A Risk Taken
A R ISK T AKEN
I T HAD BEEN SEVERAL days since Molly and Charlie had seen Oliver slipping the envelope through the letterbox. They once more sat in Molly’s father’s study staring at a poor fire that flickered and provided scant warmth. Both of them had rugs over their laps and legs. While it was still cold, at least the rain had passed; the skies were clear, and the wind was calmer.
“We need to see about your school, Charlie. Is it back in Bethnal Green?”
He said, “I’m fourteen, Miss. I’m done with school.”
“But when Mr. Oliver gave you that pen you said you were still in school.”
“Right, but I turned fourteen the next week and left,” he lied. “Law says I can. And I learnt all I needed. Now it’s time for me to work.”
“Well, hopefully next year I’ll sit my exams to see if I qualify for university.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked, looking surprised.
“I want to be a doctor, actually.”
“Can girls do that sort’a thin’?”
“Of course they can,” she replied irritably.
“Speaking of, have you done the letter to that doctor in Cornwall yet?” asked Charlie.
Molly glanced at him and shook her head. “No. As I said, I was hoping that Mr. Oliver would help me with it.”
“Then you should go ask him.”
“I plan to,” she said. “But now I need to go see about lunch. I’m famished.”
She left him there and Charlie stood and walked around the room, admiring all the books and furniture and fine implements. He gazed at the door for a moment, then sat down behind the desk and drew out the pen Oliver had given him.
He pretended to write something with it on a crisp piece of stationery that was imprinted with the name Herbert James Wakefield with this Chelsea address. He was still upset to have lost his book to Lonzo. It had meant five quid, but now that he had given it some more thought Charlie had concluded that he could have written things in it, as Oliver had first suggested.
And read them to Mum, like she used to read to me. Molly had said I can leave here and still never leave my mum. Maybe I can read to her wherever I am. And if I start fightin’ the Jerries, I won’t be able to stay here. But I’ll be doin’ my bit, like Mum would have wanted.
As he looked at the pen, he thought about what a nice gesture it had been for Mr. Oliver to loan it to him. And then Charlie felt guilty, because he had never told the man the truth that night: that he was one of the boys who had been trying to break into his shop.
You’re no good, Charlie. Here the man helps you and what do you do for him? Try to steal his money, that’s what. And now you’re thinkin’ bad stuff ’bout Mr. Oliver when all he’s done is be a friend to you.
He was called to lunch, and when he finished his food he was still quite hungry. He could tell the same for Molly, though she had given him larger portions than hers, just as his gran had. But he had something to do now because he had made up his mind. Charlie put on his hat and coat.
“Where are you going?” Molly asked.
“Just for a walk.”
“Do you want company?”
Charlie said, “Umm…”
“That’s all right,” she said kindly. “Sometimes I like to be alone, too.”
Charlie set off at a brisk pace. He hadn’t wanted to tell Molly where he was headed because he thought she might disapprove. He liked and trusted Mr. Oliver. But he didn’t at all like the man he had seen at the bookshop that night. There was just something sneaky about him, he thought. Charlie had been around enough criminal elements to know one when he saw one. Maybe the man was trying to steal from Mr. Oliver or maybe get him to do something Mr. Oliver didn’t want to do, like Lonzo had made Charlie do. If Charlie could find out what was going on he could possibly help Mr. Oliver.
Charlie arrived at the alley and hid behind the same crate he and Molly had used previously.
A half hour later, Cedric came out from the doorway of the sad, brick-faced building. He turned left and headed out of the alley.
Charlie had to decide whether to follow the man or not. He made up his mind, and Charlie watched Cedric pass out of sight. Then he hurried over and peeked in the window. The curtains were drawn but didn’t quite meet in the middle, so he could see a sliver of a small room, where a dim light was on. He could observe no one inside.
The alleyway was quiet. Blackened windows and drab doors stared back at him.
Charlie studied the lock, then he slipped his tool from his pocket, inserted it, and listened intently as the metal scraped and slithered over the guts of the gear-and-tumbler obstacle confronting him. He finally heard a click, and he gripped the knob and turned it ever so gently. Bucking up his courage with the notion that he was helping a friend, he opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark, and, fortunately, empty.
He slipped inside, ready to run in an instant if anyone appeared. The room held a chair and a desk with a cabinet above. The square rug was dirty and thin. There was only a single lamp on a table. The only other light was from the slight gap in the blackout curtains. There was also a small bed, and pegs on the wall, from which a few pieces of clothing hung. A pair of worn shoes was on the floor next to the bed. There was only the one room, with no kitchen or loo.
He opened the desk. Inside were blank paper and a pen and some envelopes and stamps. He used his tool to unlock the cabinet door above the desk.
Blimey.
Inside the cabinet was a locked wooden box. When Charlie used his tool to open it, revealed was something that looked like a typewriter he had once seen in a shop window.
However, this one was quite odd in appearance. There was a set of letter keys below, but there was an identical set of letters above it, but they weren’t keys to push. They looked like pieces of glass with the letters showing under them. There were also things sticking out that looked like small gears, and a toggle switch that Charlie had seen on the dashboard of an automobile. And there were wires running through the inside top of the box. And between the lower keyboard and the inside wall of the box was a column of black cylinders jointed into the machine.
Most strange of all, there was no place to wind the paper in.
He looked more closely and saw a bit of white along one edge of the machine and the inner side of the box. He dipped his hand in there and managed to retrieve the single sheet of paper.
Charlie could not read or speak German, but he had seen words that he knew were German. And these were German words, he was sure of that.
He put the paper back and placed the box back on the shelf. That was when he noticed the book that was set next to it. He plucked it off and looked at the cover.
“Con-sway-low,” he said slowly, reading off the title. He opened the book and gasped. Only the outer rims of the pages remained, leaving a large hole in the center.
He looked at the inside flap of the book and gaped. Stamped there was:
THE BOOK KEEP
COVENT GARDEN
He slowly closed the novel and put it back next to the funny machine. Then he locked up the cabinet and left, after checking from the window to make sure it was all clear to do so.
What is Mr. Oliver involved in?