The Black Crow Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF

are yours alone. We cannot risk our secret being discovered.”
    “Have no fear, Penelope,” Monty replied. He gestured towards the books lining the shelves behind him, leather-bound volumes of
The Collected Tales of Montgomery Flinch
. “I have played this role for so long that half the time even I believe that I have written these stories. There is no chance of Arthur discovering the secret that we share.”
    The sudden rap of the door knocker punctuated the end of Monty’s sentence. As Penny’s gaze flicked to the door, the knocker rapped again, even louder this time.
    “Keep your hair on,” Alfie muttered, hurrying to the door with Monty’s bat still in his grasp. As he opened it, the door knocker clanked back against its plate.
    On the doorstep, a tall man in a shabby-looking suit glared back at Alfie. His dark eyes were set in a weasel-faced frame; his sallow complexion was more suited to the darkness than the bright light of day. The man was flanked by two policeconstables: the first a stocky, heavyset fellow who had the strap of his helmet pulled tight beneath his chin, as if to keep the few brains he looked like possessing safely secured, whilst his younger companion cast a nervous glance over Alfie’s shoulder, his fingers fidgeting above the pocket where his truncheon was concealed.
    Alfie slipped the cricket bat behind his back, a guilty blush colouring his cheeks, although for what crime he had no idea.
    “Can I help you, sir?” he stuttered.
    “I am here to see Montgomery Flinch,” the man replied in a low voice, pushing past Alfie with a shove. “I have a warrant for his arrest.”

V
    “What on earth is the meaning of this?” Mr Wigram demanded, looking up in alarm as Alfie staggered backwards.
    Ignoring his protest, the man strode into the heart of the office, casting his gaze around its interior with a practised air. He sniffed as his eyes fell on Monty, the actor still sitting behind Penelope’s desk. The confident smile that had filled Monty’s face only moments before was now beginning to curdle slightly at the corners. Penny looked on with concern as the two police constables lumbered across the threshold too, handcuffs clinking from where they hung on their leather belts.
    “I’ll ask you again,” said Wigram, raising his voice to a querulous pitch. “Who are you, sir, and what business do you have here?”
    Keeping his eyes fixed on Monty, the man sniffed again as he gave his reply.
    “I am Inspector Drake of the MetropolitanPolice, and my business here is of a most serious nature.”
    Penelope paled at the inspector’s remarks. The eventuality she had long feared must have finally come to pass. Somehow, someone must have uncovered Montgomery Flinch’s secret, and now they would have to pay the price for their lies. Her mind filled with dark imaginings of the charges the police could bring: fraud, conspiracy, deception…
    If her identity as the true face of the Master of the Macabre was revealed, Montgomery Flinch’s reputation would be ruined and the renewed fortunes of
The Penny Dreadful
cast down with it too.
    Blithely unaware of Penelope’s fears, Monty greeted the detective with a grin.
    “Ah, Inspector, welcome to
The Penny Dreadful
,” he said, rising from his chair to offer his hand. “I will be delighted to help you with whatever matter is troubling your detectives, but are you sure that you haven’t confused me with my good friend, Arthur Conan Doyle? He is, after all, the creator of the famous Sherlock Holmes, whereas my tales tend to be preoccupied with events of a more unearthly nature.”
    Inspector Drake stared down at Monty’s outstretched hand with disdain.
    “No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “You’re the man that I’m after.”
    “He’s not here to ask your advice, Monty,” Alfie called out, still rubbing his shoulder where the burly policeman had brushed past him. “He says he has a warrant for your arrest.”
    The colour drained