. It was the sort of quarrel a friendship can’t recover from. In fact,” said Uncle Gabriel, “I broke his nose.”

  “You didn’t!” Toby was horrified.

  “I certainly did. It was up to me to either forgive the man or punch him, and since I couldn’t bear to forgive him, I chose the punch instead. It wasn’t my proudest moment.” Uncle Gabriel smiled. “Still, I can’t say I regret it.”

  “What did you quarrel about?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, Tobias,” said Uncle Gabriel, “I’d rather not discuss it.”

  Toby considered this as he chewed. Mr. Abernathy’s nose had probably healed ages ago, but it was obvious that Uncle Gabriel still felt sore about their argument. “If he did something unforgivable to you,” he suggested, “and you took his money, it might not be charity. It might be revenge.”

  This made Uncle Gabriel laugh. “I like your view of things,” he said, “and I can’t deny that I’m curious about that contest. I wonder what Hugh Abernathy thinks he’s up to. Whatever it is, though, I won’t be in town to find out about it. I’ve already made traveling plans for the first weekend in May: there’s a long-term case of mine that’s on the verge of cracking open, and I’ll need to go abroad for a few days.”

  “Really?” Toby had never traveled before, not far enough to count. The promise of a trip abroad was almost as exciting as a weekend with Mr. Abernathy. “Will you need a detective’s assistant to help you with the case?”

  Uncle Gabriel fidgeted with his fork. “Actually,” he said, “I won’t. I’ve booked only one ticket on the overnight fer
ry to Gallis. I’ll ask Mrs. Satterthwaite to stay here with you, though, so you won’t be entirely alone.”

  “Oh,” said Toby. “Right. Of course.” He couldn’t believe he’d let himself get his hopes up. After all, he wasn’t a real detective yet, and the overnight ferry probably wasn’t cheap.

  “I’m sorry, Tobias,” Uncle Gabriel said. He sounded like he really was sorry, too, which made it even worse. “I’d like nothing more than to take you with me, but it just isn’t possible.”

  “Don’t worry, sir,” said Toby. “It’s all right. I understand.” Then he pushed his chair away from the table, gathered up the plates even though they were still halfway full, and ran back to the kitchen before Uncle Gabriel could get any kinder. The kinder he was, the worse it would be when Toby had to leave him.

  Late that night, Toby lay on the floor of his bedroom. He pressed his ear to the floorboards and tried not to make a sound until he was sure he could hear Uncle Gabriel snoring in the room below. Then he lit the candle next to his bed, pulled out his suitcase, and settled into his blankets with Inspector Webster’s Detection Correspondence Course, level one.

  The first lesson was all about interviewing suspects, and the second was about tracking a criminal’s movements. Toby couldn’t practice these techniques very well by himself in the middle of the night, but he hoped Inspector Webster would understand. By the time he was starting to yawn, he’d read through two more lessons, drawn a map of a crime scene in his new notebook, and learned to identify the three most popular poisons. Still, he knew it wasn’t enough. He’d have to do much more than that if he wanted to make enough money for Uncle Gabriel to keep him. At breakfast, Uncle Gabriel had said that ten thousand dollars would solve their troubles. How long did it take to make ten thousand dollars? Toby had a feeling he’d be conducting interviews and drawing crime scene maps until he was ninety.

  The candlelight in Toby’s room reflected off the glass boxes that held mementoes of Uncle Gabriel’s past cases, flickering over old ransom notes and bullet casings. Uncle Gabriel may not have been a wealthy detective, but it didn’t look to Toby like he was a bad one, either. Why did he have to hold a grudge against Hugh Abernathy? Why couldn’t he just cancel his trip abroad and enter that contest? If Toby’d had the chance to win ten thousand dollars, he never would have let it pass him by. He’d march up to Coleford Manor, solve the crime before the other contestants had time to realize they’d been bested, accept that prize money from the most famous detective in the city, and hand it all over to Uncle Gabriel. He’d never have to worry again that the trouble would sneak up behind him, sink in its teeth, and drag him away. If he won Mr. Abernathy’s contest, he could afford to be fearless.

  Toby sat straight up in bed, sending the pages of the correspondence course flying. What was he thinking? The first weekend in May was only a few months away. He wouldn’t be more than halfway through Inspector Webster’s lessons by the time the competition began; he could never win that contest himself. It was a terrible idea, even worse than the time he let Uncle Howard’s horses run free and half of them never came back. Toby knew he didn’t stand a chance of winning that money.

  Then again, what if he did?

  The trouble creaked in the eaves.

  “Go ahead,” Toby told it, suddenly feeling bold. “Creak as much as you like. No matter what you do, I’m going to find a way to stay here.”

  CHAPTER 4

  A VISIT TO MR. ABERNATHY

  Making an excuse to leave the house the next day turned out to be easier than Toby had expected. Uncle Gabriel was so absorbed in his long-term case that he hardly even raised his eyes from his work when Toby told him he was going for a walk.

  “All right,” Uncle Gabriel said, “but be careful, Tobias. Miss March came by this morning to say that another convict’s escaped from Chokevine Prison, and the city coppers haven’t found him yet. If they left these matters to private detectives, we’d have the man back in cuffs by now.” He shook his head, just as everyone on Detectives’ Row always did when the subject of the local police came up. Convicts were as common as fruit flies in Colebridge, but they had a worrying habit of escaping. “In any case, if you’re not back in an hour, I reserve the right to start worrying about you.”

  “I won’t be long,” Toby promised. “I’m just going down to the High Street.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure there’s no chance you’ll enter Mr. Abernathy’s competition?”

  “Let me put it this way,” said Uncle Gabriel. “There’s more of a chance that you and I will both grow wings this very evening and fly over the rooftops of Colebridge, squawking at each other like ravens. Do you take my point?”

  “I do,” said Toby. “I’ll let you know if I feel any feathers poking through.”

  Uncle Gabriel boomed with laughter, and Toby slipped out the door before the sound of it could make him change his mind. He hoped his uncle wouldn’t choose that afternoon to take his own stroll down Detectives’ Row. If he did, he’d almost certainly spot Toby waiting to speak to Hugh Abernathy.

  Toby had spent all night thinking about exactly what to say to Mr. Abernathy and exactly how to say it. He rehearsed his lines quietly to himself as he walked down the street. “Thank you for agreeing to see me, sir,” he whispered. “I’ve been reading about your adventures for years. I’m a huge fan, actually, even though my uncle broke your nose, and—oh! Hello there, boy!”

  This wasn’t part of what Toby had planned to say to Mr. Abernathy. A small brown dog with wiry fur and bushy eyebrows had run up to him and placed its forepaws on Toby’s knee. Now it was waving its tail like a flag and doing its best to lick whichever parts of Toby it could reach. Toby knelt down to scratch its ears. He liked dogs. There had been a pack of foxhounds at Uncle Howard’s stables, and Aunt Janet had once owned a friendly white dog named Eglantine. Eglantine was just about the only thing Toby missed about living with Aunt Janet.

  “What are you doing here all alone?” Toby asked as the dog set to work licking his nose. “Are you lost?” He had a sudden, terrible thought. “You don’t belong to an escaped convict, do you?”

  “Percival! Come back here!” A girl ran up to them, holding a bright red collar and leash in one hand. “He’s always running off,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “You shouldn’t let him jump up on you like that; it’ll only encourage him.”

  “I really don’t mind,” said Toby. He got to his feet and watched the girl as she fastened Percival’s collar. Even the worst detective on the Row would have noticed her: she wore a long, sea-green evening gown, white gloves that stretched almost to her shoulders, and a grimy fedora, which she’d pulled low over her black hair. Toby was pretty sure she wasn’t a convict after all, but she did look familiar. “You were here yesterday morning, too, weren’t you?” he asked. “You watched me from across the street when I went to get the mail.”

  “You’re wrong.” The girl glared up at him so fiercely that Toby took a few steps backward. “That absolutely, definitely wasn’t me.”

  “Yes, it was! You were wearing spectacles, and you didn’t have that awful hat on, but your dog was with you, and he still looks exactly the same.”

  The girl sighed. “Well, maybe it was me, but I wasn’t watching you. I was just taking Percival for a walk.” She stood up and dusted herself off. “And I like this hat. I hope you’re done making fun of it, because I have to get home.”

  Toby felt a little guilty about forgetting to be polite—the hat wasn’t that awful—but the girl didn’t seem interested in waiting for an apology. She picked up the train of her evening gown, tugged at Percival’s leash, and started down the street toward Uncle Gabriel’s. “Do you live on the Row?” he called after her. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  The girl turned back to Toby. “I’m visiting my grandmother. She lives on the next street over.”

  “On Slaughter’s Lane?” Toby was surprised. Uncle Gabriel wouldn’t allow Toby to set even
one foot in Slaughter’s Lane. The city’s most notorious pickpockets, kidnappers, and con men were rumored to gather in its grimy gaming parlors and shadow-filled alleys—that is, when they gathered at all. Only the shiftiest criminals still roamed free in Colebridge, and they knew better than to spend too much time near Detectives’ Row. “Is your grandmother a criminal?” Toby asked.

  The girl hesitated. “Yes,” she said, “that’s right. She’s a murderess, in fact. And she’s training me to be one, too, so you’d better not interrogate me again.”

  “I wasn’t—” Toby started to protest, but the girl was already hurrying away, with Percival trotting along behind her.

  Toby had lived with Uncle Gabriel long enough to know that unlike the rest of Detectives’ Row, where clients turned up at unpredictable hours if they bothered to turn up at all, Mr. Abernathy’s office operated according to a strict routine. The detective saw clients every weekday from ten until three. Each morning, at ten o’clock exactly, the shiny black front door of his house would swing open and a man dressed from head to toe in green would bow to the crowd of people gathered on the sidewalk. Then he would lead one lucky client into the house. Several long, boring minutes would pass while the people in the crowd checked their watches, tried to peer through the windows, and speculated about the great feats of detection Mr. Abernathy might be performing at that very moment. Eventually, the door would swing open again, the client would be ushered out (sometimes looking hopeful, other times in tears), and the man in green would begin the process all over again.

  Toby knew this was how it always went at Mr. Abernathy’s, but now that he was here, he realized he couldn’t waste time standing on his tiptoes at the back of the crowd. He’d already spent too long talking to the strange girl in the evening gown, and he had less than an hour before Uncle Gabriel came looking for him. Apologizing in his head to Aunt Janet, who strongly believed that everyone should wait their turn, he began to weave his way through the cluster of ladies and gentlemen in front of him.