Chapter 32 - A Trunkful Of Contraband Books

Hoodwinking Scotland Yard To Publish Books

This chapter was quite exciting for me to write. This whole section (which includes the next 35 chapters) is the whole reason I wanted to write this book.

In this chapter, our heroes are smuggling a trunk full of copies of The Indian War Of Independence 1857. As we’ve seen, every possible avenue to publish these books has been blocked by Sir Curzon-Wyllie in the India Office. And yet, they have found a publisher. How did they do that?

As they sail back to England with the books, there is a police officer deputed specifically to stop them from doing this, and he seems to be on the same ferry! Do they dodge him? How on earth?!

While I’m not an Anthony Horowitz level suspense writer, I hope even if you’re not on the edge of your seat, this chapter gives you at least a clenched jaw from gritting your teeth through the near-misses!

A Trunkful of Contraband Books

“MEN HEER STOP THEY LEEVE STOP” said the telegram.

Money well spent on Thibault of no fixed abode, thought Constable Parker.

John Parker had been monitoring the ferries in Calais for a week. There weren’t too many ferries with Indians on them. Or Arabs and Egyptians. They all dressed like Westerners, but you could tell who was who.

Thank heavens France was cheaper than England. Sir Curzon-Wyllie was fine with expensing his stay here. He could get used to this fresh-caught seafood, he thought, but he was glad to see the telegram. This meant he could go back home. Finally.

There were no Indians on the 10am ferry. Or on the noon one. But off of the train connecting to the 2pm ferry, he saw two familiar faces.

He saw them get on the ferry and he hurried to buy his own ticket.

John walked around the ferry, side-eyeing all the passengers. It wasn’t a big ship. Just about 200 passengers. Most of them were easy to rule out, being Europeans. And most of the Indians on the ship were not carrying bulky bags or suitcases. It was a three-hour ride, so there weren’t cabins or anything. The big luggage was stowed in the luggage compartment, and there was only one big trunk in it. He stood around it, looking for the owner. He yanked the trunk and moved it, when a familiar Indian man scrambled over to him.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he said.

“My mistake,” John said, as he smirked to himself behind his fake beard.

As he watched the Indian man walk away, John knew he had to bide his time for another hour, until they were safely in English waters.