Susie switched off the phone and gave me a triumphant grin. "I told you so, Jeffrey - a top-notch murder case has come hammering on our door."

"No, it hasn't. And I wish you'd be a little more discreet about our doings, Susie - Steve Spooner could easily get the wrong idea about us."

"Never mind that, Jeffrey - this is cosmic."

"Don't you mean kismet?"

"Cosmic kismet is what it is," Susie enthused. "I've already deduced the empty, old house has a Jones & Co For Sale sign in the garden."

"Conceivably."

"Indubitably - that's the scene of the crime dad was at. No wonder he's a worried man."

"If you're right, I suppose it could prove awkward for him - the property sort of being in his care."

"There's more to it than that - dad's up to his ear protectors in really big trouble."

"Not if he only discovered the corpse and reported it to the police."

"Step on the mental accelerator, Jeffrey - innocent folk don't just find dead bodies."

 

 

 

 

Chapter 125

"Strum that air banjolele, Jeffrey."

"Curb your exuberance, Susie, before our laughter gives the game away." I pirouetted across the living room and closed the door on any prying ears.

"Misbehave yourself, Jeffrey, you're flaunting your can-can in that frock-frock."

"I accidentally sashayed, that's all," I huffed, bending over to adjust an errant garter.

"That's right," Susie cheered, "ra-ra your skirts and give it a real go-go."

"Nothing wilder than a discreet frou-frou is called for at the moment," I frowned, primly lowering myself onto the sofa. "But, if we exercise a little restraint now, I may cha-cha with you later."

"Ay yi yippee yippee yi!"

"Shush, Susie - if mum hears us raising the roof, she may suspect I'm not telling her the unnail-varnished truth."

"Relax, Jeffrey, we're home free, and we haven't uttered one little whopper."

"We will," I predicted. "Mum's interrogation has only been put on hold by that phone call - she'll be back in a minute. Come here, and sit down and compose yourself."

"I'm as cool as the proverbial Iceberg lettuce, but not so green," Susie winked, helping herself to a couple of bananas, as she strutted by the sideboard.

"Don't get overconfident," I warned. "Mum isn't daft, and we've a lot to hide. One implausible lie from you could wreck all my good work."

"Expedient exaggerations are how I prefer to describe them, Jeffrey," Susie grinned, flopping down beside me. "But I'll show respect for your sensibilities, and only tell credible fibs."

"Well, just make sure they aren't hard to swallow."

"They're nicely spotty and ripe for the eating. Here - have a banana. All we need is a shot of potassium each, and then we'll have more answers than questions."

"No thanks." I politely eschewed the offered fruit. "I wouldn't want to appear louche."

"You won't. Bananas are the snack of choice for golfers, tennis aces, and croquet players - you can't top them for snootiness."

"Snooty isn't the opposite of louche, Susie." I turned up my nose and fluttered my eyelashes. "It's quite possible to be both at the same time."

"You don't look un peu French, Jeffrey. Japanese, hai, but French, non. Go on, Lolita-chan, have a bite of banana, and don't worry about shamelessly smearing your lipstick."

"I'm putting nothing bigger than a cherry in my mouth while I'm dressed to frill, Susie." I sat up straight, fiddled with my petticoats, and pressed my knees together. "I mustn't give mum the slightest cause for concern."

"And you won't - clothes maketh the mannequin. You've behaved like a model, modest Miss in her presence."

"I summoned up a shy, maidenly blush when mum reviewed Pinky and Perky, but I wonder if I went too far with the bobbing."

"It was exactly the right gesture, Jeffrey - and very beguiling - you had us both enthralled."

"The costume's captivated me as well, Susie," I confessed. "I feel duty-bound to curtsy every time I nod my head. I've also acquired an irresistible wish to walk with a swish."

"And it's working a treat - everything's gone super smoothly so far. Your mother's never even blinked."

"Only because she's wide-eyed with astonishment at how this could happen to me on an expedition to B&Q."

"Your mum's fascinated by our tale, Jeffrey. She could hardly tear herself away to answer the phone when I was in full flow."

"Just don't go into overdrivel, Susie," I cautioned. "No flights of fancy - stick to the script."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely," I insisted. "We got caught miles from shelter by a sudden deluge, and were forced into an emergency change of clothes."

"It's a plausible explavasion, Jeffrey - as long as your mum believes we cherished a secret desire to go beachcombing."

"She will, Susie - that's where dad took her on their first date during a wild equinoctial storm. Mum'll be happy to hear their romance is repeating itself."

"A fairy-tale bride, Marilyn, and now Lolita - I hope your mum and dad had a rare old time walking in the sand, Jeffrey."

"They did, Susie, but if mum does cast doubt on our story, I'll remind her of my sitting at the front."

"You've lost me, Jeffrey."

"Well, before my first day at school, mum said 'Make sure you sit at the front, Jeffrey, so you don't miss anything'. I obeyed her orders to the letter, Susie."

"Highly commendable, Jeffrey; and how will that help us in the present situation?"

"All the other boys had rushed to the back of the class, leaving me surrounded by girls. But, undaunted in my quest for knowledge, I stayed put and remained resolutely in the distaff camp."

"I would have expected nothing less of you, Jeffrey."

"And so should mum, Susie, after I remind her of the undue influence such an experience can have on an impressionable little lad."

"You're even more devious than I thought, Jeffrey - and with your own mother, too."

"Sly-boots and bossy-boots - that's us Susie."

"We're a pair of beauts, Jeffrey, and so are Pinky and Perky. I love how they jiggle whenever you get in a bit of a tizz."

I blushed and glanced down at the boys peeking up above the lacy ruffles. "This outfit is just too outré, Susie."

"Milk tray, Jeffrey - with a pair of tempting Denise Delights in the top layer."

"Well, hands off for now - don't draw any gratuitous attention to them. Mum's on her way back, and I'm aiming for Alice in Wonderland, not Lolita in Loadedland."

"And that's the trousers and skirt of it, Mrs Smith."

"So you both got soaked, seeking seashells on Shoreham's seashore, Susie."

"We were drenched by a veritable monsoon, Mrs Smith."

"Driven on by a wind from nowhere," I emphasized. "It almost blew us off our feet, mum."

"A tropical hurricane in Shoreham - is that what you experienced, Jeffrey?"

"Not quite, but it played havoc with the Illuminations," I breezed. "Snow White only had three and a half dwarves heigh-hoing in her wake when things calmed down."

Mum gave me an old-fashioned look. "Aren't you exaggerating a tiny bit, Jeffrey?"

"Sneezy may just have lost his pick and shovel," I conceded. "But those little fellows had some shelter, and we were totally exposed to the elements. By the time we returned to civilisation, I was completely saturated. I'd wet socks and a damp vest."

"That's how bad backs start, Mrs Smith ... and chilblains."

"Or worse, mum - they're the potentially fatal combination that gran's always warning against."

"So inspired by her advice and a Disney princess, you made straight for a fancy dress shop, Jeffrey."

"No, a Barnardo's - they're always my first choice for astonishing bargains."

Mum favoured me with an antediluvian gaze. "And you certainly found yourself one."

"I wasn't to know they didn't have a boy department," I pouted. "And while we were browsing, the ladies behind the counter became very concerned for us orphans of the storm."

"It's the mothering instinct, Mrs Smith; Jeffrey only has to quiver his bottom lip to trigger it off."

"I can understand that, Susie, but how did it lead to this beauty pageant ensemble."

"Pretty easily, Mrs Smith - it would have been awkward to turn down their kind offers under the circumstances."

"And what were they?"

"Tell your mother, Jeffrey."

"A sort of a jumping to conclusions on the scantiest of evidence, mum." I put my trust in Pinky and Perky and my shyest maidenly blush yet. "A clinging T-shirt can speak volumes."

"They were already shocked that Jeffrey wasn't wearing a bra, Mrs Smith, so I had to Denise, Denise him before things really got out of hand."

"I take your points, Susie," mum nodded, and turned back to me. "But why couldn't you have been content with some normal clothes, Jeffrey?"

"There wasn't a wide selection available in our size, mum. It came down to a choice between these avant-garde school uniforms or bridesmaids' dresses."

Mum raised an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe, Jeffrey."

"Well, they were women of a certain age ... you know how it is ..." I trailed off.

"What do you mean by that, Jeffrey?" Mum frowned.

"Nothing - I just think they might have been ever so slightly bored on a slow, rainy afternoon and wanted to doll us up for a bit of fun."

"Denise has that effect on people, Mrs Smith; and I was all for it too, because I had a flash of inspiration when I saw these costumes."

"And they felt very cosy, mum, so I let myself be swept along in the general enthusiasm. I thought we'd look cute in matching outfits."

"But did you have to wear the dress, Jeffrey? It is on the provocative side, and you're inexperienced about such things."

"Being the girly girl was the gentlemanly thing to do. Susie's engaged in a battle for sibling supremacy with Mikey, and she can't give him a flounce to use against her."

"I'm ever so grateful for Jeffrey waiving his right to the trousers, Mrs Smith."

"No doubt that explains it all, Susie - but just out of interest, I'd like to know what flash of inspiration struck you."

"I realised these would be the ideal get-ups for our turn at the school's Children in Need concert, Mrs Smith - didn't we, Jeffrey?"

"It may have swayed our decision, somewhat, Susie," I agreed, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

Mum raised a second eyebrow. "That's the first I've heard of it."

"We wanted to surprise you, Mrs Smith, so we've been practicing in secret. Go on, Jeffrey, give your mother a preview of our act."

"Yes, Jeffrey - share with me the drama you're concealing under your ribboned cap."

"It's still a bit rough around the edges, mum."

"I'll make allowances, Jeffrey - that's what you want, isn't it?"

"Definitely, mum." I hesitated for only a moment, before getting to my feet, raising my parasol, and setting off at a twirl.

"Wouldn't clogs and a cloth cap be a more appropriate costume for your choice of material, Jeffrey?"

"It is music hall stuff, mum. I'm adding a swirl of authentic colour by promenading as a pseudo-Edwardian Miss."

"Well, a parasol certainly suits you better than a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle."

I reached the end of the sofa, thrust out my derrière, and pointedly turned on my stilettos. "How am I doing?"

"Your every little movement tells a story, Jeffrey. I'm now convinced you'd make the perfect Miss Muffet. Is that in your repertoire?"

"No - I don't want folk to get the wrong idea about me," I huffed. "Perhaps I should throw in a few verses of Horatius, just so there's no confusion." I came to attention and manfully guarded the sofa with my pink parasol.

"Careful, Jeffrey - you'll have someone's eye out."

"Sorry, Susie, I got carried away with my riposte." I lowered my weapon and challenged mum. "All things considered, is that less open to misinterpretation?"

"Well, the Romans did wear skirts - but apart from that, it makes no sense at all."

"I'm playing it post-ironically subversive. The cognoscenti will get the message."

"I think you may be overestimating your audience, Jeffrey."

"We did consider going down market with The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God, Mrs Smith. I'd stand behind Jeffrey, doing the comedy hand movements."

"But we feared the whole thing might descend into farce. Which would be a tragedy, mum, because we like to work on several different levels at once, don't we, Susie?"

"Definitely, Jeffrey - we aren't pie-in-the-face clowns. We want all our endeavours to be taken seriously, Mrs Smith."

"And how are you hoping to achieve that, Susie?"

"We're planning on acquiring a ukelele each and billing ourselves as the Dinky Doos - Comedy and Song from Nutwood's Sisters in Harmony."

"Ah, now it's all becoming clear to me."

"Really, mum?"

"Yes, Jeffrey - and what traditional material will the Dinky Doos be performing?"

"Born To Run, and How Dead Is That Doggie In The Window?" Susie grinned.

"That should ensure the audience sit up and take notice," mum allowed. "I wondered why you'd acquired a gun."

Susie hugged her bag closer. "We haven't got a gun, Mrs Smith - only ukeleles."

"What's that on the table, then?"

"Only my Johnny 7," I smiled. "They're collector's items. I saw it in the window of Barnado's; that's how I became drawn there in the first place."

"Really, Jeffrey? Since you arrived home, you've appeared more interested in toting your teddy bear - where did he come from?"

"We bought two tickets for the lucky dip, mum. We couldn't refuse - it was a charity shop."

"More like an Aladdin's cave, Jeffrey - you seem to have returned home with everything but the belt for the lawnmower."

"That's easily explained, mum - B&Q isn't too hot on customer service. We were fobbed off with -'You can't get the spares'. Susie complained, but the supervisor ignored us and carried on polishing the garden gnomes."

"So we indulged in a bit of therapeutic beachcombing to assuage our disappointment, Mrs Smith."

"I know we're a bit late, mum, but it's not as if I've been rugbying or ladder climbing."

"I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies, Jeffrey," mum sighed. "But you had me worried - you left it so long before ringing. I thought you'd been kidnapped."

"That's silly, mum," I spluttered. "I knew you'd be anxious, and we got in touch almost as soon as we'd dried out. You're not mad, are you?"

"I'll forgive you yet again, Jeffrey, but I have my limits. In future, keep me fully informed of your whereabouts - no more last minute calls."

"It's hard to find a phone box nowadays; they're practically non-existent - and those that aren't smell."

"Then why don't you get a mobile like everybody else?"

"They're not mobile, mum - they're portable - and minutes cost money."

"I'll pay, Jeffrey."

"It's a point of principle, mum. I'm waiting until I can buy British. China sends us iPads, and all they want in return is manhole covers. It doesn't seem right and proper."

"It's perfectly right and proper, Jeffrey," mum frowned. "Everything that goes through the scrapyard is totally legitimate. Ernie will never load our skips again. We're fully signed up to the new rules of the game."

"I wasn't suggesting otherwise, mum. It's just that the country's already sold off the family silver, and now it's the base metal's turn - soon there'll be nothing of substance left."

"It's progress, Jeffrey - comfort yourself with the fact they'd rusted well past their sell-by-date."

"Maybe, but the council didn't have to replace them with multi-coloured, plastic tat."

"It's all part of their scheme to win the most beautiful small town in Lancashire award. We couldn't afford a giant angel or a legion of iron men, so they settled for a manhole version of a Damien Hirst dot painting."

"Which can only be fully appreciated by the seagulls - and they've delivered an unambiguous verdict."

"You can scoff, Jeffrey, but they're our biggest tourist attraction. Folk come from miles around to hold a public conversation with the artist."

"They jump up and down on them, mum - enough said."

"You won't alter Jeffrey's views on modern art, Mrs Smith; he's very conservative in his tastes."

"So I see, Susie."

"I've just acquired a bit of dress sense, that's all, mum."

"You certainly have, Jeffrey." Mum shook her head in wonder. "You did scruffy so well only a fortnight ago; it's hard to believe the change that's come over you."

"Not really - under Susie's influence, I've become part of the nouvelle vague."

"I'm well aware of that, Jeffrey. Vague barely embraces your explanations."

"Oh, how else can we enlighten you?" I beamed.

"I could ask how you came home with only one bike that wasn't built for two, but I'll let that ride for now."

"That's a mere bagatelle, mum. You haven't missed out on anything of importance."

"And I don't intend to, Jeffrey," Mum vowed. "But for now, I'm handing over the cross-examination to Mr Jones."

"There's no need to do that, Mrs Smith."

"Oh yes, there is, Susie. Three calls in the last hour makes me believe your dad has some urgent questions for you."

"Are you sure, Mrs Smith? Dad won't want to be bothered with our innocent shenanigans. He has enough real problems with Uncle Frank and Aunt Rose at the moment."

"Your father did sound increasingly strained, so I expect he'll welcome some light relief, Susie," mum smiled. "But whatever else is on his mind, he's anxious to see you right away."

"I can't imagine why - unless he wants us to blow up Uncle Frank again," Susie laughed.

"Don't jest about it, Susie," I warned. "Careless talk may cost you your car."

"Only joking, Jeffrey."

"I know that, Susie, but your dad's and uncle's literal leaning is a dangerous thing."

"Come on, then, we'll get changed and go over together. Sometimes dad doubts my version of events, Mrs Smith, but he has a touching faith in Denise's integrity."

"Take care what you say, then, Jeffrey - I'll be comparing notes with Mr Jones."

"You'll have to allow me a little lieway, mum - the only completely consistent people are the dead."

"Hop it," mum ordered. "I have to do some paperwork for the vat man."

"Oh, don't you want me to cook the books for you?"

"No, Jeffrey - you've done more than enough creative accounting this month."

"Never mind, Jeffrey, maybe you can save Jones & Co and Jones & Son a pound or two. Dad and Uncle Frank both think Denise is a wiz with figures, Mrs Smith."

"So do I, Susie, and I'll be happy to see her auditing to her heart's content, while wearing a smart two-piece, but I'd rather she didn't go around in a crime fighting costume."

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about, mum," I blinked. "Have we, Susie?"

"I can only imagine your mother believes Supergirl is the next cultural icon on Denise's wish list."

"Is she, Jeffrey?"

"No, I haven't got a Supergirl outfit - or any other crime-fighting apparel, for that matter."

"You didn't have a Lolita one this morning."

"Is that what it is, mum? I thought I favoured a shy schoolgirl or modest maid."

"Then I'll expect you to keep your room tidier in future," mum smirked. "You're now appointed keeper of the big feather duster."

"Thank you, mum - I promise to flourish it with immaculate enthusiasm."

"I hope you'll give me a go with your new tickling stick, Jeffrey."

"We'll Dinky Doo with it in harmony, Susie," I pledged, before performing my deepest curtsy yet and maidenly frou-frouing out of the room.

 

Chapter 126

"Your mum's put an idea in my head, Jeffrey," Susie grinned, when we were safely closeted in my room. "Do you want to play Little Miss Muffet and sit on my tuffet?"

"It's not only spiders I'm afraid of, Susie," I fretted. "I don't think we fooled mum for an instant with my nursery rhymes."

"Of course we did - you behaved completely in character."

"Then why the mention of a crime-fighting costume?"

"A shot in the dark, Jeffrey."

"That scored a bull's-eye."

"Your mother's picked up on you yelling 'Up, up, and away' every time you fly upstairs, that's all."

"No, it's a mum thing, Susie - despite all my curtsying and teddy hugging, she suspects we're engaged in a criminal cover-up."

"Nonsense, Jeffrey - our disguises as mild-mannered schoolgirls are perfect. Your mum hasn't an inkling we've been taking the law into our own hands."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"You will - eventually." Susie bounced onto the bed and opened her bag. "But the poise of the pair of us may not be sufficient to convince folk this crop of twenty-pound notes grew on trees. So where are we going to hide these well-gotten gains?"

I looked on in dismay as, along with all the legal tender, an illegal asset was revealed. "Never mind the money, Susie - that's the least of our worries. Why did you have to bring home the Uzi?"

"I thought you liked collecting things, Jeffrey. This is a souvenir, and - more than that - it's a trophy."

"Well, you're not hanging it on my wall. Mum won't mistake a lethal weapon for a Johnny 7."

"Don't fuss - it's only a petite pistol. We can stash it under the cash."

"But what use are we going to have for a machine gun, Susie?" I whined. "It's bad enough eliminating people by accident - shooting them full of holes will leave us with no reasonable excuse."

"These are troubled times, Jeffrey; and an Uzi's a good insurance policy in case of a local insurrection."

"I suppose so - I have lost faith in the police recently."

"And it'll nicely complement your cricket bat if we chance to meet any flesh-eating zombies."

"That doesn't seem quite as unlikely as it once did, Susie," I shuddered. "But in such a dire emergency, I'd envisaged locking myself in the bathroom and escaping into the loft."

"There's no point arguing, Jeffrey - we're stuck with the Uzi. We can't dump it in the wheelie bin - it's hazardous waste."

"Okay," I reluctantly agreed, "I'll keep it with all the other stuff I'm storing in my bottom drawer."

"You're already putting aside for our wedding, Jeffrey - how sweet. Let's have a prenuptial peek." Susie leapt across the room to the tallboy, only to be frustrated in her efforts to gain entry. "What's wrong with this? ... It's stuck."

"That's why the contents are safe from prying eyes. There's a knack to opening it." I grabbed the knobs and gave the secret shake that released the drawer. "Feast your eyes on that little lot."

Susie surveyed my treasures and couldn't conceal her disappointment. "Oh, it's full of junk - just like your shed."

"No, it's not - this is indoor junk, and all yours to share - even before we're married."

"Thank you, Jeffrey, but it's not exactly the kind of trousseau I envisaged."

"You won't be disappointed - amongst other valuables, there are gran's sovereigns and granddad's stamp collections."

"I'd rather leaf through your negligee on our wedding night, Jeffrey."

"No doubt you will, Susie, but these are all that's going in for now." I thrust the gun and cash to the back, closed the drawer, and got to my feet. "Uzi ... money - if mum ever finds those, she'll think we robbed a bank."

"And she won't be far wrong."

"Perhaps we should dream up a plausible explanation, on the off-chance they come to light."

"Actually, Jeffrey, my bigger concern is that now you've got the money hoarded away, the miser in you may only bring it out to count."

"You don't get rich by spending, Susie - although buying a few mini gold bars isn't a bad idea. With Fred Scuttle in charge at the Bank of England, they could prove a prudent long-term investment."

"Not when we need the cash for our car, Jeffrey."

"That's almost a year away, Susie; you'll have to wait until you're old enough to drive."

"I've been thinking about the problem, Jeffrey. I wouldn't need a licence if we acquired an off-road vehicle."

"You're full of surprises, Susie, but I won't object if you've set your heart on a canoe."

"I'm serious, Jeffrey; we should find a way of keeping my hand on the steering wheel. I don't want to lose my touch after I've made such a promising start."

"Granddad's got a big field and a four-wheel drive. I could ask him to let you take it for a spin."

"I wouldn't say no, but I'd prefer something a bit more sprightly. I felt really in tune with Trevor's little sports job."

"Why not a canoe and a car, Susie? With all the money that's dropped into our laps, you can have your kayak and E-type too."

"You've Dinky Dooed me, good and proper, Jeffrey; you deserve a revolving, pink bow-tie in your hair for that."

"Oh, My Word! I curtsy to the masters."

"Your dad's been on the phone again, Susie," mum called from the hall. "Please hurry up - his voice has risen another octave. It must be a strain for a man his size."

"We're just getting changed, Mrs Smith."

"Don't keep him waiting - he says it's very urgent."

"We won't be a minute, mum," I yelped, as Susie put her knee in my back.

"Oh yes we will, Jeffrey - this zip's well and truly stuck. What did you do to it?"

"Nothing - apart from giving it an extra sharp tug."

"And then some - you must have buckled the teeth. I bet you broke it on purpose."

"No, I didn't - I was in a hurry."

"But you had time to securely lock yourself in lace; that's what comes of reading about Marilyn Monroe being sewn into her skin-tight frock."

"I only mentioned it in dressing, but I really think it would help with my wiggle next time."

"Button your lip and lie down on the bed, or you'll be restricted to impersonating Lolitas in future."

I obeyed, and Susie jumped astride of me.

"Don't bounce up and down! What if mum comes in?"

"I have to get some purchase, Jeffrey."

"All you're doing is getting me excited."

"Then think of Robbie, the vomiting, hairless ape."

"That's not funny, Susie."

"Oooo! carry on bucking, Denise - I'm becoming hot and bothered now."

"Oh, careful, Susie!"

"Breathe in, Jeffrey."

"Don't make a duet of it, Susie!"

"Breathe out, Denise."

"Oooooohhhhhh!"

"Keep writhing, Jeffrey - I can feel something coming."

"Stop it, Susie - you're giving me the heebie-jeebies!"

"Aaaaaaahhhhh!"

"Aaaaaaahhhhh!"

"Oooooooooooo, Lolita!" Susie whooped. "I enjoyed that! What shall we try next, you little minx?"

"Shush!" I twisted around and sat up. "Pull yourself together, Susie - this is a zipper emergency. Go and get the WD-40."

"It's not rusty, Jeffrey."

"But it's still worth a squirt."

"Not if there's a thread caught in it. And we can't keep on faffing about - where are the scissors?"

"No! You'll ruin the outfit, and we haven't fully exploited its fun potential yet. Leave it until we've more time."

"Okay, we'll calm down and go as we are. Dad probably won't even notice my new school uniform." Susie dismounted, hopped over to the mirror, and straightened her tie. "But if he does, I think I look pretty damn respectable."

"Well, I don't - so you'll be better off on your own."

"No way, Jeffrey - if you aren't there to back me up, it'll send dad's suspicionometer zooming into the red zone; especially if Uncle Frank's been playing Iago and whispering in his ear again."

"Although he's praised you with faint damns in the past, Susie, this time try not to upset your uncle any more than necessary."

"I'll do my best, Jeffrey - but Uncle Frank's a man with whom small catastrophes rankle. That's why I need your support."

"As part of an anti-rankle team."

"To help in my smoothing things out - it's only a pity we had to sacrifice his monster slab of cheese. I'm sure that and a giant pickled onion would have worked wonders for unky's disposition."

"As long as you didn't offer it for a house-warming present."

"The thought never crossed my mind."

"Well, you can still butter the old boy up, Susie."

"I'll be charming, but not smarming, Jeffrey."

"Wheedling, but not needling, Susie."

"Come on, then, Jeffrey - after we've settled with dad and unky, we can get back to Dinky Dooing and our private detectiving plans."

"Okay, Susie - I suppose Dinky Dooing is one way to keep you harmlessly occupied. And as for private detectiving, only someone who could be outwitted by a haystack would be daft enough to hire us."

"I think you're in for a surprise, Jeffrey. But, first things first, let's find out what's put the ferret down dad's trousers."

"What is it with Mikey, Susie?" I muttered, as he ogled us from the other side of the fence. "Why doesn't he say something?"

"Because he's been struck dumb by his dream come true, Denise. Didn't I tell you, the little monkey's anime mad?"

"No - and if you had, I would definitely have covered up with mum's plastic mac. I knew exposing myself to public schoolboy scrutiny wasn't a good idea. Look - he's gone from goggling to ogling."

"Reprimand him this instant, Denise."

"You do it, Susie - he's your brother."

"Stop gawping, Mikey, or they'll be sticking you in the fish shop window."

"Manga, manga, manga!" he finally managed to gasp. "What a pair of beauts!"

"Lift up your eyes from the hills, Mikey - you're embarrassing Denise."

"No, I'm not. Having to put up with twenty-four hours of your non-stop rabbiting would make any one pink around the ears."

"You couldn't be more wrong, because it's quite the opposite," Susie smirked. "Now we're arguing from the same premises, Denise and I are getting on like a house on fire."

"That's Uncle Frank's house, was it?"

"Hush, Mikey - don't even whisper such a thing - it upsets Denise."

"Then why is she smiling at me?"

"Denise is displaying her natural good manners."

"Among other things - is that what you call a décolletage?"

"Give over, Mikey - it's rude."

"You can say that again, Susie. You both look as if you've stepped out of a top shelf comic book."

"They're artistic, Mikey, and so are we. Now, avert your eyes while we hop over the fence. Dad wants to see us yesterday."

"I know. He sent me to fetch you this instant, and I'm not to listen to any excuses. You're in big trouble, Susie."

"No, we're not."

"Yes you are - mum and dad have been talking in whispers behind my back."

"Ah, so you've no idea what's going on."

"I might have picked up a hint or two before I was exiled to my room, but I'm not one to spread gossip," Mikey grinned. "You'll soon find out the worst."

"You're off your onion. We've nothing to hide from dad, have we, Denise?"

"I might have," I blushed, glancing down at Pinky and Perky.

"Then leave Susie to do the explaining, Denise, and you can watch me on my Xbox. I've got a game where I rescue a kidnapped Lolita from a crazed bank robber."

"No thanks - I'm not into sit-down, shoot-'em-ups."

"We prefer more active pursuits," Susie winked.

"Well, you've activated feet first into the cacky-poo this time," Mikey gloated.

"Don't count your chickens - I've a perfectly clear conscience, haven't we, Denise?"

"Pellucid, Susie."

"Stay out of it, Denise," Mikey appealed. "Come and play with me while dad gives Susie a dressing down."

"I won't be receiving a dressing down, smarty pants; because we're both elegantly dressed up after a quiet day's shopping."

"Oh, is that it - did you pinch dad's credit card?"

"Don't be daft."

"It's not so daft - you've been more than generous lately. Where's all the money come from?"

"Denise is a much sought after wedding dress model. I'm acting as her agent, and I've fully booked her."

"Scollops!"

"You'll see - I'll bring you some piccies to slaver over from our next assignment. We're exhibiting for Stephanie again at a fayre next month."

"Is that the half-term one in our school hall?"

"It could be."

"If it is, I'll volunteer my services and put out the chairs."

"Don't get too excited - Stephanie hasn't finalised her plans yet."

"I knew you were making it up," Mikey crowed. "You'll need a better story than that to get out of this mess. Before they shut the door on me, I heard dad tell mum he'd been interviewed by the police."

"Well, whatever it is - it's nothing to do with us," Susie insisted.

"Yes, it has. And dad's more upset about it than Uncle Frank's house accidentally blowing up. And that takes some doing, because the old bore never stops moaning."

"There you are, then," Susie retorted. "Dad will be wanting my advice on how to get rid of the man who came to dinner."

"And tea ... and supper ... and breakfast ... and dinner," Mikey groaned. "Dad says he's worse than a bloody socialist. They eat at all the best restaurants and then leave without paying the bill - only Uncle Frank won't leave."

"Is the old grumpy box there now?"

"No, and dad's glad he's not around. He wants to deal with you before big brother gets back - I heard that too."

"What else did you hear, Snoopy?"

"Not much - but dad's got a pair of lovely black eyes from somewhere to match mine - and I think he came home in a black Maria."

"Well, that explains everything," Susie declared. "And it's obvious I'm in the clear."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. Dad can't blame me if he had a contretemps with a traffic warden, after getting his car towed away."

"You hope. Dad wouldn't want to discuss that with you. Prepare to meet thy doom, Susie - is there anything I can't do to help?"

"Yes - go and play with your elastic band. Denise and I need to have a talk."

"I'll see you later, Denise - and I'll visit you in prison, Susie," Mikey laughed, and scampered back to the house.

I looked at Susie in alarm. "The police," I gulped. "Our past has finally caught up with us."

"Hold your nerve, Jeffrey. Remember - dad's the one with questions to answer about his black eyes."

"We should be diplomatic and not mention them. Let's try to convince your dad our only interest is in Dinky Dooing."

"Right, and whatever story dad tells us, we'll pretend to believe it - just like Columbo."

"No, Susie - put such foolish thoughts out of your head," I pleaded. "Don't mention anything about alibis and detecting."

"Leave it to me, Jeffrey," Susie grinned, vaulting over the fence. "All we have to fear is fear itself."

I took a deep breath and followed in her footsteps, as she whistled a happy tune on our way up to the house.

"This could be where we get our just rewards, Susie," I quaked, when we arrived at the back door.

"And it's about blooming time, Jeffrey - Crimestoppers must owe us a bloody fortune!"

 

Chapter 127

"Does Denise have to lead you into the lion's den, Susie?"

"It's only a bear's cave, Jeffrey. And hiding behind Boo Boo's skirts is my safest approach until we find out what I haven't done."

"Never mind you - how about me?"

"Denise's maidenly blush will disarm dad and oblige him to adopt a chivalrous stance."

"A soft cheek turneth away wrath is all very well, Susie - but then what?"

"Twitter a little to soothe his savage breast, and I'll take it from there."

"I'm not chirruping to your dad on top of reciting to your mum."

"All you have to do is demurely apologise for wilfully delaying me. That'll put dad firmly on the back foot."

"Where he'll have plenty of time to pick up the spin we're about to deliver."

"Not if you bowl him your cunningly concealed slider, Jeffrey." Susie opened the lounge door and ushered me in. "Mince forth, Denise, and knock dad out of his stride."

"Hello, sir - here we are," I called across the room to an evidently preoccupied Mr Jones who continued pacing the floor, mumbling to himself. "Sorry for keeping you waiting - but we had a bit of a struggle with my zip."

Susie's dad juddered to halt, raised his eyes from the carpet, and silently appraised the scene.

"Carry on, Denise - dad's all ears."

"No, it's over to you, Susie," I whispered. "I think my latest womanifestation has struck your father dumb."

The light of recognition dawned, and Mr Jones finally found his voice. "What ..."

"Before you ask, dad - we've several perfectly rational explanations as to why we're dressed like this," Susie beamed.

"No doubt, Susie, but I haven't time to play Call My Bluff with you." Mr Jones deliberated for a moment, before resuming his peripatetic discourse. "We need to have a serious talk about an unexpected problem that's arisen."

"What's up, dad - has the cat found out how to open the fridge?"

"We haven't got a cat, Susie - and if we had, that would be the least of my worries," Mr Jones winced, and carried on circumnavigating the sofa.

"Is your knee giving you gyp, sir?" I solicitously enquired, as he limped past us.

"Along with just about everything else," Mr Jones groaned. "I don't know which way to turn."

"I told you so," Susie hissed. "We're in the clear. Dad's the one in trouble."

"Don't mutter, Susie," Mr Jones grimaced, from the far side of the room. "You know that always puts me on edge, and the situation's awkward enough as it is."

"Is it a domestic difficulty, dad - are you having a trying time with our unwelcome guests?"

"The worst yet." Mr Jones heaved a giant sigh. "The way Frank goes on about it, you'd think no one had ever had their house razed to the ground before."

"They must have done, or why would you insure against it."

"Precisely, Susie, but try convincing your uncle of that. Nothing I say makes any difference - I can't get him to see the bigger picture."

"My gran's always reminding folk worse things happen at sea, Mr Jones," I felt moved to offer in support.

"They certainly do, Denise - a house under twenty feet of water would have been permanently blighted. What happened to Frank's crumbling, old pile is a blessing in disguise."

"That could be me speaking, dad."

"I hope not, Susie - your uncle still harbours his suspicions."

"About what, dad?"

"About you, Susie."

"He has no grounds for them, dad."

"I know that, Susie - and I've endeavoured to divert Frank from his obsession, by explaining how he could build four retirement bungalows on his bombsite and make a handsome profit."

"Thanks, dad - are you having any success?"

"No, it's like talking to a brick wall," Mr Jones moaned. "But if Frank wants to ignore good professional advice, that's his lookout. I've more immediate problems of my own to deal with."

"Fret ye not, dad," Susie smiled. "The Dinky Doos have arrived, and their merry quips will soon have you feeling consolate again."

"The dinky whos?" Mr Jones stuttered, and came to a full stop. "Where are they? I don't want any more uninvited guests in the house."

"It's us, dad - Nutwood's ukelele girls. We're a few strings short of chord at the moment, but we can hum you what we'll be strumming."

"Not now, Susie," Mr Jones frowned. "I hoped you'd act grown-up about this, because it's a grave state of affairs I have to discuss with you."

"Ah, all is explained, Denise - Uncle Frank's planted somebody in the wrong box again."

"It's easily done, Susie - my crank puller switched places with my chain tool ... and a pair of mum's tights mysteriously appeared in my sock drawer."

"You're too indulgent, Denise. Losing one corpse may be regarded as a misfortune, but losing two reeks of sheer carelessness."

"It's not a laughing matter, Susie. Your uncle's never misplaced a loved one in his life, so don't go spreading such rumours." A pained expression crossed Mr Jones' face. "With funeral directors and estate agents, reputation counts for everything - especially at a time like this."

Susie raised her eyebrows. "A time like what, dad?"

"A time when I need you to be sensible and lend me some much needed assistance."

"You only have to ask, dad; Denise and I are ready for anything."

"Yes - just what are you ready for?" Curiosity finally got the better of Mr Jones. "Why are you dressed like that, Susie?"

"The Dinky Doos can't tell you, dad - it'd spoil the surprise."

"Another one of them is the last thing I need at the moment," Mr Jones grumbled, and focused on me. "What's your little secret, Denise?"

"It's nothing to worry about, sir," I assured him. "We're only having a Japanese day at school next week."

"You don't look like geishas."

"I should hope not," Susie huffed. "We're the face of modern Japan."

Mr Jones shook his head in amazement. "I find that hard to believe."

"Then ask Mikey for a read of his comics. And if that doesn't explain it all to you, have a man-to-man talk with him over your pobbies."

"I'd rather leave that sort of thing to your mother, Susie."

"Please yourself, dad, but don't blame me for your bewilderment."

"I always try not to," Mr Jones sighed.

"And I appreciate it, dad," Susie smiled. "Now let's get back to what's bothering you. Tell us how the anime girls can be of help."

"I want you to man the Thornley branch office tomorrow," Mr Jones announced.

"Dad's had a brainstorm, Denise."

"Pardon, Susie."

"Sorry, dad - you dropped a bombshell - I wasn't expecting that."

"No one expects the foolish proposition," I muttered.

"Quite, Denise," Mr Jones coughed. "Unfortunately, I'm left with no sensible alternative - Mr Puffin and Mrs Pike are both indisposed."

"Sorry, sir - that must be awkward for you."

"Very - I filled in for them today, but I'll be otherwise engaged in the morning."

"What with, dad?"

"Things, Susie."

"Things?"

"Yes, important things - and meanwhile Jones and Co have standards of service to uphold. I'm left with no choice, but to call on the pair of you to step into the breach."

"And is that all there is to it?" Susie's face fell. "I thought you were building up to something really dramatic, dad, so we could show off my initiative."

"There'll be no need for that, Susie; just politely answer enquiries and make viewing appointments. Your idea of initiative is definitely not required."

"That doesn't sound much fun."

"It's not meant to be fun - it's work."

"Will it involve dictating to Denise? She's always dreamt of being a secretary and taking shorthand."

"You can play whatever games take your fancy, as long as you look smart and conduct yourselves in a business-like manner."

"Do we get a clothes allowance? We'll need some chic outfits, and we're a bit low on funds after pushing the boat out for these costumes."

"It's only for a day, Susie."

"We don't want to let the side down, dad. Jeans are a no-no for high-powered executives."

"Unless you're a dotcom whiz kid," I offered.

"Shush, Denise - we're going to be at the sharp end, dealing with the public."

"Whom you will delight by appearing in your Sunday best, Susie - with behaviour to match."

"Okay, dad, but a little incentive wouldn't do any harm - are we on commission?"

"No, the minimum wage - and don't give the clients any imaginative sales talk. We estate agents have a strict code of conduct."

"When you put it like that, there isn't much of an inducement for two high-fliers to sit on their bottoms all day. How are we fixed for luncheon vouchers?"

"You can raid the petty cash."

"What do you think, Denise?"

"I'm already looking forward to our fish, chips, and mushy peas, Susie. That's a very generous offer," I smiled at Mr Jones. "We'll be more than happy to help out."

"You just want to spend a quiet day tottering up to the filing cabinets in your high heels, Denise."

"It'll come as a pleasant change after being on the go all week, Susie."

"I'm not so sure we'll be left in peace, Denise. I have a hunch dad hasn't given us all the relevant facts of the case."

"Oh, don't start, Susie."

"And besides that - my nose for trouble tells me there's more to this than meets the eye."

"You're muttering again, Susie," Mr Jones cautioned.

"Stop it, Susie," I hissed. "One investigation may lead to another."

"I thought you'd approve of my exercising due diligence, Denise. We need to be fully informed about the dangers we may face on the office frontline."

"Dangers! I heard that," Mr Jones exclaimed. "What on earth are you talking about, Susie? I'm only asking you to sit behind a desk."

"Whose previous occupants have inexplicably disappeared."

"No, they have not. I said no such thing," Mr Jones objected.

"Well, what sudden calamity has overtaken them?"

"There's nothing sudden about it, Susie. Mr Puffin's been off all week."

"Isn't he the one who talks as if he's got a toffee apple stuck up his nose?"

"Yes ... no - that's the result of a private education."

"What else is wrong with him?"

"He's still recuperating after heading a golf club."

"That's an unlikely story, dad."

"But true - I was there when it happened."

"Oh, you clobbered him."

"Not deliberately - he shouldn't have been bending down. I yelled 'fore', but my backswing caught him straight between the eyes."

"Luckily for you that's the thickest part of the skull, or you could have been up for manslaughter, dad."

Mr Jones turned a deathly pale. "Don't even joke about such things, Susie - people could get the wrong idea. It was a regrettable accident with no malice aforethought."

"And what sporting mishap befell Mrs Pike - did you wind her with a rugby ball in the breadbasket?"

"Susie!"

"Sorry, dad."

"I should think so. I have the utmost respect for Mrs Pike. She may spend a mite too much time knitting and doing the Guardian crossword, but the good lady has single-handedly crewed the the ship all week."

"And now she's taking a day off to recover."

"No, she has to stay home to nurse Montmorency. The poor boy's prone to anticipatory, weekend migraines."

"Who's Montmorency - Mr Puffin's love-child?"

"No, her poodle - Mrs Pike's crocheted the little chap his own coat with his name on it. She's devoted to him since she lost her husband."

"Mrs Pike's a merry widow, is she?"

"She's certainly not merry, Susie - and she may not even be a widow. One doesn't like to delve too deeply into family affairs."

"So she's a mystery woman."

"Confidentially, Susie, from the few hints Mrs Pike has dropped, I think she just prefers the company of her poodle to her husband."

"Well, I'm not surprised Montmorency's down with a sick headache - Mrs Pike should visit give a dog a good name dot com."

"What's that?" Mr Jones looked bemused.

"Come on, dad, smile - it wasn't so bad."

"I'm sorry, Susie - I've had a hectic day."

"There's more to it than that, dad; I have a suspicion you're obfuscating. Mikey mentioned you've had a run-in with the local constabulary."

"Aaahh." Mr Jones shifted uncomfortably and felt at his collar. "That matter doesn't concern you, Susie - it's strictly confidential."

"Was it the fraud squad - are we really substituting for a pair of trusted employees who've eloped to Brazil with the firm's funds?"

"Don't be silly, Susie."

"I'm not - I've deduced something big is troubling you, dad."

"Well, it doesn't involve the business ..." Mr Jones faltered - and Susie pounced.

"But it is felonious."

"There's been a minor misunderstanding. Nothing to make a fuss over - it'll all be sorted out tomorrow."

"Then why didn't you want Mikey to hear what you and mum were talking about?"

"Did he say that?"

"Among other things - but I only believed every other word, dad. You know how Mikey exaggerates my innocent, little escapades."

"He couldn't, Susie - Mikey lacks your fevered imagination."

"So you were frogmarched home by the police."

"I was not," Mr Jones choked. "Wait until I get hold of Mikey."

"Don't be upset, Mr Jones," I appealed. "It's obviously a case of Chinese whispers and poetic licence."

"That's all very well, Denise, but Mikey shouldn't have been listening at the door, and Susie shouldn't embellish his eavesdroppings."

"I haven't, dad, but it's obvious you're hiding something."

"I don't know what you mean, Susie," Mr Jones protested.

"Well, who gave you those doozies of black eyes - did Mr Puffin come round and whack you with his croquet mallet in retaliation?"

"My knee gave way on the kerb, and I banged my head on the car door, that's all," Mr Jones claimed, while carefully avoiding looking Susie in the eye.

"Oh, you didn't have a ding-dong with a traffic warden, then."

"No, I certainly did not," Mr Jones spluttered. "Is that another of Mikey's tall tales?"

"He may have suggested it was the most likely explanation that you came home in a black Maria."

"Well, it isn't, and I didn't. If you must know, Susie, I was present at the scene of a crime," Mr Jones divulged. "And I'm helping the police with their enquiries."

"That sounds ominous."

"It's nothing of the sort."

"Don't you believe it, dad. Ask Denise what happened to Ernie the last time he helped police with their enquiries."

"Who's Ernie - and what's he got to do with it?"

"An industrious lad who used to work at our scrapyard, before he went into business through the skylight," I explained. "He didn't have much of a head for figures, but when they found the dynamite under his bed, they dropped the tax evasion charges."

"Oh, don't you start Susieing, Denise - I'm confused enough already."

"Sorry, Mr Jones, though it all turned out for the best in Ernie's case - three cases, actually. He graduated from prison with a European computer driving licence and he's keeping to the straight and narrow now ... almost."

"That's most encouraging, Denise. I know you mean well, but I'd rather not hear any more about your friend at the moment."

"Is that what you're up for, dad - tax evasion?"

"I'm not up for anything, Susie."

"Then why did the police take your fingerprints? I can see the ink smudges."

Mr Jones put his hands in his pockets. "There are certain formal procedures that have to be followed. They were at pains to assure me it's all just routine."

"Ah, so they took your DNA as well," Susie whistled. "It's worse than I thought. Never mind the office, dad - this is where you really need our help."

"No, I don't, Susie."

"Yes, you do, dad. I'm a dab hand at deducing, and Denise is no mean practitioner herself. You'd better spill the beans."

"There are no beans to spill, Susie."

"Then why are you involved with the law?"

"Because I did my duty as a responsible citizen and reported an incident."

"That's where you made your first mistake, dad. The police don't take kindly to folk finding work for them."

"If I knew then, what I know now," Mr Jones groaned. "I'd have kept my mouth shut, but I wanted to appear cooperative."

"About what?" Susie probed. "We're ears akimbo."

"It's sub judice - let's just say I spent most of the afternoon with a Picasso of a photofit artist. And at the end of it all," Mr Jones snorted, "it looked nothing like the man."

"Which man?"

"I've no idea, although he did bear a passing resemblance to your Uncle Frank."

"Oh, that's why you've landed yourself in it, dad."

"What do you mean, Susie?"

"Well, Uncle Frank is your brother. You've presented the police with a self-portrait."

"No, I have not. I did my best, but they completely ignored the fellow's most distinguishing feature."

"What was that, dad?"

"His sideburns didn't match."

"You haven't given them a lot to go on, then."

"The detectives obviously don't think so. They weren't satisfied with my statement and sent me home to sleep on it."

"Are you out on bail?"

"Of course not, Susie, but I've a further interview in the morning. And it'll be another complete waste of time, because there's nothing more I can tell them."

"They'll have you repeat your story over and over again to check it for any discrepancies."

"Well, they won't find any," Mr Jones hotly insisted.

"Hadn't you better give us the low-down, dad - just to make sure you've got your facts straight?"

"No, Susie - it's not something I want a daughter of mine to hear. I've witnessed some distressing episodes on the rugby field, but this beats the lot."

Susie looked at me wide-eyed, barely able to restrain herself. "This is our chance, Denise ..."

"And we'll do our bit, Mr Jones," I hastily chimed in. "Rest assured, we'll take care of the office tomorrow."

"Thank you, Denise - I know I can rely on you."

"Both of us, dad - we'll surprise you with our industry."

"No doubt you will, Susie, but I can't worry about that now. There's Uncle Frank pulling into the drive - not a word to him about this. I don't want to be on the receiving end of another of his big brother lectures."

"Our lips are sealed, aren't they, Denise?"

"Almost permanently lipsticked, Susie."

"Any more instructions, dad?"

"Not at the moment - I'll make out a list of what you've to do, and we can discuss it on the way into the office tomorrow."

"Okay - see off Uncle Frank and then have a good ziz, dad. Things will look brighter in the morning, now we're on your case."

I gave Susie a warning nudge. "On the job, you mean."

"Case - job - what's the difference, Denise?"

"A great deal," Mr Jones huffed. "Estate agenting is a noble profession not a job. I hope you'll both bear that in mind at all times."

"Have no fear, dad - you've entrusted the future of Jones & Co to the right girl Fridays."

"Well, at least that's one problem solved." Mr Jones sadly shook his head. "Everything was going so well, and then your Uncle Frank turns up, and now this other little, local difficulty."

"Fate has sneaked up behind you, wielding a length of lead piping, dad, but leave it to us to throw a spanner in her works."

"I'm not sure I understand that, Susie."

"You don't have to. Come tomorrow night, we'll all be laughing about this - whatever it is."

"I sincerely hope so." Mr Jones took a quick look in the mirror and brushed his hair down over his eyes. "Just remember - no mention of black Marias to your uncle."

"You can put your trust in us, dad."

"So be it, Susie." Mr Jones forced a smile and hobbled out of the room to share his misery with his brother.

Susie warbled on her way to closing the door behind Mr Jones.

"That was a bit insensitive, considering your dad's circumstances, Susie."

"Dad's in a subjunctive mood, Jeffrey - I just wanted to cheer him on his way. The truth is, I believe dad's only an arm's length away from being arrested."

"Then I'm glad you got my message, Susie, and didn't mention private detectiving."

"I sensed exactly what you were thinking, Jeffrey."

"I doubt it Susie."

"You wanted to put dad off the scent, until we're firmly on it."

"Did I?"

"Yes, you were scared dad might have second thoughts, and you'd miss a Denise day at the office."

"If you have your way, Susie, it may turn out not exactly as I hope."

"A mystery to solve - and we haven't even put a card in the Post Office yet - what more could you want?"

"I'd rather we take a romantic stroll on the beach like mum and dad. I've still got his worming spade in the shed."

"Not tomorrow, Jeffrey - and not ever."

"Oh, I thought it would appeal to the tomboy in you; and it's something you must have missed out on."

"No thanks - there could be all sorts of unmentionables buried in the sand. You never know what we might dig up."

"Lugworms fetch a good price, Susie - it wouldn't be a walk wasted."

"Was your dad a cheapskate, too, Jeffrey?"

"Mum and dad were saving for a deposit on a house, Susie."

"Speaking as an up-and-coming estate agent, I find that highly commendable, Jeffrey."

"With all the money we've to invest, perhaps we should raise our sights beyond your car, Susie. How about a beach chalet? They aren't bricks and mortar, but they're almost a solid asset."

"Not with rising sea-levels, Jeffrey - a mobile home would be a wiser choice. There was a detective who lived in one of them - but it never went anywhere."

"And he got hit over the head in every episode. That's what happens to private eyes who poke their noses into other folk's business."

"Don't worry, Jeffrey, you won't have to look behind you where we're going next."

"And where's that?"

"Into the kitchen -we'll say hello to mum and see if we can pump her for any more information on dad while we've got the chance."

"More likely, she'll pump us, Susie."

"If she does, Jeffrey, just follow my lead and keep it simple."

 

Chapter 128

"You and your Dinky Doos, Susie," I griped, after we'd left Mrs Jones lording it over a cold sink, wishing she'd poisoned Uncle Frank's rhubarb pie.

"What about them, Jeffrey?" Susie smiled, as she shut the lounge door behind us.

"Once you get an idea into your head, it becomes an obsession. Do you have to mention our imaginary act at every opportunity, Susie?"

"I had to stick to the story we told your mum, Jeffrey, in case they check with each other."

"Okay," I conceded, "but it shouldn't have led to my reciting the whole of Gunga Din."

"How could I have known a closet imperialist lackey lay lurking beneath those budding breasts? What a thing to have learned off by heart."

"It's granddad's party piece, but I would never have dredged it up if you hadn't asked me did I like Kipling."

"We were Dinky Dooing, Jeffrey - so there was only one possible comeback."

"I avoided the obvious and turned the audience's expectation on its head. I delivered a Dadaesque, theatre-of-the-absurd punchline."

"And a blooming long one."

"Only because you just stood there open-eared. Why didn't you say something?"

"I wanted to know how it ended."

"I could have told you later, Susie."

"But then we wouldn't have brought a tear to mum's eye."

"I thought that was the onions."

"Gunga Din played his part."

"I suppose my performance might have contributed to your mother abandoning her cross-questioning."

"Undoubtedly, Jeffrey - but, even so, next time I won't shoot myself in the foot. I'll hold a gun to your temple and ask you what's a Hemingway."

"About 200 pounds."

"Like a hole in the head it does," Susie laughed. "You'll have to brush up your waggery, Denise."

"So can we go home to work on the comedy and leave the mystery here."

"Not yet, Jeffrey - there may be more to uncover about dad's strange behaviour."

"Just why are you so keen on detectiving, Susie?" I sighed.

"Because we'll be good at it, Jeffrey. Come on, softly, softly, catchee gorilla." Susie took my arm and steered me out of the room.

"Now what are you doing?" I hissed, when we arrived outside Mr Jones' private retreat.

"Shush!" Susie listened at the door for a moment, before easing it open. "Keep watch while I search for clues."

"Don't," I begged, as she tiptoed inside "Your mum was only interested in our adventures, and she'd be the first to know if your dad's really in trouble."

"It's the dog that didn't bark in the night, Jeffrey. Dad's in such deep doo-doo that he's scared to tell mum the full story. This case warrants our further investigation."

"You'll only upset your dad if he catches you poking around in his desk." I anxiously glanced down the hall as Susie riffled through a sheaf of papers. "Close the drawers, and get out of there."

"Okay, I'm coming. All I've discovered is that dad's got us pencilled in for Sunday's rugby match."

"I hope you're joking, Susie," I frowned, when she rejoined me in the hall.

"Only partly, Jeffrey - but if you don't show a bit more enthusiasm for this game, I may volunteer us for that game."

"Just let's go before we land in bother. If anything out of the ordinary has happened, we'll read about it in tomorrow's paper. Then you can deduce to your heart's content from the comfort of my armchair."

"Good thinking, Jeffrey," Susie approved. "You've given me a spiffing idea, but we need to get back to your bedroom first."

"That sounds an altogether more promising line of investigation. Come on - what are we waiting for?"

"We have to convey our good wishes to Uncle Frank; the nosy beggar might have prised out a gobbet of information about dad's black-eyes."

"Is it really necessary for me to show off Lolita to every Mikey, George, and Frank, Susie?"

"After all the trouble we went to, you want to give unky his present don't you?"

"We haven't got a present; it went missing in action."

"But the sentiment's still here in spirit, and Uncle Frank will be pleased to know he's uppermost in our thoughts."

"I'm sure he'll see it that way, Susie."

"Then follow me, Jeffrey - a soupçon of our lively banter will cheer up the old buffer, no end."

"No house, don't you mean, Susie?"

"And that Uncle Frank is why we're dressed as the Dinky Doos."

"Well, in my opinion, Susie, Denise is more of a Little Bo Peep," Uncle Frank smiled, and gave me a nod of approval. "I only wish Trevor could see you now; I'm sure it would do the boy a power of good."

"Is he under the weather after being under the water, sir?"

"No, Denise - Trevor's as good as new. Smothering himself in a thick layer of Vick and spending the night with his head over a steaming bowl of Friar's Balsam prevented any serious after-effects."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir. You can't be too careful when you're a martyr to catarrh."

"Don't fall for that nonsense, Denise - Trevor's physically fine. It's not a weak chest he's suffering from - it's a weak head."

"Still a love-struck young puppy is he?" Susie grinned.

"Totally infatuated," Uncle Frank snorted. "Charlotte Ormeroyd is not the girl for him and never could be - but will he listen?"

"Trevor's a fish out of water riding a horse of a different colour."

"That's another way of putting it, I suppose, Susie," Uncle Frank harrumphed. "Although I rather hope it hasn't gone that far."

I diplomatically changed the subject. "And how are you, sir?"

"As well as can be expected, under very trying circumstances. Having your house blown up is number two on the Funeral Director Monthly's list of life-changing experiences."

"What's number one?"

"Dying, of course, Denise - but it isn't half as big a surprise, believe me."

"You've suffered a terrific shock to the system, Uncle Frank," Susie sympathised. "It would have short-circuited a lesser man. Your stiff upper lip is an example to us all."

"Thank you, my dear - but I sometimes wonder how I'm managing to soldier on," he sighed. "What with Trevor, my back, and being made homeless - I almost took an aspirin last night."

"Well, make sure you keep up your appetite; that's the main thing," Susie advised.

"I'm doing my best," Uncle Frank burped. "Pardon me - I had to eat your father's tea for him. There appears to be something weighing heavily on his mind as well. Have you any idea what it is, Susie?"

"Dad's just made a major decision and put me in charge of the Thornley office tomorrow."

Uncle Frank's jaw dropped in aghastnishment. "No wonder George is worried. How could he contemplate such lunacy?"

"Dad thinks outside the box, and so do we. If you're ever short of a couple of pall-bearers, you've only got to ask. Susie and Denise are always willing to put their shoulders to the coffin."

"A gracious offer, but you're in no way suitable."

"We're stronger than we look, and Denise would jump at the chance to squeeze into a little black dress."

"It wouldn't make any difference - you both smile too much."

"We'll take that as a compliment, Uncle Frank, and we've something to give in return," Susie beamed. "We spared no expense and bought you a present from Shoreham's world-renowned fromagerie - two pounds of Beacon Fell, the finest of Lancashire cheeses."

"I don't know what to say, Susie - that's very generous of you."

"And you, Uncle Frank - we donated it to a poor young beggar selling the Big Issue. He'd no roof over his head, either. There, but for the grace of dad ..."

"Is this another of Susie's tomfooleries, Denise?"

"No, sir, you'd have done the same under the circumstances."

"And what were they, Denise?"

"We didn't fancy fighting the hairy blighter's monkey for the spoils after the little rascal snatched it from us."

"But it would have gladdened your heart to see the starving simian wolf down his share, Uncle Frank."

"I'll take that story with a very large pinch of salt, Susie."

"It's truer than you imagine."

"Be that as it may - I think it's my turn to bamboozle you. I've a mind-reading trick to show Denise." Uncle Frank took out a 'Jones & Son Funeral Directors' promotional biro and scribbled in his notebook. "Give me any odd two digit number between 1 and 50."

"13 - are you right?"

"Never mind." Uncle Frank tore out the page in frustration.

"I'm sorry, sir - I did it on purpose. I knew you'd write down 37 before you even started."

"I don't believe it."

"You've numbed unky with your numbering again, Denise."

"No, she hasn't - it was another lucky guess."

"So," Susie smirked, "do you fancy chancing your wallet in a game of Japanese girls' whist with us, Uncle Frank?"

"Japanese girls' whist - how do you play that?"

"The rules are simple - explain them, Denise."

"All twos, fives, and nines are wild, except if you have the three of hearts and jack of clubs - in which case diamonds are trumps until the seven of spades is played."

"So, would you like to give our whist a whirl, Uncle Frank?"

"No, thank you - I've no more money to throw away."

"When you win you earn - when you lose you learn."

"Not at the moment, Susie - I'm finding it hard to concentrate. My current situation has had a profound effect on me. It's taken all the fun out of funeral directing."

"I can see that reflected in your face, Uncle Frank. You have the look of a man who searched for the leak in life's gas pipe with a lighted candle ... and found it."

"That's a most unfortunate turn of phrase, considering recent events, Susie. It takes but the smallest reminder, and I'm back there, standing amongst the ruins."

"Sorry, Uncle Frank, I was only trying to cheer you up."

"It's too early for that, Susie - I'm still in mourning."

"Well, try not to brood - bury yourself in your work. Labor omnia vincit - as the jolly old Romans have it."

"I'm feeling far from jolly."

"You have to think positive - picture all that lovely insurance money in your mind."

Uncle Frank sorrowfully shook his head. "That can't compensate for my loss."

"It would if you pack four new houses onto the land. Dad says you'll make another bomb."

"Never! I intend to rebuild Dunlivin brick by brick - however long it takes."

"Bad for mum and dad, good for us, Denise," Susie whispered.

"It would have been twenty-five years, next April, since I carried your Aunt Rose over the threshold," Uncle Frank maudled on.

"The black cloud has a silver wedding in the offing, then," I consoled him. "And you'll still be able to celebrate that."

"It won't be the same, though," he moaned. "We were planning on having the drive freshly tarmacked to mark the occasion, and Mother was looking forward to our creosoting the fence together."

"Well, the drive is still there - and the fence. And you can put me down for a double sleeping-bag on your gift list," Susie offered.

"I'd rather not. Some things are inappropriate for a solemn occasion."

"Take no notice, Mr Jones - the Dinky Dooery has gone to Susie's head. I'll see she gets you a proper present."

"A collector's item is what's called for, Denise. Have you any suitable antique stored away in your shed?"

"I've an old violin and an oil painting that granddad gave me. He claims they're a Stradivarius and a Rembrandt."

"Get away!"

"It's true, Susie - but the only thing is, Stradivarius was a terrible painter and Rembrandt made rotten violins."

"You Dinky Doos are as bad as each other," Uncle Frank groaned. "I've had enough of your cheering up - I'm off for an early supper."

"Your uncle's walked out on us, Susie, but I'm sure I detected the hint of a smile on his face."

"It's the way we tell 'em, Jeffrey."

"Tell me something, Susie."

"What, Jeffrey?"

"Have you ever considered a career in the diplomatic corps?"

"Not this week, Jeffrey - now tell me something."

"What, Susie?"

"Can you read my mind?"

"Well, nothing you do surprises me, Susie."

"Then you won't throw a wobbly if I ask Mikey can we borrow his junior detective outfit."

"No, Susie, it'll make us seem childish."

"You may have a point. Stamp collecting is a grown-up hobby, though, so we'll settle for a borrow of his giant magnifying glass."

"What do we need a giant magnifying glass for?"

"Sherlock Holmes had one - you can't argue with that, Jeffrey. Follow me."

"But Mikey's got a friend in with him, Susie."

"The more the merrier, Denise."

"Tell me the best, Susie," Mikey chortled. "Have you been banished to the outer limits?"

"Au contraire, mon petit frère, I've been admitted to the inner sanctum. Behold - dad's newest trainee estate agent - and heir apparent."

"I don't believe you," Mikey spluttered.

"You'd better - I've got the tape measure and evidence to prove it."

"No, you haven't."

"Go and look in the kitchen," Susie challenged. "Mum's already microwaving a mess of pottage and fluffing up the goatskin. For my brother is a hairy boy, and I am a smooth girl."

"You and your bloody gobbledygook! What really happened, Denise?"

"Don't worry, Mikey, your place as the favoured son is secure - Susie's only kidding."

"Yeah, she can't fool me. I knew it all along."

"Course you did, Mikey." Susie reached up and patted him affectionately on the head. "But we are helping dad to keep a vital branch office open, by working as temps for a day."

"You working?"

"Yes, we've put ourselves last and made room in our busy schedule to safeguard your birth-right, little brother."

"That's okay, then," Mikey conceded. "I'm glad you didn't get bawled out."

"And you can further show your gratitude by lending us your magnifying glass."

"What for?"

"Denise is going to scrutinise the accounts. Someone may have been fiddling while the home office's back was turned."

"Is that why dad's involved with the police?"

"We can say no more, but, rest assured, we'll be protecting your interests by reading the small print."

"All right." Mikey went over to the computer desk and shoved his pal aside. "Move it, Tommy - I want to get in the drawer."

"Aw - you've made me crash."

"Never mind that," Mikey hissed. "There's something better to stare at - my girlfriend's here, and showing them off. Come and have a peep."

"Watch out, Denise," Susie murmured.

I casually moved my hands over Pinky and Perky, as the boys came grinning towards us.

"Here you are, Susie, and don't break it. It's a super strong one - it makes everything look heaps bigger."

"Ah, the answer to a maiden's head. Would you like to have a squint, Denise?"

"Not Pygmalion likely - put it away."

Susie smiled and pocketed the glass. "Show some manners and introduce us to your guest, Mikey."

"This is Tommy - he's in my gang. It's a boys-only club, but you can be an honorary member if you like, Denise ... and you, Susie."

"No we can't - it's full equality or nothing. And I'd have to be president for life."

"I'm not taking orders from a girl, Mikey."

"Didn't you hear?" Susie grasped her lapels. "We're not girls - we're professional young women."

"Then why are you dressed funny?" Tommy snickered.

"Because we're blooming busy bees. These are our second job, work clothes."

"It must be a pretty peculiar job," Tommy mocked. "What is it?"

"We're the Dinky Doos, comedy waitresses in a pizza parlour. We have the clientele choking with laughter."

"I don't believe it! Mikey's warned me you're always making things up."

"Tell Doubting Thomas about our latest satisfied customer, Denise."

"You mean the chap who asked for the small slice of ham and a giant piece of lemon rind."

"That's the one - after we fulfilled his order, Mr Armstrong was walking on the moon."

"So?"

"He doesn't get it, Denise."

"There's nothing to get," Tommy sneered. "And there's no such thing as comedy waitresses. You're having me on."

"No, I'm not, you prize plum. Mirth angels are all the rage in Japan; that's where we went for our training."

"You're bloody crackers."

"Ah, praise at last, Denise - nobody can resist us."

"If you're so funny, make me laugh."

"Okay, pin back your lugholes.

"Oh, Dinky Don't, Susie," I blushed. "We're in mixed company."

"True, Denise - and we shouldn't waste our A1 material on non-paying customers. What else suitable have we in our repertoire?"

"Why don't I recite The Tay Bridge Disaster, Susie? You can't beat the great McGonagall for comic verse.

"Sophisticated stuff like that would go over their heads, Denise."

"I'll save it for your Uncle Frank, then, Susie. In his time of trouble, I'm sure he'll appreciate the closing sentiments."

"Really - what are they?"

"Forget it, Denise."

"If you say so, Susie. Maybe we could do a duet of The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner; that's another of granddad's favourites."

"We haven't got all night, Denise. Something out of a Christmas cracker would be more fitting."

"Stop messing about and tell us a proper joke," Tommy scowled.

"We're ready now, sourpuss," Susie grinned; "that fooling around gave us time to improvise something specially for you. Take it away, Denise, and keep it short - no shaggy albatross stories."

"There was an Englishman, an Irishman, and a Scotsman, who kept having nightmares they were part of a risqué anecdote," I began.

"So they go to see a psychiatrist," Susie continued.

"And he takes them for a walk, and they get lost in the jungle."

"Where they meet this leopard. Carry on, Denise."

"And the leopard says to the psychiatrist. 'You're just the man I need. Every time I look at my wife, I see spots before my eyes'."

"Notice what we did there?"

"Is that it?" Tommy jeered.

"Obviously not - it's only the set-up," Susie scolded. "Keep quiet -you're ruining our rhythm. Now, where were we, Denise?"

"Spots before the leopard's eyes."

"Right - the psychiatrist thinks a bit and says, 'I've got some good news for you'."

"'What's that?' the leopard asks."

"'I've won the lottery. Ten coconuts plus VAT, please'."

"Very nicely done, Susie."

"We should be on the telly, Denise."

"In your dreams - that wasn't much better," Tommy scoffed.

"Shut up, we haven't finished yet," Susie snorted. "Back to the plot, Denise - where are we?"

"The leopard asks for a second opinion."

"So he goes to this ophthalmologist. 'Ah, spots before the eyes, is it?' the man nods. 'Well, that's nothing to worry about'."

"'Yes, it is', the leopard protests."

"'Get off home to your wife and don't argue with me. Spots before the eyes is perfectly natural in your case'."

"'But, doc', the leopard wails, 'I'm married to a zebra'."

"Boom! Boom!" Susie smacked Tommy on the behind. "We're available for bookings."

"Gerroff - that hurt! I've a big icky there."

"Ah, you're suffering from gamer's bottom."

"No, I'm not - tell her, Mikey."

"It's a beaut with a fat yellow head, Susie. Do you want to see if it's ready to burst?"

"No, thank you, Mikey - a watched boil never pops. Go and sit down, Tommy, and make yourself uncomfortable."

"Your sister's as bad as you said," Tommy whined. "Bloody girls!"

"Never mind Susie," Mikey laughed. "It was a good joke, and Denise told it great, didn't she?"

"I suppose so - but what had the Englishman, Irishman, and Scotsman to do with it?"

"Nothing -they were classic comic misdirection," Susie whooped. "While you were dazzled by Denise's headlights, I removed your underpants. Ta-raa!" Susie threw a pair of pink knickers in Donny's face.

"They're not mine!" he stuttered, blushing bright red.

"Susie's an expert prestidigitator," Mikey laughed. "You'd better check."

"I've no need to," Tommy glared. "And she should stick to waitressing. Let's see her do a bit of that - I'm thirsty."

"Okay the joke's on you, and now you can have the Coke on us," Susie grinned.

"I want a strawberry milkshake."

"To match your briefs - the customer's always right. How about you, Mikey?"

"I'll have a real man's drink. Fetch me an Irn Bru, Denise - it's made out of girders."

"And hurry up about it," Tommy ordered. "My mouth's gone dry."

"We go, we go; look how we go. Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow."

"Here you are, Mikey." I served up his order with a curtsy. "There was only Vimto - I hope it's manly enough for you."

"We put it in the dirtiest glass we could find; the one mum traps slugs in," Susie winked.

"Oh, you didn't!" Mikey pulled a face in disgust.

"Susie's teasing again," I smiled.

"I knew you wouldn't let her do anything like that, Denise. Come over here, and you can push your nose up my pullover."

"Go and get me something to hit you with, Mikey," Susie threatened.

"Only joking," Mikey chuckled.

"And we're only leaving - we have to prepare for our shift at the office tomorrow. We'll be earning, while you're learning. Have a nice day at school."

"Bugger off."

"We're pleased to oblige. Come on, Denise, let's leave the children to play."

"Bye, Mikey."

"Bye, Denise."

I linked arms with Susie, and, as we made our way down the hall, the boys' voices echoed after us.

"What colour of knickers are you wearing, Tommy?"

"They're not knickers and they're not pink."

"Denise's are - I saw them."

"So did I, and she doesn't mind showing off her boobies as well."

"I told you so."

"But if she's your girlfriend, Mikey, why was she cosying up to your sister and looking at her all gooey-eyed?"

"You don't understand modern career women, Tommy - drink your milkshake."

"Where did those knickers come from, Susie?"

"My pocket, Denise - they were yours. I rescued them from Alice's and Amy's."

"Then the least said about that little episode the better."

"But we did learn one important fact, Jeffrey."

"And what's that, Susie?"

"Old Thurlow was right - we do have the makings of a promising double act."

"Dodging fusillades of rotten tomatoes."

"A comedy bonus - as long as they take them out of the tins, Jeffrey."

"Your showbiz ambitions will come to nothing, Susie," I advised. "No one would hire us because of all the bad language."

"What do you mean, Jeffrey? We don't curse and swear."

"No, but the audience will, Susie."

 

Chapter 129

"The game's afoot, Jeffrey!"

"And I'm abed, Susie. I'm not Denising forth again tonight."

"That's fine for now, Jeffrey," Susie beamed, bouncing onto the duvet beside me. "This is the ideal place for us to marshal the facts."

"What facts?"

"The facts in the case of the hapless estate agent."

"Ah, then we should start by listing them in order of importance." I reached over to my desk. "Here you are."

"What's that?"

"The back of a very small envelope. You get marshalling while I catch up with Countdown."

"Your 'I'd love to flaunt my figures in a dress like that' will have to wait, Jeffrey. We've more important affairs to take care of first."

"Beginning with you emaidcipating me from this outfit, Susie. I don't really want to sleep in it; there's a risk I might wake up looking slightly dishevelled."

"Let's get our priorities right, Jeffrey. You enjoying a night zipped up as Lolita pales into insignificance compared to dad suffering a lifetime locked up behind bars."

"I think you may be making a prison sentence out of a parking ticket, Susie."

"There was no mention of a traffic infringement of any kind, Jeffrey - you heard what dad said."

"He politely asked you to mind your own business, Susie."

"No, he never - that was dad's way of subconsciously appealing for my help, Jeffrey."

"I must have missed the subtle double meaning concealed within, but I didn't miss that whatever happened is sub judice."

"Sub judice, my Aunt Fanny - I believe everything dad didn't tell me."

"Let it be, Susie."

"Don't you go all subjunctive on me as well, Jeffrey."

"Perfect passive subjunctive is what you should have been, Susie - and in the future. Your dad's in enough trouble with the police."

"You admit it, then!" Susie swooped. "Dad needs our assistance."

"In the office, behind a desk - he doesn't want you getting any other wild ideas. That's why he was reluctant to say more. Your dad's deliberately left us in ignorance, and, for once, I'm happy to remain there."

"I know dad hasn't given us much to go on, Jeffrey, but that's not a problem - we can soon fill in the blanks."

"And how, pray tell, will we do that?"

"We'll begin by sussing out what the word on the street is."

"I meant it, Susie; I'm not adventuring abroad again tonight. You'll have to wait until tomorrow and see what's in the evening paper."

"Not when we have a hotline to our very own upstart of the press." Susie took out her phone and began dialling. "If it's anything big - and it is - Steve Spooner will already be hot on the trail."

"Don't do it, Susie - your dad will blow his top if he finds a reporter doorstepping him."

"No names - no press pack, Jeffrey - I'll casually work the subject into the conversation."

"What subject?"

"I won't know that until Steve tells me."

"And neither will he, until you ask him."

"Just leave it to me, Jeffrey - I'm well practiced at ferreting things out."

"Well, mind what you say," I implored. "And don't mention your dad."

"Shush - he's answering. Hello, Steve - guess who."

"I couldn't fail to recognise those dulcet tones - it's Susie Jones. Don't say you've another scoop for me."

"Isn't one exposé a day enough?"

"Sergeant Bassett's misdemeanours won't be making the headlines, I'm afraid."

"Why not - is there something wrong with the recording?"

"No, but I've had a not-for-publication chat with his superiors. We've agreed it would be to our mutual advantage and in the public interest if I reported the good sergeant plummeted in the line of duty."

"So the story's been squashed along with Bassett. Shame on you, Steve; after we risked life and limb in bringing about that crook's downfall. You had your very own Towergate in the making."

"It's better for my career if the police and the press work baton in glove, Susie. I've been promised the inside track on all future investigations."

"In that case, you're forgiven if you can tell us what newsworthy event happened in Thornley today."

"A kitten got stuck up a tree in the morning. The distraught owner pointing vaguely skyward is our front page picture."

"We were hoping for something more down-to-earth, but a lot more sensational."

"I suppose what you're hinting at, and what the police are sitting on for the moment, is the mutilated body they discovered in the afternoon."

"A gruesome murder!"

"In an empty, old house -a bloody classic in the making is how Horrocks described it. The old ghoul couldn't wait to get back on the job."

"It must be a good story if Mr Horrocks is up and about again."

"Barry sprang from his sickbed so fast, when he heard there were missing body parts, he nearly did himself a real injury."

"Go on - what else do you know?"

"That's all at the moment. When Horrocks arrived in the office, he kicked me out of his chair and off the story. He doesn't want another juicy scoop snatched from under his jowls."

"Won't you be going along with your camera?"

"No, I'm happy letting the old boy have one last fling on his own. I can't do justice to two murder stories at once, and I've more sensational fish to fry."

"You mean Bluebeard."

"Only in the Devil's eyes - the squire didn't marry any of his victims in church according to my inside information."

"So you've rustled up your very own deep goat."

"An old billy - and thanks to him, I'm over the river now, following up a hot new lead."

"Be careful you don't become the next human sacrifice, Steve; they've some primitive beliefs out on the Moss."

"Don't worry, Susie - I'm taking precautions."

"You've cut yourself a stout branch of mountain ash, have you?"

"No, but I'll be turning off my mobile - I can't risk it giving me away. So is there anything else I can do for you, before I set off witch finding?"

"Put in a good word for us with Mr Horrocks - our paths will likely cross tomorrow. Say we're on work experience, and we'd like to see how a seasoned professional tackles a big story."

"Okay, but be prepared to listen to his ramblings. Just remember flattery will get you everywhere with Barry, and he'll tell you all you want to know - eventually."

"Thanks, Steve, and for some more scandalous gossip about the squire, have a word with the woman who runs the tea shop in Scronkey."

"Is there anything you're not involved in?"

"We get around. Bye for now Steve - and don't go catching any runes that are cast your way."

"Bye, Susie, and thanks for the advice - whatever it means."

Susie switched off the phone and gave me a triumphant grin. "I told you so, Jeffrey - a top-notch murder case has come hammering on our door."

"No, it hasn't. And I wish you'd be a little more discreet about our doings, Susie - Steve Spooner could easily get the wrong idea about us."

"Never mind that, Jeffrey - this is cosmic."

"Don't you mean kismet?"

"Cosmic kismet is what it is," Susie enthused. "I've already deduced the empty, old house has a Jones & Co For Sale sign in the garden."

"Conceivably."

"Indubitably - that's the scene of the crime dad was at. No wonder he's a worried man."

"If you're right, I suppose it could prove awkward for him - the property sort of being in his care."

"There's more to it than that - dad's up to his ear protectors in really big trouble."

"Not if he only discovered the corpse and reported it to the police."

"Step on the mental accelerator, Jeffrey - innocent folk don't just find dead bodies."

"Yes, they do, Susie. We've stumbled across more than half-a-dozen in less than a fortnight - and we helped some of them on their way."

"Accidents are a different thing entirely, Jeffrey - you're comparing apples with orang-utans."

"We haven't dispatched one of those yet - only three dogs and a bull."

"But we weren't guilty in the eyes of the Lord, so we didn't go confessing to all and sundry."

"And neither has your dad?"

"That isn't the way the police see it, Jeffrey. Even they can't shrug off a headless corpse with important bits missing as just another domestic incident."

"I think you're jumping the guillotine there, Susie."

"I'm hearing between the lines, Jeffrey. Steve obviously didn't want to give us an attack of the vapours by going into the gory details, but a mutilated body means only two things - a mad axe murderer and extensive butchery."

"That's a positive, then, Susie; because your dad didn't come home covered in blood and guts."

"The police won't let a little detail like that bother them, Jeffrey - dad is a jailbird in the hand. I bet they've already searched the boot of his car for a head in a hatbox."

"He did seem somewhat put out by his treatment," I allowed. "But I suppose the officer in charge could have had a bad experience with estate agents."

"More than likely, Jeffrey - I sense the police have it in for dad. So it's up to us to do our best for him, and go out fully equipped in the morning. Have you a fingerprint kit handy, by any chance?"

"Funnily enough, no."

"Don't pout - it's just the sort of stuff you would have stored away for a rainy day."

"The nearest I've got is some itching powder."

"We'll take that with us; it could come in useful in a pinch."

"I can't imagine how."

"Be prepared, Jeffrey - that's my motto. As for the fingerprints, we'll improvise with a bag of flour and a roll of sellotape. It's not state of the art, but it'll have to do - even though it does make us appear a touch amateurship."

"Not with my seebackroscope hanging around your neck, Susie - that's state-of-the-art, high-tech equipment. I've never seen any of the telly tecs deploy one of them."

"We won't have much call for a rear-view mirror, Jeffrey. This time we'll be following the villains - they won't be following us."

"I wouldn't count on it, Susie," I cautioned. "But maybe you're right - my seebackroscope is too valuable to risk. It's a collector's item, like the itching powder and stink bombs."

"Stink bombs - we can use those."

"No, we can't - it'd devalue them. They're still in their original packaging."

"We'll need some protection chasing after a lunatic armed with an axe, Jeffrey; and they're doing no good putrefying away in your bottom drawer."

"But they're irreplaceable, Susie," I objected. "Once used, I'll only have the pong to remember them by."

"Don't go all Proustian on me, Jeffrey. We'll be operating in Chandler territory - down mean streets and all that malarkey. It's stink bombs or the Uzi - unless you've a better alternative."

"I've a policeman's truncheon, Susie."

"No, you haven't, Jeffrey."

"Yes, I have - it's an old-fashioned one made of lignum vitae. Clout someone with that, and it'll ruin their day."

"Is it another of your collector's items?"

"No, dad always liked to keep a lot of ready money in the house. Scrap metal can be a cash-in-hand business."

"Okay, I'll go along with your dad's weapon of choice, and you can bring your parasol for back-up."

"I'd rather we relied on our wits, Susie. I'm not dressing as an office Lolita tomorrow - and it is illegal to carry a truncheon."

"Not for girls, Jeffrey - dig it out, and I'll conceal it in my bag."

"Well don't bash anybody over the head with it. If it comes to the crunch, aim for behind the knee and give them a dead leg."

"If it comes to the crunch, Jeffrey, I'll aim a tiddly bit higher than the knee - a dead leg will be the least of Jack the Chopper's worries."

"Jack the Chopper is it now?" I goggled. "Honestly, Susie, I think you're overdramatizing the situation. We're not going to meet a mad-axe murderer."

"We'd better, Jeffrey, or I'll only be seeing dad on visiting days. There's more to this than he's letting on - you saw the state he was in."

"I'm sure you're both getting the affair out of proportion, Susie. Your dad's just overreacted to some officious young constable doing things by the book, that's all."

"We'll see who's right, Jeffrey. Now practice your secretarying, and make a list of the questions I'm going to browbeat dad with on the way into work tomorrow."

"Are you satisfied with Miss Smith's slow hand, Susie?"

"Yes, there's nothing more we can do until morning, Jeffrey," Susie smiled, and edged across the duvet towards me. "It's time to have another go at that zip."

"Try rubbing some soap on it."

"Later, Jeffrey - what other romanticking did your dad get up to with your mum, apart from freezing on the beach."

"Well, when they had a quiet moment together, he read to her."

"From The Joy of Sex?"

"No, Exchange and Mart - he liked to mixed business with pleasure."

Susie fell off the bed. "You've done it again, Jeffrey."

"You're excited already, Susie." I leant over the side. "It must be the thought of all those columns of closely packed bargains in that lovely small print."

"Don't talk daft."

"What a pity it's only a pale shadow now of what it was in its glory days."

"You can't be serious, Jeffrey."

"See for yourself, Susie - I've a vintage edition tucked away under the wardrobe. Get it out, while you're down there, and we'll give it a try."

"This had better be good, Jeffrey."

"It will - I promise. We'll warm up on the miscellaneous and work our way to a climax with the second-hand car adverts."

 

Chapter 130

"White rabbits, white rabbits, white rabbits."

"Oooo, Susie!" I laughed, sitting up in bed. "Blow in my ear and I'll follow you anywhere."

"Rise and shine, Jeffrey - we want to get off to a flying start. It's the first of the month and our first murder case."

"Ah, about that ..."

"What about it, Jeffrey?"

"Well, Susie, in the cold light of an October day, I think we may have got slightly carried away in the heat of a September night."

"Zip-a-dee-doo-dah! You certainly did."

"You know what I mean," I blushed. "The Dinky Doos can't investigate a murder."

"And why not?"

"Apart from any other minor considerations, we'll be stuck in an office from 9 to 5."

"Where I'm in charge, Jeffrey - and I've already decided it's a very early closing Friday."

"That still leaves us with the difficulty of finding out the facts. Nobody will talk to us or answer our questions."

"We've the number one eye-witness and an ace reporter at our disposal. What more do you need to start deducing?"

"They're not going to tell us anything, Susie."

"Old Horrocks won't be able to stop showing off, Jeffrey; and I'll use what Steve Spooner told us to extract the whole bloodcurdling story from dad."

"If your dad does decide to confide in you, Susie, he really is up crap creek."

"Language, Jeffrey."

"I'm sorry, Susie, but you shouldn't be wishing trouble on your dad, just so we have a murder to solve."

"Dad's already in big bother, Jeffrey."

"If he is, we don't want to make it any worse for him."

"We won't - and dad will be crying out loud for our help after the police finish giving him the third degree this morning."

"They only want to check his statement, Susie; your dad will probably have everything cleared up by dinner-time."

"Don't you believe it, Jeffrey - this is The Wrong Man all over again, down to the very last detail."

"No, it's not."

"Yes it is. When dad's sitting at the breakfast table, Mum's always saying how much he reminds her of Henry Fonda."

"Your father would make two of him, Susie. They've nothing in common."

"Oh, I don't know, Jeffrey - dad's Henry Fonda his pies."

"I suppose the heir apparent should wear the trousers."

"Without a shadow of a doubt; Jeffrey, and apart from that, it'll give the clients confidence in our competence. Buying a house is the biggest financial commitment folk make - one of us has to display some gravitas."

"Smack my ass is what I'll be displaying, Susie. You promised me a business-like two-piece, not a sexy secretary costume. What if mum sees me in this?"

"She won't - we'll be home well before her."

"Aren't we always?" I mocked. "And this time, along with a barely buttoned up Pinky and Perky, I'll have a straining bottom vying for mum's attention."

"It is a little on the short and taut side, but still suitable for an ambitious career girl. I looked very grown-up in it as a fourteen year old."

"And you moan about me not throwing anything away."

"That's my first ever designer label, Jeffrey; you should feel privileged to be stepping out in it."

"I'll stick with the high heels, then; anything else wouldn't do the outfit justice. But I'm not sure about the diamante shoulder bag, Susie."

"Dad's office is the stage, Jeffrey, and we've all got our parts to play. I'm the thrusting high-powered executive, and Denise is my pink-nailed, pouting, personal secretary."

"Am I?"

"You're the one who insisted on the glossy lipstick and model girl make-up."

"Only because I don't want to run the slightest risk of being recognised as Jeffrey."

"And as my Miss Smith, your double identity will be super safe."

"With the amount of thigh I'm showing, my modesty might not be."

"You'll have no worries there, Jeffrey, so long as you remember two things."

"And they are, Susie?"

"Bend at the knees by the filing cabinets, Miss Smith, and be extra careful getting in and out of the car."

"How was that, Susie?"

"Not out, Denise, and very elegantly swung - the postman only gawked twice. You accomplished a tricky manoeuvre with barely a silk stocking-top flashed."

"Thank you, Susie," I smiled, comfortably massaging my bottom into the obliging backseat of Mr Jones' Audi.

"Right, dad, we're raring to go. I can't wait to get my feet under an estate agent's desk. While you were eating your breakfast, I digested your three pages of instructions. I know exactly what not to do."

"Please take this seriously, Susie." A gloomy faced Mr Jones grimaced, as we pulled away.

"Cheer up, dad, it may never happen."

"I fear it's already happened, Susie."

"Well, it may never happen again."

"I certainly hope so ... Oh, where did that come from!" Mr Jones belatedly hit the brakes and narrowly avoided a Dalmatian loose on the zebra crossing. "Irresponsible owners - they should bring back the licence fee."

"You were late spotting a dog of a different stripe, there, dad. Your mind's obviously not on the road - you'd better let me drive."

"Are you mad, Susie? I'm already in serious trouble with the police," Mr Jones blurted out.

"I told you so, Denise."

"No, Susie - forget I said that ... what I mean is ..."

"It's too late, dad - you've given the game away."

"It's far from a game, Susie," Mr Jones groaned.

"I suspected as much from the very beginning, despite all your denials, dad. Isn't it time you confided in me?"

"It's not a problem I want to share with you, Susie."

"You already have. I'm an expert in the art of deconstruction. It's second nature for me to pick up every little nuance. You say one thing, and I hear another."

"I'm well aware of that, Susie."

"Now isn't the moment to rake up the past, dad. What you need is my imagination and Denise's logic to get you out of this mess."

"I think the fewer people who know about it, the better, Susie."

"Is that why you haven't told mum everything. She didn't appear to have a care in the world - apart from what next to feed the grim eater."

"Your mother has enough on her plate with Uncle Frank; that's why I've kept the most disturbing details of the whole sorry saga to myself."

"Well, now's your chance to unburden yourself to us, dad - a trouble shared is a trouble thirded. Whose body was it?"

"I never mentioned a body!" Mr Jones exclaimed. "Who told you that?"

"Keep your eyes on the road, dad - you nearly took out a mobility scooter."

"I didn't even hint at one - did I?"

"Oh, the road-hog's semaphoring you from the gutter with his flag - give the cheeky beggar a honk."

"Ignore him, Susie - how did you find out about the murder?"

"We have our sources."

"What have you been up to, Susie?"

"Nothing, dad - we're children of the Internet and we know where to look. News spreads like wildfire nowadays - especially when a mad axeman is running amok in a small seaside town."

"Is that what they're saying?"

"Tweeting, dad," Susie fibbed on. "There are all sorts of wild rumours, but we're giving you the benefit of the doubt."

"I should hope so," Mr Jones choked. "Do I look like a homicidal maniac?"

"Only on the rugby field - and then only when the red mist descends. You'd best put our minds at rest by telling us your version of events, dad."

Mr Jones deliberated for three lampposts. "Perhaps it would help me to collect my thoughts for the interrogation. I keep going over the affair, and sometimes even I don't believe my story."

"Get it off your chest, then, and we'll lend a critical ear."

Mr Jones swallowed hard and came to a momentous decision. "I'm putting my trust in you, Susie."

"And it won't be misplaced, dad. You can have complete confidence in my integrity and wise counsel. I've been on best behaviour since I met Denise, and I've eaten oodles of fish."

"Very well, but this must go no further, Susie."

"You can depend on us, dad - we're confidential agents. Our lips are sealed, as always - aren't they, Denise?"

I nodded in silent disagreement as, heedless of the consequences, Mr Jones began to reveal all.

"The truth is, Susie, I did discover a body, and I expected to be a witness in a murder case." Mr Jones paused, and an anguished expression crossed his face. "But that was before the police marked me down as their number one suspect."

Susie twisted in her seat. "Get out the poo paddles, Jeffrey," she mouthed.

"What was that, Susie?"

"Just sharing my astonishment with, Denise."

"You're not the only ones to have been stunned," Mr Jones avowed. "I categorically denied their foul insinuations."

"That's politician talk for 'I've been caught with my trousers down', dad."

"But I'm an estate agent, Susie - my word is my bond and all my expenses are approved in triplicate with my accountant and the Inland Revenue."

"No one questions them for a moment, dad, but try not to get distracted and stick to the facts. Where did the dastardly deed take place?"

"At one of our newly listed houses in Thornley - 13 Mauldeth Road - a spacious, pre-war semi-detached."

Susie glanced over her shoulder. "Note that down in dripping red letters, Miss Smith - the clue's in the address."

"Not to me it wasn't," Mr Jones lamented. "The old lady who lived there had recently passed away, and I regarded the property as an excellent addition to our books. 'Unusual potential for development' immediately sprang to mind, as I walked up the path."

"You were spot on there, dad."

"It's easy to be wise after the event, Susie. How could I know the horror that awaited me inside?"

"Go on - don't keep us in suspense."

"I'll have to, because a crucial event occurred first; the one that sowed the seeds of doubt about my story to the police." Mr Jones took a deep breath, as we pulled up at the traffic lights. "Five extra sets of these just to accommodate the new trams - it's a disgrace. That's what comes of buying German."

"You haven't time for a rant now, dad."

"They should have spent the 100 million on a bridge over the river - it would have worked wonders for the property market."

"Combined with a barrage, Mr Jones," I proposed. "That's the way forward for the town."

"Don't divert dad and sabotage me with talk of a barrage, Denise," Susie hissed.

"It would have saved us a detour ... and your uncle a house," I muttered.

"What's that about your detour, Susie?"

"Nothing, dad."

"I suggested restoring the rail-link as well, Mr Jones."

"Another excellent idea."

"Yes, but can we discuss it later, dad. We're anxious to hear all the relevant facts. You're up to the police's doubts."

"Convictions isn't too strong a word for it."

"Then there's no time to waste - carry on."

The car and Mr Jones set off again together. "I opened the front door, and almost rugby-tackled a man coming out. Or I thought I did - after a couple of hours of the police hammering on at me, I'm beginning to wonder if I didn't imagine the whole thing."

"Don't be silly, dad."

"But it does seem impossible now, Susie."

"The impossible is right up our street, dad. What happened next?"

"Well, I apologised and we introduced ourselves to each other."

"Who was he?"

"The fellow never actually said, but he claimed to be one of the late owner's executors."

"And you believed him?"

"I'd no reason not to - I could see he had a key. We exchanged pleasantries and shook hands - made it into a bit of a contest, in fact."

"As is your wont, dad - did he pass the test?"

"He was a pasty looking chap, but he wouldn't have been out of place in the second row. The muscle-bound beggar had a formidable grip, so I called it a draw, and he went on his way as cool as you like."

"And left you to find the body."

"Not right away - I made a few notes downstairs, and then I went to check the bedrooms."

"Where you stumbled onto the scene of the crime."

"But I wasn't to know that," Mr Jones wailed. "I'd already picked up the sledgehammer before I saw what it had been used for."

"A sledgehammer, eh," Susie mused. "Cancel the hunt for a mad axeman, Denise, and put out an all-points bulletin for a Mr Thor."

"It's not funny, Susie," Mr Jones moaned. "That's what the police are calling me."

"The cheeky buggers."

"Language, Susie."

"Sorry, dad - but about the sledgehammer -was it bigger than Denise's?"

"Considerably - it blocked the doorway. And, much to my regret, I moved it aside."

"So your fingerprints are on the murder weapon."

"And the carving knife - I picked that up off the floor, too."

"You don't do things by halves, dad."

"The murderer certainly didn't, Susie. I won't go into the grisly details. It was a horrible sight - his own mother wouldn't have recognised him."

"Say no more, dad - we get the picture. It's using a sledgehammer to crack a nut, all over again, Denise."

"And not the tool you'd expect to be used for the job, Susie. A sledgehammer isn't the sort of thing you carry around on the off-chance you might want to murder someone."

"What about the carving knife - the victim could been stabbed first - was he dad?"

"I didn't look."

"What did you do, dad?"

"I fainted."

"Is that when you got your black eyes, Mr Jones?"

"Yes, I must have hit my head on the bedpost. When I came round, I beat a hasty retreat into the garden and started to phone the police."

"That's in your favour, then, dad."

"It would be if the woman next door hadn't already called them."

"Why - what did she know about it?"

"She'd heard half-an-hour of banging on the wall, and became alarmed someone was trying to smash their way into her bedroom. That's the other thing the fiend had been using the sledgehammer for - to break into the bricked-up fireplace."

"I bet he was searching for hidden valuables, Denise."

"Is that what the police think, Mr Jones?"

"Yes, and they're convinced I know what they are. Because when the police arrived, net curtain Nellie and her Chihuahua identified me as one of the two men she'd seen go into the house."

"Her Chihuahua?"

"Yes, Susie - she insisted the yapping little mutt had got my scent."

"Don't worry, dad - the only thing more unreliable than an eye-witness is a nose-witness."

"You should try telling that to the SWAT team," Mr Jones snorted. "The trigger-happy fools threatened to taser me when I protested."

"Overenthusiastic were they?"

"They wouldn't listen to reason. I told them about the man I met at the door, and gave the best description I could. But they just stood around asking fool questions, and let the swine get clean away."

"So what did they do?"

"The big chief arrived, and, without a word of explanation, I was carted off to the police station. That's where things really turned nasty."

"Didn't commonsense prevail?"

"Far from it." Mr Jones blared his horn in frustration at an errant cyclist. "That's another lot who need licencing."

"Calm down, dad - you'll pop your knee."

"It's a wonder I didn't pop the cheeky young pup who interviewed me. 'You estate agents are a rum lot' - was his opening gambit."

"Perhaps he's been gazumped."

"He wasn't old enough to have been gazumped. And he had the cheek to offer me a lollipop after they took my fingerprints and DNA," Mr Jones spluttered. "A man does his public duty and he's treated like a criminal. I don't know what the world's coming to."

"The whole country's going to the bow-wows, dad."

"The jumped-up little jobsworth wouldn't have been so cocky if I'd have five minutes in a scrum with him. 'This is a murder investigation' he kept reminding me, 'and your account leaves us with a great many unanswered questions'."

"So you're number one on their list of suspects."

"I'm the only one on the list as far as I know. Me, a Lion, a Round Tabler, and a pillar of the community." Two spots of colour appeared on Mr Jones' cheeks. "I also reminded them I was a FRICS, but it cut no ice."

"It's the police's job to be suspicious of everyone, sir, however respectable," I soothed.

"I hope you didn't reveal you were a MAOFB, dad."

"Rest assured, I won't be mentioning the rugby club; I don't want the beggars thinking I'm capable of ripping a chap's arm out of its socket."

"What's that got to do with it, dad? I thought the deceased was pounded over the head with a sledgehammer."

"The madman didn't stop there - he'd amputated the victim's right arm with the carving knife. Took off the whole thing, as clean as a whistle; and the police want to know where it's gone."

"They didn't find it on you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then you've nothing to worry about, but you were right to keep quiet about dislocating that chappie's shoulder the other day."

"I did that, Susie."

"So you did, Denise - but dad's been in the sin bin for various other little misdemeanours."

"This isn't the occasion for your banter, Susie; the police won't be amused, believe me. They twist every word you say."

"Let the truth be your shield, dad, and you'll have nothing to fear."

"That's what I thought, but they were at pains to point out that my story didn't hold water. They searched everywhere and couldn't find a trace of an arm. So if I'm telling the truth, that chap must have walked past me carrying it."

"And you shook hands with him?"

"Yes - and he definitely didn't have an extra arm hidden behind his back. It's a mystery to me and the police how it disappeared."

"It might be a mystery to you, dad, but to us, it's a challenge."

"Don't you start fancyifying, Susie."

"I'll use my generous imagination and Denise will use her ruthless logic to uncover the real facts of the matter."

"Those are the real facts of the matter, Susie. I only wish they weren't. The silly woman's story has put me right on the spot."

"For at least half-an-hour, and that's when the police believe you could have disposed of the arm."

"They're going to question me again this morning - in the hope I'll be able to shed further light on the puzzle. Which means if they still haven't found the arm, they'll be expecting that I provide some answers."

"They may have a point, dad - an arm can't just walk away, can it, Denise."

"Not unless it had the beast with five fingers on the end of it, Susie."

"Oooo, spooky - it was the arm wot done it."

"This is no time to be flippant, Susie."

"Sorry, dad, I realise how serious the situation is. If that arm doesn't put in an appearance, you won't have a leg to stand on."

"Please, Susie, restrain yourself - I've had more than enough gibes from the police."

"Don't let them get to you, dad; they're probably miffed because they've let something as big as an arm slip through their fingers."

"If they'd listened to me in the first place, instead of playing toy soldiers, the killer would already be behind bars," Mr Jones seethed, as we pulled up outside the office.

"Any last questions for dad before we begin our first day at work, Denise?"

"Have the police told you who the victim was, Mr Jones?"

"They don't know, Denise, but they think I do. The fiend used the sledgehammer to pound his left hand as well as his face."

"What does that tell us, Denise?"

"Not to request to view the body, Susie."

"But apart from that, Denise, it can mean only one thing."

"Which is?"

"The murderer's desperate not to have the victim's identity revealed. And therefore I deduce they must be criminal associates."

"Why couldn't the police have thought of that?" Mr Jones fumed. "That's the first thing I'll tell them when I get in there. They can soon check I haven't got any criminal associates."

"See, dad, we've already helped you, and we haven't even begun investigating properly."

"Please, Susie, don't get involved - just concentrate your energies on looking after the office."

"Okay, I'll stay glued to my executive chair, but don't blame me if you wind up breaking rocks in the hot sun."

"Make sure she does, Denise," Mr Jones instructed, as we got out of the car.

"I'll try, sir."

"Good luck, and I'll relieve you at dinner time - if all goes well."

"It will, dad - but don't mention you've got form with a golf club. Apart from that, tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truthiness."

"I already have done, Susie; that's what's got me into this mess."

"Worry not, dad - Magna Carta didn't die in vain for Habeas Corpus, did she, Denise?"

"Definitely not, Susie."

"There you are, dad - a top legal opinion. They'll have to charge you or release you within 24 hours."

"Thank you, Susie - that's most reassuring."

"Okay, dad, we'll say a fond farewell for now. Unless you've some final words of wisdom on dealing with the third degree, Denise."

"Ernie was always wary of being whacked over the head with a telephone directory, Susie. It's painfully jarring, but leaves no evidence of police brutality."

"That's a bit of a downer, Denise. But if they do throw the book at you, dad, and allow you only one phone call, don't call your lawyer - call the Dinky Doos!"

 

Chapter 131

"Jeepers peepers, Jeffrey! A whodunit, a whereisit, and a whatwasit all rolled into one." Susie jigged in delight, after locking the office door behind her. "This is better than I ever imagined."

"Aren't we supposed to be open for business, Susie?" I hinted, when she took the further precaution of closing the blinds.

"All in good time - we have to take stock first."

"Where's that on your dad's list?"

"You're being obtuse again, Jeffrey. Put Miss Ditzy Secretary on hold and start deducing. The game's not only afoot it's an arm as well - what more could we ask?"

"I thought you'd set your heart on hunting down a head in a hatbox, Susie."

"I've shelved that for now, Jeffrey. A mad sledgehammer murderer doesn't need to risk carting assorted body parts around with him; he can pulp all means of identification on the spot."

"So why go to the trouble of cutting off an arm?"

"Tattoos of course! I thought you'd have latched on to it in a flash, Jeffrey. You really have been living life too much as a dizzy blonde."

"I'll leave it to you to explain how the arm vanished without a trace, then," I huffed.

"Ah, that's a mystery still to be solved. But it's a not unwelcome complication, because it adds the intrigue of a locked room problem to the whole affair," Susie enthused. "That'll give me the chance to do some really convoluted deducing."

"You shouldn't be so happy about it," I frowned. "It's a complication that could land your dad his own private locked room - courtesy of Her Majesty."

"I'm looking on the bright side," Susie beamed. "This case gives us gifted amateurs the chance to outshine the professional plods and clear dad, into the bargain."

"So you're just an arm's length away from a theory of everything?"

"Give me a break, Jeffrey; I've only had the facts at my fingertips for five minutes, and we've yet to visit the scene of the crime."

"If the police and their sniffer dogs can't get to the arm of it, Susie, I don't see how we've much hope of doing any better."

"The cops are blinkered by believing dad is the number one suspect, Jeffrey. We have an entirely different perspective on the subject - and a super-duper magnifying glass."

"It won't make any difference, Susie, because nobody will be allowed near the place. The police will have the whole area cordoned off. Even if we had the Acme deluxe missing arm detector to hand, there's nothing we could do."

"Don't be such a wet blanket, Jeffrey. Anyone would think you wanted to spend the whole day mooching around the office."

"Why not? It's what we told mum, and mooching will make a pleasant change, after playing catch-us-if-you-can with all and sundry for the last two weeks."

"Life is like riding a bicycle, Jeffrey - to keep your balance, you must keep moving."

"Now you're quoting Albert Einstein and bikes at me, Susie - I can't win."

"You should be flattered I took the trouble googling it to use against you, Jeffrey."

"I am, but I'd rather crack this case while taking dictation," I smiled, settling into a plush swivel chair. "What are you waiting for, Susie? Come on, spin me around. My skirt will ride up, and we can share a bit of presuming."

"Business before pleasure, Jeffrey." Susie plonked herself behind the opposite desk and pulled out the top pair of drawers. "Let's get our priorities right."

"And what are they, Susie? I'm new to office work."

"Conducting a thorough search, of course - we have to snoop to conquer."

"Is that chapter five of Private Detecting in Ten Easy Lessons?"

"Yes, and I'll be blooming good at it, the practice I've had rooting through your shed."

"You didn't find any hidden skeletons in there, and you won't find any in here."

"But we might find a clue, Jeffrey."

"I've found a paperclip - is that any help, Susie?"

"Stop tiddly-winking around and apply yourself, Jeffrey. This is where 13 Mauldeth Road was advertised from, and it's all connected - mark my words."

"I already have, and there's nothing out of the ordinary over here."

"That's a clue in itself - like the dog that didn't bark in the night."

"I wish you'd stop saying that, Susie. References to dogs that have ceased to bark send a chill down my spine."

"Sorry, Jeffrey, but it's unnatural for everything to be so neat and tidy."

"This is an estate agent's office, Susie, not the Old Curiosity Shop. What were you hoping for - an ink-stained blotter with some mirror writing?"

"I expected a bit of revealing, bored doodling from folk who just sit on their backsides all day."

"Perhaps Mr Puffin and Mrs Pike had more thrilling things to do."

"And so have we - but first let's check out the tea caddy and biscuit barrel."

"It's a bit early for elevenses, Susie."

"You know what I mean, Jeffrey - stop trying to put a damper on things. I won't be diverted."

Tappity-tappity-tap! Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Yes, you will - someone's banging on the window and impatient to come in. You'll have to wait for a more opportune moment."

"Okay," Susie reluctantly changed direction. "I suppose we'd better have at least one enquiry to tell dad about. Take a memo, Miss Smith - we want to appear well-organized."

"Should I sit on your knee, Miss Jones?"

"Later, Denise - get out your notebook and sharpen your wits while I let in our first client."

"Remember what your dad wrote in big bold letters on page three, Susie," I warned, as she marched off with a clipboard under her arm. "Don't try to sell anyone North Pier."

"As if, Jeffrey," Susie snorted, before releasing the lock and swinging open the door. "Good morning, madam - sorry for the delay. I'm Miss Jones, and exclusively at your service."

"I'm Ms Jay, and it's well past nine," the woman complained.

"Up with the lark to pop in early, Ms Jay, were you?" Susie smiled.

"I've no time for lame, juvenile wordplay with my name, young lady."

"Sorry," Susie apologised. "It's no laughing matter, but we don't know any better. You're right to tick us off."

"You should concentrate on your work. It's not good enough to keep people waiting - has your clock stopped?"

"No, it's going backwards - the computer's on the blink. But we'll soon have it fixed - our dedicated IT staff have sent out for a hammer," Susie smiled. "Meanwhile, how can the human resources department of Jones & Co help in your housing quest?"

"Your fancy sales talk is wasted on me - my mind's already made up. Now I've retired, I'm looking for a small bungalow in a quiet part of town - and that's all."

"This way, please." Susie ducked under the lady's extravagant headgear and ushered her to my desk. "Miss Smith is our nothing upstairs specialist. What have we on offer today, Denise?"

I took down a card off the board and passed it over to Ms Jay. "Here's a bijou little dormer in South Drive."

"It's very nice, but it's not a true bungalow, is it?" she frowned. "There's a high window."

"A most desirable feature - when you're living on your own. Having a second story greatly adds to peace of mind, doesn't it, Denise?"

"I wouldn't be without mine, Miss Jones."

Ms Jay gave us a baffled look. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"Well, this is now a land fit for burglars, and when one heroically tries to break into your bedroom, you can push him off the ladder," I elucidated.

"I suppose that is a consideration."

"A star one," Susie grinned, "because you're very vulnerable sleeping on the ground floor - ask any monkey."

"Well, if the stairs aren't too steep ... but I don't think South Drive would suit me. I'd prefer somewhere with a northern aspect. I've dreamed of being awakened by the sunlight streaming onto my pillow."

"So you'll need a bedroom facing east, and that's exactly what this property has," Susie advised.

"East - definitely not - weren't you listening? I want to see the sun first thing in the morning."

"You will - when it's not cloudy. We can't guarantee the weather, but we can guarantee the sun rises in the east," Susie promised.

"Does it?"

"Yes."

"And it has done for some time now," I added helpfully.

"Are you sure?" Ms Jay questioned.

"Absolutely," Susie vowed, "or your money back."

"Well, it's news to me."

"You can trust us. See that certificate up on the wall - we're not only estate agents, but also chartered surveyors. Ask Miss Smith a trigonometry question."

"Trogonimetry - what's that?"

"Pythagorise to the lady, Denise."

"I'd rather illustrate my scholarship with some advanced stuff, Miss Jones."

"Such as, Miss Smith?"

"Relating the three angles of a ladder leaning against a sloped roof by using the vector and scalar product," I swanked.

"Unlike the sun, that's something you don't see every day," Susie winked.

"Actually, if you draw the right lines, the problem's not so complicated and easily solved using a direct approach, Miss Jones."

"My philosophy in a nutshell, Denise."

"And something to bear in mind when you're out on a limb deducing, Miss Jones."

"I will, Denise - what's that again?"

"The simplest explanation is always to be preferred, and not the most convoluted."

"Elementary, my dear Miss Smith - now carry on reassuring madam the sun will rise tomorrow."

"There's no need," Ms Jay impatiently cawed. "I'll take your word for it. The truth is I haven't kept up with the sun and things as I've got older."

"You're wise not to," Susie approved. "Let others worry about the big stuff; that's what we say."

"And after a lifetime slaving away at the chalkface, I intend to from now on."

"Ah, you're a teacher!" Susie exclaimed. "I knew it from the way you discoursed."

"Discoursed?"

"Talked - you have that ineffable air of intellectual authority."

Ms Jay swelled with peacock pride. "Everyone said I was a tragic loss to the profession. But it'll come as a great relief to say good-bye to all that marking and just be able to flop down in front of the telly at night."

"I bet you shout out the answers to Mastermind," Susie grinned.

"That's right - as soon as I hear them, I knew it all along."

"Show Ms Jay the picture of North Pier, Miss Smith."

"Control yourself, Susie," I hissed. "We're not Dinky Dooing now - the good lady could mistake our comic intentions."

"Not of two sweet girls like you, my dear - and there's no need to bother with North Pier. I'm quite taken with this place since you've explained it all to me."

"Oh, may we ask what suddenly changed your mind?" I enquired.

"I've just remembered the school's been burgled three times in the last month."

"It's a warning you shouldn't ignore," Susie counselled.

"And bijou is French, isn't it?"

"As froggy as escargot et pommes frites," Susie affirmed. "Maison Soleil is a highly desirable residence. Take my advice, Ms Jay, and envolez-vous round there tout de suite to have a quick regardez before it's snapped up like an unconsidered truffle."

"I believe I will. I've had a passion for all things French since I shared playground duty with Monsieur Jenseigne. He was quite taken with my Spanish accent."

"You must have a gift for languages."

"True - but I never really bothered after Monsieur Jenseigne's sudden departure."

"That's a pity, isn't it, Denise?"

"A great loss, Susie, but perhaps Maison Soleil will rekindle Ms Jay's interest."

"Absolument, Denise - this is a second in a lifetime opportunity to experience some mock Gallic style."

"And it comes with a bus stop just around the corner," I pointed out. "Highly convenient, but not intrusive."

"The more you tell me about the place, the more it sounds the ideal little nest for me," Ms Jay enthused.

"Don't delay, then," Susie urged, "or you're liable to be gazumped. It's the early bird that gets the home, if you don't mind my punning so."

"Not at all, my dear - and I'm ready to go over there right now. It'll give me a chance to use my new bus pass."

"We like to take the number ones, Ms Jay," Susie beamed, escorting her to the door. "There'll be three coming along together in a minute - you'd best hurry, or you'll miss them."

"Thank you," Ms Jay smiled, "you've been most helpful."

"A pleasure," Susie cooed, as she bade good-bye to our first pigeon. "I only hope all our clients are as discerning as you, Ms Jay."

"Merci beaucoup, ma chère - arrivederci and hasta la vista."

"Au reservoir, Schätzchen," Susie chuckled, and, after a final farewell gesture, secured the premises against further rude interruptions.

"It's lucky Ms Jay wasn't fully tuned into our wavelength, Susie," I grinned, as she strutted back to her desk.

"Perhaps that ten-gallon hat got in the way of her understanding, Jeffrey."

"It's hard to believe something that big could be such a tight fit, Susie."

"Suited her head to a T, though, Jeffrey."

"Whatever, Susie - I hope Ms Jay will be happy in her retirement bungalow."

"So do I, Jeffrey - and it feels good to have provided a public service."

"You enjoyed your first taste of the estate agenting business, then, Susie?"

"C'était un morceau de gâteau, Jeffrey. Speaking of which ..."

 

Chapter 132

"Gypsy Creams and PG Tips - what do they tell you, Susie?"

"That you're not looking hard enough, Jeffrey. See what's under the sink."

"We've searched the whole place and found nothing, Susie. Folk don't leave clues lying around in real life."

"With your attitude, Jeffrey, we'd be hard put to buy a clue at the counter of Clue, Clue, Clue, & McClue, Purveyors of Clues, the Clue Market, Cluesville."

"And we won't turn up any here. Let's get back behind the desks. If your dad arrives and finds the door locked ..."

Brrruuurp, brrruuurp ... Brrruuurp, brrruuurp.

"Answer the phone, Miss Smith, while I check out the wheelie bins."

"Rather you than me, Susie."

"And don't forget to greet the caller with dad's latest slogan."

"Are you sure about that, Susie? It sounds more than a little menacing to my ears."

"Father knows best, Jeffrey - and I promised to follow his instructions to the letter."

"Okay." I skittered back into the front office, and picked up the receiver. "Jones & Co - the family estate agents - we know where you live."

"Is that you, Denise?"

"Yes, Mr Jones ... It's your dad, Susie," I shouted.

The bin lid clanged shut, and Susie came running. "What's the matter, Denise - has dad been stitched up like the proverbial kipper?"

"I don't know - here." I handed her the phone. "Bring your renowned probing technique into play."

"Number one and only daughter working assiduously for you, dad."

"I'm relieved to hear it, Susie. I won't be able to drop in to check on you at lunchtime. The police require my presence a little longer."

"For further questioning?"

"No - an identity parade."

"Oh, have they found the second man with the third arm?"

"Not yet - but they've found a woman who sold a sledgehammer to a man in Aldi yesterday."

"And he fits your description."

"He must do - because I'll be the one standing in the line-up. Things are going from bad to worse, Susie. I dread to think what will happen next."

"Worry not, dad, you'll be a free man by tea-time. We're on the verge of making a breakthrough in the case -isn't that right, Denise?"

"We can but hope," I muttered.

"Denise is giving you the thumbs sideways."

"What are you up to, Susie?"

"Nothing, dad - we're just reasoning hard between clients and applying the scientific method to the problem."

"Don't do anything silly, Susie."

"The thought never entered my head, dad."

"Make sure it doesn't - oh, I have to go. They've brought in a hammer for me to shoulder. Bye, Susie - I'll see you later - I hope."

"Bye, dad - stay stumm, and don't incriminate yourself any further. Remember to gurn and crouch a bit when the witness stops in front of you."

"Good-bye, Susie."

"If your dad tries that, Susie, he'll look even more guilty," I frowned, as she put down the phone.

"Nonsense, Jeffrey - dad thanked me for my pithy advice."

"Are you sure you didn't mishear him, Susie?"

"Perfectly, Jeffrey."

"Well, I must have misheard you, Susie - what breakthrough have we made?"

"I'm just anticipating developments. I had to say something to keep up dad's spirits."

"I suppose I should be thankful you didn't ask the Chief of Detectives to give us 48 hours to crack the case."

"Funny you should say that, Jeffrey - because this really is like on the telly."

"How so, Susie?"

"Well, by the end of the series, every relative, friend, and pet of the hero has been wrongly accused of murder."

"And the hero himself - and he usually also accidentally kills someone along the way. Does that ring any bells, Susie?"

"Quite a few, Jeffrey, but we're allowed to use reasonable force if push comes to shove."

"I don't see us finding anyone to shove into the next world in the next couple of hours. To be honest, Susie, with that identity parade, things are looking black for your dad."

"Blacker than Black Beauty's arse in the black bat night."

"As the poet so charmingly put it."

"This is no time to mince words, Jeffrey. It rests with us to get dad out of this mess. And we will - because we know something the police don't."

"What's that, Susie?"

"Dad didn't do it, so the other chap did - arm or no arm. You can't argue with that."

"I suppose this is a case where the probable impossible is always preferable to the improbable possible."

"Good old Sherlock Holmes - we can learn a lot from him, Jeffrey."

"It's Aristotle, Susie."

"He too, Jeffrey - that old bod knew a thing or two about wielding Occam's razor and slicing the Gordian knot."

"That was Alexander with his sword, Susie."

"Stone me, Jeffrey - I thought he was the bugger who rode Perseus and cut off Medusa's head."

"Gorgon - Gordian, the pair are easily confused, Susie - like Pegasus and Perseus."

"Gents every one - how do you tell 'em apart, Jeffrey?"

"Well, Pegasus got married not long ago - broke Perseus' heart, it did."

"Buddy Helly, Jeffrey, are there no depths you won't Dinky Doo to?"

"You started it, Susie."

"And I'll redeem myself by telling you Bucephalus was Alexander's horse and Aristotle was his tutor, Jeffrey."

"It's possibly probable, you knew what we were talking about, Susie."

"Come to think of it, Jeffrey - wouldn't the possible improbable is always preferable to the impossible probable serve our cause better."

"You may be right, Susie. It's improbably possible Aristotle did much private detective work."

"Improbably impossible, Jeffrey - but it is probably possible you'll show him a high pair of heels when it comes to deducing."

"Thank you, Susie - I found our little exchange mentally stimulating."

"Has it given you any new ideas?"

"I've decided to promote a possibility to a probability."

"About where the arm is?"

"No - only about where it's not," I smiled.

"Well, at least that will narrow the area of search when we get there."

"Get where, Susie?"

"The scene of the crime, Jeffrey - where else?"

"You promised your dad we wouldn't leave the office."

"I had my fingers crossed, and you didn't promise anything."

"I'd still rather solve the case, sitting on our backsides, like Nero Wolfe."

"Who he?"

"He big fat guy who grew orchids and sent out gofer to do all legwork."

"None out of three, Jeffrey - think more V. I. Warshawski."

"Isn't she prone to getting hit over the head, Susie?"

"What's this obsession with getting bopped on the bonce, Jeffrey?"

"It's an occupational hazard, however smart and tough the private eyes are, they always end up on the wrong end of a good-hiding. And for a mathematician like me, Susie, the conservation of brain cells has to take precedence over everything else."

"Don't worry, Jeffrey, going by past experience, only our feet are in danger of taking a pounding."

"I wish."

"Nothing bad ever happened to Miss Marple, or Jessica Fletcher, or Nancy Drew, and we can run faster than the lot of them."

"We could invest in some rollerblades and the attendant armour, Susie - that'd kill two birds with one stone."

"I wonder if there are any skating, girl detectives, Jeffrey."

"I shouldn't be at all surprised, Susie."

"We'll give it a miss, then - we don't want to follow in others' wheel tracks. Now, Jeffrey, let's shut up shop and hit the trail."

"Hadn't we better leave some sort of message?"

"We'll put a notice on the door - 'Gone Fishing'."

"Wouldn't 'Back In Ten Minutes' be more appropriate, Susie?"

"No, Jeffrey - that'll only frustrate folk. We don't want dad getting a reputation for poor customer relations. We'll stick with 'Gone Fishing'."

"How about adding 'In Deep Waters'?"

"Okay, that has a certain whimsical charm about it, very much in keeping with Jones & Co."

"Watch your step, Susie," I warned, as we passed the park gates. "You nearly stepped in something nasty."

"I'm pondering, Jeffrey. Wordsworth got all his best ideas while out walking."

"I suppose poets and detectives do have a lot in common - making sure everything rhymes, and all that."

"Exactly, Jeffrey - deducing is as much an art as a science."

"Then we should be poolering our resources, Susie. Has your pondering come up with any fresh thoughts on the missing arm mystery?"

"Our murderer is a big chap from dad's account, and if the victim was only a little fellow, he could have shoved the arm down the back of his pants."

"They'd have to be a pretty baggy pair."

"That's not beyond the bounds of possibility, Jeffrey."

"Even so, Susie, I'm not sure how we could go around asking folk if they'd noticed a man with a bulge in his trousers."

"This isn't a suitable case for the singing detective, Susie. We really shouldn't be taking it so lightly - after all, it is your dad who's in a fix."

"And I would have preferred it to have been Uncle Frank, but we can't pick and choose."

"We can choose to leave well alone, and let the police do their job."

"Not when The Case of the Architect's Arm has presented itself to us, Jeffrey."

"Where does the architect come into the picture, Susie?"

"It's only a provisional title. What do you think of it?"

"I suppose it's a couple of feet up on The Engineer's Thumb. But how many architects do you know who go around bashing in chimney breasts?"

"Don't quibble, Jeffrey. The victim's bound to be associated with something alliterative - admiral, archbishop, accountant, antichrist - you get the picture."

"'airdresser, 'andmaiden, 'angman ..."

"It's a pity they abolished the death penalty, Jeffrey. The shadow of the noose hanging over dad's head might galvanise you into action."

"I suppose it would add an extra urgency to the investigation, Susie, if we were engaged in a dramatic race against the clock to save your dad from the gallows."

"That's more like it, Jeffrey - now you're getting into the spirit of things."

"I wish we weren't, Susie. Your dad certainly won't appreciate our interference."

"He'll change his tune when we remind him of the dire consequences that could have ensued. Just wait until I present our bill."

"Oh, Susie."

"'For saving you from life imprisonment - no charge'. Dad will be permanently in my debt, and as a bonus it'll put Mikey firmly in his place as number two sibling."

"I can't helping feeling you're taking advantage of your dad's predicament, Susie."

"He's lucky we're in there battling to save his bacon, Jeffrey. Otherwise he'll be fitted up by the Old Bill and do a stretch in the Scrubs. I bet the rozzers are queuing up to say 'Get your trousers on - you're nicked'."

"Enough, Susie - don't go tempting fate with Sweeney talk. Remember the trouble your Soprano talk landed us in."

"Message understood, Jeffrey - I'll give it a rest."

"Thank you, Susie."

"My pleasure, Jeffrey - now fire up the Quattro!"

 

Chapter 133

"Mauldeth Road is down that-a-way, Susie."

"Patience, Jeffrey, our crime scene investigation will have to wait until after we've paid Mrs Pike a surprise visit."

"Must we?"

"Yes, I have an unerring instinct for when a story doesn't sound right."

"Something smells fishy, does it?"

"Exactly - that was a piscatory tale dad told us about the good lady - you don't just lose a husband."

"I'd rather not meet her. Or Montmorency - you can't trust poodles. They're high-strung little devils ... and they're French."

"Danger is our business, Jeffrey. I'm playing a hunch Mrs Pike's the dame in the case, and she's entangled in this caper up to her gills."

"Will you cease with the detective slang, Susie - it hurts my ears."

"We have to sound professional, Jeffrey."

"Believe me, that's not the right way, Susie."

"Well, this-a-way is, Jeffrey - I found Mrs Pike's address on an envelope in the wheelie bin. How's that for professionalism?"

"Peerless, Susie."

"The fish aren't nibbling, Susie - let's go," I urged, after we'd spent five unanswered minutes shuffling our feet on Mrs Pike's doorstep. "There's no one home."

"Take my word for it, Jeffrey - this house is inhabited. I can feel it in my bottled water. Have a peek through the letterbox."

"Our ex-MP got the top of her finger bitten off doing that last week," I demurred. "It's just the sort of sneaky trick pampered dogs get up to."

"Not this one - poodles can't jump that high."

"He may be one of those big butch poodles."

"It makes no difference if Montmorency is half giraffe - he's lying down in a darkened room suffering from a migraine."

"I don't actually believe that story, Susie."

"Neither do I, Jeffrey; that's why we're here. And now we also have the curious fact of the dog that doesn't bark at noisy strangers."

"Trust you to work that in."

"You can't deny it, Jeffrey - something funny's not going on in there. Keep watch, while I check out the rear."

Susie gave the bell another piercing ring, before skipping across to the backyard gate.

"Geddaway from there!" The bedroom window flew open, and an angry voice boomed out from above. "What's your bloody game, making all that racket?"

"I told you so, Jeffrey," Susie hissed, as we looked aloft to see a shadowy figure hiding behind the curtains. "The pretending-we're-not-in ploy didn't fool me for a minute."

"Well, it isn't Mrs Pike - so who is it? She's supposed to be at least a grass widow."

"That just confirms my theory, Jeffrey. Something criminal is going on in there."

"Or we've crassly intruded upon a hastily snatched moment of morning delight. Be diplomatic, Susie - this could prove embarrassing all round."

"What are you muttering about?" the man yelled down. "Who the 'ell are you?"

"Avon calling," Susie trilled. "Can the lady of the house come to the door?"

"Clear orf - we're not buying anything."

"I've brought my exquisitely made-up model, Cherisse-Anne, along with me. Are you sure you aren't interested?"

"Yes."

"Am I talking to Mr Pike?"

"Mind your own bloomin' business."

"Doesn't Mrs Pike live here?"

"No."

"That's fishy - we met her down the chip shop, and she asked us to call round specially."

"You've got the wrong address. Now, sling your hook - I'm on nights."

"This chap doesn't sound like a local, Susie," I whispered. "I think your suspicions about Mrs Pike may have some substance, after all."

"I'm sure of it, Jeffrey. The bad-tempered beggar in her bedroom is definitely up to no good."

"What are you waiting for?" the man shouted. "You're giving me the hump standing there. Bleedin' hop it!"

"Just a minute, sir," Susie appealed. "We've more than one string to our bow. If you aren't tempted by cheap cosmetics, can we interest you in being expensively saved?"

"No!"

"You don't want to be one of the chosen few, then, and avoid the torments of Hell?"

"If I come down there, you'll be the ones with forks stuck up your backsides."

"There's no obligation, but would you consider perusing our illustrated prospectus - Three Steps To Heaven?"

"I've had bullshit enough from you. Shut up - and bugger off!"

"Okay, we're going. You're another heathen we'll have to abandon to the Devil," Susie lamented. "But perchance you can redeem yourself by acting the good Samaritan and helping us out first."

"What is it?"

"Have you seen two smartly dressed young girls wandering the streets?"

"Why?"

"Because we're lost."

"This is your last warning," the man exploded. "Bugger bloody off!"

"Don't be like that - there's no harm in us."

"Get bleedin' out of here."

"That's not ..."

"Leave it, Susie." I warned, pulling her away. "You're trying his limited patience."

"Okay, Jeffrey, we'll adjourn for now - being too inquisitive might blow our cover."

"Come on, then."

Susie followed me down the path, only to halt after a couple of paces. "Just one more thing," she called over her shoulder. "You're a stranger in town, aren't you?"

"Sod off!"

"Watch it, Susie - plant pot alert!"

Craaaaaaaaaasssssshhhh!

"Madman!" Susie yelled, as the missile shattered on the ground behind us. "That's no way to treat a geranium."

"Get out and stay out, you bloody god-botherers - or you'll have the cactus coming up your way."

"Just you wait until judgement day - we'll see who has the last laugh."

"There'll be a wailing and gnashing of teeth right now if I get hold of you."

"You don't scare us. The meek shall inherit the Earth."

"Enough, Susie." I cut short the theological discussion, and steered her down to the gate. "We came, we saw, and he nearly conked us."

"What a cheek, Jeffrey," Susie huffed, as the bedroom window slammed shut. "Nobody ever behaved towards Columbo in such an unsportsmanlike manner."

"None of his suspects used a sledgehammer as a murder weapon, did they, Susie?"

"Definitely not, Jeffrey - Columbo worked out of the ingenious homicide division. He never laid his life on the line."

"I don't think we should either, Susie."

"And we won't, Jeffrey - this situation calls for some surreptitious surveillance."

"Then let's retreat to a safe distance - a very safe distance, out of hammer throwing range."

"Okay, but if our murder suspect makes a break for it, we don't want to risk being thrown off the scent. We'll put the smell of Cain on him. Get out our detective kit, Jeffrey."

"Sherlock Holmes would be proud of you, Susie," I smiled, as we scattered the stink bombs under the front gate.

"This will be better than aniseed balls, Jeffrey. Once our quarry crushes these little beasties under his clodhoppers, we won't need a bloodhound to sniff him out."

"Then let's not hang about, we don't want to put Mr X on his guard."

"Okay, we'll give a last hallelujah and be on our way."

"Perhaps we should dial 999 and report a burglary," I suggested, when we'd reached the cover of the nearest bus shelter. "It wouldn't do any harm, and it may do your dad some good if that man's who we think he is."

"The police don't come out for burglaries, Jeffrey. They just give you a crime number for the insurance claim."

"Okay, we'll say we saw a man with a gun at the window. That should summon up a SWAT team and the police helicopter."

"It's too late - look."

A hulk of a man charged out of Mrs Pike's, jumped into the last of a line of three cars, and roared off round the corner.

"From behind, the man did bear a passing resemblance to your dad, Susie."

"You mean he had a big bum."

"And a big everything else. If we run into Mr Furious again, make sure you have my truncheon primed and at the ready."

"We have to find him first, Jeffrey. I don't suppose you were playing your car number games on the way here."

"No, I was fully engaged bantering with you, Susie."

"That's what comes of not taking my hunches seriously, Jeffrey; otherwise you would have anticipated this situation by committing them all to memory."

"Sorry, Susie - but your loyal secretary is now convinced Mrs Pike's involved."

"Then let's get back upstream, Miss Saveapenny, and add breaking and entering to our catalogue of crimes."

 

Chapter 134

"Do you know how to pick a lock, Susie?"

"That's your department, Jeffrey."

I scientifically surveyed Mrs Pike's back door. "Get out the truncheon, Susie," I instructed, as my eyes came to rest on the glass panel above the handle.

"I was hoping for a more sophisticated approach than that, Jeffrey. Can't you use a credit card or something?"

"We haven't got a credit card."

"A library card, then?"

"No, we'll have to use the direct method. It's what Ernie always favoured."

"He's hardly Raffles, the gentleman cracksman," Susie frowned, opening her bag.

"Oh, I don't know - Ernie possesses a fine googly and his best mate is Bunny Warren."

"And there the similarity ends."

"I have to admit Ernie's alibis left a lot to be desired, but he never actually got caught on the job."

"In that case, we'll follow his example," Susie grinned, and truncheoned the pane, as another bus went past.

"Hardly a tinkle to be heard," I smiled. "You timed it to perfection - are you sure you haven't done this before?"

"Only to Uncle Frank's greenhouse."

"Ah, that explains your expertise." I carefully removed the shards of glass, put my hand through, and released the lock. "After you, Laffles."

"Oof!" The door barely budged in response to Susie's shove. "It's caught on a woolly rug - give us a shoulder, Jeffrey."

"Push Susie!" I lent my weight, and our combined effort abruptly overcame the resistance.

"What a daft place to put a mat, Jeffrey," Susie snorted, as we fell into the kitchen together.

"That's no sheepskin, Susie," I flinched, on checking behind the door. "Mind you don't step in the poodle."

"Oh, dear, Jeffrey - someone's puddled the puppy."

"Well, now we know why the dog didn't bark in the light, Susie."

"What sort of inhuman beast would deliberately skewer an innocent pooch with a Georgian toasting fork, Jeffrey?"

"I can't imagine, Susie - but accidents do happen to the best of us."

"That's no bicycle pump suicide, Jeffrey - it's dogicide in the first degree. Come on, let's check out the rest of the place."

"Wait, Susie - there may be piscicide to follow," I shivered, when I caught up with her at the inner door. "This doesn't bode well for Mrs Pike."

"Prepare for the worst, Jeffrey." Susie cautiously peeked into the next room. "Oh ... it ain't the best."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm feeling fine, but Mrs Pike's seen better days."

"I hope it's not a study in scarlet."

"There's no blood on the walls - and Mrs Pike is a ghostly white in her rocking chair."

"We'd better have a closer look," I gulped.

Susie crossed the floor and touch the woman's cheek. "She's as cold as ice with a deathly pallor, Jeffrey - Mrs Pike's been hooked on fortune's fishing rod."

"Don't push too hard," I cautioned. "Her head might fall off."

"She's still fully intact, but there's no doubt about it - we're dealing with a homicidal maniac who'll stop at nothing."

"But this time he's made a very tidy job of it and left the body all in one piece, Susie."

"It's quite a contrast, Jeffrey. If I'm not mistaken, Mrs Pike's been stabbed through the heart with her own number sixes."

"Another one who's come to a sticky end, but it doesn't matter now that she'll never finish Montmorency's winter jumper."

"A sledgehammer, a toasting fork, and a pair of knitting needles; the bloodthirsty fiend certainly knows how to improvise."

"He'll be dangerous if cornered in B&Q, Susie."

"Or even Ann Summers, come to that Jeffrey."

"More than enough said, Susie."

"You're right, Jeffrey - our idle banter won't help, dad."

"Neither will the none too fresh corpse of one of his employees, Susie. When the police find out your dad's connected with a second murder, it'll double their suspicion of him."

"I hope this finally convinces you it's vital we don't waste any time in hunting down the real killer, Jeffrey."

"I anticipated it would be, Susie."

"Then what are you waiting for, Jeffrey - start searching for clues."

"Okay, but let's hurry up before someone comes a-knocking."

"You take the sideboard, and I'll give the sofa the onceover."

I started at the top and worked my way down. "There's a nice collection of china frogs, but no letters or photos."

"And there's nothing under the cushions, either. Hell, Jeffrey, Sherlock Holmes never had this trouble - clues rained down upon him, like manna from Heaven."

"It's the curse of the Internet, Susie - clues aren't what they used to be."

"Try the computer, Jeffrey."

"Okay, but I don't hold out much hope," I muttered, moving across to the desk. "From his behaviour so far, our assassin seems determined to remain Mr Anonymous."

"Not for long!" Susie whooped. "Ich habe es gefunden!"

"You've found what?"

"A secret message!" I swung around to see Susie eagerly examining a sheet of paper, she'd taken out of Mrs Pike's handbag.

"Is it in German?"

"No, I just like saying 'gefunden' at every opportunity."

"Tun wir das nicht alle."

"Desist, Jeffrey -pin back your lugholes and get ready to translate these items into plain English."

"Say them slowly, and I'll repeat the lot back to you in reverse order."

"Just listen - BALSAM, CREAM, KIT KAT, CABBAGE, SWEDE, CORN, ORANGES, COD ..." Susie paused and looked up. "Have you taken note, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, get on with it, or do you want me to guess what's next on the list?"

"You wouldn't in a million years."

"MONKEY BRAINS?"

"DORMICE!" Susie emphasised the word with a theatrical flourish.

"I was close."

"And they're the giveaway - if this is a week's shopping, then I'm a Norwegian."

"Don't you mean a turnip?"

"What I mean, Jeffrey, is it's obviously some sort of concealed message."

"You think it's a steganograph, do you?"

"I'll google that later, but Mrs Pike's dead sure of it."

"Why - are there other furry animals present?"

Susie scanned the rest of the list. "No, you could get everything else down Tesco's."

"Aren't pickled dormice a delicacy among the aristocracy?"

"Don't start with the posh nosh again, Jeffrey - this isn't Buck House. The kitchen shelves aren't groaning under the weight of tinned albatross chicks and canned haggis."

"There was an unfinished black pudding on the breakfast table, Susie."

"And there's a black heart behind this business, Jeffrey. We're up against a criminal mastermind - our very own Professor Moriarty."

"You're letting your imagination run riot again, Susie."

"No way Jeffrey - a secret code and a search for a three armed man - this leaves the The Fugitive standing."

"It's a pity our villain's not an albino; that would put the icing on your cake."

"I'm satisfied with what we've got, Jeffrey. An albino would make it too easy for the boys in blue. With a glaring clue like that available, they might even track down the villain before we do."

"I don't think your dad would object if they did, Susie."

"His welfare is uppermost in my mind, Jeffrey - so let's get cracking cracking."

"After we've left Mrs Pike to rest in peace. Come on, it'll be more respectful - and less creepy, now you've started her rocking."

Susie shadowed me into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and pored over the sheet of paper. "What's the binomial theorem, Jeffrey?"

"Forget about Professor Moriarty, Susie."

"Maybe it's an acrostic - the Victorians were keen on them." Susie ran her finger down the list. "B, C, K ... Oh, they're all consonants."

I went around and looked over her shoulder. "Perhaps the last line - 'P.S. Don't forget the 7-UP order!' - is the key?"

"And the '7-UP' has been heavily underlined. I'll try every seventh letter - C, T, B ... Bugger, that's no good either."

"You could turn the seven up and use a seventh."

"What's that?"

".142857 recurring. Count the letters off in that order."

"B, A, C, K ... BACK, Jeffrey - it's a word!"

"Go on."

"B, E - now what?"

"Start again at 1."

"D, R, O, O, M."

"BEDROOM."

"BACK BEDROOM - we're decoding it, Jeffrey. Crikey Christmas - I must be a blooming enigmatic genius!"

"BACK BEDROOM UP CHIMNEY 13 MAULDETH RD W - short and to the point, Susie."

"What a let-down - we already knew that. It's turned out to be a known unknown, Jeffrey - and Mr X is still an unknown known."

"But we didn't know the murderer and his victim were there because of a secret message."

"From someone with the initial W." Susie brightened at the prospect.

"That could be just an extraneous letter from the last item, DEW DROPS, and not relevant."

"No - I'm all for our cryptic code master being a Willy or a Wally."

"Or a Woodrow, or a Wyndham."

"Get real, Jeffrey - if he's a gangster, he's a Willy or a Wally."

"Well, it makes no odds, because we'd have no idea where to start looking for any of them. Put the list back in the bag, and let's go. It won't help your dad if the police catch us here."

"You're right, Jeffrey; we've delayed too long. It's high time we visited the scene of the crime."

"I still don't see what good that will do - we'll only be able to walk past."

"We may pick up some interesting gossip from a young bobby out to impress us with his new uniform."

"I hope not."

"And there's always Mr Horrocks - we'll get a full briefing when we meet him."

"And where are we going to do that, Susie? I don't remember us making an appointment."

"It's coming up to eleven, if he's not on the job at Mauldeth Road, he'll soon be haunting the nearest pub."

"It's all a bit iffy."

"From our previous informative encounter, I've deduced that Mr Horrocks is a journalist of the old school. He won't miss the chance of doing some research over a long liquid lunch."

"They won't let us in to join him, Susie. We're two years short of pub age - and we look it."

"It would be better if you acted more grown-up, Jeffrey, but don't worry, I'll think of something to get us past the door."

"Tell them we're the Dinky Doos, and we've been booked for the lunchtime entertainment. They're bound to believe that cover story."

"It's an option, but we'll see how respectable the place is first. We don't want to risk having to perform a striptease while playing our little ukeleles."

"Silly me, I never considered that possibility. This private detecting caper isn't as easy as it appears."

"You're new to the sport, Jeffrey, but you'll soon get the hang of it. Just think of it as a game of living chess."

"And what's our next move, Susie?"

"Landing on 13 Mauldeth Road."

"Lead on, then - I could do with some fresh air."

"Maybe we should take a taxi; with some subtle questioning, we could pick up some useful local gossip."

"It's not a good idea; we want to leave here unobserved."

"All right, but just between ourselves, Jeffrey - it wouldn't surprise me one iota if the villain turns out to be a taxi-driver."

"In that case, Susie, we'll definitely walk. It'll be better for our figures, and have the added benefit of giving you a chance to practice some more solvitur ambulando."

"Typical, Jeffrey - I utter one tiny word of Greek, and you instantly have to outclassic me with your Latin."

"Mea culpa, Susanna."

"Semper est, Jeffrius."

"Jeffri, Susie - it's the vocative case."

"Re vera, cara mea, mihi, nil refert."

 

Chapter 135

"Made any progress with your solvituring, Susie?" I enquired, as we strolled down from the top end of Mauldeth Road. "You haven't said a word for almost thirty seconds."

"I'm cogitating, Jeffrey."

"And are you the wiser for it?"

"Yes - the fact is we need more facts. There's method in the villain's madness, and we've got to find it - and the arm."

"You're right, Susie - the arm is an important clue, but I think we can wave good-bye to it."

"It must be somewhere. Dad may act a bit loopy at times, but no one could smuggle two feet of freshly severed limb past him."

"Then you'll have to come up with another explanation."

"The way you said that, Jeffrey, makes me think you already know what happened to it."

"I have a favoured theory, Susie - but it's pure speculation."

"Don't keep me hanging on, Jeffrey - give us a clue."

"I wouldn't want to spoil your aha moment, Susie," I smiled. "Keep in mind what I said - don't unnecessarily complicate the problem."

"And, Jeffrey?"

"You'll jump to my simple conclusion ... eventually."

"You really are a tease, Jeffrey."

"But you'll thank me for it later, Susie. Now here's your chance to do some more of your much desired detectiving - police tape coming up."

"And we've struck lucky - there's old Barry Horrocks, and he's just finished interviewing the next-door neighbour who put dad on the spot. We may be able to inveigle some vital clues out of him."

"Not before he's told us a few more chapters of his life story if our last meeting is anything to go by."

"Just nod your head and appear suitably impressed, Jeffrey. Being a good listener is a prime asset for a top detective."

"You're at a bit of a disadvantage there, then, Susie."

"I'm never not ready to lend an ear to your musings, Jeffrey."

"But this will be a real test of your endurance, Susie," I warned. "You're up against a raconteur in the prime of his anecdotage - and here he comes."

The portly, rumpled figure doffed his trilby to the woman at number 15, and tripped his way down the path.

"Hello, Mr Horrocks, remember us - Smith and Jones?" Susie hailed. "We met on our rudely interrupted honeymoon."

"Ah, Denise, the child bride and Susie, her escort," Horrocks beamed, closing the gate behind him. "I've been expecting you."

"Steve Spooner put in a good word for us, did he?" Susie beamed.

"He was fulsome in his praise. My memory of the whole affair is a bit hazy, but from what Spooner says you two angels of mercy saved my life."

"Oh, he's exaggerating," I blushed. "We only caught you on the way down."

"I still owe you my heartfelt thanks; it was a terrifying experience. For a while there, I really thought I was a goner."

"You scared us too."

"And I've learned my lesson, Miss Smith - no more cucumber sandwiches for me," Horrocks grimaced.

"You may have overindulged in other departments as well," Susie hinted.

"One of the hazards of the job, I'm afraid. Any reporter worthy of his salt has to sample all that's going."

"Gran says it's manners to always leave a little something on the side of your plate," I advised. "But, then again, she says waste not want not."

"Bit of a dilemma for you, there, Denise - how do you resolve the conflict?"

"I feed the pig's cheeks to the dog."

"I believe you're having fun at my expense again," Horrocks frowned. "I'm quite aware you told me more than a few porkies the last time we met."

"You'll have to excuse us for that," Susie apologised. "The shock of the explosion left us at a loss for the right words. One doesn't get bombed out, modelling at a wedding fayre, every fourth Sunday of the month."

"And a good thing too - I wouldn't like to go through that again for all the Doctor Who conventions in China." Horrocks winced at the thought and loosened his collar. "In my bloated state, it could have been the death of me."

"You suffered a double blow-up, sir," I sympathised. "We feared the worst at the time, but we're pleased to see you're fully recovered."

"I've shaken off the post-explosion depression, my dear, but I'll never be the man I was. Whiplash is no laughing matter at my age," Horrocks groaned, massaging his neck. "Not that I can persuade management to take my suffering seriously - they've hearts of stone."

"You still look pretty cheerful, though; and you pranced along like a two-year old just now," Susie smiled.

"Duty calls, Miss Jones, and this old war horse won't be found wanting when he has the scent of blood in his nostrils. I'm glad to be back in the saddle, and a sensational murder never fails to put an extra spring in my step."

"Same here," Susie agreed, "whenever we get the urge for some teenage kicks, we go out and kill a policeman."

Horrocks was taken aback. "I'm shocked, Miss Jones. There are limits to ..."

"Susie's only kidding," I hastily explained. "She's been reading too much Wodehouse; that's where she got the quote from."

"Modern literature can have a pernicious influence," Susie grinned. "But rest assured, sir, we've never so much as knocked off a bobby's helmet."

"I should hope not," Horrocks spluttered. "Murder isn't a laughing matter - especially this one. Although I can understand why young folk are so blasé about it."

"Really, Mr Horrocks?"

"Yes, Miss Smith - when I started out, murder was a once in a blue moon event, and now there's at least one a week."

"You're absolutely right," Susie nodded. "Alas, it's hard to know what's to be done, isn't it, Denise?"

"They should make it illegal, Susie."

"You girls can joke about it," Horrocks reproved, "but I dread to think where it all will end."

"The Devil only knows," Susie frowned. "But you have to look on the bright side, Mr Horrocks - it's more gristle for your journalistic mill."

"Gristle is the right word for it," Horrocks snorted. "There's been a marked decline in the quality of murder. In the good old days, I served up my readers fine rump steaks of sophisticated killings."

"As with everything else - more means worse," I solemnly intoned.

"Sad but true." The old newshound hung out his tongue and sorrowfully shook his head.

"Cheer up, Mr Horrocks - now two classic puzzlers have come along at once," Susie prompted.

"I take it you're referring to the broken-necked squire and his brides in the attic," Horrocks huffed. "Spooner took advantage of my temporary incapacity and snatched that prize from my in-tray."

"You can't blame Steve if you were stretched out in bed and unavailable."

"I admit he's not the worst offender, Miss Jones. In fact, I believe the lad regards me as something of a role model - he's always saying what a smart fellow I am."

"Mr Horrocks can take pride in that, can't he, Denise?"

"It's a Spoonerism to treasure, Susie."

"I do, Miss Smith - but it's little enough respect in view of everything else that's going on. Management are conniving in the undermining of my position. By rights, I should be the one unearthing the dastardly deeds at black magic manor."

"They could hardly have the police keep the corpse warm for you."

"But it's all part of a pattern, Miss Jones," Horrocks grumbled. "Seniority means nothing nowadays. You'd think a former lion of Fleet Street would be entitled to have junior staff refrain from Bazzaing him."

"Rest assured, we'll never do that, sir," I promised.

"Small comfort, I'm afraid."

"But here's your chance to roar again, Mr Horrocks; this murder isn't lacking in sensational elements. And what a doozy of an address to work into a headline." Susie indicated the big brass 13 on the adjoining gatepost.

Horrocks lowered his voice. "Strictly between ourselves, and not a word to Steve Spooner, but I could be onto another Pontin's chalet bloodbath."

"You don't say."

"I have the same hairs on the back of my neck feeling. Ah, bliss was it in that dawn to be alive. Did I tell you ..."

"Yes, every last detail, and fascinating as it was, it'll be nothing compared to seeing you in live action," Susie flattered. "How are you progressing with this story?"

"Just making routine background inquiries so far. But, fear not, you can depend on Barry Horrocks to blow the case wide open before the day is out."

"So, have you checked with the postman?"

"No, Miss Jones."

"Or the newsagent?"

"No, Miss Smith."

"Or the policeman over there?"

"No, Miss Jones - only the lady next door."

"It sounds as if you need some willing dogsbodies to do the legwork, and we're available," Susie offered. "Just give us the lowdown."

Horrocks had a thoughtful scratch under his trilby. "Some help wouldn't come amiss. The fact is consolidation is in the air at the Gazette, and I'm at a dangerous age, redundancy-wise."

Susie looked amazed. "Surely they wouldn't consider getting rid of you, their star reporter."

"I've enemies in high places, Miss Jones. And I did hint at my ambition to retire and devote my energies to becoming a full-time writer a few months back," Horrocks sighed. "I wish I hadn't now, because my novel isn't coming along as well as I'd hoped."

"What's it about?" Susie incautiously enquired. "Is it a steamy bonkbuster set in the hothouse of a provincial newsroom where hidden passions suddenly erupt?"

"On the contrary, it's a compelling study of a world-weary reporter engaged in a deadly psychological struggle with a philosophising serial killer. It's full of Scandinavian gloom."

"Shouldn't you write about what you know?"

"Perhaps I have overreached myself, Miss Smith," Horrocks confessed. "I've been stuck up a fjord with my hero for the last month."

"We'll soon get you back on track," Susie smiled, ignoring my warning shake of the head. "When in doubt, have a man burst through the door with a pistol in his hand."

"I already have - twice. I think the whole enterprise may be a lost cause," Horrocks moaned. "I'm not even sure which side of the road they drive on in Norway. Those little details matter, you know."

"How about setting it in the Orkney Islands?" I suggested.

"It's a possibility ..." Horrocks deliberated for a moment. "But then I'd have the added difficulty of working a world famous pop group into the plot."

"You're right it is a lost cause," Susie decided. "There's no use flogging a dead Volvo - let's get back closer to home."

"I suppose I could rescue the first draft of my coming-of-age roman à clef from the back of the drawer. It's mainly blank pages, but I've got the first line. 'In my younger and more vulnerable years, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times'. What do you think?"

"Great Scott - that's a Dickens of an idea, Mr Horrocks," Susie effused.

"An inspired mash-up," I concurred.

"And how about this for a title - The Watcher on the Sly?"

"By Barry Horrocks ... you may have a problem with that," Susie reflected. "It doesn't sound literary enough, does it, Denise?"

"For a novel about teenage angst, you need a couple of good initials before your name."

"Definitely, Denise," Susie nodded. "What are yours, Mr Horrocks?"

"B F."

"Leave it gathering dust - who wants to read about a miserable teenage sod moping around, chewing more than he's bit off? Get him out and about doing stuff - that's the answer to life's little problems, isn't it, Denise?"

"It works for us, Susie."

"You've anticipated volume two - another unfinished opus - my last-days-of-empire, Hong Kong adventure."

I raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You were there?"

"For three eventful years - the White Ghost, they called me."

"You look a mite too substantial for a wraith," Susie smiled.

"Not in those days," Miss Jones. "I was a dashing young buck. It's only a pity someone else has got there first with Love is a Many Splendoured Thing."

"What with that and your expedition to Oswaldtwistle, you're certainly a cosmopolitan character," I marvelled.

Horrocks tipped back his trilby. "There's no denying I'm a man of the world, but at heart I'm a sandgrown un. Maybe I should concentrate on matters closer to home and make use of my wealth of local anecdotes."

"That sounds more promising; they should go down a treat," Susie approved. "Now about the latest resident sensation."

"All in good time." Barry wasn't to be so easily diverted from reminiscence mode. "My exploits while the showbiz correspondent will interest you. I interviewed all the big stars - Jimmy Clitheroe, Arthur Askey, Ronnie Corbett - I met the lot."

"You must have felt a giant among men," Susie grinned.

"And women - Hilda Baker was a wonderful lady with a wicked sense of humour. She invited me to pat her pet monkey." Horrocks held out his hand. "See - I've still got the holes where the playful little blighter sunk its canines into my thumb."

"Never trust a monkey," I warned. "That's what granddad says."

"A wise maxim, no doubt, but one that has to go by the board when interviewing showbiz eccentrics." Horrocks beckoned us closer and lowered his voice. "Just between the three of us - Freddie Starr tried to eat my hamstring. Thank goodness I'd had the foresight to wear both belt and braces."

"Fascinating froth - but everybody's doing celebrity tittle-tattle these days," Susie sniffed. "You'll be better off with grittier, down-to-earth stuff, like what's happened here."

"I'm coming to that. But first, you wouldn't believe some of the tales I've to tell. My wild car ride with Frank Randle - in the days before the breathalyser - and my chronicling of the Rector of Stiffkey saga."

"Never heard of the bloke, have we, Denise?"

"Vaguely, Susie - granddad mentions him every time I refuse to eat rabbit."

"Ah, a loony vegetarian vicar, was he?"

"Harold may have been as mad as a hatter, but, first and foremost, he was a steadfast man of principle," Horrocks asserted. "After his defrocking, he donned a barrel and starved himself on the Golden Mile to protest his innocence and make a few bob."

"What was he guilty of - allegedly?"

"It's not a matter I wish to discuss in mixed company, Miss Jones. Suffice it to say, he followed in the footsteps of that other great liberal, William Gladstone."

"Libertine," Susie winked and gave me a nudge. "He got caught with his bags around his ankles saving fallen women, Denise."

"That's something they don't teach you in GCSE history, Susie."

"Of course, he was an amateur compared to Lloyd George."

"I never realised you were so interested in politics, Susie."

"Yes, my dear - your knowledge of the foibles of British Prime Ministers does you great credit."

"Thank you, Mr Horrocks, but I'm not so well up on ecclesiastical eccentricities. What happened to your vicar - did he manage to salvage his reputation?"

"No, unfortunately the good rector paid the ultimate price for his misdemeanours."

"How come?"

"The public are ever fickle, Miss Jones, and a man sitting in a barrel isn't that great an attraction. So Harold advertised himself as a modern day Daniel and took a daily stroll in the lion's den. His walking stick proved an inadequate deterrent, and one day Freddie ate him."

"Get away - you're pulling our legs," Susie hooted. "You can't fool us - we know all about young Albert Ramsbottom and Wallace."

"That's fiction my dear - this is fact. I know, because I was almost there. The valiant gentleman's dying words were 'Telephone Barry Horrocks'. It only added to the tragedy that he never got through to me."

"From what granddad said, I'd have thought all that was well before your time," I suggested.

"Nonsense, my dear - I was born with newsprint in my veins. I started straight from school as a cub reporter on a pushbike."

"You'd still have to be over ninety. How come you're so well preserved?"

"He must be pickled, Denise."

"I certainly am not, Miss Jones."

"Then why are you talking Barry Horrocks?" Susie smirked.

"This is newspaper folklore, handed down through the generations. I've as much right to it as anyone."

"So you weren't actually there."

"I may not have been," Horrocks conceded without a blush. "Who can tell? When you've witnessed as many dramatic events as I have, they tend to merge into one."

"I know what he means, Susie," I whispered.

"Ditto, Denise."

"I am almost sure I met the Beatles in the eighties," Horrocks blithely continued. "Although it could have been Billy Trantor and his Ragamuffins. They had long hair and banjos, whoever they were. To tell the truth, I wasn't very interested in the noisy beggars."

"That just proves you should be concentrating on your first love, crime reporting," Susie coaxed. "Nobody could be better equipped."

"You're very perceptive for one so young, Miss Jones, but, in all modesty, that's for the readers to decide. I'm only the humble messenger - and mayhap not for much longer. The future's not what it used to be," Horrocks mourned. "In the eyes of some, I'm in my twilight years, and ready to be put out to grass - or even sent straight to the knacker's yard."

"Then ally yourself with us," Susie urged. "We can help old Boxer seek fresh pastures and gain a new lease of life."

"Oh, do you know how to set up a website?" Horrocks was side-tracked once again. "I've been toying with the idea if it turns out I am surplus to requirements, but I can't quite get the hang of the blogging business."

"Denise will fix it for you after we've solved this murder. What better publicity for Barry Horrocks dot com than cracking a case that's baffled the police?"

"You could be right - and I feel I've one last big scoop in me before I go out with a bang."

"Okay, light the blue touch-paper and bring us up to date," Susie encouraged.

Barry at last got down to our business. "Let's see - I've just interviewed Mrs Stirzaker, the woman next door. She's the one who phoned the police." Horrocks paused and consulted his notebook. "The good lady says they carried away the prime suspect kicking and screaming."

"I wouldn't put too much credence in her evidence," Susie cautioned. "We're certain they've got the wrong man."

"She did appear somewhat short-sighted," Horrocks admitted. "I had a struggle convincing her I wasn't the postman, but possibly that's because her dog kept worrying at my trousers."

"Knick-knack paddy-whack give the dog a bone!" Susie exclaimed. "That could be a mystery solved, Denise - what do you think?"

"A hyena, yes, but a Chihuahua would have problems devouring a man's arm in one sitting, Susie."

"How do you know Mrs Stirzaker's back garden has been searched for a missing arm?" Horrocks gasped. "That's confidential information the police are withholding."

"Steve Spooner told us, didn't he, Denise?"

"No one else could have, Susie - although I've tried to forget all the messy details."

"Well, he never mentioned it to me," Horrocks huffed. "And I taught the young whippersnapper everything he knows. It seems there's nobody in the office I can trust."

"It probably slipped his mind, that's all," Susie reassured. "But he urged us to give you every assistance."

"Steve Spooner's a nice lad, but he has ambitions way beyond his camera. Far be it from me to criticise, but he doesn't possess the rat-like cunning, plausible manner, and literary ability needed to make a top reporter."

"Yes, anyone's capable of taking a few snaps," Susie agreed.

"They certainly are - a dedicated cameraman is an unnecessary expense. That's where management should begin wielding the axe."

"So you've a photo of the murder scene, have you?"

"Not yet, Miss Jones, the police are keeping the whole case under wraps; I haven't been able to get near the room of doom. Although Mrs Stirzaker did invite me up to her boudoir to inspect the cracked plaster, but I thought better of it."

"Really - what held you back?"

"One has to exercise a certain degree of caution, when working in such a glamorous profession as mine, Miss Jones."

"We understand," Susie nodded. "It must take its toll being an obscure object of desire."

"I wouldn't go that far, but I've had my moments."

"And you'd have had a jealous Chihuahua to contend with into the bargain."

"Quite, Miss Jones," Horrocks flushed. "Now is there anything else Steve Spooner confided in you, and not in me?"

"He might have mentioned that the villain had whacked away at the chimney with a sledgehammer," I offered.

Horrocks' eyes widened. "And was that the murder weapon?"

"Yes - haven't the police told you anything?" Susie frowned.

"Very little - it's not like the good old days," Horrocks griped. "In the Pontin's chalet case, I was splashed across the front page, stretched out on the death bed, courtesy of the police photographer."

"It's a real pity you couldn't get in there," Susie sympathised. "You'd have struck a fine figure swinging a sledgehammer."

"Very true, but now it's all hazard tape and bio-suits. What a palaver just to search a few dustbins - and they've found nothing."

"A missing body part makes a better story from your point of view, though, doesn't it?" I suggested.

"If only it were a severed head on the loose," Horrocks sighed. "That would really give me something to get my teeth into."

"Especially if you received a parcel in the post," Susie grinned. "That'd be a nice surprise to open at the breakfast table."

"Sometimes your notions aren't in the best possible taste, my dear."

"Sorry," Susie apologised. "I hope I haven't put you off your dinner."

"Is that the time?" A cheery glow suffused Horrocks' face. "I believe a little light refreshment wouldn't come amiss. 12 o'clock approaches, and it's imperative I do some local research."

"You're off to the pub are you?"

"Where I'll diligently pursue my enquiries among the lunchtime regulars, Miss Jones." Horrocks licked his lips. "I'm optimistic one of them may have important information to impart over a noggin or two."

Susie gave him a sceptical look. "Isn't that a bit of a longshot?"

"Trust a seasoned reporter's instincts, my dear. I feel the hand of destiny again resting on my shoulder," Horrocks revealed. "So it's ear to the ground, and bottoms up time for me."

"Count us out - we don't want to risk the foot of nemesis kicking us up the Khyber, do we, Denise?"

"No fear - that's why I insisted we bring my seebackroscope, Susie."

"And I'm glad you did, Denise - rear-warned is rear-armed when a homicidal maniac has gone on the rampage."

"So, an out of control serial killer is running loose." Horrocks eagerly noted it down. "Is that the official line?"

"Straight from Steve Spooner's mouth - I hope you'll continue to exercise due caution, sir."

"I shall, Miss Smith - although I'm no stranger to danger."

"You've convinced us of that with your tales of derring-do, Mr Horrocks," Susie grinned.

"And you girls made a delightful audience," he smiled, with a doff of his trilby. "Toodle-pip - and if Steve Spooner lets slip any more inside information, you know where to find me."

"You can rely on us," Susie promised.

"Bye again, girls - see you soon."

"Ta-ra for now, Mr Horrocks," we chorused. "Good hunting."

"Tally-ho!" he chortled, and waddled off across the road to where he'd parked his trusty steed.

"You could lose that Dinky toy under a pile of leaves," Susie grinned, as the intrepid reporter squeezed aboard his newsmobile, a red Reliant Robin with Shoreham Gazette daubed in crooked yellow letters on the side.

"Bon voyage," we cheered, and waved a merry farewell, when the little plastic pig oinked into life at the third attempt and wobbled away.

"I don't think Mr Horrocks was exaggerating about those management cuts, Susie."

"His car's not the only thing a wheel short of a full set, Jeffrey."

"Funny how a three-legged stool is rock-solid, yet a three-wheeled car always seems on the verge of tipping over."

"It's neither one thing or the other, Jeffrey. But, don't worry, I promise that's one old jalopy I won't be scheming to take you for a spin in."

"I only hope you haven't got your fingers crossed this time, Susie."

 

Chapter 136

"From pushbike to Reliant Robin, Jeffrey - the star reporter has come almost full circle," Susie smiled, as we watched Horrocks disappear up his own exhaust fumes.

"But he seems to have enjoyed the journey in a roundabout way. I trust you found his happy wanderings highly educational, Susie."

"His traveller's tales certainly taught me a lesson, Jeffrey. Old Bazza's a natural for the World's Biggest Liar competition. I do believe he may have been romancing us just a teensy bit."

"I expect our newshound will trot out his shaggy dog stories all over again in the pub, Susie."

"He'll be holding court until tea-time if they let him."

"And I suspect Mr Horrocks won't be any the wiser about the case even after his extended journalist's lunch."

"Neither will we at this rate, Jeffrey. We've endured a long-winded briefing that's left us not one clue to the good."

"As predicted - and it's pointless lurking around here; all we're getting is suspicious looks. Come on, let's move along or we'll be arrested for loitering without intent."

"Yoo-hoo!" Susie waved to the constable guarding the door, as we passed number 13. "Any chance of a guided tour of the house of horror?"

"On your way - there's nothing to see."

"Be a sport - where's the harm in it?"

"Don't provoke him, Susie - you'll get an asbo for mocking a frowning policeman." I put my hand on her bottom and propelled her down the road.

"Oooo, Jeffrey, I should be doing that."

"Balance things up, then, Susie."

She did, and we encouraged each other up the junction, before turning left at the crossroads and heading into town.

"What did you find so fascinating back there, Jeffrey?"

"I was reading and inwardly digesting the street sign information."

"That's more boring than collecting bus numbers."

"Not when there are subtle differences to be observed, Susie. For instance ..."

"Later, Jeffrey, it'll be a good alternative to counting sheep."

"Listen and you might learn something of significance, Susie."

"We'll have half-an-hour on Google street view tonight, and you can educate me on the finer points of road furniture."

"Okay, I'll bide my time with the promise you'll find the subject highly instructive."

"No doubt, Jeffrey, but, for now, let's check in at the office while I decide what to do next."

"Okay, Susie, you're the lead detective. I'll follow dutifully in your footsteps and make sure we're deducing in the right direction."

"This isn't like on the telly, Jeffrey," Susie complained, after we'd sent another baffled client around the houses. "There you can always bank on the murderer being the most famous guest star, not a Mr Anonymous."

"Don't be too disappointed, Susie," I consoled. "If we fail, there's a good chance the police will track him down. From our recent close encounter, we know the killer's still in town."

"I wonder why he hasn't already taken to the hills, Jeffrey."

"I have an idea the hammer man didn't find whatever he was looking for up the chimney. Your dad said he came out of number 13 with nothing in his hands."

"But he could have had money or jewels concealed about him. They'd be a lot easier to hide than an arm."

"Possibly."

"Well, whether he's got what he wants or not, if the madman has any sense, he won't hang about much longer - especially now he's seen off Mrs Pike as well."

"We had a narrow escape there," I shivered. "With a bagful of knitting needles readily available, the brute wouldn't have stopped at bopping us over the head with a flowerpot."

"If only we could persuade him to try again, Jeffrey - we'd be up and running."

"I certainly would, Susie. but failing that, we can only file and smile."

"Sitting here, whiling away the hours won't help dad, Jeffrey. Let's adjourn for dinner and chew things over before another customer comes in to disturb our plans."

"All right, Susie, perhaps greasing the windmills of your mind with some brain food will inspire you. Where's the nearest chippy?"

"We could try that swanky fish restaurant across the road."

"I'd rather not, Susie - reading about what goes on in five-star, rat-infested kitchens has permanently put me off haute cuisine."

"Ah, you're familiar with the works of our old friend Georgy Orwell, Jeffrey. He moonlighted as a plonkeur in Paris when not detecting in Los Angeles."

"You've been googling again, Susie."

"I have to keep abreast of you somehow, Jeffrey."

"And your discoveries should have convinced you, it's best to stick to a chippy, where you can see the bugs being fried in hot oil before your very eyes."

"That's all very well, Jeffrey, but we're professional women now; I think we should frequent the local bistro."

"Gran wouldn't approve, Susie, and neither would mum. I'd rather we stuck to being Bisto kids."

"Okay, Jeffrey, I'll bow to family tradition, but I'm ready for something a morsel more exotic than cod and chips."

"Exotic costs, Susie."

"I won't, Susie."

"How many pennies have you for my oats, Jeffrey?"

"I'll get my purse, Susie, and we can discuss our expenditure on the the way to Harry Ramsden's."

"I hope your choc ice and mushy peas nicely complemented each other, Susie."

"It wasn't exactly what I had in mind, Jeffrey, but they went down a treat."

"You looked highly sophisticated eating them, Susie. Here ..." I offered her my hanky, "wipe the chocolate from around your mouth."

"All the best private eyes are notoriously sloppy, Jeffrey. They use it as a ploy to conceal the workings of their razor-sharp minds."

"The proof of the pudding is in the deducing, Susie."

"All I need is a clue or two, Jeffrey, and I won't be found wanting in the QEDing department."

"Well, now's your chance," I challenged, on seeing what was coming down the street. "A serendipitous test is about to present itself."

"I'm not engaging in mental gymnastics with you on a full stomach, Jeffrey."

"Just have a good long ponder about the dog from the Isle of Man that's limping towards us."

"Ah, the poor little thing - it's got a front leg missing."

"Oddly enough, Susie, that should give you a hint as to how an arm can disappear into thin air."

"What do you mean?"

"Just laterally think about it, Susie. You've been concentrating on the wrong aspect of the problem and putting the arm before the corpse."

"You're being sphinx-like again, Jeffrey."

"But I'm sure you'll solve this riddle, with the help of the dog that didn't walk right. Consider what's not there - and cogitate strenue."

Susie stared hard at the puppy, and the gears began to spin. "We know dad's telling the truth ... the man didn't leave there with an arm ... and the police can't find any trace of an arm in the neighbourhood."

"So applying Occam's razor to cut the Gordian knot, the simplest explanation is ..."

"Eureka, Jeffrey - I've got it!" Susie's bath of joy ranneth over, and the lightbulb above her head lit up her face. "There never was an arm to disappear in the first place! It's a phantom limb - the victim was a one-armed man!"

"You've crossed the pons asinorum, Susie."

"I've hurdled the river without getting my feet wet, Jeffrey." Susie slapped my bottom in glee. "The killer must have feared the missing arm would be a dead giveaway to the body's identity."

"And he only needed to slice away a few ounces of scarred skin to make it look as though a whole limb had been hacked off."

"Which he could easily have hidden in his pocket, or even fed to a Chihuahua. Whatever, it's a first step in getting dad slightly off the hook."

"So, are you ready to inform the police of our theory, Susie?"

"Not yet, Jeffrey - they're always the last to accept new evidence when they've got the wrong man. I want to have a shot at finding out who Lefty W was, and present the murder squad with a case accompli."

"You may have assumed a bridge too far there, Susie. I noticed a much more likely explanation for the W when we turned out of Mauldeth Road. Did you know that ..."

"Come on, Jeffrey - hurry up!" My words fell on deaf ears. Susie already had an idea of her own and hot-footed it along the street. "Let's get back on the job and find the pub Horrocks went to - we don't want to miss him."

"Why not?" I cried, skittering after her.

"Because there's nobody better to ask about disreputable local Lefties than the Shoreham Gazette's ace crime reporter."

"Don't get Horrocks started on politics, Susie, or he'll regale us with the tale of how he interviewed Mao Tse-tung when he came to switch on the Illuminations."

"I'll make sure he's in no doubt what Lefty we're talking about, Jeffrey."

"Okay, but I'm not dallying on a pub doorstep, waiting for Horrocks to come out."

"You won't have to. I've already cooked up a way to get us in."

"I'd prefer to remain at a safe distance, Susie."

"But it'd be a pity to waste a cute idea, Jeffrey."

"And what's that, Susie?"

"All in good time, Jeffrey; you kept me in suspense over the arm - now it's my turn to tease."

"I'd still rather not go into a pub; it may be one of those houses of ill-repute."

"Stop moaning - it's your own fault. We could have asked Horrocks earlier if you hadn't played things so close to Pinky and Perky over the arm."

"I didn't want to spoil your big moment, Susie."

"That was very considerate of you, Jeffrey. I appreciate our mutual deducing."

"And I enjoy watching you detecting, Susie."

"Then best high heel forward, Jeffrey - magnifying glass at the ready."

"My seebackroscope awaits your command, Susie."

 

Chapter 137

"Hurry up, Jeffrey - that's Horrocks' Reliant Robin nestling in the carpark. He must still have his elbow in the air."

I looked up in dismay at the pub sign creaking in the wind. "Something tells me The Bull and Bladder is no place for the Dinky Doos, Susie."

"But a highly appropriate choice of watering-hole for old Bazza. Let's casually saunter over there and offer to buy him a packet of pork scratchings."

"I'd rather sit out here and wait until he's finished refuelling."

"That could take forever, Jeffrey. And what would your mother say if she knew a mini-skirted Denise had been flaunting herself on a car bonnet?"

"I've no intention of draping myself over a Reliant Robin," I huffed. "I'm saving myself for your Ferrari, Susie."

"Ferrari-shmarri - I'm buying British. An Aston Martin Vanquish has gone to the top of my list."

"I don't suppose we'll find one of those advertised in Exchange and Mart."

"Not at a hundred and ninety thousand pounds, Jeffrey."

"I'll go halvsies with you."

"I should hope so," Susie smiled. "Now stop trying to distract me and let's concentrate on rendezvousing with Barry boy."

"D'accord, chérie, but don't pretend that we're eighteen - it'll only lead to trouble. All we need do is ask someone to send out Mr Horrocks."

"You've anticipated my plan B, Jeffrey."

"And what's your plan A, Susie?"

"We walk in as bold as a brass band, and, if anyone challenges us, we say we're collecting for the Salvation Army."

"And our uniforms are at the cleaners, I suppose?"

"We're having to economise - our territory is strapped for cash."

"So strapped, we haven't got a belt or cap between us. Even the whelks will shake their heads in disbelief, Susie."

"But not the barflies if we adopt a military bearing. Shoulders back, Pinky and Perky out, Jeffrey - swing your arms and keep in step with me."

"Okay," I relented, and set off across the car-park at a quick sashay. "But don't mention this expedition to gran when you meet her. Pubs are even more out of bounds than bistros - she's strict chapel."

"How about your granddad?"

"The same - although he does carry a hip flask while up on the moors. But only in case of a medicinal emergency - like having his backside peppered with buckshot again."

"We should take a lesson from your granddad, Jeffrey, and be prepared for all eventualities," Susie cautioned, as we approached the entrance.

"My little finger is cocked and ready for any number of emergency salutes. I just wish we had a tin to rattle between us."

"Well, don't shake your booty instead, Sister Denise. Eyes front - here we go - into the den of iniquity."

"And we'll have to run the gauntlet at the gates. Introduce ourselves, Susie, or the welcoming committee may have ideas of giving us a helping hand on the way through."

"God bless you all," Susie cried, startling the knot of patrons congregating on the steps, desperate for a breath of stale air.

"Repent - the end is nigh," I wailed.

"The last days are upon you," Susie prophesied. "Go home to your loved ones before it's too late."

The sinners shrank back in alarm from our virtuousness, and our bottoms passed ungoosed amongst the heathens.

"We've brought the light into their world, but Mr Horrocks is nowhere to be seen," I testified, after scanning the room on my side of the entrance hall.

"The old boy won't be playing pool, Denise - he'll be scoffing pies." Susie carried on and pushed open the door of the saloon bar. "Let's try in here."

"Oh, this would put me right off my tea," I sniffed, as the beery atmosphere assaulted my nostrils.

"That's far enough!" the man behind the pumps barked, before we'd gone another step. "Juveniles aren't allowed across the threshold."

A hush came over the room, and the eyes of the lunchtime crowd turned upon us.

"We're from the Sally Annie, and we've just had our dinner," Susie whooped. "Hallelujah to you - and give us a bag of monkey nuts."

"You're schoolgirls - get out before I call your headmistress. I've had enough trouble from you lot."

"An easy mistake to make," Susie allowed, marching up to bar, "but we forgive you. The fact is we're probationers in the Youth Battalion, searching for a lost sheep."

"Dressed like that."

"The organisation has moved with the times. We're doubling up as cadets in the Joy Division."

A grinning regular bellied over for a refill. "Let them stay, Eddie; the little darlings bring some much needed glamour to the place."

"I'm the landlord, and I say they go."

"Oh, shut up, and pull us another," the man belched, waving a five-pound note over the counter. "And give these little darlings the change."

"Thank you, kind sir - you have the pope's blessing," Susie beamed.

"The pope - I thought he was a Catholic?"

"We're all ecumenical with the truth now. We've come to bring you the good news of Jesus. He can guide you along the righteous path and heal you."

"Bloody well keep him away from me, then - I'm on disability benefit," the man guffawed. "Did you hear that, Mick?" he called over his shoulder.

"Good un, Pat." His mate rose unsteadily from the table and staggered across the room. "If you're from the Joy Division, girls, how about giving us a thong?" he slurred.

"We'd like to oblige," Susie smiled, "but we've left our tambourines in the chapel."

"You won't need them - Karaoke Kenny's just set up his equipment. Let your hair down and shake it all about, girls," Mick leered. "We're dying for a little lively entertainment."

"You could all hold hands while the one on the end sticks his finger in the light socket," I suggested.

"That's not very Christian of you," Pat protested. "Go on, be a pair of sports."

"It has to be deliverance before pleasure with us, I'm afraid," Susie demurred. "We're seeking brother Barry Horrocks, a distinguished pioneer of the press, but a sometime disciple of Bacchus. Have you seen him?"

"An old bore who grunts a lot when he's at the trough?" Mick sneered.

"He is an enthusiastic eater," I agreed.

"And a nosy bugger," Pat scowled. "He showed a serious lack of pub etiquette."

"He wanted to know the ins-and-outs of the bull's arse," Mick glowered. "Asking all those personal questions could land a bloke in big trouble."

"Where's Mr Horrocks now?" Susie pressed. "His car's still outside."

"He went to see a man about a horse after his second plate of cabbage and ribs," Mick smirked.

"No wonder he's taking his time about it," Pat snickered. "Do you want to go in and give him a helping hand, girls?"

"We're belief in action, not relief in action," I reprimanded him. "Nature will have to take its course without our spiritual support," I emphasised, just in case Susie had other ideas.

"We'll display the patience of Job, Denise."

"Well, you're not displaying it in here," the landlord glared. "It's more than my job's worth."

"Hey, that's very funny," Susie laughed.

"No, it's not - and get out of here. I won't tell you again."

"Then you'll be held to account if anything happens to Mr Horrocks," Susie warned. "He's subject to fainting fits - especially after heavy meals."

"I hope you haven't been irresponsible, and allowed him to mix his vegetables," I frowned.

"We only serve cabbage," the landlord snorted. "This isn't a poofy, bloody bistro."

"What about the pickled onions, Eddie?"

"Shut up, Pat - they aren't greens."

"We'll take your word for that," Susie accepted. "But it's sometimes hard to tell, and the slightest trace of cucumber could prove fatal to Mr Horrocks. You'd better check he hasn't keeled over and hit his head on a wash basin."

"Okay, sweetie-pies," Pat grinned, "anything to please, but how about a rousing chorus or two first. You Salvation Army girls are famous for your harmonising."

"That's enough, you daft bugger - I want them off the premises before I lose my licence. They could be agents provocateur from the council."

"Can it, Eddie - they aren't asking for a drink. Get up on stage, girls, and sing for your supper if you want us to take up a collection for your good cause."

"What about it, Sister Denise?"

"The elders wouldn't approve, Sister Susie. We'd be risking our stripes and good conduct medals."

"I can't see any sin in it, as long as we choose something spiritual with a religious bent."

"I know the very thing," Mick sniggered. "They'll have us crying into our ale, Pat."

"Follow me, Denise." Susie skipped across the floor to the makeshift platform.

"Is this really necessary?" I muttered, trailing reluctantly along after her. "The Bull and Bladder is no place for the Dinky Doos to make their debut."

"We aren't leaving here until we speak to Horrocks. I'm not a hundred per cent convinced by the hog in the bog story."

"You want to make a mystery out of every little thing," I moaned, as Susie handed me what I thought an unnecessarily suggestive microphone.

"Don't hold it that close - you'll sound all breathy."

"This is worse than a big banana," I pouted. "Why do they have to make them this shape and put a red hat on top?"

"Just pretend it's a giant lollipop."

"Certainly not - I've no intention of licking the thing. I want it as far away from my mouth as possible." I played out the cable and let the mike dangle between my legs while we waited for the off.

"Don't, Denise - that's even more suggestive. You'll be bringing our troop into disrepute."

"Sorry, Susie," I apologised, and reeled in the microphone. "I'll keep it up this end. I just wish I'd chosen a less vibrant lipstick."

"Get a grip on yourself, Denise - now you're pelvic thrusting, and we haven't even started yet."

"I can't help it, Susie - I've caught a heel in a loose board."

"I'm enjoying this already, Pat."

"Strike up the band, Mick."

"Oh no, Susie," I wailed, as the opening words rolled across the screen. "I don't believe this will save many souls."

"The Devil has all the best tunes, Denise," Susie yelled, above the howl of the opening chords.

"Count me in, Susie."

"One, two, three, Denise!"

"Oooo, here we go, Susie!" I cried, whirling the microphone above my head.

"Control yourself, Denise."

"I can't help myself, Susie - I'm getting carried away."

"Me too - spit it out, Denise!"

"Pogo, Susie!"

"Pass round the hat, Pat."

"I think I'm in love, something rotten, Mick."

"Get them bloody out of here!"

"Shut up, Eddie!"

"Give them the big finish, Denise!"

"All together, Susie!"

"Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!"

"Wooooooooooo! Denise is a punk rocker now," Susie whooped, as we leapt off the stage to a round of enthusiastic applause.

"I only hope Major Barbara never finds out about this."

"Never mind her, Denise - the Dinky Doos certainly pleased the punters. Let's see how much we made."

"Don't bother, Susie - I wasn't that carried away. I kept my eyes on the audience at all times in case they charged the stage. There's nothing in the hat."

"Ah well, that's showbiz, Denise, but at least we know what song to end our act with."

"Right - and we're not giving them God Save The Queen for an encore. Now can we return to the Horrocks hunt and get out of here, Susie?"

"We'll do our best, but we may have to sign a few autographs first. Make yourself respectable, Denise - here comes our number one fan."

Pat arrived, flushed and panting. "You girls certainly know how to boogie."

"We were pogoing," I corrected, modestly doing up my top buttons.

"We can turn our feet to anything, because we're the granddaughters of a pair of Pan's People," Susie whimsied.

"Which ones?"

"Cherry and the beautiful Babs."

"They got married, did they?" Pat winked. "I always hoped they would."

"And they got religion - dance is a very spiritual art form. We've done our best to save your soul, so now skip to the loo and rescue Mr Horrocks for us," Susie ordered.

"It's dangerous to barge in on an old fella when he's straining away. He'll come out in his own good time. While we're waiting, can I ..."

"Get a doctor!" A white-faced man frantically burst out of the gents, saving us from further potential embarrassments. "It's an emergency!"

"Bloody hell, Denise, our antics must have given some poor beggar apoplexy."

"It really is the music of the Devil, Susie."

"What's happened, Lenny?" Pat shouted.

"Someone's had a funny turn in here."

"It's not Sammy, is it? He owes me money."

"No, it's a fat old buffer. He was staggering about, and, before I could help, his feet just went from under him."

"Oh, trouble's brewing, Susie."

"Things have come to a head, Denise - get ready for invasive action. Mr Horrocks needs our assistance again."

"I only hope you've devised an equally ingenious plan for safely marching the Salvation Army through the bog to his rescue, Susie."

 

Chapter 138

"Let me through - I'm a qualified chiropodist!" Susie hollered, plunging into the gathering gawkers.

"And me - I'm her trainee nail technician. We work as a team at Feet First, dealing with podiatry crises."

The crowd parted in awe, and we arrived unhindered at the toilets, just as Horrocks stumbled out of the door.

"What are you looking at, Jimmies? I'll fight the lot of you," he hooted, and proceeded to demonstrate his disoriental, reeling-around-in-circles technique.

"Quick, Denise, get me 20mg of mogadon, 30cc of adrenalin, and a small bottle of Ribena - Mr Horrocks has gone hyperbollocks."

"Drugs can be dangerous to a man in his condition, Sister Susie; we should employ the holistic remedy first."

"What have you in mind, Sister Denise?"

"In a case like this, it's important the feet have fresh air as soon as possible. Let's get him out of here and take his socks off."

"I second your diagnosis."

"Then watch your head and grab an arm."

We seized hold of the whirling dervish that was Horrocks and steered him towards the exit.

"Make way! Make way! Emergency foot services coming through."

"Hang on to him, Susie."

"Don't fight us Barry - go with the flow."

The light of recognition suddenly dawned in Horrocks' eyes. "Ah, my guardian angels are watching over me again."

"We're always ready to help," Susie smiled. "But would you zip up your flies before we go any further."

"Sorry, my dear - was I visiting the gents just now?"

"Yes - what happened in there?"

"I don't know, Miss Smith, but my bloody head hurts - and I'm dizzy."

"You'll be okay now you've stopped spinning around," Susie assured him, as we clattered down the steps into the carpark.

"I feel as if I've got two heads."

"You have," I observed. "There's a lump on the top of your scalp as big as an ostrich egg."

"Ow!" Horrocks felt the tender spot. "Where did that come from?"

"Perhaps you slipped on the soap," I offered.

"After you'd had a pop or five too many," Susie suggested. "Intemperance is a cruel master."

"Not today - I'm as sober as a sub-editor," Horrocks burped.

"Well, what's the matter, then - have you got amnesia?"

"Yes ... No ...Wait a minute - it's all coming back to me now, Miss Jones." Horrocks looked at us wild-eyed. "Would you believe it! I was viciously assaulted in the line of duty. That's the last time I follow a stranger into the lav."

"The old bean's been beaned on the bean, Denise."

"What did I tell you, Susie - it's an occupational hazard."

"Not for journalists - they command the respect of the criminal community."

"No longer I'm afraid, my dear," Horrocks grunted. "Folk are all too ready to take an innocent enquiry the wrong way these days."

"Can you remember which one of them did you a mischief, Mr Horrocks?" Susie prodded. "It could be important."

"A muscle-bound monster - who'd been taking a close interest in my speculations about the events at number 13. I let on I knew more than I did - it's a standard journalistic trick," Horrocks confided. "I enticed my drinking companions with tales of finding a hidden hoard up a chimney."

"And your squirrel-like cunning worked."

"All too well, Miss Jones - I fear I may have over-intrigued one of my audience. The crafty so-and-so said nothing, but a nod's as good as wink to an old hand like me. I got the message he desired a private conversation off the record."

"Which led to an intimate summit in the loo."

"Side by side, and when I politely glanced south of the equator to compare notes - as you do - I got the shock of my life." Horrocks' knees buckled as he flinched at the recollection.

"Hold onto him, Denise - he's throwing another wobbly."

"You'll be okay, Mr Horrocks. Surely, there's nothing new over the toilet bowl to a hard-bitten newsman like you."

"Don't you believe it, Miss Smith," Horrocks gulped. "That's the last place on earth I expected to clap eyes on a unicorn."

"You've only yourself to blame," Susie reproved. "The noggins have gone to your noggin."

"A tattooed unicorn rampant in its full 3-D glory," Horrocks choked. "What a sight to behold on a Friday lunchtime!"

"The groom led his horse to water, eh."

"And stood there holding the reins, while brazenly crooning Because You're Mine, Miss Jones."

"Mr Horrocks can't say he wasn't given fair warning, then, Denise."

"No one expects a nightmarish rendition, Susie."

"The whole thing was surreal, Miss Smith. Yet the creature appeared so lifelike, I could hardly refrain from stroking it on the nose and offering it a lump of sugar."

"Say no more - he was hung like a stallion - we get the picture, don't we, Denise?"

"I'm trying my best not to, Susie - it's just too ickyphallic. It'll never be 'loveliest of all was the unicorn' for me again."

"I share your sentiments, my dear; I only hope you never share the experience," Horrocks shuddered. "You had to have the beast rearing up at you to get the full effect. What with that and the awful smell emanating from the man, I became quite nonplussed."

"Mr Unicorn may have trod in something, Susie."

"You always think the best of people, Denise."

"And while I was having doubts about the fellow's personal hygiene, he took full advantage of my confusion," Horrocks wailed.

"That's when the bounder hit you over the head, is it?"

"He caught me at my most vulnerable, Miss Smith. I had my pen in my mouth, my notebook under my chin, and I was inspecting the plumbing."

"What an utter cad! Assaulting a man when he has his hands full. What do you say, Denise?"

"It's ... I can't think of a word bad enough, Susie."

"Denise has led a sheltered life, Mr Horrocks. The only curses she knows are spit, damn, and knickers."

"Bloomers, please, Susie."

"I beg your pardon, Denise."

"I sense you're again making light of my misfortune," Horrocks harrumphed. "But I can assure you, only the cat-like reflexes of an ex-darts champion saved me from receiving a fatal blow."

"Sorry, Garfield," Susie apologised. "It's a nervous reaction - we're truly upset for you, but totally unfazed, and as keen as ever to assist. So what was the fellow's motive - did he say anything?"

"The impact set my ears ringing. With that and his accent, I could hardly understand a word he bellowed."

"Why - was he a foreigner?"

"He might have come up from London, but he definitely didn't speak the Queen's English. I've never heard such a stream of abuse - not even on the Hong Kong waterfront."

"What was he so het-up about?"

"I've no idea, Miss Jones. The ruffian kept on repeating 'Have you got the lorry? ... Have you got the lorry? It's mine! ... It's mine!' I thought he'd gone mad. No sane person could mistake me for a trucker."

"'Have you got the lorry?' - that's a puzzler, Denise."

"Perhaps it's a case of mistaken identity, Susie."

"Well, it was a bloody painful one," Horrocks grimaced, tenderly rubbing his wound. "Because the swine snatched up my notes, gave me another wallop, and then the lights went out."

"Never mind," Susie consoled. "Lorry or not, it proves we're on the right track."

"What do you mean 'we'?" Horrocks grumped. "You weren't the ones who got hit over the head - twice."

"But we rescued you in the nick of time," Susie reminded him. "Now cheer up - we're all in this together. And you'll be the one getting the Pulitzer Prize, when we deliver the evil-doer to you on a platter."

"I don't see how," Horrocks moaned. "I can't even remember what the chap looks like, apart from there was a lot of him - and his you know what ... his thingy."

"Worry not, Barry, old boy, it won't come to an identity parade," Susie vowed. "Smith and Jones haven't been idle. While you were busy getting duffed up, we've discovered a big clue to share with you."

"I'm not sure I want to be the man who knows too much, after my last encounter," Horrocks mumbled, taking an anxious look around, as we arrived back at his car. "The unicorn man might return with a vengeance."

"Don't talk daft - you'll soon be your old fearless self again after a sit down." Susie opened the door of the Reliant, and pushed down on Horrocks' head. "In you get."

"Ow!"

"Oops, sorry - bit of a tight fit all round, isn't it - why don't you go in for something more roomy?"

"I've two ex-wives to support - didn't I mention that?"

"Did he, Denise?"

"In passing, Susie - but one Mrs Horrocks appears to have gone missing since we last met."

"The latest ex isn't officially an ex yet - more's the pity," Horrocks moaned.

"Ah, that explains it," Susie nodded. "We were too polite to enquire about your exact circumstances."

"Those penny-pinchers in management are well aware of my exact circumstances," Horrocks snorted. "But will they let me have a company car - no bloody way."

"Solve this murder and you can look forward to at least a Mini Clubman."

"Easier said than done, Miss Jones," Horrocks groaned.

"Not for someone as well-informed as you," Susie cajoled. "That's why we came looking for our ace reporter. You must be familiar with all the resident bad boys."

"Ah ..." Horrocks considered the matter. "I think a more considered approach would be to work our way through the tattooists in the yellow pages. There's less chance of another misunderstanding with Mr Unicorn."

"We only want you to put a name to the dead body," I reassured. "You do have a vast knowledge of the local criminal underworld, don't you?"

"I had my sources." Horrocks confidentially tapped the side of his nose. "I've a dossier built up over many years at the typeface. I know stuff that would lift the lid off many a pot."

"That's what we're banking on," Susie encouraged.

"Although it may be somewhat out of date by now," Horrocks lamented. "A community correspondent doesn't make the same contacts as a dashing crime reporter."

"Just think back," Susie appealed. "Did you ever come across a one-armed villain?"

"You mean apart from the murdered man."

"Yes - an alive and kicking one who'd perhaps lost an arm in an accident," I prompted.

"Let's see - I've met a dickens of a lot of characters in my time ..." Horrocks paused and scratched his head. "Ow!"

"Come on," Susie urged. "You wouldn't forget someone like that in a hurry."

"There's Lefty Lofthouse - he had his arm torn out of its socket by a winch, and the compensation went to his head."

"What happened to him?"

"He fell in with the wrong crowd - spent a fortune on wine, women, and the gee-gees - and then wasted the rest."

"Is he still around?"

"No idea."

"Can't you remember anything else about him?" Susie pressed.

"Patience, my dear, I've a mind like a card index - just let me riffle through it." Horrocks screwed up his face in concentration. "Let's see -he had an older sister - a sharp nosed woman - lived up to her name."

"Mrs Pike!" Susie exclaimed.

"That's right. How do you know about her - are you onto something?"

"Maybe - did Lefty go around with a W - a Willy or a Wally?"

"He could have done, I suppose." Horrocks exaggeratedly furrowed his brow. "I'll think about it while you bring me fully up to date - that's only fair."

"Go on, Susie, tell Mr Horrocks our theory about the victim."

"We don't want to give too much away, Denise," Susie muttered.

"We've got your dad to consider. It'll be better if Mr Horrocks explains to the police about the missing arm without any more delay."

"What are you girls whispering about? I hope you aren't planning to further bewilder an old man with another of your fairy tales."

"The police may not believe it, coming from us," I confessed. "But we're sure a solid citizen with your credentials can convince them it's something worth looking into."

"Undoubtedly, but I don't want to be accused of wasting police time - I have my reputation to uphold."

"Have no fear, Mr Horrocks, when the police hear our deductions, they'll give you an exclusive," Susie asserted. "Sharpen your pencil, Barry, and note this down."

"I've left my Papermate floating in the River Armitage, but fire away, I possess a photographic memory," Horrocks boasted. "I'd never have got where I am today without it."

"Can I have my biro back? I borrowed it from the bank."

"Certainly, Miss Jones." Horrocks finished writing on his cuff and returned Susie's pen.

"Would you like us to go over it again?"

"No need, Miss Smith - you've anticipated my own thoughts on the matter and taken the words straight out of my word processor," Horrocks chortled, and banged on the steering wheel in delight. "This'll show Steve Spooner and the other non-believers there's a scoop in the old boy yet."

"Careful," Susie warned, "you're rocking the car."

"Not for much longer - there'll be four wheels on Barry's wagon and a bigger petrol allowance to go with it in the not too distance future. Even those tight-fisted accountants upstairs will have to acknowledge my value to the paper when I break this story."

"They'll realise what a priceless asset you are," Susie agreed.

"And then some." Horrocks fastened his seatbelt and prepared for take-off.

"Mind how you go, sir," I cautioned. "Don't get overexcited, and try to be diplomatic when you tell the police how to do their job."

"Have no fear young lady, I've plenty of experience in dealing with callow youths."

"We'll put our trust in you, then," Susie smiled. "And if you've anything new to tell us, we're at the office of Jones & Co - the family estate agents."

"Very well, girls, I shall keep you informed of my progress."

"Thanks, Mr Horrocks - bye for now," we chorused.

"TTFN." The gentleman of the press went to doff his now non-existent hat. "Where's my trilby?"

"Lost in the battle of the bog - do you want to go back and retrieve it?"

"Not at the moment, Miss Jones - I have a vague vision of the unicorn man taking it hostage. I can't imagine why."

"Perhaps he thought you were keeping something under your hat."

"I wasn't, Miss Smith, but it will still be a great loss to me. Many's the by-line we've shared together."

"Well, never mind, it'll be wiser to give your wound some air," I advised.

"And if we get the chance, we'll knock it off the bounder's head and retrieve it for Mr Horrocks, won't we, Denise?"

"My catapult is at the ready, Susie."

"Thank you, girls," Horrocks grinned, "but don't take any undue risks and be especially wary of mythical beasts."

"And you," I smiled, waving a friendly farewell.

"And watch out if a strange man asks you the way to Banbury Cross," Susie winked.

"I got that one," Horrocks chuckled, before engaging first gear and pootling away in his plastic pig.

"I'm beginning to wish we hadn't let Mr Horrocks in on our findings, Jeffrey," Susie frowned, as the Reliant Robin bob-bob-bobbed off down the road. "At this rate, we won't be getting any credit for our endeavours - an all too familiar tale."

"Ah, but we didn't reveal everything, Susie. We kept back a vital clue."

"Did we, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, Susie."

"Well, what is it? Don't keep me in the dark."

"I tried to tell you earlier, but your mind was otherwise engaged on seeking out Horrocks."

"And we got here in the nick of time, so I had my priorities right. You can't argue with that, Jeffrey."

"I'm not - because this piece of information could prove especially significant, now we're pretty sure the chap who attacked Horrocks hasn't found what he was looking for."

"Or perhaps it's a somebody - I've been thinking - the lorry might be a Laurie."

"That's speculation - this is fact. I've discovered the why of the W at the end of the coded message."

"So who is the mysterious Mr X, Jeffrey?"

"It's not a 'who', it's a 'where', Susie. Come on - this way, and you can see for yourself."

"Okay, but less of the Holmes and Watson from now on, Jeffrey. No more deducing behind my back."

"I didn't - this time it was due to acute observation at the front. If you'd been less interested in my bottom and more interested in street signs, you might have got there first."

"Jeffrey!"

"Only kidding, Susie - to be honest, I just happened to glance in the right direction when we turned off Mauldeth Road. But if we follow up on it, we may find what Mr Unicorn believed was hidden behind the chimney breast."

"I can't see a lorry being parked in there, Jeffrey - but someone could have immured a Laurie. That'd be a turn-up for the book - a skeleton in the fireplace."

"Stranger things have happened, Susie."

"And they will again, Jeffrey - I've had another hunch."

"You've overstuffed your utility bag - that's what it is, Susie."

"A sixth sense tells me, you may be grateful I'm toting your truncheon, before the day is out, Jeffrey."

 

Chapter 139

"No, this way." I took Susie's arm and guided her across the junction at the bottom end of Mauldeth Road. "We're not going back to the office."

"I wish you'd come straight out and tell me what it is you've deduced, Jeffrey. Twenty questions palls after a mile or so."

"I wanted you to see for yourself," I smiled. "And now we're here, we can play a more rewarding game. I spy with my little eye something beginning with S S."

"Sunshine, sunshine," Susie laughed, and saluted me with her lips.

"That's earned you bonus clues," I beamed. "It's mineral and staring you in the knees."

Susie glanced over at the garden wall. "Street sign - am I right, or am I right, Jeffrey?"

"You've got it in two - now read it and speak. Tell me where we've arrived at in our quest."

"Mauldeth Road West."

"And only a stone's throw away is its very own number 13. What are your initial thoughts on that?"

"Willy Wally Wronga!" Susie exclaimed. "The W at the end of the message stood for West!"

"Meaning the address in question isn't the one we thought."

"And we've all been on a wild goose chase, barking up the wrong blooming street at the wrong blooming house."

"Everything points that way."

"Bugger, Jeffrey - I've made a dog's breakfast of our first case."

"You're being a little harsh on yourself, Susie."

"I'm my own severest critic - you should know that by now, Jeffrey."

"Well, don't take it to heart, Susie; it's a mistake anyone could have made."

"And it seems they did, Jeffrey - but that's small consolation."

"Maybe not so small, after what we learned from Mr Horrocks."

"You mean about Mr Unicorn still looking for his lorry."

"If we're right about the wrong address, Susie, it's almost certain someone deliberately sent him astray."

"I knew there was a Professor Moriarty involved, Jeffrey."

"Probably alias Mrs Pike, Susie. But whoever decoded that list must have been familiar with the sender - and they wouldn't have mistaken the W for his initial."

"Double bugger, Jeffrey! We may be too late to claim the prize; the brains behind this business could have already scooped the jackpot."

"The two prime suspects are dead and their killer hasn't got his hands on it yet, so there's a good chance the mystery object is still safely hidden up the chimney at 13 Mauldeth Road West."

Susie looked along the line of houses and reflected for a moment. "But where does the lorry fit into all this, Jeffrey? I can't see hide or hair of one parked outside."

"I didn't really expect to, Susie."

"Are you holding back another vital clue, Jeffrey - does a Laurie live there?"

"I haven't got X-ray vision, Susie - just telescopic," I grinned. "And I didn't even need that - the street sign was almost under our noses this morning."

"There's no need to rub it in, Jeffrey."

"Sorry, Susie - I've every confidence in you and your deducing. I'm sure a plausible theory of what happened yesterday has already sprung to mind."

"An Albert Einstein of one, Jeffrey. Now we know Mrs Pike is the dead man's sister, she's definitely not innocently involved in the affair."

"Just as you said from the very beginning, Susie."

"I told you I had a flair for this sort of thing, Jeffrey."

"I'll let you shed some more light on the matter, then."

"Well, as you said, Jeffrey - Mr Unicorn wasn't let in on the meaning of the W. Mrs Pike wouldn't have accidentally mixed up the addresses - not when 13 Mauldeth Road is on the books at the office."

"That must have been what gave her the idea, Susie - a twin empty house, ready and waiting to serve as a stand-in for X marks the spot."

"You're reading my mind, Jeffrey."

"Okay, you carry on unravelling the plot."

"I'm guessing Mr Unicorn brought the shopping list to Mrs Pike. He's only the muscle in all this - a Moose Malloy with an antler missing - and the perfect choice as delivery boy. The big bruiser wouldn't have the nous to work out the secret for himself."

"Not unreasonable assumptions, Susie."

"And when Mrs Pike deciphered the message, she saw the chance to swindle an unwanted, and probably untrustworthy, partner out of his share in whatever it is they're after."

"Because with 13 Mauldeth Road available, a very subtle deception became possible."

"So Mrs Pike and Lefty planned the crafty double-cross to keep it all in the family, Jeffrey."

"A fatal mistake on their part, Susie, since Mr Unicorn has a vicious temper and his first resort is to violence when things don't go his way."

"They must have expected he'd be satisfied with bashing in the fireplace and finding the chimney was bare, but he proved smarter or madder than they bargained for, Jeffrey."

"It's a likely story, Susie, but we could still be deducing from the wrong premises. And even if we're not, it may be too late. Lefty or Mrs Pike could have visited the other number 13 before Mr Unicorn dealt with them."

"But you don't really think so, Jeffrey, and neither do I." Susie seized my arm and eagerly set off up the road. "Come on, let's take a closer look at the real house of secrets."

"You're supposed to be keeping a low profile, Jeffrey," Susie chided, when she returned to our lookout post across the road from number 13.

"Sorry, Susie," I grinned. "Turned out nice again."

"Enough of the ukeleleing, Jeffrey."

"You started it last night."

"That was then - this is now. Dinky Dooing doesn't befit a pair of master detectives on stakeout duty."

"My surveillance of the upstairs window hasn't faltered for an instant, Susie. I've nothing to report - how about you?"

"I sneaked over to the garage and had a delve in the blue bin. It's full of unshredded mail that tells me the house is split into two flats. A Mrs Brenda Bamford lives on the ground floor, and a Mr Malcolm Muttley occupies the top one."

"So no lorry and no Laurie. I wonder what it really is we're hunting for, Susie?"

"Wipe that enigmatic, Mona Lisa smile off your face, Jeffrey, and we'll set about finding out."

"I'm surprised we aren't already climbing up the drainpipe, Susie. What's holding you back?"

"Inside information, Jeffrey - I found a letter from the pension service addressed to Mr Muttley, so the chances are he's having forty winks after dinner."

"And disinclined to extend a welcome to a pair of strangers asking can they look up his chimney."

"Then think of a plan, Jeffrey - we can't mooch around here all afternoon on the off-chance he comes out."

"Long vigils spent twiddling your thumbs, in between getting bashed on the bonce, could be the true reality of private eyeing, Susie."

"Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Yes - fancy a game of I-spy while we're waiting?"

"You may prove right about the long vigils, Jeffrey," Susie sighed, five minutes and a monkey puzzle tree later. "It wouldn't be so bad if we were doing the snooping from the comfort of a big swanky car, like on the telly."

"Do you want to take the weight of your feet and lean on my lamppost for a bit, Susie?"

"There isn't room for two - I'll sit on the wall."

"I wouldn't - you'll get ants in your pants. I've been watching them as well."

"Budge up, then."

"Granddad never goes anywhere without his shooting stick," I mused, when we were comfortably shoulder to shoulder. "One of them would make a handy addition to our crime kit - it could double as an unconcealed weapon."

"What we're really lacking at the moment, Jeffrey, is a little machine to print instant business cards; that'd be a lot more useful than a seebackroscope."

"Not for me, Susie - I always want to know what's coming up from behind."

"I wonder if they sell the gizmos on eBay. It'd be ideal in this situation; we could easily gain entry by passing ourselves off as council health and safety inspectors."

"Or chimney sweeps - I'm all for private enterprise."

"That's a thought, Jeffrey. Have you had much practice at chimney sweep impersonating?"

"Only at infant's school - Miss Grimshaw dirtied my face with charcoal ... and I cried."

"Would you have been happy as a rosy-cheeked Mary Poppins?"

"No, I didn't want to be any grown-up. I still don't - I often wonder why."

"It's a way of avoiding responsibility for your actions, Jeffrey."

"Just like you, Susie - only you deny they ever happened."

"Confession's not always good for the soul - particularly as it could easily be misunderstood."

"I quite agree - some things are best left unsaid."

"That doesn't leave us with a lot to talk about, then, Jeffrey. Do you fancy another game of I-spy?"

"I never stopped, and I've just spotted an M M for your next object, Susie." I directed her attention over the road. "Look - our patience has been rewarded - Mr Malcolm Muttley is venturing forth."

A track-suited, grey-haired man slammed the door of number 13 and, energetically swinging his arms, quick marched down the drive.

"The old chap's a spritely beggar, Jeffrey, and he's dressed as if he's off for a daily constitutional. This is our chance to sneak in there and search the place."

"Not so fast, Susie - breaking and entering is a risky business. If something goes wrong, it'll be 'Teenage Terrors Target Plucky Pensioner'. Perhaps it'd be wiser to turn over the case to the police."

"No way, Jeffrey - not when we've come this far. But just to be on the safe side, we'll follow Malky boy round the corner, and make sure he isn't only popping out for a paper."

"We'll still have to avoid Mrs Bamford on the ground-floor, Susie. And even if we do - how are we going to get into Mr Muttley's flat? You forgot to pack our junior detective skeleton keys."

"One problem at a time, Jeffrey - let's hugger-mugger after the old boy and see him well on his way first."

"Hugger-mugger?"

"Yes - it's Shakespeare talk - all your top private eyes possess a literary bent. They're given to quoting the bard and the Golden Treasury at the drop of a clue."

"We have it on Doctor Watson's authority that Sherlock Holmes' knowledge of literature was nil, Susie."

"You're forever nit-picking, Jeffrey."

"Sorry, Susie - but the subject would never have arisen if I knew how to hugger-mugger."

"Just act nonchalant, and I'll hugger-mugger for the both of us - that way folk won't suspect we're on the job."

"Zounds, Susie!" I exclaimed, half-way down the next street. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, our hugger-muggering hasn't been nearly nonchalant enough."

"Take that monocle out of your eye, Jeffrey - folk will think I'm dating Gertie Wooster."

"Lady Lolita Wimsey, if you please," I huffed. "And for your further enlightenment, Mr Muttley isn't the only one being shadowed. There's somebody tall, dark, and I don't think he's a stranger, matching us step for step."

"Let's have a peek."

"Here ..." I passed the seebackroscope over to Susie. "And be careful you don't walk into a lamppost. It's tricky looking both ways at once - you can't tell whether you're coming or going."

Susie slowed, and held the device up to her eye. "You're right, Jeffrey, and now the shifty bugger's pretending to tie his shoelace. What a rank amateur - it'll take a better cliché than that to fool me."

I risked a glance over my shoulder. "Now's our chance - he's still down, and a car's backing out in front of him. Quick, duck into this garden."

"I'm way ahead of you, Jeffrey. Follow me and close the gate behind you."

"They aren't taking proper care of their Leylandii, Susie," I observed, when we were crouched down, peering through the base of the hedge. "It's bare at the bottom."

"Quiet, Jeffrey - this isn't the place to be discussing bare bottoms," Susie hissed, as we watched the man approach.

"Or the time," I whispered. "Shsssssh, Susie."

We held our breath - and then our noses as the man came alongside.

"Hell, Jeffrey, those feet stank to high heaven," Susie sniffed, after he'd passed by. "The dirty rat really has trodden in something."

"The smell of rotten eggs from a bad egg. What's more he had different coloured sideburns - and the bounder's wearing Horrocks' trilby."

"That puts the felt hat on it, Jeffrey; the short-tempered swine from Mrs Pike's and Mr Unicorn are definitely one and the same."

"He's undoubtedly Mr Thor, the hammer wielding heavy, as well, Susie. Now all we have to do is find a way of delivering him to the police."

"And we'd better make a good job of it, Jeffrey, because, I'll tell you what, a short-sighted witness could mistake the big bear for dad."

"He's more of a bull, Susie, and he's charging on regardless. Have you noticed he hasn't bothered looking around to see where we've gone? He's kept his eyes firmly fixed to the front."

"It's Mr Muttley he's interested in, Jeffrey."

"The unicorn man's also found out he needs to go West to seek his fortune, Susie. Lefty or Mrs Pike must have talked before they died."

"Then, let's exercise some serious gumshoery and get after the horse and hound."

"This is more like Keystone Coppery," I snorted, as we speed-walked along the road. "All we need is a gorilla bringing up the rear to complete the procession."

"Hurry up, Jeffrey - don't keep looking back for King Kong. Malcolm's marching down the steps into the park, and we're getting left behind."

"Our mystery killer isn't, Susie - he's closing in on his quarry."

"And that isn't a custard pie he's carrying, Jeffrey."

A shiny black object appeared in the man's hand as he came up behind the oblivious Mr Muttley.

"I knew it, Susie - someone's going to get battered over the head."

Right on cue, the cosh arced through the air, hitting home with a mighty thwack.

"Ouch! I felt that from here, Jeffrey," Susie winced, as Mr Muttley collapsed in a heap, now doubly unconscious of his attacker.

"Another one bopped on the bonce, Susie. It's time to scream blue murder before we're next."

"There's nobody around, Jeffrey. Sharpen your bicycle chain and prepare for action."

"How about running the other way instead, Susie? The man is a homicidal maniac, after all."

"You'd never forgive yourself if we left a senior citizen at the fiend's mercy."

"Oh yes, I would - I'm all for women and children first. And Denise qualifies on both counts."

"We can't allow the scoundrel to get away scot free, Jeffrey. Look - he's mugging the poor old beggar."

"And we can guess what for - he wants to gain a legal entry into Mr Muttley's flat. Let's make a strategic withdrawal and phone the police."

"Who's there!" The unicorn man suddenly leapt to his feet.

"It's too late now," Susie muttered. "His animal instinct has alerted him."

"What are you staring at!" the brute snarled, as he came face to face with us.

"How about slowly backing away," I proposed. "That's the recommended procedure when confronted by a wild beast."

"Stand your ground, Jeffrey - we'll call his bluff."

"Actually, Susie, I'm pretty sure it isn't a bluff," I gulped, as the man rose to his full height, Mr Muttley's keys in one brawny mitt, his cosh in the other.

"Is there something I can do for you, girls?". With a deadly grin, Mr Unicorn advanced ominously towards us.

"Here comes another mad dog, Denise."

"With bulging eyes and bulging muscles - this is the biggest, baddest one yet. Any ideas?"

"Whoa, boy!" Susie cried, flinging out her arm. "Don't compound your sins."

"You again!" The giant stumbled in surprise, as the light of recognition dawned. "The nosy God botherers from Mrs Pike's. What are you doing here?" he glared.

"Uh-oh, Felix is out of the bag, Denise."

"Mum will be having kittens, Susie."

"Excuse us, mister, we have to go - we left the cat running in the sink."

"Not until I've had a one-to-one with you little fillies, and we've straightened out a few things."

"We can't help him there, can we, Denise?"

"The very thought of it is making me tongue-tied, Susie."

"Then you'd better loosen it - and pretty damn quick - lives may depend on your answers." The unicorn man slapped the cosh heavily into his hand. "Talk to me girls, or my friend here will be having words with you."

"Well, if you put it that way, we won't say nay," I blinked.

"That's more like it," he rasped. "We'll start with where you're coming from. Are you Morry the Magpie's girls?"

"Spot on, John," Susie bluffed. "And you'd better watch your step, because we're his favourite little chickadees. Who are you - his Big Eggo?"

"Never you mind."

"That's not very polite."

"I don't have to be," the man sneered. "Your asking the question has already set my mind at rest - I'm happy to remain anonymous."

"So what's your business with Morry - where are you in the pecking order?" Susie challenged.

"At the very top - I had the old rogue's full confidence. We got along so well he trusted me with his last will and testament."

"But not enough to write it in plain English."

"Ah, you know about that."

"And we didn't need anyone to translate for us - unlike some," Susie smirked.

"Morry was a cranky bugger and insisted on taking precautions. I humoured the silly old sod, and my reward has been to inherit his full power of attorney," the man crowed.

"Which comes as no surprise to us - we expected to eventually meet the representative from Koshem, Killem, & Karvem, didn't we, Denise?"

"Not under these particular circumstances, Susie. I rather hoped someone else would do the dirty work for us this time."

Mr Unicorn turned his scary gaze on me. "So, Denise, let's hear your version of what's going down and who you think I am."

"You're Kolley Kibber, and I claim my five pounds."

"A girl with a sense of humour, eh," the man sniggered. "Sorry, petal, I'm not 'anding out any Lady Godivas today."

"Ah, that's the clincher, Denise - our Mr X is a Cockney vulture 'aving a giraffe with us."

"We've met a Noah's ark of creatures these last two weeks, Susie."

"Even though this one might have missed the boat, Denise, we should deal with him in the same resolute fashion."

"It behoves us to try, Susie."

"So, John boy, how about sharing what we know and splitting the swag?"

"You're bleedin' Salvation Army!" Mr Unicorn snorted.

"Oh, you caught our act," Susie grinned. "What did you think of it? Be honest, now."

"You're bloody crazy! And I've seen enough of your antics to be sure Morry wouldn't associate with dingbats like you."

"That's all you know - we're here, aren't we?"

"Well, whoever you are, we won't be doing business together, whatever you've got to offer."

"It isn't up to you," Susie asserted.

"And why not, my little flower?" The man took an intimidating step forward.

"Because we're special constables working on this case, and we've got the low-down on you - including your most intimate details - Mr Unicorn."

"How do you know about Prancer!" Our ruthless killer showed a gentlemanly sensitivity apropos social embarrassments, and immediately checked his flies.

"Careful, Susie," I murmured, "we don't want to talk his trousers down."

"It's okay, Denise - he's still fully zippered."

Mr Unicorn established all was secure and switched his attention back to us. "Unless you look a damn sight more attractive when I'm sober, than you did when I was drunk, it must have been the fat bloke in the pub who's been telling tales out of school. Is he the one pulling your strings?"

"You flatter yourself, and you underestimate us," Susie retorted. "We weren't kidding - even as we speak, the police computer is spewing out the name of Lefty Lofthouse's known associates."

"It seems you've learned a lot more than I bargained for," Mr Unicorn grimaced, lowering his cosh. "We need to have a further friendly discussion before I do anything irrevocable. Who told you about Lefty?"

"That's for us to know, and you to find out," Susie smirked.

"You're proving to be proper little nuisances. It's a dangerous game you're playing," Mr Unicorn threatened.

"And you - someone will be along any minute. Hadn't you better consider your own personal safety and get out of town?" I suggested.

"Not until I've dealt with you two and a certain other matter. It's unfortunate about Lofthouse, but I won't be the first person the police come after. I only met the lying, little toe-rag yesterday."

"So why did you mutilate the body?" Susie quizzed.

"Curiosity is going to kill the cat, darling," Mr Unicorn snickered. "But if it'll soften the blow, I don't mind telling you Lefty is Morry's brother-in-law, and the longer the police are ignorant of the fact, the better."

"Until you've found what you're looking for," Susie declared.

"Plus a couple of days grace - I intend to go South for the winter and soak up some sun."

"I hope you don't take this personally, but are you sporting a prison pallor?" I politely enquired.

"Yes, and these are prison muscles," Mr Unicorn swaggered, flexing his biceps.

"And that's where you met Morry the Magpie - aka Mr Pike," Susie concluded.

"You really do know too much, darling. I need to deal with the pair of you and get a move on."

"Don't let us keep you," I urged.

"You won't - it's time to say farewell, my lovelies." Mr Unicorn advanced again, swinging his cosh. "A special truncheon for the special constables," he cackled.

"Call that a truncheon," Susie scoffed, whipping out my family heirloom from her bag. "This is a truncheon!"

"What the hell!"

"Never mind comparing sizes - look over here!" I scooped up a handful of gravel and flung it in Mr Unicorn's face.

"Aaaaaaahhhhh!" The grit peppered his eyes, and he blindly lurched forward.

"Ole!" Susie skipped aside. "See how your Prancer likes this bit between its teeth!" Whirling the truncheon round by the strap, Susie delivered a crunching blow into the stalls. "Have at thee, Sir Percy!"

"Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh!" Mr Unicorn doubled over in distress, clutching at his vitals.

"That's hobbled your horse," Susie whooped.

"Clubbed in the afternoon - you're matadorable, Susie."

"Thank you, Denise - it wasn't the most technically perfect execution, but sometimes you have to hit below the belt."

"Have another go."

"I don't mind if I do." Susie followed up with a blow to Mr Unicorn's protecting knuckles.

"Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh!"

He straightened convulsively, and Horrocks' trilby flew into my hands. "Old Barry will be pleased to get this back, Susie."

"Ooooooooowwwwwwwwww!" A third sickening blow struck home.

"I believe I may have done Mr Unicorn another mischief, Denise."

"And a beautifully orchestrated one to boot, Susie. It sounds as if you've sent old Prancer and his bag of oats right back into the stable."

"Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh!"

"All the way up his Gary, I shouldn't wonder, Denise."

"Very tastefully put, Susie."

"Cockney and French are the language of diplomats, Denise."

"He's turned his back on us, Susie - see if that behind the knee trick works, just out of scientific interest."

"My pleasure, Denise."

Susie whirled and whacked.

"Ooooooooowwwwwwwwww!" Mr Unicorn fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

"He's down for the count, Susie - yet another one bites the dust."

"He won't want to dance the rumba again anytime soon."

"It'll chafe a bit if he does."

"All that body building, and he didn't put on muscles in the right place, Denise."

"Come on, Susie, let's see if we can make him even less comfortable."

We darted up to the prostrate figure and each applied a foot in a strategic place.

"Ready, Denise."

"Shove, Susie!"

"There he goes!"

"Aaaaaaahhhhh!" Mr Unicorn rolled off the path, down the grassy bank, crashed through the fence at the bottom, and into the duck pond.

Splaaaaaaaaaaaasaassshhh!

"I hope that cools him down a bit, Susie."

"It should come as something of a relief to his Tom and Jerry."

"I've never heard them called that before."

"It's a technical term for when you have one bigger than the other, Jeffrey."

"Like the man from Devizes."

"Exactly - I caught Mr Unicorn slightly off centre, so I expect he'll be dressing on the left for some time to come."

"Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh!"

"Oh, it's one thing after another - now he's being attacked by a swan. They can break a man's arm, can't they, Susie?"

"And a leg, but I'm afraid we'll have to leave the bugger to his fate, Jeffrey - the innocent victim comes first."

"Help's already arriving, Susie. Look over there." I pointed to where a woman with a huge Great Dane was emerging from under the trees.

"Brave girls - I saw all that happened," she shouted. "It was truly magnificent how you went to the aid of that poor old gentleman, without a thought for your personal safety."

"A woman of some discernment, Denise."

"Even so, perhaps we should just give her a wave and vanish into the aether, Susie."

"We don't want the police hot on the trail of two missing witnesses, Jeffrey - we'll tell her a story first."

"We were more than witnesses, Susie."

"Don't worry, I've already got it all worked out."

"On guard, Brutus!" The lady pulled on the dog's chain and pointed down at Mr Unicorn. "Bad man!"

"You can say that again," I trembled. "We were in fear of our lives."

"You're quite safe now, my dear. Everything's under control - I've already dialled 999."

"It's public spirited of you to take responsibility," Susie approved. "Because we can't hang around - we have to go."

"Aren't you waiting for the police?"

"We acted like good Samaritans, but these days that leaves you wide open to litigation," Susie moaned.

"Litigation?"

"Yes, that low-life couch potato will sue us for every penny we've got. He'll have watched all those personal injury adverts on afternoon telly."

"Surely not - it was clearly a case of self-defence."

"That makes no difference; we've violated his human rights. You're not allowed to raise a truncheon against hardened criminals nowadays," Susie complained.

"And we hit him with a big one," I wailed. "He could be into us for millions if he's suffered a severe loss of progeny. We'd better make ourselves scarce, or we'll end up bankrupt even before we get to university."

"You're not leaving me here alone, are you?"

"You'll be okay," Susie reassured her. "You've got a giant dog to protect you."

"Canute's a big softy - he doesn't bite."

"They all say that," I frowned.

"But he doesn't," the lady protested.

"Then why is he wearing a muzzle?"

"It was all a misunderstanding - how Canute got a doggy asbo is a long story."

"I'm sorry, but we haven't time to hear it now," I apologised. "Listen - there's the police siren."

"I can't hear anything."

"But Canute can - look he's pricked up his ears."

"We have to get a move on - thanks for everything," Susie waved. "Ta-ta - you can claim the reward if there is one."

"Be tending to the victim when the police arrive," I advised. "That'll see you right for double the money."

"Oh, I'd forgotten about the poor man." The woman bent down over Mr Muttley, Canute slobbered on his face, and Malcolm let out a muffled groan.

"You're miracle workers!" Susie whooped, as we turned and ran. "Keep up the good work."

"That was one of your more believable stories, Susie," I congratulated her, when we were clear of the park gates.

"This way, Jeffrey." Susie veered to the left. "We won't have a better chance to take care of some unfinished business. They'll be hauling off Mr Muttley for a check-up."

"It's back to breaking and entering, is it, Susie?"

"No need, Jeffrey - while you were recovering Horrocks' trilby, I picked up the keys Mr Unicorn dropped. Come on - shake a leg - we're going to beat chummy up the chimney."

"With his record, Mr Unicorn's hardly qualifies as a chummy, Susie."

"It's what we detectives call an unknown ne'er-do-well, Jeffrey."

"Mikey's magnifying glass isn't a warrant card, Susie. This mission is still fraught with danger. I hope you've another good routine waiting in the wings if we get caught napping nicking."

 

Chapter 140

"What I am saying, Susie - is this is a daft idea," I repeated, as I trooped along beside her. "If we meet anyone on the way up to Mr Muttley's flat, they'll see straight through your ruse for the feeble excuse it is."

"No, they won't, Jeffrey. Cradle the box in your arms and be careful you don't accidentally-on-purpose drop the baby. It's our passport into number 13 and the treasure that awaits us there."

"Ah, it's treasure now, is it? And I suppose you've deduced what kind."

"Probably your favoured investment, Jeffrey - mini bars of bullion. They're the ideal assets to stick up a chimney for safe-keeping - gold doesn't burn, you know."

"I bow to your logic and curtsey to your chemistry, Susie."

"Come on, then - quick march - before somebody jumps our claim."

"We're dressed all wrong for your tale to ring true, Susie," I persisted, on turning into Mauldeth Road West. "We should be wearing motor cycle helmets, at the very least."

"We're not wasting money buying them as well, Jeffrey; our masquerade is only a fall-back position in the unlikely event of detection. And we wouldn't have had to spend anything at all, if you hadn't balked at being TV licence snoopers."

"No one would have believed two fresh-faced libertarians like us were members of the BBC Stasi."

"Okay, that may have been a goose-step too far, but we could have passed muster as trainee water board inspectors."

"You have a penchant for wanting to assume official status at the flash of a warrant card, Susie - it's psychologically very revealing."

"So is your blouse, Denise - button up."

"I undid it in anticipation of having to make a quick getaway from Mr Unicorn - which is still on the cards if we go through with this," I warned. "Number one murderer will soon work out where the keys disappeared to."

"A rhinoceros wouldn't get over those whacks in five minutes, Jeffrey - never mind a unicorn. I hit the big brute where it hurts. He'll still be lying there, licking his wounds, when the cops arrive."

"I wouldn't bank on it, Susie. The police are known to be reluctant to interrupt their snooker games on a Friday afternoon, and the irascible hulk has the look of a man who possesses prodigious recuperative powers."

"Then all the more reason to quit dawdling and get a move on, Jeffrey."

"Not ringing the bell and sneaking in blows a big hole in your cover story, Susie," I cautioned, as she turned the key in the lock.

"We're operating in stealth mode, Jeffrey. But if we do get caught, we'll say we put our foot in the door and found it open."

"In that case, we'd definitely be more convincing as Jehovah's Witnesses."

"Okay, we'll keep God in second emergency reserve. Now, tread softly - and don't click-clack your heels on the tiles."

"I just hope Mrs Brenda Bamford doesn't own a dog that's on the alert for strangers."

"Rest assured, Jeffrey, the wheelie bins were a Pedigree Chum-free zone. Trust me to have left no lid unlifted."

"How about a vegetarian dog?" I muttered, pussyfooting after her. "Aren't they the latest fashion?"

"Just hide behind my trousers, mon petit chou, and you'll be perfectly safe."

We both were - until we reached the foot of the stairs when the door opposite guardedly opened.

"And where do you think you're going?" An indignant, mature woman poked her head into the hall.

"Mr Muttley's," Susie breezed. "It is the first floor flat, isn't it?"

"He's gone out. How did you get in? I didn't hear the buzzer."

"Mr Muttley must have left the front door on the latch."

"He slams it too hard - I've warned him about the consequences of that." Mrs Bamford edged forward and eyed us suspiciously. "You're not squatters, are you?"

"Certainly not - we're bona fide delivery boys. Show her the goods, Denise."

I held out the box for inspection. "As ordered by Mr Malcolm Muttley," I smiled. "One Super Supreme with jumbo toppings."

"What's that?"

"A piping hot pizza - piled high with pepperoni."

"Mr Muttley would never eat such a thing," Mrs Bamford objected. "The man's a strict, slow-food vegan and fitness fanatic. He's out now power-walking himself into a lather."

"Eat modestly, exercise hard, and die anyway," Susie grinned.

"Not Mr Muttley - he intends to live to be a hundred and get back all the tax he's paid."

"A commendable ambition," Susie concurred, "and one not to be sneezed at. But have a whiff of our offering, and you'll appreciate why he allows himself the occasional weekend treat. Open the box, Denise, and let the good lady have a sniff for herself."

"You're not fooling me - I smell a rat."

"No, it's a goat." I lifted the lid and thrust the pizza under Mrs Bamford's nose. "Mr Muttley always insists on the Norwegian Blue goat's cheese special - it'll only take a day off his life at the worst."

Mrs Bamford carefully inspected the pustullanimous contents. "But it's covered in streaky bacon - that can't be right."

"It's low-fat goat bacon - high in polyunsaturates and antioxidants," I assured her.

"As endorsed by the Dalai Lama and specially flown in from Shangri-La," Susie elaborated.

"From where?"

"Shangri-La - that place at the top of Mount Everest, where the old Buddhists exist on fresh air and live for yonks."

"Goat bacon - Mount Everest - are you pulling my leg?"

"I think we may have over-Dinky Dooed the pizza, Denise," Susie murmured.

"There's something funny about you two," Mrs Bamford glared. "Why aren't you wearing helmets?"

"I told you so, Susie," I whispered.

"Enough of that - I don't hold with strangers mumbling in my hall-way."

"Sorry," Susie apologised. "We were just discussing a matter of protocol. Denise argues - and I agree - that it's okay to take you into our confidence, since you're living under the same roof as Mr Muttley."

"There's nothing like that going on," Mrs Bamford huffed, colouring slightly. "I'm barely on first name terms with Malcolm."

"We don't sit in judgement on people - it'd be more than our jobs are worth."

"Why's that?"

"Because we're from the council's social outreach executive." Susie clicked her heels and saluted. "Always at our service is your motto."

"And about time," Mrs Bamford grumbled. "I've been on to them for a month. Are you going to fix my dripping tap now you're here? It's keeping me awake at night."

"Sorry," Susie apologised, "that's no longer our department. We've been shifted sideways to meals on wheels, and Mr Muttley is our newest, valued resource burden."

"Meals on wheels?" Mrs Bamford looked down the hall, out into the road. "Where's your van, then?"

"A victim of the spending cuts - It's been sacrificed so the council could employ three extra consultants to efficiently implement them."

"And as a result, we were downgraded to a meals on heels service," I revealed. "We do our best, but folk at the end of the round get their dinner at tea-time."

"It may be ever so slightly congealed, but it's still free at the point of delivery," Susie smiled.

"Free or not, Malcolm would never eat a pizza under any circumstances," Mrs Bamford insisted.

"Denise and I fully sympathise, but beggars can't be choosers. Take it or leave it - that's the message from on high."

"Mr Muttley's a man of principle - he'd rather starve. I went up with a bowl of my special black dish, only for him to refuse it point-blank. I was ever so put out - and that's when Malcolm told me he was a vegan."

"Well, you obviously know Mr Muttley better than we do," Susie accepted. "Perhaps you can tell us a little more about his habits so we don't cause offence in future. Have you known him long?"

"Not yet - he only moved in last month."

Susie took out her pad and pen. "Just for our records - who lived there before?"

"No one." Mrs Bamford beckoned us closer. "A gentleman - and I'm being more than polite - dropped by occasionally. He wasn't my kind of person at all, but I tried my best to make him welcome."

"And he was having none of it."

"I could hardly get a word out of the surly fellow. He as good as told me to mind my own business," Mrs Bamford huffed.

"So you don't know his name."

"I got it off the postman - Mr Pike - and there was something fishy about him, if you ask me. Why would a man pay rent on an empty flat?"

"That's highly suspicious," Susie agreed. "And Mr Muttley has nothing in common with your mysterious visitor, has he?"

"Chalk and cheese - Mr Muttley couldn't be more respectable. He spent fifty years working his way up to senior sales assistant at Cochrane's the gent's outfitters. The dear man's never married, so I'm acting as a good neighbour and looking after his interests."

"And we appreciate your efforts; they'll help us to improve our service. Denise and I can only apologise for disturbing you. There must have been a mix-up with the orders in the Service Transformation and Organisational Development Department."

"I wondered why our last customer turned his nose up at the nut cutlet, Susie."

"Me too, Denise, but it's a relief to know it's not our fault the chap's pining over his lost meat and two veg."

"Excuse me asking," Mrs Bamford interrupted, "but what's the the Service Transformation and Organisational Development Department?"

"Something to do with dustbins," Susie hissed, from behind her hand. "I can't tell you any more - it's top secret, guarded by the S.S."

"The S.S?"

"The Static Security force. They patrol in triplicate, and we haven't been given clearance to that part of the building yet."

"And I can understand why," Mrs Bamford frowned. "Forgive me, but aren't you underage to be working for the council?"

"We're youth volunteers," Susie asserted. "You should be grateful we've given up our dinner hour to serve the community."

"And to prove it, we'll present you with this." I passed over the pizza. "It's strictly against the rules, but it'd be a waste if it went into the portfolio holders' doggie bags back at the town hall, when there are people starving in MacDonald's."

"Well, I won't say no." Mrs Bamford eagerly seized the box and retreated into her room. "A widow struggling on a pension gets little enough in return for her council tax."

"Give us the nod, and we'll make it a regular thing," Susie offered.

"Can you manage a home help as well? It's Mrs Brenda Bamford - you've got the address."

"We'll sneak your name on to the list when our supervisor takes his regular Monday sickie," Susie promised. "Denise has cracked his password."

"Thank you, my dear - you're both a credit to your generation."

"Folk are always telling us that," Susie beamed.

"And so they should. I hope you won't think it rude if I close the door on you now, but I don't want to miss the start of the afternoon film. It's The Dolly Sisters - isn't that a wonderful coincidence?"

"Enjoy it and your pizza," Susie laughed. "Ta-ra from the Dinky Doos - we'll let ourselves out."

"Good-bye, and don't forget my dripping tap."

I sighed with relief as Mrs Bamford closed the door and shot the bolt. "I don't know how we get away with it, Barbie," I marvelled.

"Easy-peasy, Sindy - she hardly suspected a thing. And even then we staged a brilliant recovery."

"I just wish you hadn't mentioned cracking passwords," I complained. "It makes us sound like common criminals."

"Never mind that, Jeffrey - my plan worked like a charm, and gifted us a free interrogation into the bargain. Now we know Morry the Magpie - alias Mr Pike - almost lived here."

"Well done, Poirot - your little grey cells are in tip-top shape. It must be all that cod I'm feeding you."

"Thank you, Hastings - now, up the dancers while the coast is clear. From what we've learned, the treasure is probably still waiting for us behind the chimney."

"Okay, Susie, but if they've bricked up this fireplace, we're not going down Aldi for one of their sledgehammer specials."

"Use your sleeve, Susie," I hissed. "We don't want to leave any fingerprints."

"Good thinking, Jeffrey." Susie took my advice and eased open the door of Mr Muttley's flat. "It's okay, we've a free run at it," she whispered, after peeking into the room. "There isn't a watch-python on guard this time."

"Okay, but mind how you go." I cautiously tip-toed in behind her. "Don't disturb anything, and try not to shed any hairs or skin - forensics can work wonders with DNA."

"Girls don't shed skin, Jeffrey."

"Oh, what do they do?"

"They ... exderminate ... exderminate."

"Oooo - that still sounds flaky to me."

"Enough, Jeffrey - we're daring detecting, not Dinky Dooing; and it's time we got down to business."

"And it shouldn't take long, because we're in luck - they've preserved the fireplace as a central feature."

"Then let's get to work and see what prize it holds." Susie glided across the room and shifted aside the embroidered silk screen covering the grate. "Brenda's going to be disappointed if needle-point is Malcolm's favourite retirement hobby."

"Forget the match-making, Susie, and start treasure hunting." I borrowed an umbrella from the redundant brass coal bucket. "Here - poke around in there with this."

"The moment of truth, Jeffrey." Susie grasped the brolly, thrust the handle up the chimney, and wiggled it back and forth.

"I heard a thumpity-thump, Susie."

"Bingo, Jeffrey - I've struck oil! I can feel something resting on a ledge."

"Try and hook it down."

"All it needs is a nudge ... and here she comes!"

Phuuuuuttt! Accompanied by a small puff of soot, the bottom of a tube, taped into a black bin bag, landed gently in the grate.

"Three cherries, Susie."

"We've won the jackpot, Jeffrey."

"But it's definitely not bars of gold."

Susie took hold of the exposed end and carefully removed our booty from the hearth. "It's probably whatchamacallits - stock certificates or bonds."

"Two foot long ones?"

"Perhaps it's a million pound note."

"If it is, we'll have big trouble changing it. But I know what my money's on."

"I'm not playing twenty questions again, Jeffrey - soon all will be revealed."

"Not until we're safely back in the office, Susie. Let's leave everything as we found it and get out of here, before anyone's the wiser."

I put back the umbrella, and Susie carefully replaced the fire-screen. "There - nobody will ever know they've had visitors."

"Someone already does, my little darlings," growled a menacing voice from behind us.

"Oh, I spoke too soon, Denise."

"There's a familiar pong in the air, Susie."

"Don't scream, girls, or they'll be your last."

We turned around to see a man come through the door with a pizza in his hand.

"Mr Unicorn's clichéd us again, Denise."

"I just knew this would happen, Susie."

 

Chapter 141

"Would you believe it Denise? Our felonious fiend had the exact same idea as me."

"Great criminal minds think aloud," I acknowledged, as Susie whipped our discovery out of sight. "It seems I should apologise for ever questioning your wily wheeze."

"But I doubt it would have worked so successfully for the biggest pizza delivery boy in the world, Denise. Folk would've been reluctant to look this particular gift horse in the pectorals."

"Thanks to you, I'd no need to show my charming side and bluff my way in with this." The unicorn man scornfully threw his Super Supreme on the table. "You amateurs left the doors wide open for me."

"Does that mean you're not mad at us?" I blinked.

"What do you think, darling?" Mr Unicorn grimaced.

"Well, we couldn't blame you for feeling seriously pipped."

"Then you'd better be good girls and willingly deliver the compensation that's coming my way."

"We won't disappoint," Susie grinned. "We're always happy to bury the hatchet in an enemy of the family, aren't we, Denise?"

"If you are related to Morry, he must be turning in his grave at your bungling burglaring," Mr Unicorn sneered.

"We did make a lot of noise," I admitted. "And floors have ears - the woman downstairs could already be on the phone to the police."

"She's watching the telly, and, so we don't disturb her enjoyment, we're all going to behave in a civilised manner."

"Are you sure about that?" Susie questioned.

"Not absolutely," Mr Unicorn smirked. "But we'll begin with a quiet little chat, and if you say and do the right things, I might forgive and forget."

"That suits us doesn't it, Susie?"

"Definitely, Denise - learn from the professionals is my motto."

"And I'll be happy to further your education after you show me what you've illegally acquired."

"We can't assist you there," I apologised. "We have to admit to being horribly surprised before we could make a start on the job."

"It's a sign from above, Denise." Susie looked out of the window and raised her eyes to the heavens. "Mr Unicorn's arrived just in time to prevent our falling further into iniquity."

"Bless the Lord, we've seen the light, Susie, and decided not to fleece any more golden agers. It's the path of righteousness for us from now on."

"Hallelujah - we're saved, Denise."

"But what about our past indiscretions, Susie?"

"All our sins will be forgiven if we say nine hail Marys."

"That won't work - I'm a Wesleyan."

"Then I'll get down on Denise and pray that they'll go away."

"That's enough of your play-acting," Mr Unicorn barked. "You're trying my very limited patience."

"In that case, we'd better adjourn immediately to a private place, Susie. We might further offend the gentleman with our show of faith."

"Oh no, you don't - I've other plans for my little helpers," Mr Unicorn rasped, locking the door behind him. "Now, move away from the fireplace."

"Feeling a bit parky, are you, after your ducking?"

"Let's not provoke the man, Susie," I cautioned, and manoeuvred her over to the window.

"What's that you've got there?"

"Nothing in particular - just a poster that caught our eye," Susie smiled.

"An innocent little portrait of your favourite boy band, I suppose."

"No, it's the periodic table - Denise has taken an unusual interest in all things chemical lately."

"Well, I know different," Mr Unicorn glowered. "We're in the right house, and you've been up the chimney before me. So hand over Morry's little nest egg before I turn really nasty."

"Finders keepers." Susie hugged our prize close to her chest. "We've gone to a lot of trouble to recover this."

"And there's more coming your way if you don't do as you're told," Mr Unicorn threatened. "You've given me enough headaches already."

"A darkened room and a quiet lie down is what you need," Susie advised. "You're way too tense."

"Don't push your luck, you lippy, little smart arse. I'm not a man to be messed with. Remember what happened to Lefty and Mrs Pike. Especially Mrs Pike - even the dog didn't hear me skewer her."

"Poor Mrs Pike," I lamented. "I suppose she had idea to send you to the wrong house."

"She got was coming to her," Mr Unicorn swore. "The crafty bitch tried to be too clever by half. She should have known Lofthouse wouldn't have the balls carry it off."

"And how did he give away that you were being double-crossed?" Susie prompted.

"I was the one swinging the hammer, but he was the one doing the sweating. You can't really blame the poor little bugger," Mr Unicorn sniggered, picking up Mr Muttley's brolly. "I tend to make people nervous when I've a weapon in my hand."

"And unfortunately Lefty couldn't convince you he hadn't already helped himself to the goodies, after you discovered your dreams had gone up in smoke," I surmised.

"I'm a very suspicious character - you have to be in my profession. I soon extracted the truth from the little rat when we only found a dead pigeon."

"Lost the plot, did he?" Susie supposed.

"And a couple of teeth - I can pull them out with my finger and thumb. It's a knack I have, along with a few other specialities. But with all this cybercrime, my services aren't as much in demand nowadays."

"Fings ain't what they used to be, mi old sparrer," Susie chirped.

"Luckily for you, I'm a traditionalist," Mr Unicorn sneered. "So I'll take what's mine, and, out of respect for old Morry, if you girls don't kick up a fuss, we'll say hardly anything else about it."

"That doesn't sound a very attractive proposition," Susie frowned.

"After our previous disagreement, it's an offer you can't afford to refuse."

"Just out of idle curiosity, did Morry refuse one of your offers?" I wondered.

"No, the old boy died of natural causes a week before he went up for parole. His ticker was dickier than he thought, and he only had enough time to promise his loyal cell-mate a share of the spoils in return for services to be rendered."

"And here you are, not fulfilling his last wishes."

"I had to wait six months until I finished my life sentence, but now I'll cop for the lot."

"As you always intended, once your partners had decoded the message for you," I suggested.

"Who knows? I may have come over all generous to his ungrieving widow, just as I'm being to you. Now give me my inheritance, and you may not depart in pieces," Mr Unicorn laughed, inelegantly shuffling towards us.

"Greed is the tool of the Devil," Susie reminded him. "Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

"This is your last chance, or I'll be making diabolic use of this tool." Mr Unicorn fondled the tip of the umbrella.

"Desperate measures are called for, Susie," I muttered, as we backed away. "He's about to improvise again."

"Then what are we waiting for, Denise?"

"Now, Susie, grab the carpet!"

"Heave, Denise!"

"Pull the rug from under him, Susie!"

"Aaaawwwwwwwww!"

"Bloody hell, Denise, unicorns really can fly!"

Thuuummmmmmppp!

"Oooooooooowwwww!"

"We've floored the bugger again, Denise," Susie whooped.

"But he's still cutting off our retreat, and I don't fancy hurdling a potential Vlad the Impaler," I cried, flinging open the window. "So the only way is down, Susie - off you go!"

"Don't forget it was your idea to jump out feet first this time," Susie grinned, as she clambered out onto the sill.

"I won't. Now hurry up - Mr Unicorn is rising again."

"We're in luck, Denise - there's an old mattress directly below."

"Bend at the knees," I yelled, as she leapt into space.

"Oooooofff!" Susie landed like a paratrooper and rolled away. "All clear, Denise - come on down."

"Watch your head, Susie!" I threw out my high heels and vaulted after her. "Don't hang about," I called, on landing. "Move it!"

"I'm trying, Jeffrey." Susie rattled the back gate, while I retrieved my shoes. "But they've locked the stable door before the fillies have bolted. Get your plates on - we'll have to find an emergency exit."

I glanced up to see Mr Unicorn already at the window. "Quick, Susie, let's make sure he has a hard landing."

We grabbed a corner of the mattress each and dragged it away from the wall.

"Break a leg," Susie shouted, before we hared off down the garden.

"Any idea where we're heading?" I enquired.

"No, but let's see what's behind that big tree. We can always climb it as a last resort."

"We're not going up in the world to escape this time, Susie. With arms that long, Mr Unicorn looks as if he'd be at home swinging from the branches."

Thuuuummmmppp!

"Uh-oh, Jeffrey - it sounds as if he's taken the plunge."

"Oooooowwwwwww!"

"Someone fell on stony ground, Susie."

"That must have given the balls in the bag another good shaking. The bugger might finally retire hurt if we push him off a convenient bough."

"I'd rather we followed the flopsy bunny we've just flushed from cover. Come on, this way - there's a break in the hedge over there."

"Okay, down the rabbit hole it is, Jeffrey."

We squeezed through the gap, fought off some straggly privet, and finally emerged into the open.

"Look at the sign, Susie. Would you believe it - we've come out on Sunderland's building site."

"Then avert your eyes from the bum cracks, Denise, but encourage the wolf whistles. Attracting the attention of a gang of burly Bob the Builders could be our salvation."

"No chance, Susie," I groaned. "The place is deserted; they must have all knocked off early for the weekend. We'll have to keep on running."

"That's no surprise, Jeffrey - it's always your first resort."

"Knees up, Susie - a wild unicorn is charging out of the bushes."

 

Chapter 142

"We've been around the houses, and we're back where we started, Jeffrey," Susie panted, after we'd completed a high-speed circuit of the security fencing.

"We've run out of road, Susie. You know what this means."

"Yes - the only way is up. Follow me, Jeffrey, before the ambling alp blocks our path."

We swept left and sprinted across to the front of the nearest building.

"Not a word about this to mum, Susie," I reminded her, as we began climbing the ladder to the half-finished roof.

"That goes without saying, Jeffrey."

"I'm getting a sense of deja vu," I moaned, when we reached the top and scrambled onto the surrounding scaffolding.

"Not quite." Susie untied the ladder and kicked it away. "This time our pursuer won't be scaling the heights after us."

"But now we have the problem of how to escape from up here. I don't fancy spending a weekend sleeping under the stars."

"Worry not, Jeffrey, I'll soon think of something original to resolve the situation."

"Well, get a move on - there's a whinnying beast down below."

Mr Unicorn hobbled to a halt and cursed up at us. "This is your last chance - I want what's mine," he raged.

"Well, you can't have it." Susie waved the tube in the air. "We've decided to be good citizens and hand it in at the nearest police station. We'll see you at the lost property office."

"Give it here!" Mr Unicorn stormed.

"He's left 'please and thank you' at home, Susie."

"Mind your manners, down below - you're upsetting, Denise."

"Don't you bloody play games with me."

"What game is it we're playing, Denise?"

"I've no idea, Susie, but Mr Unicorn's already making his next move. Unless you've brought along a machete in your utility bag, he's going to risk all, climbing that rope over there."

"We can't cut the bugger off in mid-air, Jeffrey, but showering him with a few roof tiles should prove a major discouragement."

"I wouldn't be surprised if banging his head against a brick wall is part of Mr Unicorn's exercise regime, Susie - but we can give it a try. Come on, let's get directly above him."

We picked up an armful of missiles each and worked our way along the planking.

"Hurry up, Jeffrey - this ain't no skyscraper, and King Kong has nothing on that big ape."

"He must think there's a couple of coconuts up here, Susie."

"We'll soon disabuse him. Bombs away!"

"A hard rain's gonna fall."

"Oooooowwww!"

Our first tile clipped Mr Unicorn's ear and rebounded off his shoulder.

"One degree to starboard, Susie."

"Aaaaaarrgghh!"

The second shattered on the top of his head.

"The mighty monkey's still climbing, Jeffrey; he's a glutton for punishment."

"I'll bleedin' kill you!"

"If he wasn't already, he's annoyed now."

"And we know how to deal with noids, Jeffrey - unload the lot on him."

"Fore!" I sportingly cried, on releasing our next salvo.

"That's panicked the old horse."

"Noooooo!" Mr Unicorn threw up his hands to protect himself, as the sky turned red above him.

"He's forgotten where he is, Susie."

"Ooooooooooohhhhh!"

"Not for long, Jeffrey."

"It'll soon be an etched in his memory, Susie."

Thuuuuuuuuuummp!

"Aaaaaaarrrrggghhh!" Mr Unicorn broke his fall courtesy of a pile of breeze blocks.

"That's bruised his bum for a change, Jeffrey."

"He's down, but not out, Susie."

"He will be in a moment, Jeffrey - our bombs are about to land."

"Oooooooooohhhhhh!"

Mr Unicorn tried in vain to cover his head as the tiles cascaded over him.

"Aaaaaaaarrrrggghhh!"

"We've drawn first blood, Susie."

"You'll pay for that!" The raging beast swore up at us.

"The bugger's as mad as a box of frogs, Jeffrey - his eyes are popping out of his head."

"It's time for plan B, Susie. Kermit's back on his feet, and he's found a hard hat."

"Perhaps we should have let him climb the ladder, and then pushed it away, as we advised earlier, Jeffrey - that always works in films."

"It's too late now, Susie - he's trying again. Is there any boiling oil up here?"

"What we need is another kitchen sink to flatten him with, Jeffrey. Or maybe a toilet bowl - where's the bathroom?"

"Stay put, Susie - it's time to switch strategy. Look what the rope's attached to." I indicated the barrel of bricks hanging down from the other side of the pulley.

"Saying good-afternoon to that little lot would spoil his day, all right. But how are we going to drop it on his head?"

"I have other ideas. He's a big man, but the two of us and those bricks should easily outweigh him. We'll go down, and he'll come up."

"Brilliant, Jeffrey - I wondered when you'd think of that. Let's get barrel weaving."

We moved along the scaffolding and got ourselves into position.

"Wait until he's fully committed, Susie, and it's too late for him to jump off."

"Come and get us, bully boy! What's the matter - are you scared of heights?" Susie taunted.

"I'll tear your bloody head off!" Mr Unicorn brayed back.

"Oooo - I'm shitting bricks."

"Careful, Susie, don't give the game away - we want to take him by surprise."

"We will, Jeffrey -he's keeping his chin tucked in and not looking up."

"Now, Susie!" We leapt out onto the barrel and grabbed the rope. "Hold tight!" I cried, as I reached out and released the pulley brake.

"We're going down, Jeffrey. Ground floor perfumery, stationery, and leather goods ..."

"And he's coming up faster than he expected, Susie."

"First floor - telephones, gents ready-made suits ..."

"What the hell!" The accelerating Mr Unicorn clung on for dear life.

"Hoisted in his own backyard, Jeffrey - give him a kick as we pass."

"Hold tight, Susie - we're on a collision course."

Whaaaannnnnnggg!

The bottom of the barrel banged into Mr Unicorn's head, sending his helmet flying off into space.

"Oooooowwwwwww!"

"Serves you right for not looking where you're going," Susie yelled, as we continued our swaying descent to earth.

"It's time to abandon barrel, Susie," I yelled. "Jump!"

We let go of the rope and leapt the six foot to the ground.

"Oooooffff!"

"Oooooffff!"

Dame Fortune smiled upon us, and we made a soft landing in a pile of builder's sand.

"Easy-peasy, Jeffrey."

"Gran could have done it with her pinny on, Susie."

"Look, Jeffrey, things aren't working out quite so happily for Mr Unicorn."

"Aaaaaaaaawwwww!"

On reaching the top, our enemy smacked his head into the underside of the pulley.

"Oooooowwwwwww!"

"That was a bit of a nuisance, Jeffrey."

"And it's not over yet, Susie. Mr Unicorn's a lot heavier than the barrel of bricks."

"No sooner up than down, Jeffrey - here he comes."

"Heeeeeeeeeeeelp!"

"Don't panic," Susie shouted. "It's not the fall that's the problem - it's when you hit the ground."

"Not on this occasion, Susie."

Thuuuummmmppp!

"Oh, I spoke too soon, Jeffrey."

"Aaaaarrrgggghhhh!" the unfortunate Mr Unicorn suffered another mid-air collision, as the barrel whacked him in his sorely abused nether regions.

"Give him room, Susie - he's out of control."

Baaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnng!

The sound of the barrel clattering into the pulley was echoed by Mr Unicorn diving headfirst into a wheelbarrow of coarse gravel.

"Aaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwww!"

"I bet that took the skin off his nose, Jeffrey."

"Oh, brick alert, Susie - run for it!"

Up above, the barrel tipped over, and its contents rained down on the unjust.

"Ooooowwww! Ooooowwwwwww! Oooooowwwwwww!"

"Put your fingers in your ears, Jeffrey; that's language you'll never hear in church."

"Oh dear, I do believe the sinner's made another error of judgement, Susie."

Mr Unicorn failed to multi-task in fending off the bricks and let go of the rope, allowing gravity to inexorably assert itself on the barrel.

"God must have been listening, Jeffrey."

"Purposes mistook fall on the inventor's head, as the bard so aptly put it."

Smaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccccccccckkkk!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgggghhhh!"

"Another direct hit and another villain receives his just desserts," Susie whooped, as the barrel crashed down and replaced the lost safety helmet. "That's the full set of bruises for Mr Unicorn."

"He'll be able to build houses and hotels on them, Susie."

"I don't know where we get our ideas from, Jeffrey. We must be blooming mental geniuses."

"A good grounding in the classics is never wasted, Susie."

"True, Jeffrey - don't you just love cartoon comedy?"

"As long as we're always the Bugs Bunnies, Susie."

"Oh, hold the 'That's All Folks' - Elmer Fudd is bouncing back up again."

Mr Unicorn jerked the barrel off his head and shook the brick dust out of his hair.

"He must have the constitution of a minotaur, Susie. I don't think he feels pain like other men."

"He's as bad as that blooming Terminator bloke, Jeffrey," Susie moaned, as Mr Unicorn staggered to his feet. "We're going to have to run the bugger over with a ruddy juggernaut to finish him off."

"There isn't a heavy goods vehicle immediately to hand, Susie, so we'd best hare away to that rabbit hole I've just spotted." I indicated a small gap at the bottom of the security fence. "We should have known the clever little bunnies had a back door somewhere."

"Come here, you little bastards!" Mr Unicorn fixed us with a furious stare and stampeded forward. "I'll give you something to remember me by."

"You're right, Jeffrey - it's time to foxtrot off before we're Donald Ducked."

"The man's so mad he's not looking where he's going, Susie; that could be dangerous on a building site."

"Let's help it happen, Jeffrey."

We changed course and skipped our way across the half-dug sewerage trenches.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The reckless Mr Unicorn's footwork wasn't up to the challenge and he took another plunge at the Canal Turn.

"Got him, Susie."

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrgggghhhh!"

"Oh, he's shot himself in the knee with that one, Jeffrey"

"He that diggeth a pit shall fall into it, Susie."

"He didn't actually dig it, Jeffrey."

"Metaphorically speaking, Susie."

"Well, if he literally gets out of that hole, he won't get in this one."

We shoved our gear and the booty through the gap in the fence and wriggled our way after them.

"Made it, Susie."

"Shoulder bags, Jeffrey, and let's go."

"It can't be soon enough for me." I had a quick look back as we set off along the road. "Mr Unicorn hasn't popped up his head yet, Susie."

"Fell at the last ditch and shattered a fetlock, I shouldn't wonder. We've turned out to be the wrong Girl Fridays for him."

"The way things have gone, it'd be a kindness if someone put the old horse out of his misery."

"I wanted to bring along my Uzi, Jeffrey."

"We'll settle for giving the police a ring, Susie. They'll probably take great delight in tasering a unicorn," I smiled.

"We don't want to involve the law before we see what we've acquired, Jeffrey."

"It isn't really ours, Susie."

"Let's not make any hasty decisions, Jeffrey. Private detectives always have to put the interests of their clients first. We may have to supress this piece of evidence."

"If it's what I think it is, Susie, I could be criminally tempted."

 

Chapter 143

"Lock the door, Jeffrey - we don't want the great unwrapping intruded upon by a curious customer."

"Or Mr Unicorn." I shot home the bolts and followed Susie to the back of the office. "That man won't throw in the cosh while he's still alive and prancing."

"Hobbling, Jeffrey - we've cruelly hamstrung the Cockney stallion, at the very least."

"I still wouldn't want to meet him in a confined space, Susie. Mr Unicorn's day-job might well be cage-fighting. He has the disposition of someone who'd take great pleasure in biting off a chap's ear."

"Don't worry, Jeffrey, your lobes are safe for my nuzzling. Mr Unicorn hasn't any idea who we really are or where to start looking for us."

"I wouldn't put so much trust in his ignorance, Susie; he might know about this place through Mrs Pike. We shouldn't hang around waiting for an unsocial call."

"Then hand me the scissors, Jeffrey. The sooner we find out what treasure we've unchimneyed, the sooner we can decide what to do next."

"Here - but be careful you don't damage it; that would rank as a wanton act of vandalism."

Susie cut through the tape and peeled off the plastic covering, revealing a plain cardboard tube. "After all our trouble, I hope this isn't really a worthless pop poster, Jeffrey."

"I'm banking on a priceless classic work, Susie; which I've no doubt will appeal to your artistic imagination. Open it up and back Morry's lorry out of its garage."

Susie took off the cap and peered in. "Sorry to disappoint you, Jeffrey - it's not full of vintage Dinky toys."

"I never imagined it was, but in there is a reminder of our gloriously grimy industrial past. Slide it out - and we can appreciate our good fortune."

"Ah, it seems we did strike oil," Susie grinned, as she extracted a rolled-up canvas. "I don't know much about art, but I know what I like. Has the Mona Lisa gone missing recently, Jeffrey?"

"We'll soon see," I smiled. "Let the exhibiting commence."

We took an end each, and spread out the painting on the table.

"Jiminy-chiminys - it is a Lorry! There were chimneys up the chimney, Jeffrey."

"An L.S. Lowry behind the fireplace, Susie - every home should have one."

Susie bent over and carefully inspected the dark satanic mills. "Do you think it's genuine, Jeffrey?"

"It must be, Susie, or why all the fuss. And look, there by the factory gates, a one-armed man walking a three-legged dog. Old Laurie Lowry's trademark - what more proof do you need?"

"Hey, then there was a Laurie involved as well - just as I deduced," Susie smirked.

"Have you also deduced we've laid our hands on something probably worth millions?"

Susie deliberated for only a moment. "About 'every home should have one', Jeffrey."

"Well, we could ..."

Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!

"Oh!"

"Oh!"

The urgent hammering on the door shelved our tricky moral dilemma for the moment.

Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!

"Get under the desk, Jeffrey."

"Crawl into the store room, Susie."

Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!

"Hello - anybody there?" A familiar voice rang out.

We both stood up and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Panic over, Susie - it's only Mr Horrocks."

"And bringing us glad tidings of great joy, I hope, Jeffrey. Let Bazza in while I hide the Lowry away from his prying eyes; this is one gem of information we're not sharing with him."

I secretaried to the door and greeted an agitated Mr Horrocks. "Hello, sir - have you got news for us?"

"Thank the Lord you're here," he gasped.

"Come and sit down - you appear a trifle flushed."

"I'm absolutely exasperated, and so would you be if you'd had an exclusive snatched from the front page. My dreams of a renaissance have been rudely shattered."

"What's happened - has Steve Spooner taken over the story?"

"No, Miss Smith - the young fool's still too busy chasing warlocks and witches. I couldn't even get in touch with him to gloat about my success - fleeting as it was."

"Who's done the dirty on you, then?"

"The police," Horrocks snorted. "They intend to take all the credit for my brilliant detective work."

"There's no honour among PCs these days," Susie sympathised.

"It's ... it's criminal that's what it is!" Horrocks fumed. "I risk my life tracking down the sledgehammer killer, and all the thanks I get is a promise of a backseat at the press conference when the chief inspector announces their great breakthrough."

"The police are convinced the deceased is Lefty Lofthouse, then."

"Yes, and they're even more convinced they worked it out for themselves, Miss Jones. What a cheek! The whole posse of plodders wouldn't have had the remotest idea, but for me."

"And us."

"Ah yes, I have you to thank for jogging my memory."

"We did a lot more than that," Susie frowned.

"Did you?"

"Yes - don't you remember?"

"I'd suffered a severe blow to the head at the time, my dear - it's left me with a few blank spots."

"But you told the police our theory," I pressed.

"Certainly, befuddled or not, it became crystal clear to me in an instant about Lofty Lefthouse. It's a pity the police weren't so quick on the uptake."

"But you finally put them on the right track?"

"Eventually, Miss Smith - they were stunned when I told them Lefty's arm hadn't been right under their noses the whole time. Of course, I put it a bit more diplomatically than that. I took special care not to injure their professional pride."

"Yes, it is embarrassing to be out-deduced by amateurs," Susie agreed.

"Quite, but that isn't how I'd describe myself," Horrocks huffed. "I'm a ... a ... what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Gifted layperson," I suggested.

"You're a walking, talking thesaurus, Miss Smith," Horrocks beamed. "You girls should consider a career in journalism."

"I don't think we'd cope very well with the pressures of that kind of work, would we, Susie?"

"No, Denise - if folk are going to hold you in disdain, you might as well be a banker and Ferrari off with their money."

"Sad, but true." Horrocks mournfully shook his head. "I solve the police's case for them, and get sweet Fanny Adams in return. The ungrateful beggars couldn't get rid of me quick enough once they'd fed Mr Lofthouse into their computer."

"And what did they learn?"

"One of Lefty's last known addresses for a start," Miss Jones. "They went round there and found another dead body."

"Mrs Pike, his sister."

"Yes - who told you that?"

"We haven't been idle. Go on - what else have the police discovered?"

"Mrs Pike was married to a serial burglar."

"The late Morry the Magpie - the cell mate of the unicorn man."

"Is there anything you don't know, Miss Jones?" Horrocks spluttered. "That last little detail would have saved me no end of embarrassment."

"How so?"

"Not to put too fine a point on it - the police were highly amused at my intimate description of the beast who attacked me."

"Ah, they speculated about how you came by the inside information, did they?"

"Yes, Miss Smith, and the so-called serious crime squad ha-haed when I revealed all. They made a mockery of my acute observational powers."

"Despite the fact you were able to finger the fiend straight away."

"Exactly, Miss Jones - as soon as I saw his mugshot, the horror came flooding back to me."

"Well, you're one up on us there, because we still haven't any idea what Mr Unicorn's real name is," Susie admitted.

"Arnold Schwarzenegger!" Horrocks triumphantly announced. "Can you beat it?"

"You're kidding!" we echoed.

"Né, Shirley Shacklady - something else you would never have guessed," Horrocks smirked. "The big Jessie changed it by deed poll - what do you make of that?"

"A clear case of overcompensation in my psychological opinion, Denise."

"And a betrayal of two fine old English monikers, Susie."

"Typical bully boy behaviour, Denise - the milksop wasn't man enough to go through life as a boy named Shirley. He went from the supine to the ridiculous."

"Maybe he chose Arnold Schwarzenegger to give him something to aim for when he was pumping iron in prison, Susie."

"So you've learned of the fellow's unhealthy devotion to physical fitness as well," Horrocks declared. "But did you know the body-building and his new name were inspired by Charles Bronson - the most dangerous man in Britain?"

"You haven't encountered him on the Golden Mile, by any chance, have you?" Susie grinned.

"No, but our paths almost crossed."

"Get away."

"Temper your scepticism, Miss Jones. Whilst resting from journalism, I spent a considerable time working in the field of adult education."

"Oh, are soft furnishings your hobby?"

"No, Miss Jones, I faced a much more severe challenge, supervising a creative writing course at Slade prison. Mr Bronson had just returned there, after violating his parole by throttling a police Rottweiler."

"He ain't all bad, then, Susie."

"Shush, Denise - what will Mr Horrocks think."

"Actually, I thought it would make an interesting short story. But, alas, it wasn't to be."

"Why not?"

"How I missed mentoring Mr Bronson is a tangled tale that I don't really want to go into at the moment, Miss Smith. Suffice it to say, I was as surprised as anyone when they found coke in my file."

"We understand, Mr Horrocks," Susie nodded. "And we realise you're a busy man - we appreciate you taking the trouble to bring us up to date."

"Actually, I had an ulterior motive for dropping by."

"Oh, are you looking for a desirable redundancy residence?"

"With your assistance, I hope to ..."

"Right - what have we got on offer, Denise?"

"Here's a nice little bungalow in Kingfisher Mews, Mr Horrocks." I handed over the description. "Have a read of that."

"I'm not ..."

"Don't worry about the kingfishers - their mewing won't disturb you - there isn't one within ten miles," I assured him.

"And it's almost immune to flooding since they raised the sea-wall - isn't that right, Denise?"

"Possibly, Susie."

"What I want is ..."

"And with more improvements to come, you can rest easy in your bed at night and drift off to the soothing sound of crashing waves," Susie promised.

"Yes, well ..."

"Won't you show a bit of interest so we can tell dad we tried our best? We're supposed to have spent the day selling houses, not getting you a scoop."

"Then I'll be more than happy to return the favour and consider it." Horrocks put the card in his pocket. "But I'd really ..."

"We've another present for you too." I retrieved Horrocks' trilby from Susie's bag. "Here you are, sir - a bit battered, but not unbowed or unfeathered."

"And it's no small token," Susie emphasised. "We risked life and limb getting that back from Arnie boy. He only surrendered it after a fierce struggle."

"I'm in your debt again, and I'll be eternally grateful," Horrocks beamed, clamping the hat on his head. "I felt naked without it."

"We're happy to have reunited the pair of you, sir. Is there anything else we can do for you?"

"Yes, Miss Smith, and without more ado," Horrocks urged. "Since you've obviously had a recent encounter with Mr Schwarzenegger, you may be able to put me one step ahead of the police again."

"We'd like to help, wouldn't we, Susie?"

"Within reason, Denise." Susie kicked the Lowry further under the desk. "Fire away, Mr Horrocks."

"Have you any more information on Schwarzenegger? The police suspect he got away with something valuable from up the chimney."

"Are you upset they stole that theory from you as well?"

"No, Miss Jones, they'd managed to work it out for themselves, but they're clueless as to where Schwarzenegger's gone or what he's taken with him."

"We can't tell you the what, but we can tell you the where," Susie offered, half-truthfully.

Horrocks' eyes lit up. "That's enough - the evil swine will have no secrets left when I've finished interrogating him."

"With a little help from the police," I hope.

"Not on your Nelly, Miss Smith," Horrocks snorted. "This time my story will have to be read in the Shoreham Gazette if the boys in blue want to know what they couldn't discover for themselves."

"Are you sure about that, sir?" I questioned. "Wouldn't it be more prudent just to point the police in the right direction?"

"Not until Herr Schwarzenegger has surrendered himself to a representative of the press and given me his full confession."

"You'd better take a big riding crop with you, then, because Arnie's had his ups and downs since your last confrontation, and his temper hasn't improved one little bit, has it, Denise?"

"Definitely not, Susie - he'll be completely off his trolley now he's permanently lost his lorry."

"So, you've found out about that too - where is it?" Horrocks eagerly asked.

"Nowhere - it never existed," Susie smiled.

"Then how can he have lost it in the first place?" Horrocks frowned.

"An interesting metaphysical question - over to you, Denise."

"As Wittgenstein said about an imaginary chair ..."

Craaaaaaaaaasssssshhhh!

"What's that!" Horrocks yelped.

Shchhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnng!

The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass grabbed all our attentions.

"Wittgenstein has an imaginary door to go with his imaginary chair now, Denise."

"And an external cause, Susie."

"Oh, my God!" Horrocks pulled his trilby hard down over his ears, as Mr Unicorn burst into the office.

"Dad should have had that bell fixed, Denise."

A snorting, pop-eyed Mr Unicorn lurched towards us. "So, you're all in here together," he bellowed. "That's bloody convenient - now I'll be able to settle matters at three strokes."

"Uh-oh, Denise, Arnie's reassembled himself yet again and returned with a vengeance. Put the philosophising on hold."

"You're right, Susie - Wittgenstein will have to take a back seat for the moment. Even he couldn't deny there is a rhinoceros in the room."

 

Chapter 144

"Just the man you were looking for, Barry," Susie announced.

"Over to you, Mr Horrocks." I gulped.

"Get behind me girls," our hero squawked, backing up against the wall. "I'm ready for the scoundrel this time."

"Are you sure, sir?" I queried, as Susie and I retreated further behind the desk.

"Have no fear, my dear," Horrocks blenched, pulling a chair in front of him. "I learned a deadly trick or two in my spell out East."

"Did you hear that, you big bully?" Susie challenged. "Barry's a squatting tiger, ready to turn your strength against you."

"Come on, then, little man - let's see what you've got to offer."

"Show him no mercy, Mr Horrocks," Susie urged. "Kung Fu the cocky bugger. Donkey kick him in the cobblers - we've already softened them up for you."

Schwarzenegger shot Susie a black look. "I'll wring your interfering, little neck after I've dealt with Porky Pig, here," he spat.

"You're in for a big surprise," Susie warned. "Mr Horrocks is a pink belt in Ecky Thump. He can disable a man with one blow of his leather elbow pads. You've polished off many an unsuspecting opponent that way, haven't you, Barry?"

"I'm certainly not a man to be trifled with," Horrocks quivered. "I have the power of the local press behind me."

Arnie leaned forward and thrust out his chin. "Hit me with your best shot, Porky."

"And I'd be fully justified after your treatment of me earlier today, sir, but I have the good of the paper to consider. I'm sure we can arrive at a mutually satisfactory arrangement."

"No deals," Arnie snarled. "I want my bloody Lowry, or you'll be nursing a bloody head."

"And you shall have your lorry, sir - the finest money can buy. I'm willing to negotiate the exclusive rights to your story with a national daily," Horrocks blustered. "Perhaps we could step outside and ..."

"Nobody's going anywhere - do you know what this is?" Arnie's cosh ominously appeared in his hand.

"Help, girls!"

"Hold onto your hat, Mr Horrocks; we'll give you moral support. Say something inspiring, Denise - but not The Charge of the Light Brigade."

"Remember the lion fought the unicorn, and the lion won the crown, Mr Horrocks," I offered in encouragement.

"A lion and a tiger, eh," Arnie smirked. "And here's me an animal lover - it really spoilt my supper, popping off that poodle."

"Killing dogs in one-to-one combat - that cuts no ice with us, does it, Denise?"

"I wish we could say the same for Mr Horrocks, Susie; he's sweating from every pore."

"And that's a lot of pores, Denise."

Horrocks wiped his hand across his brow. "I wonder if I could trouble you for a glass of water, my dears. I'm feeling a little lightheaded again."

"You'll be no headed in a minute." Arnie kicked aside the chair and towered over Horrocks. "What are you waiting for?"

"Let him have it, Barry," Susie exhorted. "Whack the great ape where he has no muscles."

"Come on - try your luck, you big bag of wind."

"Let's not be too hasty," Horrocks choked. "Surely, we can settle this matter peacefully."

"What!" Arnie's knotted veins throbbed to bursting point. "You Shirleyed me!"

"No, I didn't. Calm down, madam - you're distressing the ladies."

"Distress this!" Arnie roared, swinging his cosh. "You're a dead man!"

"Oooooohhhhhhhhhhh, help me, mother!" Horrocks eyes rolled up, and he pitched forward, unconsciously rugby tackling his mighty opponent.

"Uuuuuuuuhhhhhh!" The wily oriental manoeuvre of burying his head in his opponent's massive thighs caught Arnie by surprise, sending him tripping backwards. "Leave Prancer alone, you bloody poofter!"

"Bite it off, Barry - you've got him reelin' 'n rockin'," Susie hooted.

"Hold on, Mr Horrocks," I urged, "and you'll have him over. It's not natural to have shoulders that wide - he's top-heavy with those trapeziums."

"Oh, there they go, Denise! They've reached the tipping point."

Craaaaaaaaaccccck!

Arnie's skull said an emphatic good afternoon to the edge of the desk on his way down.

"Aaaaaarrrrggghhh!"

"Well done, sir!" I cried, as Arnie collapsed in a heap with Horrocks on top of him.

"We've witnessed the action of a very gallant gentleman, Denise."

"Actually, I think Mr Horrocks fainted before he got hit, Susie - or else he's a secret master of the hibernating dragon attack."

"Either way, he's taken one for the team, Denise."

"And it's up to us to see his sacrifice isn't in vain." I tore loose the computer monitor and flung it at Arnie's head.

"Oooooowwwwwww!"

"You've acered him between the eyes, Denise. We've flabbergasted Mr Unicorn again."

"Run, Susie!" I picked up the Lowry, and dashed for the door.

"Wait a sec - I'm deploying the itching powder." Susie tipped the whole packet down the back of the sprawled out Arnie's neck. "Have fun scratching yourself, Shirley!"

I ran back and grabbed Susie by the arm. "Come on, there's no need to rub in our success."

"Okay - but the Dinky Doos always provide an encore," Susie whooped, tipping the fingerprint flour over Arnie's head.

I finally pulled her away, and we rushed for the door. "I'm surprised you didn't tar and feather him as well."

"Who knows what we might have to do next to stop him?" Susie grinned.

"Don't tempt fate, Susie."

"Then pick up those high heels, Denise."

We were half-way down the street before I risked a look over my shoulder. "Don't stop, Susie - Arnie's bounced back up yet again, and he's out on the street, hopping like a man possessed."

"We'll be okay, Jeffrey - he can't Saint Vitus dance fast enough to catch us."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that - he's commandeering Horrocks' car. Get your feet in gear, Susie."

"Exeunt, pursued by a Reliant Robin - this is somewhat lacking in Shakespearean dignity, Jeffrey."

"Just keep bob-bob-bobbing along faster than that little birdie tweet-tweet-tweets."

"Which way?" Susie panted, when we reached the end of the road.

"Down here - it's a one-way street."

We turned left and dashed towards the town centre.

"The Terminator's still after us, Jeffrey - he's taken to the pavement."

"Those three-wheeler's can go anywhere. I'm sure I saw one in Tesco's the other day."

"We'll give the shopping a miss, then."

"Oh-oh, there goes a coach party's quiet afternoon tea," I wailed, as the plastic pig truffled through the tables of an outdoor café.

"The blackguard's severely lacking in etiquette, Jeffrey. I doubt he even knows the correct way to address the Duke of Earl."

"He'll be undressing us in a minute if we don't put on a spurt, Susie. Arnie's throwing caution to the wind."

"Save yourselves!" Susie hollered at the startled shoppers up ahead. "A bad man's lost control of his Robin!"

"Make for Victoria Square, Susie, and let's get in between the tram tracks. They'll be as deadly as a tank trap for a Reliant."

We raced on through the screaming crowd. "What's happening?" someone shrieked.

"A hell's granny has lost control of her pimped up mobility scooter," Susie yelled.

"Flee for your lives," I shouted.

"Bugger them - it's us Arnie's out to kill - and he's catching up!"

"Look, Susie - Arnie must have turned on the afterburners - there's smoke pouring out of the bonnet."

Hrroooooonnh! Hrroooooonnh!

"A tram's coming, Jeffrey - it's going to be a damn close run thing."

"Hurry, hurry, Susie!"

"I'm hurry, hurrying, Jeffrey!"

Hrroooooonnh! Hrroooooonnh!

"Faster, Susie - Arnie's out to squash us against the tram."

The factory-fresh, purple and white juggernaut glided towards the crossroads, with the driver sounding yet another warning.

Hrroooooonnh! Hrroooooonnh!

"Keep going, Jeffrey - it's do or die!"

Hrroooooonnh! Hrroooooonnh!

"Watch out you don't trip, Susie," I cried. "We don't want to be the new trams' first rail-kill."

"Missed by a mile!" Susie whooped at the white-faced driver, as we made the far-side of the tracks.

"Never touched us mother," I howled in relief.

"We're doubly safe now, Jeffrey - that Robin can't fly."

"Nobody's told Arnie, Susie - he's still motoring. Prepare for a coming together."

"I spoke too soon, Jeffrey - it's taking to the air!"

The Reliant bounced off the near-side tracks and kamikazied into the front of the tram.

Craaaaaaaaaasssssssshhhhhh!

"Wow, Susie - I didn't expect the freakish collision," I exclaimed, as we watched the Robin being pushed hopping and screeching along the rails.

"Oh dear, Jeffrey, Arnie must have got his pedals mixed up."

"Or he was scratching his back while he had flour in his eyes. I guess we'll never know, Susie."

"The brakes on those trams leave much to be desired, Jeffrey. At this rate, there won't be anything left of Mr Horrocks' pride and joy."

Hrroooooonnh! Hrroooooonnh!

"And it's not over yet, Susie - another tram's arriving on the down line."

Hrroooooonnh! Hrroooooonnh!

"It'll never stop in time, Jeffrey - they'll be having a threesome."

Baaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnggggg!

"Oh, they're making a unicorn sandwich of Mr Schwarzenegger, Susie."

Waaaaaaallllllllllloooooooooopp!

"Gotcha!"

"He'll need to be Samson to push those apart," I cried, as the plastic pig concertinaed between the passing trams.

"All the muscles in the world won't get him out of there, Jeffrey."

"He's in big trouble, then, Susie - because now the sparks are flying."

Whoooooooooooooosssssshhhh!

"I can smell petrol, Jeffrey."

"Heads down, Susie - an explosion's in the air."

Booooooooooooooooommmmm!

"It's Arniegeddon! He won't be crawling out of that wreckage, Jeffrey."

"Two pristine, state of the art, German Bombardier trams gone for a burton on their first mission over England, Susie."

"Taken out by one plucky Reliant Robin. It would have been an honour to pilot the little fellow. I feel ashamed of the harsh words I had for him."

"It's too late now - they're all going up in flames. Wizard prang, what!"

"Don't mention the war, Jeffrey, but it makes you proud to be British," Susie grinned, as the panic-stricken passengers fled for their lives.

"I'm afraid it's too late, Susie. We've witnessed the Victoria Square disaster - McGonagall, you should be living now."

"That's what I call a conflagration, Jeffrey."

"A Viking funeral for cock robin, Susie."

"And cock unicorn, Jeffrey; it's third time unlucky for Arnie. We've finally flipped his off-switch, but credit where it's due - it took two juggernauts to totally deactivate him."

"He's only himself to blame, Susie - his temper finally got the better of it."

"That's what led to Ghandi's downfall, Jeffrey."

"He achieved a lot first, though."

"You've a good word for everybody, Denise."

"We can be generous in victory, Susie."

"A hard won one, Jeffrey, but we've learned some important lessons from our first case."

"And it's reinforced the moral of our other adventures, Susie."

"What's that, Jeffrey?"

"Everything is funny so long as it's happening to someone else."

"Wiser still and wiser, Jeffrey."

"All things considered, Susie - I think it's best we don't hang around," I advised, as a crowd began to gather.

"Let's leave others to gawk, Jeffrey, and steal silently away."

"That was some run, Susie," I smiled, as we nonchalantly hugger-muggered our way back up Victoria Road.

"A run, Jeffrey - more like a bally six over midwicket and into the carpark. I should be on that telly program."

"Which one, Susie?"

"How to Look Good Knackered!"

"Boom! Boom!"

"I hope you're writing these down, Jeffrey."

"That's another corker for the Dinky Doos, Susie - and here comes a man with a shiner."

A black-eyed, red-nosed, Barry Horrocks swayed unsteadily towards us, an anguished look on his face. "Have you seen my car? It seems to have vanished into thin air."

"Prepare yourself for a shock," I began.

"And a sensational headline, Batman," Susie continued. "Your Robin's made the ultimate crime fighting sacrifice and gone to a better place."

"It hasn't been towed away, has it?"

"Not yet, Mr Horrocks." I directed his attention down the street. "You see that pall of smoke hanging over Victoria Square."

"You mean ..."

"Yes," Susie nodded, "and you won't be going home by tram either."

"Why - what happened?"

"Your sat-nav must have been on the blink. Someone took a wrong turning, and the deadly tramway has claimed two more victims."

"Two, Miss Jones?"

"Arnold Schwarzenegger was behind the wheel. I hope you had additional driver cover."

"And fire and theft," I added.

"No." Horrocks sadly shook his head. "Only a fool would want to steal a Reliant Robin."

"Truer words were never spoken," Susie agreed. "Especially if you're intent on ramming a tram."

"Why would anyone do that?"

"It's no good asking us, Mr Horrocks - you're the investigative reporter. Get down there and identify the body," Susie exhorted. "You're the only one who knows the full story."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," Susie insisted. "I can see the headline now - Local Hero In Death Drive With The Second Most Dangerous Man In Britain."

"That's stretching things a bit - and it won't fit neatly across the page."

"It doesn't matter - you can make up what you like," I encouraged. "Mr Unicorn is finally extinct, and anyone can see you've been engaged in a life or death struggle."

"But I am somewhat lacking in facts."

"Facts! Barry Horrocks doesn't need facts - are you a popular journalist or Wikipedia?" Susie mocked.

"You're ruddy right, girls! I must be losing my grip." Horrocks tilted his trilby, loosened his tie, and set off at a trot. "Hold the front page! Barry Horrocks is back in the big time!"

"Go for it Bazza!" we cheered.

"We've helped two for the price of one," Susie grinned, as we put our feet up on our respective desks. "Not only dad, but also Mr Horrocks."

"It's a good feeling to have made someone as happy as Barry," I smiled. "And saving his career should ensure us another friend in low places."

"Horrocks might be grateful, Jeffrey, but somehow I don't believe he'll share the credit."

"That suits me fine, Susie. A job well done is its own reward."

"Talking of which, Jeffrey, we neglected to inform Bazza about the Lowry."

"Well, I almost waved it under his nose, and he never asked what it was, so we're not fully to blame for the oversight. Mr Horrocks can't expect us to dot every 'i' and cross every 't' for him."

"And it's a tangled tale he'll have to tell. I wonder if we carelessly left any loose ends floating around in the plot."

"If we did, Susie, we'll be in good company - it's still a puzzle who killed the chauffeur in The Big Sleep."

"I think we accounted for all the dead bodies, Jeffrey."

"But, as Doctor Watson almost says, our full part in the affair will forever have to remain a secret."

"Especially to dad - more's the pity."

"It's better that way, Susie. Let him read an eye-witness account of it in the Shoreham Gazette."

"We're hiding our lights under a bushel again, Jeffrey."

"Yes, what are we going to do with the Lowry, Susie?"

"It's a big responsibility, Jeffrey."

"If the police do discover that's what was supposed to be up the chimney, they'll think the secret of its whereabouts perished with Mr Unicorn."

"And everyone else involved has also joined the choir invisible, Jeffrey."

"If we turn it in to lost property and no one claims it for six months, it's ours, isn't it, Susie?"

"That sounds a bit risky, Jeffrey. All sorts of scoundrels might come looking for a share."

"Even so, there could be a handsome reward."

"Plus a lot of fuss - and we know from bitter experience you can't trust a policeman nowadays."

"It's hard to decide what to do for the best, Susie."

"Not that hard, Jeffrey - finders keepers again springs to mind."

"And I don't see why not, Susie. The insurance company have probably already coughed up. I can't see the real owner wanting to pay back a million pounds or more."

"More than likely, he's already spent it on some new curtains."

"With a pickled shark behind them - I expect he'll be happier admiring his new objet d'art."

"And a Lowry belongs to the common people, Jeffrey - not the undeserving rich."

"It could prove better than money in the bank, chuck."

"Perhaps we should hang on to it for a while, and see how things develop, luv."

"I can't think of a safer place for it than my bottom drawer, Susie."

"It'll be a pity to permanently hide it away, Jeffrey."

"The occasional unexpected treasure surfaces at a car boot sale, Susie."

"And you are known for snapping up all sorts of ill-considered trifles, Jeffrey. If anyone asks where it's come from, we'll be pictures of innocence."

"Aren't we always, Susie?"

"Of course we are, Jeffrey. And with that agreed, I think we can declare this case closed."

"I only hope you're not too disappointed we didn't find a use for Mikey's super-duper magnifying glass, Susie."

"Never mind - we had fun getting it with our Dinky Dooery. And there's always next time."

"Maybe that will be more Raymond Chandler than George Formby - although I very much doubt it."

"Then we'd better go home and polish up our act. What do you say, Jeffrey?"

"Turned out nice again, Susie."

"All together now."