Journey to the River Sea

‘There is always a first time,’ said the professor cheerfully. ‘The spare keys are hanging on that hook over there. And I’m going out in half an hour to have my lunch.’

‘There she is,’ said Mr Trapwood, looking out of the window of the Pension Maria at the slender blue funnel of HMS Bishop, the sister ship of the Cardinal, which had just come into port. She would spend four days on the turnabout while the crew cleaned the ship, took on supplies and had some time ashore. Then on Saturday morning she would set off again, to the mouth of the Amazon, across the Atlantic and back to Britain.

The crows had been so sure of finding Taverner’s son that they had booked a three-berth cabin for the return journey.

But they were beginning to give up hope. For it was clear that the wretched boy was deliberately hiding from them. At first people had tried to deny that Taverner had a son at all. Now, though, they were beginning to laugh behind their sleeves, and as the day for the detectives’ departure grew closer there were sly digs about the boy having outwitted them.

But why? The crows were hurt. They had come as bearers of good tidings to bring a savage jungle boy the news of his inheritance. They had been prepared to introduce him gradually to polite society – perhaps on the journey to teach him to use a knife and fork. Sir Aubrey had even given them some money to buy him clothes, in case he’d been brought up in a grass skirt.

And they had expected gratitude. It was only natural.

‘Thank you, Mr Low,’ the boy would have said, grasping them by the hand. And: ‘Thank you, Mr Trapwood. You have saved me from a life of toil and darkness.’

Instead of that the boy was deliberately hiding and everyone in Manaus seemed to be helping him.

‘We’ve got three more days,’ said Mr Trapwood. ‘There’s still a chance to flush him out.’

‘To carry him aboard by force if necessary.’

‘To get the bonus from Sir Aubrey!’

That was the most important thing of all. Sir Aubrey had promised them a hundred pounds each if they brought his grandson safely home.

‘I still think there was something fishy about that pigtailed girl at the Carters’ place.’

Mr Low agreed. ‘She had a shifty look. We’ll have to keep an eye on her.’

The crows were looking very much the worse for wear. Their black suits were dusty and torn; the maid at the Pension Maria had burnt every one of their shirts as she ironed them. Mr Trapwood’s face was covered in lumps where the bites of the tabernid fly had gone septic, and both their stomachs had become boiling caverns of agony and wind.

‘But we can still do it,’ said Mr Trapwood, punching the table. ‘We’ll try downriver this time. Those houses by the fishing place. The people there look poor enough; they should take some notice of the reward.’

Mr Low nodded and made his way stealthily towards the door.

‘If you’re thinking of getting to the lavatory before me, don’t try,’ said Mr Trapwood. ‘I’m going first.’

‘No you aren’t. I need it!’

‘You need it . . .!’

Shoving and jostling, the two detectives raced each other down the corridor.

Professor Glastonberry, making his way up the hill to the café where he usually had his lunch, stopped, as he always did, by the bookshop in the Square. It was run by a man who bought in books from all over Brazil, specializing in books about Natural History.

In the window was a copy of Travels in the Amazon, by Alfred Russel Wallace, open at a beautiful woodcut of an Indian village.

He was admiring it, when he realized that the tall, straight-backed woman who was also staring in to the window was the lady who had left Maia in the museum.

‘A beautiful book,’ he said, raising his hat.

She sighed. ‘Yes. Quite above my means, I fear.’

‘It is not a first edition,’ he said. ‘You might get it quite reasonably. I know the owner – perhaps he would put it aside for a while.’

‘Thank you, but he would have to put it aside for most of my life. My salary is not . . . princely . . . even when it is paid.’

Both of them looked for a while longer at the book. Then Miss Minton gave her tight-lipped smile.

‘I was dismissed once for reading,’ she said.

‘Really?’ The professor waited but she said no more. ‘I left Maia working hard,’ he went on. ‘The caretaker promised to keep an eye on her.’

Did she know what Maia was really doing in the museum? he wondered. Probably not, yet she didn’t look like a person easy to hoodwink. As she bent down to pick up the basket with Mrs Carter’s shopping, he said, ‘Allow me.’

She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but it’s not heavy.’

They began to walk towards the main street with its cafés and shops.

‘I have been thinking about what you said – about the missing bone. Of Megatherium. The sloth, I mean.’

‘You have decided to go and look for it?’

‘No, no. But Taverner was also against putting in a false rib. He was a good naturalist and a good man. I miss him.’

‘Yes. I can imagine that. Was it he who found the skeleton?’