Susie and Jeffrey 171 - 200

 

Susie and Jeffrey

 

Book 12 - Strange Day on a Train

 

"Folk behave differently when they're riding the rails, Jeffrey. All the swaying releases their inhibitions. It's like being on a ship at sea."

"Yes, ocean liners and steam engines are lovely things promising great adventure," I agreed.

"Exactly," Susie beamed. "Who knows the machinations we may become entangled in?"

"I don't, for one."

"Yes, you do, Jeffrey. You've seen the films - trains are a magnet for murderers and spies and ..."

"Railway enthusiasts - the special's only class of passenger, Susie. You'd better break out the anoraks if you want us to go undercover."

A Susie and Jeffrey adventure by Jamie Hayworth

 

 

Susie and Jeffrey 171 - 200

 

Strange Day on a Train

 

 

Chapter 171

"Chippity-doo-dah, Chippity-hey,
My, oh my, what a wonderful day,"

Susie warbled, lobbing the remains of our jumbo cod and chips into the litterbin. "I relished those and a half, Jeffrey. Adventure certainly enhances the appetite."

"And not only for a fish supper, by the look on your face, Susie."

"Absolutely, Jeffrey - I feel effervescent."

"I'm at a loss to recall when you ever wasn't," I smiled, linking arms with her, as we entered the last leg of our journey home. "You're a bottle of pop, Susie."

"But today's win has been extra specially exciting - admit it, Jeffrey."

"After the incredible harum-scarums we encountered, I can't argue with you there."

"Or anywhere else," Susie smirked. "Everything went according to my plan."

"Eventually and fortuitously - and somewhat disconcertingly, I don't really want to dispute the wisdom of our activities, either."

"I should think not, Jeffrey. We did the world a favour in selflessly dispatching the Devil's disciples."

"Whilst collecting our own golden windfall along the way," I added, jingling the coins in my bag.

"A fair return for the effort expended," Susie reckoned, duetting with her share.

"All in the course of recovering your Uncle Frank's lost property."

"For which his thankfulness was terrific, Jeffrey."

"Your uncle's relief knew no bounds, Susie."

"Our exertions on his behalf knocked him for six. The old grouch will think twice before whispering sour nothings in dad's ear about me from now on."

"A good deed is soon forgotten," I cautioned. "Gratitude may fly out of the window when your uncle remembers he no longer has a window for it to fly out of."

"You'll see, Jeffrey - the scales of injustice have fallen from unky's eyes. He's one man who won't be standing in the way of my driving ambitions."

"Not if he's any sense after your detour through his greenhouse, Susie."

"It was my first time reversing a hearse, Jeffrey. That ancient minor incident and the recent major collapse of his house are both in the past. In the present, what Uncle Frank has are Victorian values, ensuring that in the future he'll feel obliged to honour his debt to us."

"If you imagine so, Susie."

"I do, Jeffrey. When the old boy returns from reducing the squire to ashes, I'm confident we'll receive a princely reward. Although coming from unky, it may prove a trifle out of the ordinary."

"We'll accept any gift in the spirit it's offered, Susie - providing it doesn't include a discount on your uncle's professional services."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Let's walk a-that-a-way, not a-this-a-way
That-a-way we can be alone,"

I trilled in Susie's ear, on turning into our street.

"You're becoming such a romantic, Jeffrey. Are you seeking a chance to hide away in the bushes away to kiss away the night away?"

"Rather rush away in the mist away, Susie. Look - that's Ernie's van parked up the road."

"And there lurks its driver at the rear, unmissable beneath his Davy Crockett hat."

"In more ways than one, I'm afraid - he's raising it in greeting. The king of the wild North Pier has spotted us."

"Then it's too late to turn on our heels, Jeffrey."

"Trainers, Susie - and irretrievably muddy ones, to boot. Mum's sure to notice the black marks among the white lies we tell her."

"First problem first, Jeffrey - smile - here comes his majesty, rosy-cheeked and walking with a wobble."

"This doesn't bode well," I frowned. "Ernie's loquacious when lubricated. He can't be relied on to keep things under even his outsize Shoreham sombrero."

"Hello, Ernie," Susie waved. "Are you scouting for girls?"

"Yoo-hoo - it's you!" the pie-eyed guide hollered. "I've tracked you down at last."

"Don't encourage him to hang about, Susie," I muttered. "The car's in the drive - mum must be home. Heaven knows what secrets he'll spill if they meet."

"Then move it, Jeffrey. We'll have to get there double-quick and forestall the chatterbox on the pavement before he becomes a blabbermouth."

"But not for long," I fretted, hurrying to cut off the lit-up pathfinder before he located the front gate. "Steer the conversation towards a swift good-bye."

"Hi, Susie! Hi ... Denise! See, I remembered, Jeffrey," Ernie beamed, as we intercepted him under the lamppost outside our house.

"Not so loud, Ernie," I shushed. "The shrubberies have ears."

"Sorry, Denise, I'm simply happy to see you."

"That's not all what's making you merry, is it?" I reproved.

"Well, you do look amazingly cute in your hot-pants," Ernie smiled. "Pink suits Denise, Jeffrey - but aren't your legs cold?"

"No," I sniffed. "And don't dissemble - your breath smells of Christmas pudding."

"I needed the brandy bracers to stop the tremble so I didn't spill the pints," Ernie hiccupped. "This week's ups and downs have left my head in a jam jar and my feet in mid-air."

"While you're regaining your equilibrium, Ernie, would you sway over here by the witch-hazel? We'll be less conspicuous out of the light."

"Hey, a copper once caught me loitering with suspicion behind one of these in a garden along millionaires' row," Ernie chuckled. "I told the plod I'd lost my hanky and was blowing my nose on the leaves."

"An ingenious alibi, Ernie, but this isn't the occasion for another of your unlikely stories."

"That's exactly what the constable said when he found my dropped screwdriver, Jeffrey, but if it hadn't been three o'clock in the morning, I might have got the benefit of the doubt."

"There won't be a shadow of it if mum sees us together. The company I'm keeping will lead to some awkward questions being asked."

"It's okay, Jeffrey," Ernie assured, "I've done my bit of business with your mother."

"You've talked to mum," I gulped.

"Yes, we had a good gossip over a brew and biscuits - tea and wagon wheels - luvvly jubbly."

"You didn't let slip anything of an incriminating nature, did you?"

"No," Ernie insisted, "I maintained a diplomatic silence concerning recent events and your invaluable support."

"And you abstained from any careless whispers?"

"I just said I'd called round to thank you, but I remained vague about what for. Actually, I think we mainly discussed my troubles with Kelly."

"Ah, Jeffrey, it sounds as if Ernie is in need of further counselling."

"Not now, Susie - mum will already be wondering where we are."

"I would like a little chat, though, Jeffrey," Ernie appealed.

"I'm sorry - we're overdue. Do you know what time it is?"

Ernie winked and consulted his wrist. "Two hairs past a freckle - I suppose I have left it a bit late."

"You don't want to spend the night in my shed again, do you, Ernie?"

"It would let Kelly cool down a bit if you think that's best, Jeffrey."

"Never put off until tomorrow what you can do this evening," I advised. "Perhaps you should share your marital difficulties with my partner."

"The psychologist is in," Susie declared. "Unburden yourself, Ernie."

"Don't get the idea I'm henpecked - I can say anything I like to the cat - but it all started when I brought Kelly a present as a peace offering."

"That's a good start," Susie encouraged. "What was it?"

"The same as I gave Jeffrey's mum - a fine pair of rabbits. And I'll fall down our stairs if I can understand the difference in response."

"How so?" Susie queried.

"Mrs Smith didn't crown me with their bobtails. Of course, she's a lady."

"I'm sure Kelly is, too," Susie agreed. "By the way, what does she do?"

"Kelly's the manageress of a dry-cleaners," Ernie proudly announced. "Good wages, and then there are the perks."

"Such as?" Susie quizzed.

"Er ..." Ernie's brow furrowed. "... well, we're never short of coat-hangers for a start."

"Getting back to the bunnies - is Kelly allergic to their fur?"

Ernie considered the matter. "Maybe ... but she hadn't complained about an itch until I asked her to make me a new Davy Crockett hat out of them."

"Why did you do that?"

"There's still a whiff of slurry smell coming from this old one, and I didn't know where to lay my hands on a racoon ... apart from the zoo."

"Don't even think about it, Ernie," I warned. "You're likely to snaffle a skunk by mistake."

"And when you're holding your nose in disgust, the first thing it'll say is - 'You do too'," Susie grinned.

"Don't worry," Ernie laughed, "I'm convinced pinching pets is a mug's game. I learned my lesson with the perishing koi carp."

"And never forget it," I admonished. "You wouldn't want to be arrested for serial fragrancy."

"Not a chance, Jeffrey - I'm a decaffeinated tea-leaf, retired from the other people's property business, since Kelly and me had one of those new-fangled wedding ceremonies."

"Ah, she didn't promise to obey," Susie approved.

"Definitely not - but I swore that no law would ever part us asunder," Ernie emphasised, before a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. "Or it could have been no in-law - I was slightly squiffy at the time."

"Either way, actions speak louder than words," I asserted.

"I've taken them, Jeffrey. To show Kelly how much I loved her after we'd had our little tiff, I made out a cheque to her for a billion pounds - payable in cash."

"And how did she respond?" Susie enquired.

"Kelly left nothing unsaid," Ernie winced. "Even more so than after I joked about giving her great grandma the bumps on her ninetieth birthday."

"A shared sense of humour is essential for a successful double act, Ernie. Failing that, you should be prepared to grovel," Susie directed.

"I tried to apologise, but Kelly saw the pink mist, like when I bought her mam a broom for Mother's Day. First she boxed me round the ears - and then round the wheres - and finally round the everywheres."

"That must have been triply painful," Susie sympathised.

"Kelly knows a man's weak points," Ernie grimaced. "My little plum duff crocked her Crockett, and then her mam returned my gift with interest. I was in pieces - bits and pieces. It hurt every place I touched."

"Perhaps you'd broken your index finger in the fracas," I suggested.

"Restrain your flippancy, Jeffrey - can't you see Ernie's deeply distressed?"

"No - but I will be when mum begins her inquiries. She'll come to draw the curtains any minute now."

"Keep them under surveillance, Jeffrey, while I elicit the full facts of this case. Go on, Ernie - what happened after the bouncing of you and the cheque?"

"As a last resort, I gave Kelly the old cocker spaniel's."

"I hesitate to ask what they're a euphemism for, in mixed company, Jeffrey."

"Big wet eyes, Susie."

"Oh, that's okay, then. How did Kelly react, Ernie?"

"She tapped me none too gently on the nose."

"It might have turned out worse," Susie comforted. "She could have chucked a tin of Meaty Chunks at you."

"And as if that weren't enough, Kelly served cold sprouts and peaches for breakfast," Ernie moaned. "But I showed her - I ate the sprouts and refused the peaches."

"Well, it's always manners to leave a little something on one's plate, isn't it, Jeffrey?"

"This is futile, Susie - forget the marriage guidance. If anything, you should be interrogating Ernie on what he's told mum about our mutual exploits."

"You've no cause to be concerned, Jeffrey," Ernie claimed. "Like I said, I brought her a brace of rabbits - that's all."

"Without a word of explanation?"

"When your mum questioned their origin, I may have boasted about having hunting and fishing rights on Farmer Bleasdale's land after my cesspit success," Ernie conceded. "He's over the moon at the outcome, you know."

"You nearly were too," I reminded him.

"But I kept my bottom firmly on terracotta with your mother, Jeffrey. I never mentioned dynamite once ... or twice."

"How about camping in my shed on Wednesday and subsequent funny money developments?"

"Not a hint - as far as I can recollect - and then only in passing."

"Which is it?"

"My memory's a bit hazy at the moment," Ernie confessed. "But I'm sure nothing that could be used against you in court escaped my lips."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes - touch wood and whistle. Anyway, your mum wasn't the least bit upset. She said she didn't know how to thank me for the rabbits and asked to be kept informed of all my future doings."

"I bet she did," I moped.

"Cheer up, Jeffrey, it's no use crying over spilt beans," Susie smiled.

"I will and I won't if you're more successful dreaming up a simple explanation of our day out for mum than analysing Ernie's tangled tales. Haven't you heard enough of his colourful yarns, Susie?"

"I've weighed the evidence, and my verdict is - Ernie should return to the scene of the dispute bearing a more appropriate olive branch."

"You're right," Ernie accepted. "I'll get Kelly a proper pressie - something fit for a queen."

"Don't poach a swan for your Majesty to pluck," I ordered.

"I'll take my princess a Terry's Chocolate Orange," Ernie decided. "That worked a treat when I forgot I'd forgotten her birthday - and I like them as much as Kelly does."

"Make it two, then," Susie recommended.

"And you'd best hurry before the 24-hour Asda closes," I urged.

"Ah, I get the message, Jeffrey," Ernie nodded, unsteadily taking a stride towards his transport. "It's high time I hit the road, and you went in. Your mother did seem anxious about where you'd disappeared to, Denise."

"You can't walk straight or get my name straight, Ernie. Are you fit to drive after drowning your sorrows?"

"It is confusing, Jeffrey - you make such a better Denise. But I'm as sober as a judge. In fact ... hic ... soberer than the last one I went up before."

"He doesn't look it, does he Susie."

"I'll ring for a taxi, and we'll treat Ernie to a ride home."

"That's very generous of you, but what about my van? Will it be okay parked across from your house, Denise?"

"Yes," I sighed, "you can leave it there until tomorrow."

"Good idea, son - come to think of it, I may have another problem to share with you by then. There's a business opportunity I'm onto that could prove a nice little earner."

"Keep it to yourself, Mr Crockett, we've had enough of your jiggery-pokery."

"So have I, Jeffrey. I've served enough porridge to last me a lifetime."

"Then keep that constantly in mind."

"I mull it over every night I'm supping down the pop shop."

"You shouldn't favour them with your company, either," I scolded. "You'll end up falling in with a bad crowd again."

"You never spoke a truer word, Jeffrey. Excessive alcohol isn't good for me and only leads to trouble," Ernie admitted. "Although I would have sworn that nun in the pub was Batman out on a stag night with the boys."

"I hope to God you didn't embarrass yourself."

"I never had the chance - she belted me in the utilities with her collecting box before I could unmask her."

"Stay at home and watch the caped crusader on the telly with Kelly," Susie advocated, on completing her call. "You'll find the company much more congenial."

"Yeah, like in jail," Ernie giggled. "I once shared a cell with a bloke banged up for robbing a wagon, and another for wagging his robin. Batman got caught by the fuzz, and they made it stand up in court."

"You're romancing again, Ernie."

"Honest, Jeffrey - I met a load of canny lads while on holiday. One fellow in there never stopped boasting about his money-making schemes."

"A fast-talking conman, was he?"

"Sort of - Bernie had a way of making instant friends with anybody he met. The chancer could go up to complete strangers in the street, have a word in their ear, and the next minute they'd be begging him to handle their investments."

"Like Ernie, Bernie possessed the gift of the gab, did he?" Susie smiled.

"No, he showed them his gun," Ernie chortled.

"Write these down, Jeffrey - it's criminal material for the Dinky Doos."

"The Dinky Doos - who are they, Susie?"

"Never mind for now, Ernie - here comes your taxi."

"And take this tenner for the fare," I invited.

"Thanks, Denise, you're an officer and a gentleman."

"You can show your gratitude by obeying orders and staying out of trouble - and my shed."

"I'll try," Ernie promised, "but with me, if it's not one thing, it's the other. I can never seem to get all my ducks in a row."

"Are those real ducks or metaphoric ducks?" Susie grinned.

Ernie scratched his head. "I thought the ones Kelly put up on the wall were Beswick."

"Well, if you need any assistance straightening things out, you know where to come," Susie offered. "Smith and Jones are always available for consultation."

"In future, I'll seek your advice and forsake the demon drink," Ernie pledged, before tumbling into the taxi. "Bottoms down!"

"And don't start another argument with Kelly while you're still under the influence," Susie cautioned.

"Yes, when you get home, sit quietly on the sofa and pretend to read a book," I instructed.

"I've already tried that trick, and got found out," Ernie lamented.

"Why - were you caught holding it the wrong way up?"

"I could have been, Jeffrey. All I can remember is Kelly telling me to put down the bloody cat and bugger off to the dog kennel."

"So take care that doesn't happen again," Susie warned.

"I certainly will," Ernie vowed. "Kelly had me locked out in the back-yard before I realised we don't have a kennel - or a dog - or that the doormat wasn't the biggest Weetabix in the world."

"Good-bye, Ernie," we chorused, closing the taxi door on the scallywag and waving him away.

"Ta-ra for now - see you in the morning."

"That's a relief, eh, Jeffrey," Susie smiled, when the bushy tail of Ernie's hat finally disappeared around the corner.

"Not for long, I fear. Why did you have to say that, Susie?"

"What, Jeffrey?"

"You know very well what," I frowned, opening the garden gate, and ushering Susie up the path. "We don't want Ernie involving us in another of his dodgy schemes."

"That's why we should help any of his attempts to set up a legitimate business. He may find some of the paperwork daunting."

"Seeking us out for accountancy advice will be the last thing on Ernie's agenda, that's for sure. The clue is in the phrase 'nice little earner'."

"Then how does 'The Good Samaritans' Detective Agency' appeal to you, Jeffrey?"

"It doesn't - I don't want folk crying on my shoulder holster. And, anyhow, the good Samaritan didn't go out of his way looking for clients - or trouble. But thanks to you, we'll have Ernie on our hands again."

"You were the one who told him to come back and collect his van."

"Only because I didn't want to risk you getting behind the wheel and chauffeuring Ernie home."

"The idea never entered my head, Jeffrey. You know I've resolved to do nothing in future that will jeopardise my acquiring an official driving licence the instant I turn seventeen."

"Promises, promises, Susie," I sighed, as she burst into song.

"In eleven more months and ten more days,
We'll be out and on the loose."

"But in zero more minutes and thirty seconds, we'll be in and under close scrutiny," I stressed, on our arrival at the front door. "So maintain your new found sense of responsibility during our coming interview with mum."

"Message received and understood, Jeffrey. Trust me to steer a middle course between barefaced lies and the naked truth."

"Okay, but can we avoid the rolling of eyes and inane grinning. Remember, Susie, sanity begins at home - and even more importantly, we won't have to explain something you don't blurt out."

"I shall sit on my hands and cover my mouth, Jeffrey."

"I'll settle for you not putting your feet in it. And don't forget to wipe them - we're in enough trouble already."

 

 

Chapter 172

"Here we are, Mrs Smith," Susie announced, jigging into the living room. "Two jolly sailor boys, home from the sea."

"Not literally, mum," I quickly amended. "No one's been up, up aloft. We kept our feet firmly on the ground at all times."

"And left the landlubbers lying down below, in Hell, in Hell, in Hell, Jeffrey."

"What Susie means is ..."

"They've just come through the door, George, so I'll be able to hear their story first-hand."

"Belay the nautical tales, Susie," I muttered.

"I will - bye." Mum replaced the receiver and turned to face us.

"Mr Jones, was it?" I smiled, while mum once again gave her happy wanderers a welcome-home twice-over.

"Yes, Jeffrey, keeping me informed - and now it's your turn. Did somebody mention jolly sailor boys?"

"Only Susie - launching a little joke."

"Then you haven't been dancing the hornpipe in that outfit?"

"No way, mum - I simply performed a jump for joy at your unexpected presence. We thought you were staying the night at Aunt Connie's."

"And I thought you were spending a quiet day in, Jeffrey, not enjoying a life on the ocean wave. Or is 'home from the sea' another little joke?"

"Not exactly, mum - just a slight exaggeration of our crossing on the ferry. Susie suddenly fancied a ramble in the country, and we decided to take a trip over the river."

"So soon after your last unplanned odyssey?"

"We had a carefully worked-out itinerary this time, Mrs Smith, and everything went off very quietly," Susie assured.

"Not that it didn't last time, mum," I hastened to add.

"Gas explosions don't count, do they, Jeffrey?"

"Only if you're in the vicinity, mum - and we were as far away from one today as on Tuesday. What's more, we weren't chased by a farmer and his pig for scrumping apples or any similar misdemeanours."

"Is that right, Susie?"

"Honest, Mrs Smith, nothing of consequence happened."

"Then how did your shoes get in such a state, Susie - and yours, Jeffrey?"

"Oh, that's down to the ferry running aground on the return trip, mum."

"Really, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, our trainers fell victim to the lowest tide of the year. Look out of the window," I invited. "See, mum - there's a full moon tonight."

"Plus it's in the seventh heaven, and Jupiter's aligned with Mars, Mrs Smith. That amplifies the effect, doesn't it, Jeffrey?"

"Disastrously - causing the Aquarius to beach on a mud bank, mum, leaving us to make our own way ashore."

"Squelchingly, Mrs Smith - but soggy feet, apart, it'll be yet another almost blank page in my diary."

"I find that hard to believe, Susie. Your days out together never seem to lack incident."

"I will admit, coming along the prom, we did witness a distressing scene, Mrs Smith."

"But we passed rapidly by, mum, with scarcely a glance behind."

"I'd still like to hear the details, Jeffrey."

"Okay," I smiled. "It's your line, Susie."

"Well, Mrs Smith, we were strolling by the pier when this man and his wife suddenly started going at it hammer and tongs."

"It turned out they were arguing over what to have for tea," I continued. "But we knew better than to interfere in a domestic dispute, mum, and just gawped in amazement with the rest of the crowd that had gathered."

"We felt a bit guilty about it," Susie confessed. "Watching a woman getting repeatedly whacked over the head shouldn't be a source of entertainment."

"Oh, I hope someone stepped in to help, Susie."

"No, they all cheered the beastly blackguard on, Mrs Smith - even the little kids."

"Surely not."

"Sadly it's true, mum. The toddlers were his most enthusiastic supporters, screaming with delight at every wallop."

"The poor lady."

"She managed to lend a telling blow or two herself, though, Mrs Smith."

"Who could blame her?"

"Not us, mum, but the woman only aggravated the situation for the baby caught in the middle of the melee."

"That's awful, Jeffrey. You should have phoned the police."

"Susie had her finger on the third '9' when a constable came along right on cue."

"I trust he put a stop to things there and then."

"Quite the reverse, Mrs Smith, the couple dropped the baby, and both of them turned their full fury on the bobby."

"Good heavens," mum goggled. "What happened next?"

"A crocodile popped up and ate all the sausages," I beamed. "So nobody got their tea in the end. Judy, Judy, Judy - what a performance."

"That's the way to do it," Susie winked. "Great punchline, eh, Mrs Smith?"

"The pair of you deserve a good spanking," mum laughed.

"Or the Spanish Inquisition - wait until you hear the rest of our act."

"I'll look forward to being diverted by the Dinky Doos full repertoire, Susie, but right now, I'm expected over at Connie's."

"Is that all, then, mum?"

"Not quite, Jeffrey - first, I have a little English examination for you. Half-an-hour ago, I opened the door, and, lo and behold, there's Ernie eager to present me with a pair of high rabbits." Mum wrinkled her nose. "At least, I think the smell came from them."

"If it isn't Uncle Ted with his winkles, it's Ernie with his wabbits," I lisped. "Let's hope granddad doesn't drop by with a bwace of wipe widgeons."

"You're happily wittering just like Ernie, Jeffrey, and he appeared a trifle tipsy."

"With me, it's only the Dandelion and Burdock talking, mum. I don't want to risk losing a ganglion of processing power, so I've signed the pledge."

"Then are you wilfully trying to distract me, Jeffrey?"

"Certainly not, mum - I'm anxious to hear what Ernie had to say - carry on."

"I finally managed to decipher his meanderings and was surprised to learn the furry donations were a little something to show his appreciation for services rendered," mum frowned. "What exactly did he mean by that, Jeffrey?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, mum. Ernie can rabbit, rabbit, rabbit more whimsically than Watership Down - especially when he can't tell his Artois from his elbow."

"Maybe so, Jeffrey, but your name was mentioned more than once - both of them, in fact."

"Would you believe Denise helped Ernie with his Open University maths coursework?"

"I hope you can do better than that, Jeffrey, or I'll have to believe the worst. Ernie had clearly come from celebrating his good fortune."

"No, mum, it's really quite the opposite - he'd been drinking to forget."

"Forget what, Jeffrey?"

"Marital misunderstandings - and mother-in-law trouble. When Kelly's mam drops round, the Doberman bites its nails."

"Jeffrey ..."

"Sorry, mum - I may be slightly exaggerating. Ernie hasn't got a dog, but he really does have relationship problems."

"And marriage guidance was the service you provided."

"No, conflict resolution is more Susie's department."

"That's right, Mrs Smith - Ernie's suffered a few domestic difficulties lately."

"And Susie gave him some pertinent advice, for which he couldn't thank us enough."

We both adopted a solemn look as mum considered the proposition. "I gained the impression you'd saved Ernie a trip to Brazil, if not his life."

"Kelly does possess a nifty left hook when provoked," I offered.

"I've met her, Jeffrey, and she's a saint to put up with Ernie's antics."

"There are two sides to every story, Mrs Smith."

"And the truth, Susie."

"We're telling it, mum," I asserted. "You have to take Ernie's tropical and other excursions with a coconutful of salt. He's never not romancing - particularly when the worse for wear."

"In fact, Mrs Smith, we decided the cheery chappie wasn't fit to drive. So we insisted he parked up his van, and sent him home in a taxi, at our expense."

"You did the right thing under the circumstances, Susie," mum approved. "Unfortunately it means you can expect Ernie back again in the morning while I'm away."

"Trust us, mum, we won't be swayed by his hard-luck stories. Any pleas for help will fall on deaf ears."

"They had better, Jeffrey, but who knows what other dubious gifts he might bring along and inadvertently involve you with. I haven't forgotten the gross of novelty Noddy pencil sharpeners he off-loaded on you for safe-keeping."

"I was only 6 at the time, mum."

"12, Jeffrey."

"Perhaps I am a year or two out, but it'll probably take Ernie three or four days to remember where he left his van, and you'll be here then."

"I have to admit Ernie did seem rather hazy between Wagon Wheels. With Kelly out working, I wonder if he's eating properly, after his regular meals in prison. He did boast the helpings there were bigger than Butlins."

"Ernie's stir-crazy, mum."

"I always thought he appeared somehow ... what's the expression, Jeffrey?"

"Not quite finished," I suggested. "But dad liked him, and he was a loyal and enthusiastic worker."

"When he turned up - you never knew if you'd see him from one day to the next."

"That's because Ernie's mind tends to wander, mum."

"It often packs a picnic and takes a long hike, Jeffrey."

"Exactly, mum, and it's not only Ernie's time-keeping that's unreliable. Most of the tales he tells are sheer fantasy."

"Then I shouldn't take any of them seriously, Jeffrey?"

"Never in a million years, mum - Ernie might have an honest face, but his yarns are worthy of Baron Munchausen."

"Remind me, Jeffrey - did that gentleman ever manage to blow himself up?"

"No, and neither has Ernie," I maintained. "He's just got dynamite on the brain. All he's blown up are balloons at Christmas."

"Well, Ernie certainly sat down as if he'd been in the wars," mum claimed.

"More likely the bars," I frowned. "You can't give any credence to a man who mistakes a nun for Batman. Did he tell you about that, mum?"

"No, but his other wayward talk matched his walk," mum conceded. "Ernie should really try not to overindulge."

"We all have our little weaknesses," I sighed.

"But the cheeky rascal has no real harm in him. Your dad used to laugh at his larks," mum mused, becoming quite misty-eyed.

"Don't get upset, mum."

"I'm not, Jeffrey, love - just reminiscing."

"My dad's developing a tendency to live in the past, as well," Susie grinned. "He often revisits the days of his rugby glory and rocketing house prices."

"That reminds me, Susie, when your father rang, he mentioned your Uncle Frank had left a gift for you both. What other good deeds have you been doing?"

"Oh, the Dinky Doos miraculously lifted unky's spirits in his second darkest hour," Susie breezed.

"How exactly?" mum queried.

"With their joyous rendition of his favourite ditty," I smiled.

"I'm gonna let my feet go dancing
To my very favourite songs,
'Cause I know my time for leaving
Is bound to come before too long.
And there ain't no way of me knowing
How tomorrow's gonna be,
So I just dance the shores of Jordan
'Til the angels carry me."

"That brought the light once more into his life, didn't it, Jeffrey?"

"We had him back to his usual lugubrious self at the drop of a coffin, Susie."

"The drop of a coffin, Jeffrey?"

"Just a figure of speech, mum - with Mr Jones being an undertaker. For Uncle Ted, it would be at the drop of his trou..."

"Don't you dare, Jeffrey!"

"Troubles, mum."

"I should think so, Jeffrey, or it would be no more Dandelion and Burdock for you."

"Understood, mum," I smiled. "I'll refrain from any low comedy at Uncle Ted's expense."

"See that you do, Jeffrey - and I'll refrain from further enquiries about two jolly sailor boys dancing the shores of Wyre."

"Doubly understood, mum."

"And now it's time I was getting back to our Connie's to ease her worries. I only popped in to check everything's all right."

"Oh, it is, mum."

"And I dropped off Connie's pageant costumes for Denise, Susie."

"I know she can't wait to be dressed up to the ninety-nines in them, Mrs Smith."

"You can walk in my new high heels, too, Jeffrey - they're a little tight for the size."

"Denise's feet are at their service," I beamed.

"And when she's all dolled up, I'll take some photos of the little darling for the family album," mum smiled, stroking my hair. "It's just like having twins, only slightly more confusing."

"I appreciate what you mean, mum," I nodded. "Wearing these shorts, I occasionally wonder if I'm still at primary school."

"I frequently wonder what Denise has been up to, switching from one extreme to the other without telling me. Staying home, playing house, in petticoats is a far cry from running wild in hot pants."

"I conducted myself appropriately at all times, mum."

"That isn't the same as prudently, Jeffrey."

"It is with Susie as a guide."

"Yes, don't worry, Mrs Smith - Denise is safe in my hands. I'll ensure she doesn't act the tomboy again."

"But not immediately, Susie - There's an unfinished job more suitable for a short-panted Jeffrey."

"We're both happy to oblige, mum."

"Make that all three, Mrs Smith," Susie seconded.

"Then follow me," mum directed.

"Tell Uncle Ted to keep his pecker up and that his winkles were warmly appreciated," I beamed, as we trooped after her into the kitchen.

"There you are, Jeffrey - our latest gamy acquisitions." Mum indicated the two glassy-eyed rabbits lying in the sink. "By hook or by crook, you somehow earned those, so you can have the pleasure of disposing of them."

"Take note of what can happen to imprudent Bugs Bunnies, Susie," I murmured.

"What are you whispering in Susie's ear, Jeffrey?"

"Only sweet nothings, mum, and don't worry about the rabbits - we'll have a fine crop of rhubarb next year."

"Very well, Jeffrey - and two further instructions."

"Yes, mum," I blinked, as she paused in the doorway.

"Don't, on any account, open the door to Ernie when he comes for his van. His next donations may have fallen off the back of a lorry."

"Ernie tumbled into a skip once, didn't he, mum?"

"Headfirst, Jeffrey - the scamp isn't an upright character. Whatever his current business turns out to be, you're not to get mixed up in any loose tail-board enterprises."

"The Dinky Doos comprehend, mum - and the second thing?"

"After you've finished digging in the garden, never go out in those pink pants again. If Denise must show off her legs to the world, stick to mini-skirts and dresses."

"That'll be no hardship will it, Jeffrey."

"Not with you zipping me into them, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Ernie's visit occupied your mum nicely, Jeffrey," Susie smirked, almost before the back door had closed. "We successfully avoided nearly all inquiries relating to the cruise of the coffin."

"No thanks to your 'two jolly sailor boys', Susie. What were you thinking of?"

"I can't help myself, Jeffrey - I'm irrepressible."

"You're unquestionably irresomething," I agreed.

"But my get-up-and-go has won us a prize from Uncle Frank."

"Our reward may not be exactly what you expect, Susie."

"You never know your luck in a raffle, Jeffrey. Let's whiz across and grab the goodies before unky changes his mind."

"Patience, Susie - first we have to safely deposit our Kruger rands in my bottom drawer."

"Okay, but don't linger over a miserly recounting of them."

"I won't - or over changing my shoes - but then we've a little autumn trenching to do."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Shiny black stilettos, Jeffrey?"

"I need to keep my feet in with them, Susie," I smiled, as she secured the ankle straps. "It'll take daily practice for Denise to perfect her model-girl glide."

"They're fine for parading in later, but high heels can't be first choice for double-digging."

"They can if you jump into my wellies, and I supervise your spadework."

"Okay, but first give us a wiggle and say 'wabbits, widgeons, and winkles' again. I love it when Denise walks and talks quirky."

"Allwight, Susie." I sashayed across to her with my green wellingtons. "Here - are you weady to woll?"

"Hold the wellies, Jeffrey - I've had an idea that'll save us the burying detail. There's a much less labour-intensive final resting place for Ernie's offerings."

 

 

Chapter 173

"Are you certain your dad will appreciate a couple of conies, Susie?" I questioned, after transferring them across to her, before vaulting the fence into the Joneses' back garden.

"I don't see why not, Jeffrey," Susie grinned, as I executed a perfect two-point landing. "They're red meat, aren't they?"

"Not exactly - and they will need skinning and dressing. It's a skilled job."

"Dad can always consult Uncle Frank for a few expert tips."

"Disembowelment isn't quite in his line unless he belongs to the ancient Egyptian school of morticians."

"Ah, but unky's almost a taxidermist, amongst his other accomplishments. He attended a course at night school."

"Truly, Susie?"

"Madly, deeply Jeffrey - as the old boy says - you never know when and where you might want to stuff a tea towel," Susie hooted, and set off up the path. "Come on, unless you've any other owlish objections."

"Only a solemn warning - there's always a bit of a pong when granddad opens them up."

"There'll be no problem on that score, Jeffrey. Dad doesn't smell too good since the rugby ball whacked him in the nose, and unky is renowned for having a strong stomach. After twenty-five years of Aunt Rose's ill-starred cuisine, he'll digest anything."

"Let's hope your dad's the same with regard to half-cooked explanations, Susie," I frowned, when we arrived at the kitchen door. "If we are in line for a reward, your uncle must have told him about our retrieving the squire's body."

"We'll soon discover all, Jeffrey, and the bequest that awaits us. Strut inside and be ready to knowingly obfuscate."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"It appears second row forwards aren't half as carnivorous as you thought, Susie," I murmured, in the silence that followed her handover of the game.

"Don't just stand there gawping, dad - say something."

"Euuuhhh," Mr Jones choked, holding the rabbits by the ears, at arm's length, while avoiding looking them in the eyes. "I'm lost for words, Susie."

"You should thank Denise, for starters."

"Yes, it's very kind of your mother to consider my need for free-range protein, dear."

"You're doing us a favour," I assured. "Mum has her hands full with family matters this weekend, and she hates to see good food go to waste."

"These won't - I promise you, Denise. Mrs Jones is out at the moment, so I'll put them in the fridge for now."

"I'm sure she'd prefer to save on the Air Wick Mist and they were hung in the garage until you've time to butcher them, sir."

"Quite right, Denise," Mr Jones gulped. "I'll attend to it without delay."

"Before you get up to your elbows in offal, dad, could you direct us to Uncle Frank's present."

"Ah yes, I have to talk to you about that, Susie. The way he's behaving makes me believe your uncle has become gravely unhinged."

"That's a harsh judgement just because he's finally realised my worth and is showering us with gifts," Susie smiled.

"Frank's a man who would rather have the grievance," Mr Jones declared. "So I'm anxious to hear what caused his sudden change of attitude."

"Didn't he say?"

"No, Susie - when Frank returned after his abrupt departure, I was deep in my eve-of-match Radox bath, and he'd disappeared again, taking your aunt with him, by the time I came downstairs."

"So how do you know about his largesse towards us?"

"Frank rang on his way to Lancston, and the only clear message I received was that you deserved a reward. He left me completely in the dark as to why."

"Unky has obviously come to appreciate the true qualities of his favourite niece. What other reason do you need?"

"The real one, Susie."

"I have given up my room for the comfort of his slipped disc. That alone is deserving of recognition."

"But it doesn't explain why, immediately after getting your call, Frank rushed out, then came back for Rose, before driving off at top speed to his funeral parlour."

"Unky's a 24-hour undertaker, isn't he?"

"It seems you're better informed than I am, Susie. So perhaps you can tell me who Frank has to spend the night guarding before urgently disposing of tomorrow?"

"Well, dad, we were walking hand in hand, in the sand, harmonising - remember, Denise."

"Vividly, Susie - it's not every evening a fully-manned, recently lost coffin washes ashore at your feet."

"You mean the one in Frank's stolen hearse," Mr Jones spluttered. "I don't believe it."

"Neither did we, dad, but there it lay at the water's edge. Talk about a coincidence - I would have written to Arthur Koestler, only he's dead."

"Exactly like the squire, Susie."

"Blooming heck, that's super spooky, Denise."

"I've lost the thread completely, Susie - and not for the first time with one of your stories," Mr Jones despaired. "Who's Arthur Koestler?"

"A morose, Hungarian philosopher - Uncle Frank will be delighted to discuss 'Darkness at Noon' with you."

"Don't change the subject, Susie. How did that coffin arrive on the beach?"

"It's no use asking us, dad - you'll have to consult a tide-table."

"Now, Susie, that's not good enough," Mr Jones warned.

"Our account satisfied Uncle Frank, didn't it, Denise? And he was the man on the spot."

"He came, he saw, he concurred," I affirmed.

"With what, Denise?"

"The hypothesis the joyriders must have launched the squire and his casket across the river for an ultimate lark, sir."

Mr Jones rubbed his head against a rabbit and cogitated on the matter. "That sounds a plausible explanation, Denise ... after torching the hearse, they wouldn't want to wander about carrying a corpse."

"Earth, fire, wind, and water - it's my presumption, too, dad."

"Then I wish you'd come straight to the point in future, Susie, instead of always going round the houses."

"Okay, dad, now I'm home, let's get down to brass tacks. Where's Uncle Frank's pressie?"

"On the sideboard, in that envelope."

"How much is it?"

"It's not money, Susie. It's two tickets."

"Tickets?"

"Yes, your uncle won't be able to use them tomorrow, as he and your aunt are attending an emergency funeral. I still can't quite follow the logic on that, either."

"Don't worry about unky's eccentricities, dad. What are the tickets for?"

"A steam excursion."

"On a train?"

"Yes, Frank was looking forward to a nostalgic round-trip of the Lake District, and it's too late to get a refund."

"The old cheapskate," Susie snorted. "His gratitude certainly proved short-lived, Denise. We've been short-changed by the short-shrifter."

"Isn't it the thought that counts?" I suggested.

"And they are for a first-class Pullman coach," Mr Jones pointed out.

"First-class, eh - that's one thing about Uncle Frank, he always travels in style when he's moving in his ever decreasing circles."

"I'm sure your uncle would understand if you have more important things to do - such as cheering me on against the Alcoballics Old Boys."

"Two outings in a week, dad - is that wise even after a double-strength Radox bath? You ran all over the pitch trying to keep up with the play on Wednesday afternoon."

"I'm not ready to join the alickdoos just yet, Susie. Old Bill Bailey did, and the next thing you know, he's showing up at the clubhouse on a mobility scooter."

"Mr Bailey's younger than you, isn't he, dad?"

"But Billy-boy hasn't looked after his body like I have." Mr Jones executed a flying X, with rabbits akimbo. "See, Susie, I've a good few years left in my knees."

"How about you using the tickets, dad? I bet mum would prefer you take her on a sentimental journey than take a risk popping a cartilage or two."

"Your mother's assigned to video duty tomorrow, Susie. I'm having the game recorded for posterity."

"Oh, any special reason?"

"I'll be up against Blenkinsopp from Heighton School." Mr Jones bashed the rabbit's heads together. "I'm raring to teach the blighter a lesson for questioning the integrity of my emergency refereeing. You won't want to miss it."

"Yes, we do, and by a good distance," I whispered to Susie. "One or two of our disgruntled victims might turn up at the ground in support of their sports master."

"Getting away from it all is becoming more attractive by the second, Denise."

"Then throw a deceptive swerve and develop a sudden passion for vintage steam," I instructed, to the accompaniment of a diplomatic parental cough.

"So after your pow-wow, have you decided between you, Susie?" Mr Jones enquired.

"Yes, dad - much as I'd enjoy watching you grapple live with the galloping Major in a celebrity grudge match, Denise is of the opinion it would be churlish to spurn unky's laurel-wreaths."

"I suppose so," Mr Jones reluctantly agreed. "Following his recent upsets, Frank's feelings should take precedence - it's only right."

"And proper," Susie deadpanned. "When we take into consideration that despite all the bodies passing through his hands, unky's a sensitive soul at heart and easily offended."

"It would appear impolite to refuse the tickets," Mr Jones nodded. "And after the previous misunderstandings between you, it's a remarkably generous gesture on your uncle's part."

"Extraordinary, I'd say," Susie smiled. "Although we did put ourselves out for him."

Mr Jones raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean your discovery of the coffin wasn't pure chance, Susie?"

"Who knows? You'd better ask Denise - she's the expert on improbability theory."

"Well, Denise?"

"What can I say, sir? Everyone and everything has to be somewhere at some time."

"Nonetheless, more details of your movements wouldn't come amiss," Mr Jones persisted. "Where had you spent the day prior to your rewarding stroll along the shore, Susie?"

"What goes on tour, stays on tour, dad. Isn't that the rugby player's eleventh commandment?" Susie winked. "Not that we've anything to hide, mind you."

"I'm not so naive, Susie, but I'll content myself with the fact you're home safe and sound," Mr Jones relented. "Unless Denise has anything further to contribute."

"Only that I thought I saw one of those rabbits twitch."

"I think you're right, Denise. Hang on tight, dad - they've got blooming big teeth."

"If it weren't for their bobtails, the beasts could almost pass for killer squirrels, Susie."

"Or giant rats of Sumatra, Denise."

Mr Jones shuddered and squinted at his charges. "If you'll excuse me, Denise, I'd like to stow these fellows in the garage before Mrs Jones comes home."

"Don't forget to remove their innards before hanging them up by the back legs, sir, otherwise they might explode and prematurely fall off the peg."

"Ah, yes, of course - is there anything else I should do?"

"Wear a pair of rubber gloves," I recommended.

"And take the big carving knife out with you, dad," Susie smirked, as a flustered Mr Jones reeled away. "You're going to need it."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Who wears short shorts?" A laughing face appeared at the lounge door. "I like short shorts."

"Where did you spring from, Mikey?"

"I still live here, Susie - unlike some deserters I could name."

"You should be thankful it's my bedroom, and not yours, whose intimate secrets are exposed to a relative stranger's prying eyes."

"Take no notice, Denise," Mikey blushed. "They're sports magazines - girls play football, too."

"I believe you."

"But none of them are wearing such tight, tight, short shorts, Denise," Mikey grinned. "Have you come from rugbying?"

"No, I've permanently hung up my boots."

"That's okay - I prefer you in high heels."

"Stop ogling Denise, Mikey. Her top isn't going to fly off again."

"She doesn't mind - and I've also been keeping a close eye on you. What's in that envelope you've got there?"

"First-class tickets to ride with the Vintage Steam Society, courtesy of Uncle Frank."

"You demolish the old grump's house, and he gives you freebies in return. I have to put up with his miserable company, and I get nothing - only lectures on making the most of my education," Mikey moaned. "It's not bloody fair."

"Perhaps Mikey deserves a little something for holding the fort in your absence, Susie," I hinted.

"Generous to a fault, that's me," Susie smiled, taking out her wallet. "Here's twenty pounds, Mikey - spend it discreetly and don't let on where it came from."

"Why - is it funny money? A boy at school says his dad has a foolproof way to make fake fifties."

"We wouldn't know anything about such carryings-on. This is hard-earned cash from an unimpeachable source - the Bank of England."

Mikey held his dividend up to the light. "It had jolly well better be - the price I'm having to pay for homework answers."

"Wouldn't it make more sense to do it yourself?" I suggested.

"I'm trying, Denise, but I'm stymied by my printer. It's flashing 'Unknown Error'. Will you come upstairs and tinker with me?" Mikey winked.

"Switch it off, and switch it on again," I offered.

"I already have."

"Then do it again," Susie instructed, "but this time walk past and don't look at it."

"Will that really work?"

"Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Yes, Susie."

"But not lately - my recent Delphic advice has been worthy of a Greek oracle."

"Okay, then here's something else you can help with. Which would win the fight between an elephant and a rhinoceros?"

"Who wants to know - your biology teacher?"

"I've already asked him, but all he's good for are frogs and amoebas," Mikey snorted. "What's the answer? I need it for the next level of 'Throw Them To The Lions' - Tommy's new computer game."

"Horns versus tusks, eh," Susie mused. "Which one's your money on, Denise?"

"The rhino - it charges the elephant and breaks its legs."

"Or the elephant picks up a discarded spear with its trunk and skewers the rhino in the eye."

"Hey, that's a super surprise move to spring on Tommy," Mikey approved. "Thanks, Susie - it's one of your better batty ideas."

"You're welcome, big little brother."

"And I'll do you a favour, Susie. Have a look at your shoe to see if you've stepped in something because a bit of a pong's followed you in here."

"That's the smell of fresh, putrefying rabbits lingering in the air. Dad's in the garage preparing the cute little bunnies for your Sunday dinner."

"Rabbits - what do they taste like, Susie?"

"Not too bad - for animals that eat their own poo."

"Uncle Frank can clear my plate, then. I'm sticking to chicken."

"Aw, dad will be disappointed, with all the trouble he's going to."

"Well, I'll wouldn't mind taking their feet off his hands."

"You're in luck - eight plus two fluffy tails are available."

"Good, I can use the lot for swaps at school," Mikey enthused. "Tommy traded his lobster claws for a great mag."

"If you hurry up out there, I'm sure dad will appreciate any assistance in depawing them."

"How do you do that?"

"With a meat cleaver, I assume."

"Have we got one?"

"If you haven't, granddad uses an axe," I advised.

"Hey, I want a go. Wait for me, dad!" Mikey whooped, and bolted out of the door.

"What's the younger generation coming to, Jeffrey? I never wanted to dismember small, furry animals."

"I blame all those hours glued to the computer screen, playing violent video games, Susie. It's not healthy."

"You're absolutely right. Mikey should follow our example and spend more time in the open air."

"Where he can kill real people."

"Assist on their evil way, Jeffrey."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Is that a terrified scream coming from the direction of your garage, Susie?" I wondered, on our return down the garden.

"Mum must have parked the car and walked into the fluffy tails of the unexpected, Jeffrey."

"Oh, dear, Susie - your dad hasn't read the entrails right, or he'd have anticipated her arrival."

"I predict dad will be so busy apologising, he won't bother us again tonight."

 

 

Chapter 174

"Upstairs and downstairs, without a bobble or a wobble, Susie - I think I've got it."

"You have, Miss Doolittle - indubitably. Now take the atlas off your head and the weight off your high heels while we review our prize."

"Are you disappointed with your uncle's tokens of gratitude, Susie?" I queried, while elegantly lowering my posterior onto the sofa, beside her.

"Two surplus tickets to nowhere and back are scant recompense for our saving his undertaking reputation, Jeffrey, but I suppose it's better than being paid in washers."

"A Pullman doesn't come cheap, Susie, and, according to the brochure, there's the added attraction of a Coronation Class engine in charge, plus a dynamometer coach. Your uncle might regard such a gift as the ultimate reward if he's a steam fanatic."

"Put an 'ing' on 'steam' and you won't need an 'if', Jeffrey."

"That's slightly harsh, Susie, after he's acted so munificently."

"Don't you believe it - the old tight-wad could peel an orange in his pocket. I've a sneaking suspicion he hasn't parted with a penny."

"Somebody has."

"I wouldn't be surprised if the tickets were passed on to unky by the grateful family of a lately deceased. One deadly boring journey in exchange for another."

"So you don't really fancy a quiet excursion into the past tomorrow?"

"Do you, Jeffrey?"

"It's one sure way of avoiding Ernie when he comes back for his van. I've an idea we may find trouble brewing on the doorstep in the morning."

"You're planning to keep out of mischief by roaming while Ernie fiddles, are you?" Susie grinned.

"Of course, I'll be travelling with you, so it isn't a foolproof strategy, but it's the best I can think of to avoid any dubious involvements and not offend Ernie."

"And you're happy to have a dull day out as Denise."

"There are no dull days out as Denise, Susie. We always find life on the distaff side more than interesting."

"I shall indulge your whims, then," Susie smiled. "Although commentating while dad plays the muddy oaf might prove less tedious than peering out of a carriage window, watching endless fields flash by."

"Not when you can count the telegraph poles and calculate how fast we're going."

"On second thoughts, Jeffrey."

"Only joking, Susie - I'm sure the train will be crammed with an array of delightful English eccentrics who'll keep you terribly amused."

"Come on, then, let's go upstairs and sort things out for tomorrow."

"And we'll capture the mood with the help of 'James the Red Engine'. You can look at the pictures while I turn the pages."

"Sometimes I think I'm way too grown-up for you, Jeffrey."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I loved mum reading that to me when I was small and Christmas trees were tall, Susie. Isn't it a wonderful story?"

"Top of the tracks, Jeffrey - and an informative tale to boot. Remind me to pack a few superfluous sections of the Sunday Times to go with your spare shoelaces in case we have a brake pipe catastrophe at the top of Shap Fell."

"No need, Susie - we're circumventing that ascent by taking the coastal route to Carlisle, so your dad can keep his newspaper intact, and I can leave my trainers at home tomorrow."

"Along with your running shorts?"

"Definitely - but what is the appropriate apparel for a historic train journey?"

"Denise is the girlification of a pretty Victorian Miss in her Lolita costume."

"More a sweet Edwardian maiden, I'd say. And it's a Stanier Pacific, the Duchess of Sutherland, up front, not Stephenson's Rocket."

"How come you know so much about reigns and trains, Jeffrey?"

"I've books on the history of fashion and the history of steam."

"You've a book on the history of everything," Susie snorted.

"And I've read them all," I smirked. "Would you like to hear about Riemann's zeta function from the history of mathematics?"

"Not right now, Jeffrey - and Edwardian or Victorian doesn't alter the fact we'll be entering the steam age. That's excuse enough for Denise to swirl her petticoats and twirl a parasol."

"Attractive to her as that sounds, I wouldn't want to risk dirtying my finery with coal dust, grease, and general grime. A more practical travel ensemble is called for."

"Denise should never dress practical. It's such a waste of natural resources."

"You're right, Susie, it's time I hung up these hot pants. They're snug, but that's a poor substitute for the restraint of a super-tight skirt or the frou-frou of a Lolita costume."

"But they have their own unique charms," Susie winked, giving me a slap on the behind.

"They do invite a casual smack," I smiled. "Perhaps I should choose a cheerleader outfit for future escapades. It'll leave me similarly exposed, but with no danger of thigh chafing, and equally well equipped for high-speed getaways."

"While flashing your frilly undies to the world."

"A minor embarrassment is an acceptable price to pay for freedom of movement at a ticklish moment, Susie."

"You aren't expecting things to get physical tomorrow, are you, Jeffrey?"

"Well, I haven't completely ruled out the possibility of you engineering an unofficial ride in the Duchess' cab and dragging Denise along to shovel the coal."

"I wonder how difficult it is to fly a steam locomotive by the seat of one's pants, Jeffrey."

"Not as difficult as my interview with mum if we perform another disappearing act, Susie. I'd best phone and obtain parental approval before the fact this time, instead of after."

"Okay, Jeffrey - never let it be said we're irresponsible."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I hope it's not engaged again, Susie," I frowned, redialling Aunt Connie's number. "It might prove awkward to explain if I call in the morning after we've already left."

"You could stick a note on the fridge, Jeffrey."

"It isn't quite the same, Susie. Thanks to her conversation with Ernie, mum will need reassuring nothing's amiss before we vanish for the day."

"Then don't alarm her by using words like 'vanish'."

"I won't, but I shall subtly hint that the further we are from home tomorrow, the safer it will be for all concerned."

"Your mum may think avoiding Ernie by exiting the county, enveloped in a cloud of steam is taking it to extremes."

"I'll say the trip's just a circumnavigation of the Fylde Coast, not the Cumbrian Coast."

"Organised by the Victorian Society and the YWCA, together with ..."

"Hold on, Susie - I'm through."

"Hello, is that you, Jeffrey?"

"Hi, mum - I've been ringing for ages."

"Sorry, Jeffrey - Connie was on the line sharing her latest upset."

"Oh, has Uncle Ted taken a turn for the worse?"

"Not physically - he's stopped shivering and is on the mend, but he's developed psychological problems."

"Suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, is he?"

"The poor man's convinced he swallowed an eel along with the gallon of sea-water, and can't be persuaded otherwise. Does that count?"

"It's too Freudian for me - I'll have to consult Susie."

"Tell him not to worry, Mrs Smith, butterflies in the tummy are only to be expected after such an ordeal."

"Did you hear that, mum? Uncle Ted should imagine he's gulped down a frog."

"Enough, Jeffrey - Ted's delusions aren't a laughing matter for your aunt."

"Sorry, mum - I've really a sensible reason for calling you."

"Which is, Jeffrey?"

"To let you know about our plans for tomorrow. We don't want you worrying and sending out search parties for us."

"I hope this hasn't anything to do with Ernie's visit, Jeffrey."

"Only tangentially, mum."

"Don't talk trigonometry to me, Jeffrey. Explain what you mean."

"That, if you approve, we'll have to make an early start and won't be in when Ernie comes round for his van."

"Why not, Jeffrey?"

"Because guess what Susie's Uncle Frank has bestowed on us, mum."

"Tickets for a steam excursion."

"Oh, you knew all along. Why didn't you say?"

"And spoil the surprise."

"Then we can go?"

"Yes - but don't wander off sightseeing and miss the train home."

"Have no fear, mum, we'll remain on railway property at all times."

"Incidentally, where's the trip taking you, Jeffrey?"

"Only a few stations up North, mum."

"How far up North, Jeffrey? I wouldn't want distance to make my child grow reckless."

"It's all right, mum, Gretna Green isn't on the route."

"Remember not to mention the ladder against the bedroom window, Jeffrey," Susie chuckled.

"It's lucky for you two, I know when you're joking."

"Have you heard the one about ..."

"Oh, it'll have to wait, Jeffrey - the twins are trying to empty the replacement tortoise."

"Okay, bye, mum - we'll bring you back a souvenir paper-weight."

"Good-night, Jeffrey - I'll sleep easier now I know you'll be far away from Master Longbottom in the morning."

"Bye, Mrs Smith."

"Bye, Susie - look after Denise."

"'Night, mum," I smiled, putting down the phone.

"The line's clear, Jeffrey."

"We're green for go, Susie."

"Blow the whistle, Jeffrey."

"I'm a train,
I'm a train,
I'm a chuffer train!"

We chorused, and locomotioned upstairs.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Hot pants allow far too much leeway when practising advanced carriage training, Susie," I complained, after returning the pink shorts to their hanger. "The atlas never came close to falling over my elbow."

"In future, you could balance Mikey's illuminated globe on your head, Jeffrey. That would test your ability to retain the whole kit and caboodle in the air."

"I want to improve my deportment, not my keepie-uppie skills, Susie. I need to parade in attire providing a sterner challenge."

"You don't have to worry on that score - I checked out the view from behind. Denise's derriere gracefully tripped the light fantastic at all times."

"In hassle-free conditions - under stress, I may lose her sashay."

"No, Denise even runs like a girl - an athletic one, but deliciously apple-bottomed."

"There are less energetic, but more demanding situations, Susie. What if I'm restricted to taking tiny, high-heeled steps while modelling a super slinky gown for Stephanie?"

"In Denise's dreams, Jeffrey."

"Yes - I wonder how we'd cope making our entrance down a steep flight of stairs, unfurling an extravagant parasol, and with limited leg-room to manoeuvre."

"I can loop Denise's knees tightly together under her Lolita petticoats - that should teach her how to toddle while hobbled."

"It would provide a degree of discipline, Susie, but it's not quite the same thing as being sheathed in a figure-hugging evening dress."

"It might prove interesting, anyway, coaching a high-heeled maid Denise to teeter through the hoops."

"While balancing a fully-laden tea tray in each hand," I smiled. "We could give it a go. Who knows - if there's a catering emergency tomorrow, Denise may be called upon to play the waitress."

"Stranger things have happened," Susie grinned. "Perhaps I'd better google the basics of engine driving - just in case."

"Only after paying due attention to my look for our day out. I think it offers an ideal opportunity to not show a thigh, and act refined."

"Denise desires to appear the gracious, first-class lady, does she, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, and we'll probably encounter a lot less hurly-burly on our travels if you behave more warily girlily, too, Susie."

"Ooo, you cheeky young minx, Miss Smith - I'll show you some feminine restraint. Just wait until I'm lacing Denise into her bridal bodice."

"Is that before or after you make me your Princess of the Nile, Susie."

"After of course - when Her Highness is abducted by the Amazon Queen and forced to become her captive consort."

"And don't forget Aunt Connie's outfits that mum brought home. We can work them into the story, as well."

"You're never satisfied, Jeffrey."

"Denise has to redress the balance of sixteen lost years of costume changes, Susie."

"Okay, Miss Smith - prepare to be serially made over."

"I love it when you call me that, Susie," I flushed. "Come on, let's start fantasising."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Talk about coincidence, Miss Smith, and we've experienced more than our share of those lately."

"This is more a slave girl than a royal mistress costume, Susie."

"Whooo - there's hills in that thar gold," Susie grinned, as she finished attending to Pinky and Perky and fastened me into the gilt halter top. "You're my princess and my prisoner. Although it's doubtful if either of them would be prancing in shiny, silver high heels."

"Don't let's split houris about it," I urged, "or it'll be midnight before I'm ready to serve you."

"Patience, Denise, and pout. You know I like to have my Miss Smith fully lipsticked whatever role she's playing."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"See the pyramids along the Nile,
Watch the sunrise from a magic smile.
Just remember, darling, all the while,
You belong to me."

"The feeling's mutual, Susie," I laughed, as the clock chimed ten, and I continued slowly divesting myself of Aunt Connie's fancy dress.

"Whooo Denise! Hop over here - I want to remove your last veil. And then we'll just have time for a little Lolita training before I carry her to bed."

"Ooooooooo - that will be a splendid way to wind up a most remarkable day, Susie."

"And with any luck, tomorrow may have its own unique attractions, Jeffrey."

 

 

Chapter 175

"A Kruger rand for them, Susie," I smiled across the breakfast table.

"After sleeping on it, Jeffrey, I've had third thoughts about today's trip."

"And they are, Susie?"

"That our journey could turn out more entertaining than I first supposed."

"Ah, I've anticipated you by packing the playing cards - with perhaps a few other useful bits and bobs to come."

"That's not what I meant, Jeffrey. Patience is the last thing on my mind."

"Oh, you'd rather engage in some pencil and paper pastimes, would you?"

"No - and you can leave the Travel Scrabble at home, as well. We won't have time for diversions of any sort if all those old movies are anything to go by."

"Which ones?"

"You know ... 'The Lady Vanishes on the Ghost Train to Munich' and 'From Russia with Love on the Orient Express Sleeping Car to Trieste'."

"I get the picture, Susie - prudence has gone by the board, along with patience. For you, another round of non-trivial pursuit is the only game in town."

"On the tracks, Jeffrey."

"Then you're letting your imagination steam away with you. I'm sure you won't find our travelling companions that intriguing."

"Folk behave differently when they're riding the rails, Jeffrey. All the swaying releases their inhibitions. It's like being on a ship at sea."

"Yes, ocean liners and steam engines are lovely things promising great adventure," I agreed.

"Exactly," Susie beamed. "Who knows the machinations we may become entangled in?"

"I don't, for one."

"Yes, you do, Jeffrey. You've seen the films - trains are a magnet for murderers, and spies, and ..."

"Railway enthusiasts - the special's only class of passenger, Susie. You'd better break out the anoraks if you want us to go undercover."

"Don't be so negative, Jeffrey."

"I'm not, Susie. You've got me thinking now."

"What, Jeffrey?"

"That I should switch from Aunt Connie's long floral dress and match your leather trousers with the leather skirt, even it means showing more than a glimpse of stocking."

"Ah, you're keen to play Hansel and Gretel for the day, are you?"

"Not after our recent escape from warlocks, Susie - I've just come to the conclusion having a few pleats down below is a more judicious choice."

"Why, Jeffrey?"

"Because your attempts to uncover a dastardly plot might provoke a violent reaction from some irritable innocent, so I'll need to be ready to run."

"In stilettos, Jeffrey?"

"No, trainers, Susie - I've now decided to take along a pair as emergency back-up. With the ideas you've got in your head, I can see us having to make yet another hasty exit."

"A sensible precaution, Jeffrey - you don't want to be singing this is a fine time to leave me, loose heel."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Sweet Little Sixteen,
She's just got to have
Short skirts and tight tops.
She's sportin' high-heel shoes."

"How does Denise look?" I pouted, on completing a pirouette.

"A treat," Susie approved. "Now quit teasing, or I'll be smearing my biker babe's lipstick."

"I hope I haven't overdone the gloss," I fussed, after another glance in the mirror. "I wouldn't want to seem cheap."

"On the contrary," Susie smiled, "you appear very dear."

"But are you sure I'm not revealing too much underwear with this blouse? Mum may consider it a touch immodest."

"Don't worry, there's only a hint of bra. The material's barely see-through."

"What if it's more transparent outdoors in the sunlight? People might gawk - and talk."

"You can always button up your leather jacket. Nothing will show through that."

"I need it half open, though, even if less is left to the imagination," I mused. "Otherwise I may look a touch too butch."

"Hardly, Denise - fully beribboned, you're a girly Tara King to my womanly Emma Peel."

"Ooo - I like the idea of acting out those roles, Susie."

"So do I, Jeffrey - it could inspire all kinds of surreal scenarios."

"Possibly leading to unexpected complications," I warned, "If we're not careful, sallying forth as a pair of female Avengers might invite a bizarre adventure."

"And why not - you have to admit we couldn't be better dressed for an espionage thriller."

"Too true - but it's a mystery to me how I've gone from a classical flower girl to a modern action girl, Susie."

"No, it's not, Miss Smith. Once I'd zipped you into the skirt, you couldn't wait to be fully leathered up to the collar to match Miss Jones."

"And after I followed your example, Pinky and Perky ..."

"Pinky and Perky what, Jeffrey?" Susie queried, as I suddenly lost interest in my reflection.

"Demanded the matching lacy, black bra ..."

"And your legs, the sheer, black stockings ..."

"But now we all have something else on our mind," I fretted, heading for the door. "Didn't you hear that?"

"Whoa, Jeffrey! Where are you going before Denise has posed for the family album in her latest outfit?"

"Listen, Susie - can't you guess who's outside, failing to start his engine?"

"You mean ..."

"Yes ..."

"Ernie's a must to avoid,
A complete liability."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I've got him centred in my sights, Jeffrey."

"Don't give yourself away," I cautioned, on Susie sneaking another look out of the box room window.

"It's okay - Ernie's head is still under the bonnet. Uh-oh!" Susie hastily ducked down. "Now he's surfacing and taking off his belt."

"If it's one made of buckles, it won't work as a temporary repair," I moaned. "He'll soon be knocking at the door, asking to borrow a pair of my old tights - not that I've got any."

"Yes, you have - the full range."

"But they're all as new as Denise."

"What about those I used on Lolita last night?"

"They'll be needed to tie up Tara when she's being trained in the art of escapology by Mrs Peel."

"I honestly don't know where Denise is getting her ideas from, Jeffrey. Any more proposals of lesbian bondage, and I'll cancel our subscription to Reader's Digress."

"This is comic madness, Susie - why are we spending time fashioning a hosiery routine when Ernie's the knotty problem?"

Susie took a crafty peek into the road. "Not an immediate one - he's back on the job."

"You'd think an ex-burglar would have retired to bed at this hour after all those years on the nightshift," I griped.

"I told you it was tempting fate, having porridge for breakfast, Jeffrey, but you wouldn't listen."

"They add black treacle in prison, not kiwi fruit."

"Whatever, Jeffrey - Ernie's given up on the van, and he's stumbling this way."

"Oh, sugar!"

"Oops, that belt isn't only for show. His pants have fallen down, and he's tripped over the turn-ups."

"Come on, then," I urged, "let's abandon house before he pulls himself together."

"There's no need to rush, Jeffrey. We won't exit pursued by a bare Ernie - he's going to be unavoidably detained."

"Why - is the poor beggar face-up in the gutter seeing stars?"

"Quite the opposite - cop this ..." Susie drew back the curtains with a flourish. "There's no knap on Ernie's shirt, and a couple of community patrol officers are staring at his moon."

"And mum always thought Ernie was wildly romancing when he claimed to be a weekend commando."

"They're taking his details, Jeffrey. Our friend may soon need a character reference."

"Much as it pains me, Susie, we'll have to forego intervening on his behalf. It's time we made tracks to the tracks."

"Okay, let's slip out the back and decamp via dad and company."

"Right - finish packing, and I'll check the post."

"It's Sunday, Jeffrey."

"But we were out all day yesterday - mum might have put something aside and forgotten to mention it."

"Why - are you expecting an important delivery?"

"Not really, Susie, but I'll take a look, anyhow. There are always circulars and stuff, and mum says leaving them showing in the letterbox is an open invitation to opportunist housebreakers."

"I hope she doesn't mean Ernie."

"No, the family silver's safe from him even if we weren't leaving the unlucky rascal exposed to the eyes of the law."

"Poor old Ernie - one day he's three sheets to the wind, and the next the wind's to his two cheeks."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I buy buns and bananas, and you buy AAA cells, Jeffrey. First the phantom post, and now this - what's your game?"

"Nothing's more frustrating than batteries not included, Susie," I smiled.

"In what, Jeffrey?"

"All sorts - you never know when they might come in handy."

"Yes, you do."

"Okay, there's my bike lights for a start ..."

"Quick - this way," Susie directed, ensuring we were both handily diverted. "There's a taxi ready and waiting. With the money that's rolled in lately, we've no need to cut corners."

"Even so we shouldn't neglect more mundane methods of increasing our fortune, Susie," I advised, assuming control and conducting her past the rank. "As granddad says when he's cutting up the Radio Times into conveniently sized squares - 'Magnum vectigal est parsimonia'."

"What does that mean, Jeffrey?"

"Follow me, and I'll translate while we're waiting, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"The wheels on the bus go round and round,
Round and round, round and round.
The wheels on the bus go round and round,
Taking us out of town."

"Would you believe who's just hopped aboard, to intrude on our splendid isolation," Susie muttered, after we'd stopped to pick up two passengers from outside Heighton School.

"Oh, it's Coker and Bolsover," I panicked, putting away my mirror, before slouching down behind the seat. "Of all the buses in all the world, they had to choose this one."

"It seems the uncouth youths have joined us in deciding to skip the Blenkinsopp-Jones clash of ageing titans."

"And our paths cross again, but this time I'm dressed to thrill, not kill."

"So much for your 'Economy is a great revenue', Miss Thrifty. See what comes of insisting we go by public transport to the station. You're liable to meet the wrong class of person en route."

"I'd had my fill of taxis, Susie. You never know when you'll have to deal with a maniac behind the wheel."

"Or on the rugby field - I wonder if the booby brothers have recovered from the drubbing we gave them in their own backyard."

"They're walking wounded, it appears, Susie. Kipper's limping badly and Bully's got his arm in a sling."

"So they won't be going upstairs, out of our way. We'll have to confront them head on."

"Don't blooming wave at them," I hissed. "I haven't buttoned my jacket yet."

"Sit to attention, Denise, and thrust out your chest. They're the ones who should feel intimidated."

"I hope that's all they feel, Susie."

"Here come the ruddy oafs, Denise - be prepared to get our retaliation in first."

"Only if aloofly ignoring them proves unsuccessful," I advised, on the light of recognition dawning in our antagonists' eyes. "We don't want to risk being asked to leave the bus because of unruly behaviour."

"Hey, guess who's invited us to share their space, Bully," Coker smirked. "It's those cheeky young plebs Bobbie Cherry and Frankie Nugent."

"We're alone with them at last, Kipper," his henchman leered, as they plonked down opposite. "And with no referee to blow his whistle on our dirty play this time."

"Off the pitch, they've tarted themselves up a treat, Bully. But careful - now they're pretending to be Hell's Angels."

"Hill's Angels, riding pink scooters, more like, Kipper."

"Yes, you could almost believe they're real girls, and not leather boys wearing bras, Bully."

"I can see one of them has his own charlies in there, Kipper, and she isn't shy about showing them off."

"And I know why - the little lady's dressed up for his Sunday morning job in MacDonald's. She gets more tips this way."

"He deserves it. I've had a close inspection, and I'm buggered if I can tell the difference."

"Let them stare," Susie whispered. "Don't hide Pinky and Perky - it'll appear a sign of weakness."

"I only hope they don't take it for a sign of willingness," I murmured.

"What are they wittering about, Kipper?"

"Choosing their partners for later, no doubt, Bully," Coker guffawed. "It's a toss-up between us."

"I wouldn't mind the sweetie-pie serving me a couple of her delicious quarter pounders right here and now."

"And she's got the legs to go with them, Bully The whole package is as good as the genuine article."

"You can say that again, Kipper."

"And again ... and again ... and again."

"Take no notice of their stuttering eyeballs, Denise, the bozos are only envious of your visible assets."

"Ah, it's 'Denise' now you're out of shorts and in a skirt, is it?" Coker teased. "That's a nice girly name for a pretty boy."

"Thank you for the compliment," I smiled. "I hope this means we buried our differences on the field of combat."

"That goes for me too," Susie agreed. "And we'll forgive your initial rudeness, since it's clear you're both carrying injuries from that contest."

"The girls look like they now want to be our bosom buddies, Bully."

"Should we forgive and forget their foul play, Kipper?"

"It's the sporting thing to do, Bully. Gentlemen shouldn't harbour any hard feelings towards the weaker sex."

"Especially not if they help us get over them," Bolsover sniggered.

"I know what you mean," Coker winked. "I'm up for some heavy petting, too," he grunted. "How about we move to the back for a snogging session, girls?"

"Go ahead," Susie invited. "We'll act as look-outs and see you aren't disturbed."

"But keep the noise down," I warned. "Folk have been thrown off buses for less."

"The cocky pair are at it again, Kipper, rudely refusing to extend the hand of friendship."

"We'd rather fight you than be your pals, wouldn't we, Denise?"

"Their pushiness is bringing out the shove in me, Susie."

"So you want to be treated like bolshie boys," Coker menaced. "Then it's the duty of the school's top pranksters to initiate the newbies."

"Uh-oh, Susie," I gulped, as they rose from their seats. "Our defensive banter will prove of no avail."

"Won't even a barbed quip penetrate their thick skulls, Denise?"

"That'll only make matters worse, Susie. It's a golden rule of comedy that practical jokers are totally devoid of a sense of humour when on the receiving end."

"We're having a laugh now, though, aren't we, Kipper?"

"We'll do our worst, Bully. It's a pity we've cornered the little bunnies on a bus, and not in the bog."

"What'll we give them instead of a ducking in the toilet bowl, Kipper?"

"A rucking in the aisle, Bully."

"On and off the pitch, the rugby beasts really are a couple of bad eggs, Susie."

"Not even good in parts, Denise, but don't worry - the two of them couldn't tackle a fish supper."

"Let's show them how wrong they are, Bully."

"I'm ready to scrum down, Kipper."

"Pile in, Bully."

"Here they come, Susie."

"Aim for their vulnerable spots, Denise, and we'll teach the unrepentant chauvinists another lesson in manners."

"Give us a kiss, darling."

"Wrong time, wrong place."

"Ooooowwww!" Coker yowled, as I whipped his gammy leg from under him, and he went crashing to the floor.

"Timber - I've swept him off his feet."

"He got his eye wiped there, Tara. Now it's Emma's turn."

"Aaaaarrrggh!" Bolsover screeched, at Susie's twisting of his dislocated shoulder. "Geroff!" he yelped, tripping over Coker, in his desperate attempt to escape.

"Oooooooofff!"

"Right time, right place."

"Oooooooofff!"

"Timber - they're falling in love."

"That's knocked the air out of the blowhards," I cried, as Bully belly-flopped on top of his chum.

"Gee, Denise, what a passionate embrace they're locked in."

"Throw a bucket of water over them, Susie, before they frighten the horses."

"Hey, Mr Driver, can we borrow your fire-extinguisher," Susie whooped. "Things are hotting up in the rear."

"What the hell's going on back there?" the man yelled. "Come here, to the front, or I'm stopping the bus."

"We're on our way," I called, clambering over the prostrate bodies. "Keep going - we've a train to catch."

"Ow, you trod on me," Coker yelped.

"Sorry, was that my foot?"

"You should exercise more care when you're wearing high heels, not rugger boots, Denise," Susie reprimanded, before following through with a kick up Bully's behind.

"Ouuuuccchhhhhh!"

"It's no use crying now
You thought you had us
Just where you wanted,
But we got away somehow."

"You're bloody bonkers!" Coker screeched, rolling down his sock. "Look what you've done."

"Ooo, a bruise on a bruise on a bruise - that could turn nasty, Susie."

"He'll have a pig's trotter in the morning, Denise."

"Oh, move it, Susie - he's flailing around like a beached octopus."

"Use your authority and sort them out, sir," Coker shouted, as we skittered up the bus. "The vicious, little tramps tried to mug us."

"Don't you believe his fairy tales," Susie countered, on our arrival abreast of the driver. "It's not our fault the yobbos fell over the safety rail. We're convent girls."

"That counts for nothing against the word of two upright public school pupils," the man glared.

"No, they're not," Susie grinned. "After avenging their insults, we've left the posh boys flat out."

"You girls took advantage of our Heightonian code of honour," Coker whined.

"And then hit us below the belt," Bolsover wailed.

"Ignore the bundles of joy, Mr Driver - they've nothing to moan about. We handled them with care, didn't we, Denise?"

"Yes, Susie - right side up - on their heads."

"We'll get you for this," Kipper cursed.

"Nah, you couldn't lick a lollipop," Susie scoffed.

"If it wasn't for my leg ..."

"And my arm ..."

"Calm yourself, young sirs," the driver requested. "Let me deal with the matter."

"Go on, then," Susie urged. "You heard how he bullied us. And his mate's no better - they're a pair of reprehensible ruffians."

"I doff my cap to the honourable gentlemen every Sunday morning, and I've never had any trouble from them before."

"Show some working-class solidarity," I appealed. "Their dads are probably bankers of the most bourgeois kind."

"Button yourself up, my girl," the driver ordered. "And then you won't lead innocent boys astray."

"Don't talk to Denise like that," Susie scolded. "We're lesbians."

"Not on my bus, you're not," the man frothed. "You've made my decision for me - at the next stop, you're off, off, off!"

"But we're the injured party, ref," Susie protested. "We only gave the creeps the brush-off in self-defence."

"It must have been some brush-off to floor those two heavyweights."

"I suppose it is better described by a clean sweep," Susie admitted. "But it's not as if we laid them out across two tables, or ..."

"That's enough," the driver complained. "Your antics have made me pass three stops in a row."

"Hardly anybody was waiting. Put your foot down, or we'll miss our train."

"Health and safety come first," the man asserted. "I can't continue while there's a potential danger to the bus."

"Give the louts a spray of foam, then," Susie urged. "That'll cool things down."

"So will separating the two sides, and as you're the only ones left standing, you can walk the rest of the way."

"Why can't a big strong guy like you drag the real troublemakers onto the pavement?" Susie challenged.

"Laying a hand on sons of the aristocracy is more than my job's worth."

"I knew he'd eventually say that, Denise."

"Now look what you've made me do," the driver fumed, as we sped past a frantically waving woman. "Thanks to you, the songs of praise at Saint Joseph's will lack musical support this morning - the church organist has missed her bus."

"Never mind - there'll be another one along in a minute."

"Any more lip from you, young lady, and I'll push the panic button."

"That's right," Bully spluttered, hauling himself up onto a seat. "You tell the clever clogs where to get off."

"And her high-heeled mate," Kipper seethed. "They're both certifiable psychos. The last time we met, they mowed down half a rugby team."

"We had no choice, sir," I explained to the driver. "It was every man for herself."

"But notwithstanding the rough and tumble, we adopted a scientific approach, Denise."

"Yes, Susie - we tripped the opposition before they tripped us."

"After poleaxing the referee so you could bring on Coppertop's dad," Bolsover accused.

"We exhibited supreme tactical skill," Susie contended, turning to shake her fist at our victims. "And you're asking for another clobbering, you poltroons."

"What more proof do you need!" Coker ejaculated. "She's up for it again - threatening us with gratuitous violence."

"Don't believe his lies, sir," I implored. "He's taking you for a ride."

"But I'm not taking you for one, my girl. This is as far as we go." The driver pulled into the kerb and opened the doors. "Leave my bloody bus - or I shall summon outside assistance."

"You wait until our friends in the press hear about your misogynistic attitude," Susie declared.

"And they can sod off, too."

Susie wagged her finger at the driver. "Any more of that offensive language, and we'll sue for verbal abuse."

"See you in court - but you won't be going there on this bus."

"My cousin's a top solicitor, and he's never lost a case."

"I don't care if he's Perry bleeding Mason - you're hiking the rest of the way."

"Read our friend the Public Transport Act, Denise."

"We haven't an hour to spare, Susie. Come on," I exhorted, taking her by the arm. "If you keep arguing, we'll miss our train for sure."

"Listen to your friend," the driver instructed. "Somebody's talking sense at last. This bus isn't moving another inch while you remain aboard."

"Let's go, Susie - his resorting to unofficial strike action means we've won a moral victory."

"Plus a physical one on the ground, Denise. So, as the clock is against us, we'll graciously transfer our business to the railway."

"Be my guest," the driver invited, inhospitably showing us the exit.

"How about a refund for an uncompleted journey?" Susie demanded.

"No chance - the computer won't open the drawer. Now hop it, or you'll have the police to contend with. I'm through acting Mr Reasonable."

"All right, but you haven't heard the last of this, Mr Snide," Susie promised, as we descended the step. "I'll write to our MP."

"She's in prison for fraud - the silly, greedy woman."

"Then just you wait until I email Polly Toynbee about your plebism and sexism. You'll be boycotted by the whole Hampstead intelligentsia."

"Bugger those toffee-nosed highbrows! Shoreham's held no attraction for Labour luvvies since Frank Randle supped his last," the driver snorted, shutting the doors, and revving the engine.

"Watch out, Susie, or he'll run over your foot."

Susie gave the bus a kick as it accelerated away. "Somebody may feel my kinky boot up their backside before the day is done, Jeffrey."

"I feared we might have a shoe crisis, Susie, but I didn't anticipate having to deploy my trainers this early in the expedition."

"While you're soft-shoe shuffling, Jeffrey - who's Frank Randle?"

"An anarchic Lancashire comedian - in Shoreham's golden age, the top attraction at its theatres and magistrates' court."

"Ah, subversive humour - we know where the man was coming from, eh, Jeffrey."

"Only too well, Susie - but I hope we get where we're going to without any further pratfalls."

 

 

Chapter 176

"We've scarcely left home, Jeffrey, and you already have us running for our lives."

"Save your breath, Susie, or we really will miss the train."

"Over there, then." Susie veered off to the left. "Up that ginnel - it must be a shortcut."

"You're non-sequituring again," I chided, following her into the gloom between the buildings. "It could just as easily lead to a dead-end."

"No way ..."

"Eeeooooooowwwwwwww!"

"That's right," I decided, when a strangled scream greeted our plunge into the narrow alley. "This is no way to go."

"Heeeeeeeeeeeelllllllpppp!" A follow-up shriek echoed off the walls.

"Forward, Jeffrey - someone's under attack."

"And we could be next unless you make discretion the better part of valour."

"Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhh!"

"To the rescue, Tara!" Susie whooped. "We can't let down our role models on their first summons to action."

"Not so impetuous, Mrs Peel," I cautioned. "You might run into a whole gang of eccentric villains."

"No - there they are," Susie cried, sprinting ahead. "It's one man lying on the ground and another flying on a mountain bike. We won't need John Steed to lend a brolly - the chicken's already taken to his wheels."

"Good - you've seen off the danger," I cheered. "No further heroics are required."

"Stop thief!" Susie hollered, spurning my advice and giving chase as the assailant hot-pedalled it into the open. "Get his number, Jeffrey."

"Even I can't read a frame stamp at this distance," I called after her. "Come back - you'll never catch him."

"Bugger the mugger!" The bike and its rider disappeared round the corner, leaving Susie frustrated. "The dirty dog's got clean away with it."

"Then hurry over here," I urged. "Your medical expertise is required."

"The cowardly custard had the cheek to give me the finger," Susie snorted, on her return to the scene of the attack. "I hope his front wheel gets stuck in a tramline, and he goes somersaulting over the handlebars."

"Forget the felon - we'd best attend to the injured party. He appears thoroughly dishevelled."

"Even Beau Brummel wouldn't look his best with a bump that big on his bonce," Susie observed, after a cursory inspection of the prostrate victim's wounded head. "Do you think he's seriously hurt?"

"You're the girl with the certificate, Susie - what's the preliminary diagnosis?"

"At first glance, the patient's peepers have forgotten the value of teamwork, Jeffrey."

"They do have a mixed-up aspect," I agreed.

"You'd need a gyroscope to track their movements. The poor chap's eyeballs are rotating in different directions."

"You'd better phone for an ..."

"Where am I?"

"Hang on, Denise - he's showing signs of reorientation."

"What happened?" the man moaned.

"You were mugged, but you're safe now," Susie assured. "We, avenging angels, were quick on the scene and put the hoodie to flight."

"After the damage had been done," the ungrateful fellow admonished, struggling to regain focus. "Where were you when I needed you, Hugh?"

"Don't stammer at us," Susie huffed. "We'd have got here sooner only you weren't insensible then."

"Hugh's been insensible?"

"No - we's okay - but you's a bit doolally."

"He is not."

"Who isn't?"

"Hugh isn't."

"But you is."

"I won't hear another word against him," the invalid objected, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Just a minute - you aren't anything to do with Hugh."

"Yes, we are - and twice over," Susie declared. "You're the one who's not fully self-aware."

"If Hugh isn't here, what's become of Hugh?"

"He's babbling like a baby, Jeffrey," Susie whispered.

"What did you say?" our charge croaked. "Where is Hugh?"

"We is here with you."

"I still can't see him," the man blinked. "I want Hugh to ..."

"You've got us two - don't worry about it anymore," Susie soothed. "We've frightened off the hooligan, you see."

"Hugh's not a hooligan."

"That's right - we's your friends."

"Although I am Irish on my mother's side," I confessed.

"Ah, there are two of you."

"Yes, you're not seeing double," I comforted. "It's all becoming clear to you now."

"Good - Hugh knows what to do."

"Yes, we Dinky Doos," Susie smiled. "We'll have you ups and abouts in no time."

"But I'm the one who's down and out," the victim insisted. "Why is Hugh not here now, looking after me?"

"We is, isn't we, Denise?"

"Yes, and you's no doubt about it, have you, sir?"

"But I haven't - where is he?"

"Who?"

"Hugh."

"The poor bod's having a relapse, Denise."

"Help me, please, if Hugh can't," the man appealed.

"Now the bod's talking in riddles," Susie muttered.

"Perhaps he's concussed," I suggested.

"I'll put him to the test." Susie waved her hand in front of the casualty's face. "How many fingers have I got up, Mr Muggee?"

"Thursday."

"No, it's Sunday."

"Already - then listen," the man hissed, anxiously looking around. "I need to remind Hugh - my classified material is of the utmost importance."

"The Avengers won't forget, will they, Denise?"

"Not if you can help it, Susie."

"But Hugh isn't here," the man despaired.

"Yes, we are, but urgently required elsewhere, so what can we do for you before we go?" I asked.

"Nothing for him, but help me recover my briefcase," the convalescent gasped, rising to his knees. "It's vital - the contents mustn't fall into Fritz's hands ... uuuuhhh ..."

"Go on, sir," Susie encouraged.

"Help me up - I have a train to ... uuuuhhh ... uuuuhhh ... a train to catch ... uuuuhhh ..." he sputtered, before fainting dead away.

"The effort's proved too much for the old boy, Jeffrey - he's gone missing, along with his briefcase."

"He won't see that again or its contents, Susie. And it's likely we won't see the Lake District, either."

"Right - I suppose we should dial 999."

"Wait," I motioned, as the clatter of footsteps reverberated on the cobbles. "If this is another good Samaritan, we can off-load our responsibility and still catch the train."

"Yoo-hoo," Susie waved at the figure emerging from the shadows. "Quick, Mister - over here."

The squat, dark stranger there, with moustache and slicked-back widow's peak, came rushing up to us. "What's happened to Dr Watt?" he puffed. "And who are you?"

"Give us a chance to explain," Susie appealed. "The doc's been mugged."

"Oh no!" the newcomer gasped. "He's was afraid of something like that."

"So is Dr Watt a friend of yours?" I enquired.

"I am assisting him today."

"Then you're the very person we're looking for," Susie announced. "Over to you ... er ..."

"Hugh."

"You what?"

"No, we're not related - it's Howe - Hugh Howe."

"Very well, very," Susie grinned, raising her hand. "How to you too, chief. Me, Susie, this, Denise."

"How do you do, I'm Hugh."

"Two in the same alley, with an identical identity crisis - would you believe it, Denise?"

"I think he might, Susie."

"Yes, I have this trouble a lot," the man acknowledged. "But how are you to avoid it when your name is Hugh Howe."

"Got it," Susie smiled. "Hugh is you, and we take it this poor fellow really is Dr Watt, not Dr Who - but you are his travelling companion, Hugh."

"Correct - I'm a private detective."

"You don't look like one."

"I try not to."

"And what does Watty want a private detective who could pass mustard as a French chef for?" Susie quizzed.

"I'm sorry - that isn't for me to say. You'll have to ask Dr Watt."

"The doc's not in at present. Perhaps he'd have done better hiring a bodyguard."

"I take good care of my clients in all respects. Personal protection is part of the service."

"Then you've fallen down on this job," Susie reproved. "The doc continuously cried in vain for you, Hugh."

"I've done my best to guard Dr Watt," Howe bridled.

"Or yourself, by keeping a safe distance between you," Susie accused. "What were you up to when the doc needed your assistance?"

"I wasn't up to anything," Howe protested. "The fact of the matter is, Miss, I'd been temporarily distracted from my duty."

"So, you were waylaid by a suspicious character."

"No - quite the contrary," Howe revealed. "Believe it or not, I met a charming young lady conducting a survey in support of 'Save the Tuna'."

"I vote 'not', Denise. How does Mr Howe's fisherman's tale sit with you?"

"Perhaps the girl wasn't all she, seemed," I offered. "It has been known."

"Well, her credentials seemed genuine enough," Howe claimed. "And she signed me up for a direct debit."

"So a chugger made you miss a mugger - is that your excuse?" Susie challenged.

"Yes, and what business is it of yours, anyway? Who are you?"

"Smith and Jones - of the Good Samaritans ..."

Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo!

"Hear that whistle blow, Susie?"

"Loud and clear, Denise."

"Then end your cross-examination. We'll need to hurry, or we'll miss the boat."

"But this could prove a very interesting turn of events, Denise."

"Not if we have to hang around in a dingy backstreet for ages, repeating our story to one policeman after another, instead of travelling first-class through an area of great natural beauty," I argued.

"You make a telling, if exhaustive, point, Denise."

"And as you said yourself - steam journeys are where the classic intrigues happen."

"Okay," Susie conceded. "And we'll hope an assault in an alley isn't worth two-timing on a train."

"Let's scoot, then," I encouraged. "We don't want to be left on the platform, waving good-bye to an adventure."

"I'm right in front of you," Susie affirmed, stepping over the unfortunate victim. "We'll give Mr Howe a second chance to shine and return the care of Dr Watt to his less than capable hands."

"Not so fast - you're witnesses to the attack. I want to know exactly what happened and how you came to be so conveniently present," Howe insisted.

"Your client was mugged by a man on a mountain bike, and we arrived on foot, after getting thrown off a bus," Susie responded.

"I didn't see anyone on a bike. Which way did he go?"

"In the opposite direction you came from, obviously."

"But that's towards the station," Howe spluttered.

"Why is that such a surprise?" I questioned.

"Perhaps it isn't to you," Howe insinuated. "Something tells me you're withholding information."

"The nerve of the man, Denise - trying to implicate us in his incompetence."

"He has suddenly changed his tune, Susie."

"Just because he's a not so clever dick, this is no way to treat a pair of willing first responders."

"Certain people may think you can be even more helpful," Howe hinted. "Why are you in such a hurry to leave?"

"Because we've a train to catch," I asserted. "You're his bodyguard, that'll trump innocent passers-by in the eyes of the police."

"I'm not referring to the ..."

"Hugh, Hugh," Dr Watt rallied in mid-revelation, and reached out to Howe. "You're here at last."

"Oh, the doc's back in, Denise."

"And looking lively, Susie - we can depart in good conscience."

"Find my briefcase, Hugh," the regenerated Dr Watt ordered, pulling himself shakily to his feet. "It's been stolen."

"Yes, sir - all in good time. I'm trying to find out how these girls are involved."

"Not at all - and you're the one with the explaining to do about your dereliction of duty," Susie reminded him. "Best of luck with it - see you later."

"I very much hope not," I muttered, taking Susie's arm and setting off at a run before she decided to pursue the matter of the 'certain people' Howe was referring to when fortuitously interrupted.

"Wait - don't go - what sort of good Samaritans are you?" Howe demanded, as we left him holding the doc.

"Private detective ones," Susie laughed over her shoulder. "And we could teach you a few lessons about sleuthing."

"I wish you hadn't said that," I muttered. "You might have given the man a dangerously misleading impression of us."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Hey, Jeffrey, look over there by the wall," Susie exclaimed, when we jogged onto Shoreham North's forecourt. "That could be the bike the dirty beast whizzed up the alley on."

"It's identical, Susie, and unlocked. Perhaps the thief abandoned it to complete his getaway by rail."

"Old Dr Watt had a train to catch, as well. I wonder if ..."

"Don't speculate, Susie. I'm glad you resisted the temptation to get us involved in the case of the mysterious mugging."

"And the missing briefcase and its classified contents, Jeffrey - there's probably more to the affair than meets the eye."

"However fascinating, I'm sure my mother wouldn't see the necessity of our intervention, Susie."

"Very droll, Jeffrey, but what I saw is a supposed doctor who didn't have the appearance of a medical man. He had dirt under his fingernails for a start."

"There are other sorts of doctors, Susie."

"Yes, but how many of them hire a minder - and a not very efficient, second-rate one?"

"Perhaps Howe was all the old doc could afford if he is actually a shady used-car salesman, cum dicey importer of shoddy goods."

"Or a clandestine operator with a contact on the train. And what about Hughie-boy? He didn't appear green by nature. Maybe his 'Save the Tuna' excuse was a red herring, and he's a double-dealer who deliberately deserted his post."

"You're never short of a theory or three, Susie," I smiled, steering her well clear of the bike, and keeping us on course for the station entrance.

"Mr Howe didn't inspire confidence in you, either. Maybe he's really a too-clever-by-half dick."

"You cover all the bases, Susie."

"Admit it, Jeffrey - in terms of integrity, the man acted more like a Sam Spade than a Philip Marlowe."

"He reminded me of Frank Cannon. I wonder if Mr Howe also has a big car to accommodate his beer belly."

"We've more important things to discuss than comparing the detectives, Jeffrey. For instance - who's the 'Fritz' Dr Watt mentioned?"

"Possibly his cat."

"Or a German, after stealing his secret formula - British Aerospace and British Nuclear Fuels are bang on our doorstep. And the doc did sport an unkempt, Einsteinian hairdo, so he might be getting his hands mucky working at the coalface for both of them."

"On plans for an atomic escalator, no doubt."

"Don't be silly, Jeffrey."

"Okay, then - how about a Metalunan interocitor?"

"Whatever from wherever, Jeffrey - the Germans are past masters at pinching our best ideas and passing them off as their own."

"You mean like Leibnitz with Newton's fluxions, Susie?"

"Precisely, Jeffrey ... and electricity .... and chemistry ... and football ... and jet engines ... and ..."

"Did you know the Luftwaffe bombed granddad's favourite chippy? He says it'll only take a lick of grey paint, and the Jerries will be ready for the off again."

"He needn't worry," Susie grinned. "I hear the Wehrmacht are reduced to training with broomsticks these days."

"Ernie's mother-in-law is pretty scary when so equipped, by all accounts."

"Better not mention the war, anyhow, Jeffrey, but keep your ears open for a clicking of the heels, the thwack of sausage on lederhosen, and a harsh guttural accent."

"In the books I've read, German spies have public school manners, wear a Savile Row suit, and speak impeccable English."

"Then we'll ask any potential rogue males to explain what a silly mid-off and a backward short-leg are."

"That could lead to some confusion if there's an American tourist on-board. Better get der Kerl to say 'squirrel' instead."

"Squirrel, Jeffrey?"

"Yes, Germans are congenitally unable to pronounce the word."

"No, that's the Japanese, surely."

"And the Germans, Susie. They have difficulty wrapping their tongues around 'throat', too."

"Froat -that's Cockney-eyed, Jeffrey. The fing is you're deliberately confusing the issue, by making make-believe."

"If it's foreign agents with funny accents you're on the look-out for, I have my suspicions about the guy down the chip shop who talks Elvish."

"There's no call to go off into the realms of fantasy, Jeffrey."

"Then bear that constantly in mind, Susie."

"You'll see, Jeffrey. This little excursion may turn out less dull than you hoped. German or not, I'm sure a ruthless felon's hiding out among our fellow passengers."

"If one is, he'll be harder to cop than an engine like the Duchess."

"So we'll have to closely scrutinise folk's behaviour. Every breath they take, every move they make, we'll be watching them."

"That's police talk, Susie."

"Followed up by police action when we expose our man, Jeffrey."

"Are you sure that's wise, Susie?"

"Cracking crime is no more foolish than wasting time solving crossword puzzles."

"I've pencils to hand for that, although I'm clean out of ball-bearings and Jif Lemon, so we're not fully-equipped for another skirmish."

"That's your fault for rushing me out before we'd improvised today's defensive weapons. But fear not, Jeffrey, we need only be armed with our native charm and your sonic nail-file."

"All I have in that department is a couple of battery powered fountain pens, Susie."

"You're gadget mad, Jeffrey. Still, if things get up-close and personal, we can squirt the beggars in the eye with them."

"Which may not endear us to the ruthless people you're intent on interfering with, Susie."

"It probably won't come to that, because they don't know we're onto them. And I won't give anything away with my subtle probing."

"Now I really can see danger ahead," I muttered, on making our entrance into Shoreham North.

"Nonsense, Jeffrey, that's a guard with his red flag. You'll be perfectly safe in transit. Your cover as a blossoming schoolgirl is impenetrable."

"But I'm out of uniform, wearing make-up and nail varnish."

"Denise still looks nothing like a serious secret agent even with her twin 32s - a honey trap, maybe."

"I do not," I protested. "We always dress for ourselves ... and you."

Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo!

"Listen, sugar baby love, someone's wolf-whistling their agreement with me."

"That's our train, Susie. Full steam ahead - it's eight fifty-nine, and the railway time-table waits for no girls, sweet as they may seem."

 

 

Chapter 177

"We apologise for the delay to customers of the 09 00 hours special now standing on platform four. This is due to a delay in the actual service."

"That was a highly uninformative announcement," Susie frowned, as we approached the ticket barrier. "I think we're entitled to know what sort of the wrong kind of leaves are on the line."

"We shouldn't complain, Susie - it means we'll have time to stroll down the platform and admire Sir William Stanier's crowning achievement."

"Tickets please, girls," the man in the booth demanded. "Or I can't allow you to proceed any further. This is a private train."

"Here you are - two for the Pullman," Susie smiled, handing over Uncle Frank's gifts. "Make a neat job of it with your punchy thingummy. I'm having the little beauties framed as souvenirs of a memorable occasion."

"Are you on your own?" the inspector queried, eyeing us suspiciously. "These are for first class."

"And so are we," Susie huffed. "Only the best is good enough for two smart girls, isn't that right, Denise?"

"Actually, sir, it's down to our parents - they don't want to risk their daughters falling foul of any stray football hooligans left over from Saturday."

"There's no danger of those kind of antics. Steam aficionados are gentlemen personified. They know how to behave on trains - I hope you do."

"We'll take our lead from the devotees and not flush the toilet in the station," Susie promised.

"On your way, then, madam." The official grudgingly waved us through. "And keep your feet off the seats."

"Will do, sir," I saluted, in passing.

"The cheek of the beggar, Denise, calling our credentials and posture into question," Susie snorted, as we wended our way past the carriages to the crimson-lake liveried Duchess of Sutherland in charge of the train.

"We do look a little out of place," I reflected, on observing the garb of our fellow passengers. "Perhaps we should have dressed more Victorian, after all."

"Why - did they invent the anorak?"

"No, I think that originated with the Eskimos."

"Are you sure? It's news to me they were big on trainspotting in the Arctic - whalespotting, maybe."

"You'll soon have the chance to ask an authority on the subject." I pointed up ahead at the figure, clad in a king-sized, fleecy parka, making a precipitate exit from the cab of the engine. "Here comes a railway buff if I ever saw one."

"But why is he being pursued by a hail of slack, Denise? Is it a ready-for-the-off, good-luck tradition, like chucking rice at a wedding?"

"I doubt it, but the word 'off' certainly constituted part of the abuse hurled at him - along with numerous self-contradictory expletives."

"Oh, watch out," Susie warned, as, sheltering under his hood, the young man, disoriented by the impossible directives, reeled blindly towards us. "He's pulled the fur over his eyes."

"Ooooooeeer!"

"Catch, Susie," I cried, "before he steps out into space and disappears under the wheels."

"Let go!" the lad yelled, resisting our efforts to drag him from the edge of the platform. "I was only trying to help."

"Don't struggle, friend. You're safe in the arms of Susie and Denise, whoever you are."

"Aaah, I'm falling!"

"No, you're not - we've got you," I assured. "Take a big stride back onto solid ground."

"And come down to earth," Susie instructed. "You've passed the audition for the Bolshoi Ballet."

"Oh, that's better," the youth gasped, on regaining his balance.

"Are you okay now?" I enquired.

"Yes, thanks for keeping me upright," our new acquaintance blinked, emerging fresh-faced from his cocoon. "How do you do - I'm Ronan."

"The librarian, I presume," Susie laughed.

"No, he's a Leo," I corrected. "You can tell by the mane."

"I get you," Ronan grinned, finally subduing the ferocious hood of his parka. "But it came in handy there."

"Yes, what led to your sudden retreat?" Susie asked.

"I climbed up to quiz the crew about their problems, and we had a slight disagreement over a technical matter."

"Ah, Denise," Susie nodded, "they can't decide whether it's a newspaper and shoelaces or a belt and braces job."

"Possibly," Ronan accepted, after giving us a baffled look. "The pair of them were clearly flummoxed. You'd have thought they'd be grateful for any advice offered."

"Whatever you proposed," Susie sympathised, "I'm sure they'll regret rejecting your invaluable expertise."

"And it'll serve the luddites right. I explained the mechanisms of a Coronation Class steam engine, at length and in detail, but no one listened to me."

"Not even the trees?" Susie smiled.

"I might as well have been talking to two short planks," Ronan complained. "They'd never heard of the second law of thermodynamics."

"Yes, a specialist, like you, probably knows more about this old lady's intricate inner workings than those on the footplate," Susie flattered. "What do you imagine the fault is?"

"I suspect they're using the wrong kind of coal," Ronan disclosed. "I repeatedly informed them of my opinion, and you saw the thanks I got."

"Never mind - we're on your side," Susie declared. "The Duchess of Sutherland deserves only the finest fuel money can buy."

"You mean like the special Welsh stuff in 'Henry the Green Engine', Susie."

"Obviously, Denise - it goes without, saying, doesn't it, Ronan?"

"Well, nobody could argue about there being too much slack present," Ronan grimaced, brushing the dust off his fur. "On the other hand, it could also be trouble with the bogies."

"Bogies, Denise - that'll be as in 'Thomas Gets the Snots'," Susie chuckled. "Perhaps we should lend them our hankies."

"Don't mock, Susie - trainspotting is a serious hobby."

"I hope you won't take offence if I pull you up into a siding there," Ronan reproved. "Trainspotting has become passe - gricing is the favoured modern term."

"We're old-fashioned girls, so how do you feel about us gricing, Denise?"

"I'd rather we stuck to skooking, Susie."

"I've never heard of that," Ronan frowned. "What's skooking?"

"Nothing much at the moment," Susie confessed. "What's cooking with you?"

"No, honest," Ronan blushed. "Among we true-believers, it really is called gricing."

"Then thanks for the update," Susie grinned. "I might have bopped someone if they'd had the audacity to call me a gricer. How about you, Denise?"

"I can't envisage any of the Royal Family mistaking us for fruit and veg merchants, Susie."

"Although your gran runs a farm shop, doesn't she, Denise?"

"Yes, and who should drop in this weekend but a noble character warmly - if somewhat icily because of his lineage - greeting one and all."

"Honestly," Ronan gawped. "Which of the aristocracy ventured so far up north - the Duke of Westminster?"

"No - Frosty the Snowman."

"You must be joking, Denise."

"Not a bit, Susie - gran swears she saw the jolly, happy soul, displaying the common touch, over by the carrots, rudely picking his nose."

"What have you to say to that, Ronan?" Susie winked.

"I don't get it. We had a cool summer, but, even so, wouldn't a snowman have melted away by now?"

"The boy's right, Denise."

"Then gran must have been pulling my leg," I smiled.

"And you fell for it, and I didn't," Ronan laughed.

"Yes, the jokes on me," I shrugged. "But enough of the frivolity - I think we need further educating in your lingo before we commit any more faux pas."

Ronan warmed to the task. "See those old chaps weighed down with all the cameras and stuff - they're festoons. And I suppose I'm more of a steam-basher - a numbers man."

"Yes cataloguing things is a male obsession," Susie agreed. "My little brother's a squirrel spotter."

"A squirrel spotter - I've never met one of them."

"Has Ronan passed, Denise?"

"With flying consonants," I murmured.

Ronan appeared bemused again. "Pardon - I didn't quite catch that."

"We were saying everything's become comprehensible to us now, weren't we, Denise?"

"Perfectly, Susie, and with any luck, we'll avoid you putting our feet in it."

"Understood, Denise - so, Ronan, is there any other inside information you wish to impart?"

"If you're interested, I also collect autographs as well as train numbers. A lot of very famous people travel by rail, you know."

"We can't wait to hear about them," Susie encouraged. "Have any big namers, like the Emperor of Lancashire, signed your book lately?"

"I might have copped the Archbishop of Canterbury in the York Railway Museum."

"Ah, you tracked down the old boy off-duty, incognito, did you?"

"No, in full regalia - he had on a flowing robe and a funny hat, and carried that swinging thingy, so I requested a selfie."

"And were your prayers answered?" I enquired. "Did his grace graciously oblige?"

"Well, he made his mark. The blighter hit me over the head - with what turned out to be his handbag - and then told me to sod off."

"That's a shame - he gave you signs of the cross, but now you'll never know for sure," Susie commiserated. "Still, if it was the holy archbish, it's lucky for you he'd left his big shepherd's crook at home, or you might have caught it round the neck, too."

"I could have sworn I'd spotted the chap on the telly - or someone very like him."

"Perhaps you confused the gent with Batman, or another costumed crime fighter," I suggested.

"Now you mention it - I haven't spied you both on YouTube, have I?"

"Not to our knowledge, but it could've been a dynamic duo very like us, eh, Denise?"

"I doubt ..."

Riiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnngg! Riiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnngg!

"Woo!" Susie exclaimed, as, in response to the sudden chimes from the engine, we were side-tracked to the action at the front of the train. "Whacking the Duchess with a sledge hammer is a desperate measure to get us moving."

"The chap's a wheeltapper, making a final check everything rings true," Ronan elucidated, opening a leather-bound notebook. "Excuse me while I log the event."

"Clock that, Denise," Susie whistled, when the earnest enthusiast rolled up his sleeve to consult an elaborate chronometer. "It'd take a brave man to challenge this guy to a watch-off."

Ronan proudly thrust out his timepiece for our inspection. "It's guaranteed to lose less than a second every million years."

"Incredible," Susie marvelled. "But how long does the strap last?"

"Don't tease, Susie - that futuristic miracle on Ronan's wrist is worth its weight in Rolex Lobsters."

"In that case, he must have bought it on tick, Denise."

"No, I paid in full," Ronan insisted. "The little beauty's all mine - honest."

"Ignore our inane chit-chat, Ronan - we're simply envious," I smiled. "Come on - tell us the star-date."

"It's precisely 09:10:27:37."

"And how many centisecs are we from departure?"

"Give or take an unforeseen leaky gasket, we should be underway in approximately the next few minutes."

"Then we'd better find our seats, Susie."

"Before you go, I have to take a close-up of the Walschaerts valve gear for my photo gallery."

"Sorry, are we blocking your view?"

"No, just move to the front of the engine, Denise - I need added interest for the picture," Ronan explained. "So if one of you could stand each side, and point to the rocking shafts, that would doubly enhance the composition."

"You mean drape ourselves over it, like those motor show models," I pouted.

"Not exactly, but it's always good practice to have an idea of the scale of things," Ronan enthused. "And it'll deter the folk in the cab from throwing more coal at me."

"Since it's for safe science and not risque cheesecake, we'll happily oblige," Susie consented. "Are you ready to lend a sense of proportion to Ronan's efforts, Denise?"

"Wait a minute while I change my shoes. I don't want to be caught flat-footed curtseying at a Duchess."

"Get ready for lift-off," Susie warned, as I retrieved the high heels from my bag. "The trouble we're going to, you'd better make this piccy a priceless work of art, Ronan."

"I will - just like the one I took, lying on my back, at the front."

"That should make a memorable shot, if nothing else," I allowed.

"Yes, I jiggled the camera, hoping to give the impression the train was hurtling full speed towards me."

"Hey, Denise - have you ever looked up and seen an irresistible object bearing down from above?"

"Only you, Susie," I smiled, on returning to the vertical and striking a pose. "Okay, I'm now fully-equipped to act the part."

"Ah yes, those are a fine pair of streamliners," Ronan approved. "If you'd just move a little closer together, then turn and face me."

"Like this?"

Click!

"That's perfect with the steam rising in the background and the smoke coming out of the chimney."

"Yes, they're mucky beasts, aren't they?" Susie sniffed. "And smelly."

"That's the scent of a mighty locomotive," Ronan hymned. "There's nothing quite like it, is there?"

Click!

"It's not Susie's first choice of perfume for us," I demurred.

"You girls are fragrant, too, but could you sort of play to the camera a bit more?"

"He wants you to undo another button on your jacket, Denise."

"It would improve the picture," Ronan appealed.

"I shouldn't, Susie," I blushed.

"But you will, Denise - you love being photographed semi-deshabille."

"Well, just one or two."

Click! Click!

"What an arrangement!"

"Get a move on, Chunky!" a bobble-hatted youth beckoned from a carriage window. "We've saved you a seat."

"Oh, I have to go."

"Unwet your lips, Denise, the shoot's over."

"Sorry to dash off," Ronan apologised, "but I'm the society coordinator. There's a shortage of young recruits, so if you're interested in joining, it's a reduced subscription for juniors."

"Crikey, Denise, our contributions should have already qualified us for honorary membership."

"I only expected to see our pictures tastefully displayed on the clubhouse wall, as reward, Susie."

"I'll lay your claims before the committee," Ronan promised. "They can't fail to be impressed."

"And while you're coordinating with them, ask your associates if they've spotted a stranger on the train."

"A stranger?" Ronan pondered.

"A non-enthusiast, closely guarding his precious briefcase," Susie elaborated. "Someone who doesn't talk your lingo or have the appearance of a typical gricer."

"Ah, you mean unusual characters, like yourselves."

"Yes, but not quite so photogenic," Susie smiled. "More mugshot material."

"Don't worry," Ronan assured, "Just call on the Bowland Bashers if you're bothered by any rum buggers. You'll find us in the dynamometer car most of the time."

"What are you doing, Chunky? We need your watch for our synchronising."

"See you later, girls." Ronan secured his equipment and set off for his compartment. "Hey, guys, wait till you see this - a preserved Duchess and two fresh princesses all in the one picture."

"I think the boy may be smitten with us, Denise."

"No chance, Susie - Ronan hasn't a first-class ticket. He'll have to make do with standing outside in the corridor."

"Or uploading his photos to Facebook."

"Yes, it's funny how some folk become excited at the sight of precision engineering, isn't it, Susie?"

"So much so, Chunky forgot to request our autographs, Denise."

"I wonder how he acquired that nickname, Susie. Ronan appeared slightly on the way to flabby, if anything."

"Perhaps it's in honour of his favourite chocolate bar."

"Or he could harbour a passion for canned pineapples in syrup," I mused.

"Yes, you'd best button up, Denise."

"Right, Susie - I wouldn't want Pinky and Perky to become the objects of any old festoons with their long lenses."

"All aboard who are going aboard!"

"That's us, Jeffrey."

"We'll have to hurry, Susie, first class is near the back."

"We'll get on at the front, Jeffrey, and scrutinize the compartments on our way down."

"What for, Susie?"

"Mr X, of course - we'll have a preliminary check for any suspicious characters."

"Going by our recent experiences, that's everyone and their dog. Can't you narrow it down a bit?"

"Watch out for anybody who crosses their legs from the left. They're not to be trusted, according to dad."

"Right - I suppose rugby-playing estate agents know how to spot a shifty character, Susie."

"Dad boasts he's never lost a tackle or a house yet, Jeffrey."

"But your uncle is homeless, thanks to our impetuousness, Susie."

"Don't change the subject, Jeffrey. We'll be left standing at the start if you keep hesitating before you agree with me."

"Okay," I smiled, opening the carriage door, "we shouldn't encounter too many dangers on a train."

Susie paused on the step. "And one more thing, Jeffrey."

"Yes, Susie."

"What happened to Henry the Green Engine?"

"He had a brand-new fire-box installed and steamed, happily ever after, at the head of the Flying Kipper."

"The Flying Kipper, eh - that rings a bell with us, Jeffrey."

Phweeeeeeeee! Phweeeeeeeee!

"And the guard's blowing his whistle, Susie. It's time for the off."

"So, are you ready to go adventuring again, Jeffrey?"

"Funnily enough, Denise isn't totally opposed to the idea," I confessed. "I wonder if I'm developing a split personality to go along with my double identity."

"Then both of you hop on-board," Susie grinned. "And the three of us will discuss it further."

"Okay, but in case of emergency, Jeffrey reserves the right to pull the communication cord."

 

 

Chapter 178

"See - you'd no need to hurry me along," Susie grumbled, as we settled into an unoccupied first-class compartment. "I could have popped my head around a few doors and noted any shifty characters for later investigation."

"I wanted to make sure we'd be by the window," I reiterated, bagging the middle seat, too. "You can go and cross-question the whole train once we've firmly established our territorial claims."

"Okay," Susie conceded, after mirroring my actions. "And when you've finished admiring your reflection, have you any ideas on how we'll subtly introduce squirrels into the conversation to unearth a German mole?"

"You could raise the subject of 18th century portrait paintings," I suggested. "They often feature the sitter with a pet squirrel."

"Another acorn of information from your well-stocked mind, Jeffrey, but to be perfectly blunt, I doubt many secret agents double as art historians."

"You're probably right, Susie," I smiled. "Scholarly spies are likely to prove thin on the rails, so you'll have to forego enquiring if the squirrels were specially trained to hold a pose."

"Enough, Jeffrey - supress your boyish weakness for whimsy."

"I'll try to concentrate on being seriously Denise at all times," I pouted. "Although it is a long, long journey."

"And a grimy one - these vintage carriages could do with a deep steam-clean."

"I'm glad this leather skirt's between the gunge and my undies, Susie. Who knows what residues have built up over the years?"

"There's a distinct lack of Pullman plushness, Jeffrey."

"The springs are okay, though," I approved, on rebounding away from an iridescent blotch.

"A teasing show of lace, Denise, but it's time to quit the seat-dancing, and behave in a less Lolita-like fashion," Susie cautioned.

"Oh, are we being watched?"

"Closely - the signs are we're about to have a distinguished visitor, together with his Alsatian best friend, dropping in on us. Squirrels to the ready, Jeffrey - at first appearances, the gent might even be an eminent art critic."

I looked up and saw a dapper, pavonine figure, with gratuitous hair for his age, peering in from the corridor. "That's a big dog taking him for a walk, Susie."

"The giant economy size, Jeffrey - and it's pawing at the door."

"Oh, here they come - with the beast already giving us the evil eye."

"We're its friends or its lunch, Denise. If only you'd thought to buy a box of Bonio instead of a bubble-pack of batteries."

"It'll be no joke if we have to give up our seats for the brute," I muttered, as the dog dragged in his master. "A bite on the apple and plum is not canine and dandy with me."

"Then make room, make room, Denise," Susie urged, hastily withdrawing her legs out of snapping distance. "Lacking a muzzle, the hound is free to do more than nuzzle."

"You've nothing to fear, young ladies," our guest reassured, while he and his bossy companion staked a claim to more than their fair share of space. "We both know how to conduct ourselves in the presence of the second sex."

"I hope so," I shuddered. "German shepherds are at your feet or at your throat. I've been wary of them ever since one bit gran on the ankle."

"Clearly an unfortunate misunderstanding," the man asserted. "A dog's natural instinct is to protect its master from a stranger."

"On this occasion, it was the other way round," I explained. "Herr Schafer blamed the full moon, but did beg gran's forgiveness afterwards. He even invited her to shake paws with his collie."

"I trust you're not insinuating I would ever dream of adopting such a cavalier approach, young lady."

"No, but what happens in real life could soon be worrying me. Your chum's sniffing a little too close for comfort," I complained.

"The inquisitive old boy's just familiarising himself with your scent, my dear."

"He seems more interested in the taste of leather than the smell of perfume," I frowned. "Get between us, Susie."

"Leave the mutt to me, Denise - I speak its language," Susie declared, throwing up her arm. "Ssssssitttttt!" she hissed. "Play dead, Fritzie."

"Eeeuuuuuuhhh!" the dog yelped, and cowered on the floor.

"Don't use that tone of voice with Mr Ben," the man glared. "Those rugged good looks conceal the nervous disposition of a true thoroughbred."

"You can relax, Denise - it turns out the brute's just a snooty bully behind the snarl."

"Mr Ben's not a brute or a bully - and he doesn't snarl. Kindly moderate your language."

"Sorry, Mr Bill," Susie apologised, "but you have to show the mutt whose hand's on the choke chain from the very first."

"Don't mention choke chains - it'll give Mr Ben nightmares. And stop referring to him as a mutt - you'll hurt his feelings."

"Okay - down, sir!" Susie ordered. "Roll over!"

"He certainly will not - and kindly address your requests to Mr Ben through me in future."

"Okay, Mr Bill."

"And don't call me 'Mr Bill'."

"Oh, do you prefer 'Mr Will', Mr Bill?"

"Neither - my name is Niven Nutbeam, Bachelor of Modern Literature."

"Hey, is that the degree I'll need to become an email etiquette consultant?" Susie grinned.

"Behave yourself," the man harrumphed. "Show the respect due a university senior librarian and honorary bard in residence."

"I wonder how business is among the shelves these Internet days, Denise."

"Pretty quiet all round, I'd imagine, Susie."

"I should have known better than to feed you the line, Denise."

"Yes, you should," Mr Nutbeam reprimanded. "With the information explosion, the modern librarian is a very busy fellow indeed."

"You can't have much time for your versifying, then," Susie sympathised.

"I don't versify - I'm a serious writer."

"Miss Smith is a serious reader, but we enjoy both enjoy a good whodunit. What's our current favourite, Denise?"

"'Lady, Don't Fall Backwards', Susie."

"A real page-turner if I remember rightly, Denise."

"It's a shame the last one was missing, though."

"A twist which only added to the mystery," Susie smiled. "Have you scribbled anything in the pulp fiction line, Mr Nutbeam?"

"I compose sonnets."

"Not much page turning there, then, unless you're knocking them out, willy-nilly, like Shakespeare."

"I don't knock them out - willy-nilly or otherwise," Mr Nutbeam bridled. "I'm a creative artist - quality, not quantity, is my aim."

"And how many superbly polished iambic pentameters have you blankly crafted lately?" Susie queried.

"I've several fragments awaiting completion, but my muse has temporarily deserted me. And the prospect of having my efforts compared to those of the Bard, himself, only adds to the pressure."

"Don't despair," Susie winked, "you can always tell folk the dog ate your odes."

"Mr Ben has more understanding of literary achievement, than you ever could muster," Mr Nutbeam sneered. "An appreciation of high art is clearly beyond your ken."

"Maybe, but we know a good, low poet when we hear one, don't we, Denise?"

"Well, we are big fans of Hovis Presley. Are you familiar with the gentleman and his works, sir?"

"Thankfully not - whoever and whatever they might be."

"I bet Denise's classical stuff is more in your line. She's lacking her parasol for the action sequences, but would you like to hear her declaim how Horatius held the bridge?"

"I've no time for that ancient Roman doggerel. Macaulay should have confined himself to his prose history of England."

"What about the 'Battle of Lepanto'?" I offered. "It's equally stirring, and totally topical, even though it's over a hundred years old."

"For a young girl, your taste in verse is somewhat quixotic."

"He fought at the Battle of Lepanto."

"Who did?"

"Cervantes - that's where he lost the movement of his left hand for the glory of the right."

"Clearly the man was a big a fool as his hero," Mr Nutbeam snorted. "An author's duty is to the pen, and not the sword."

"There is a dearth of war poets at the moment. Have you and your dog never considered joining up?" Susie enquired.

"I'm a pacifist - and so is Mr Ben."

"It's a good job for European Civilisation Cervantes and his band of brothers weren't," I maintained.

Mr Nutbeam cocked his snook at us. "I've no wish to discuss politics with the hoi-polloi."

"What are you, then - a Champagne Charlie or a champagne socialist?" Susie grinned.

"Neither - true scholars are above it all. Now, if you've finished amusing yourselves at my expense, you might wish to take note of where you are sitting."

"In the illustrious presence of one man and his dog, down from their ivory tower," Susie recognized. "And we'll act accordingly in future."

"But if you remain here, you'll be liable for a penalty charge," Mr Nutbeam advised. "Are you aware this is a first-class compartment?"

"Yes, and that's fine with us," Susie beamed. "We're girls of not so slender means who can afford the best. We've recently come into oodles of money."

"Which, no doubt, you'll soon fritter away."

"Not with Denise's hands holding the purse strings. Miss Smith may dress ultra-modern, but she has old-fashioned views on financial management, and delights in squirreling away the smallest of change."

"Penny wise, pound foolish - no doubt."

"I do have a jam jar full of granddad's silver thrup'ny bits," I smiled. "But we've resolved not to let sudden wealth go to our heads. We won't forsake Poundland."

"I can well believe it," Mr Nutbeam scoffed. "Is that where you buy your clothes?"

"Only my Bear Brand tights, but they also have other items of interest to a man of letters like yourself."

"I don't read comics."

"How about a Kingsley Amis biography from the remainder bin? His best mate was a poetic, university librarian, like you, and it's a weighty bargain at a thousand pages."

"That's a big book for a little girl."

"It's okay - I've got a big bookcase from Ikea."

"Ah, the nouveau riche," Mr Nutbeam mocked. "I might have known. Apart from anything else, your dress sense gives you away."

"Oh, Susie," I appealed, reviewing myself in the window. "Tell me it ain't true that I can't sort the neat from the chav."

"We're both Nature's ladies, Denise, but you must admit even Mr Ben has a more aristocratic pedigree than us common Smiths and Joneses."

"Nonetheless, Susie, isn't a dog's correct station on the train in the guard's van?" I hinted, as the beast began snuffling at my heels.

"You're absolutely right," Susie agreed, and turned to Mr Nutbeam. "On your way, old bean, and stow the doggie where he belongs - with the other excess baggage."

"Certainly not - Mr Ben has his own ticket. The big softy howls to the moon if he ever leaves my side."

"Would you rein in your dog, then?" I requested. "He's licking the Cherry Blossom off my shoes."

"Down, boy." Mr Nutbeam took Mr Ben by the collar. "Don't devour the polish - you know what the results of indiscriminate guzzling are."

"Woof!" Mr Ben snapped at the hand that led him.

"Worry not, he doesn't bite, only slobbers," Susie smirked, as a black stain appeared on Mr Nutbeam's white shirt sleeve. "Oops - you should rub a raw onion into that without delay."

"Bother," Mr Nutbeam fussed, turning over his cuff. "This is your fault - you've put Mr Ben on edge. You'll have to move over."

"Over where?"

"To the other side, or we can't be held responsible for the consequences. Mr Ben suffers from travel sickness unless he has a window seat, with his nose to the engine."

"I got here first," Susie objected.

"Simply because we had to take time out for Mr Ben's convenience. Now, if you'll oblige him," Mr Nutbeam persisted. "It's age before beauty, after all."

"Why - is your hound older than I am?"

"Certainly, and not only in dog years - and please refer to the noble animal as 'Mr Ben'. The poor fellow doesn't need any more upset."

"It may be prudent not to discommode our fellow travellers, Susie," I advised, "I don't want to be wiping dog vomit as well as dog drool off mum's brand-new high heels."

"As always, you're the voice of reason, Denise," Susie acceded, relinquishing her position and taking her place alongside me. "The view's all yours, Mr Ben."

"Jumpies, boy!" Mr Nutbeam got up to help the hefty animal on.

"Woof." With a boost from his master, Mr Ben mounted the vacated seat and sprawled out full-length.

"He hasn't left much of a gap for you, Nutters," Susie observed.

"Pray show more respect when addressing your elders."

"Okay, Nivvers, but it's still squeezing room only, or are you standing all the way."

"It's clear to me your parents neglected to teach you even the rudiments of good manners."

"How perceptive the gentleman is, Denise."

"But it's not our fault we're latch-key kids, Susie."

"Hey, Denise, that's a cue for us to treat old Nivvers to some of his generation's upbeat poetry."

"I know the very beat-up sonnet you mean, Susie. One, two, three ..."

"Dad's gone down the dog track,
Mother's playin' bingo.
They've left us smoochin' on the sofa,
You oughta hear the springs go.
No one seems to notice us, isn't it a sin?
What a crazy world we're livin' in."

Mr Nutbeam threw up his hands in disgust. "Unadulterated teenage trash - if I had my way ..."

"Sorry," Susie apologised, "pub songs for ale-house tenors aren't in our repertoire - only pop classics - any other requests?"

"Yes - keep quiet."

"Then can we oblige by silently holding your papers while you're subsiding?" I asked.

"I'll manage, thank you," Mr Nutbeam scowled, gingerly sinking into the space beside his companion.

"Careful you don't sit on Mr Ben's unwaggly tail," Susie cautioned. "Your doggy by the window doesn't look as if he'd be much amused."

"The poor chap's a little down in the mouth at the moment, and your sing-song can't have helped with his grieving."

"Why, what's happened - has he lost his squeaky squirrel?" Susie probed.

"Much worse than that," Mr Nutbeam sighed. "Mr Ben's a widower - four times over, in fact, and to all different breeds."

"Ah, our ankles are safe, Denise, Casadoga's a lover, not a fighter."

"I'm glad I didn't come out in Aunt Connie's poodle skirt, Susie, or the Dogthario may have lifted his nose after exploring my ankles."

"There's an idea for Niven, Denise - he could arrange a liaison dogereuse for Mr Ben with a French floozy."

"As affectionate and catholic in his tastes as Mr Ben is, I've struggled to find the right partner for him," Mr Nutbeam lamented.

"We've had no luck with dogs, either, have we, Denise?"

"And vice-versa, Susie."

"I don't blame Mr Ben, though. It's my firm belief his wives haven't been his intellectual equal," Mr Nutbeam professed. "You're a remarkable animal, aren't you old fellow? Count to two."

"Woof! Woof!"

"That's proof enough for me, Susie."

"We'll have to get his pawtograph for Ronan, Denise."

"You may laugh, but Mr Ben's favourite television programme is 'The Brains Trust'. He nods in agreement with the talking heads."

"My uncle has a dog who can match him in canniness," Susie countered. "Haggis sat glued to the screen for the 26 episodes of 'War and Peace'."

"And stared unblinkingly at it all again on the iPlayer," I added.

"If true, that's extraordinary," Mr Nutbeam conceded.

"It certainly is," Susie agreed. "Seeing how the mutt hated the book."

"But, then, he is dyslexic," I smiled.

"Most hilarious, my dears," Mr Nutbeam grimaced, "but I prefer children to be not seen and not heard. Now, are there any further witticisms you wish to deliver before I take up the Times Literary Supplement and peruse my peers' thoughts on Shakespearean comedy?"

"No, go ahead - we won't deem Mr Nutbeam impolitely aloof if he buries himself in his tabloid, will we, Denise?"

"Not in the least, Susie - while the learned gentleman is busy deconstructing the Bard of Avon's Bottom, it'll give us other rude mechanicals a chance to check the football results on the back page."

 

 

Chapter 179

"Musketeers 3 - Just Men 4."

"Orange Pips 5 - Napoleons 6."

"Tailors 9 - Red Herrings 5."

"Charing Cross Road 84 - Rillington Place 13."

"Catch 22 - Fahrenheit 451."

"Couple of mismatches in the early rounds of the Cup, Susie."

"Not compared to the next, Denise - Names of God 9 billion ..."

"I give up," an exasperated Mr Nutbeam groaned, lowering his paper. "You've amply demonstrated you're better-read than I imagined."

"It's all thanks to granddad's pioneering example," I smiled. "He had the first dictionary in our street. Folk used to invite themselves round to look up obscure words and worship at his feet."

"An unhealthy state of affairs - they should have heeded the advice of Thomas Aquinas. Beware ..."

"... of the man of one book," I completed for him.

"Your erudition really is most irritating," Mr Nutbeam grouched.

"Mr Ben's isn't complaining," Susie grinned. "Dalmatians 101 ..."

"Please - have you nothing sensible to say?"

"Only that someone's laid a stale egg," Susie sniffed.

"Don't point the finger at us - Mr Ben and I are vegans."

"Inflicting your fads on him can't be good for a carnivore," Susie admonished.

"Nonsense - he's happy - handsome is as handsome does," Mr Nutbeam preened, stroking his own and Mr Ben's hair in turn. "We won the best groomed dog and owner class at our village show. We're both in prime condition and as fit as fleas."

"Apart from the scratching, your dog has become rather listless after his initial forays," I remarked. "Perhaps he lacks stamina due to a shortage of essential amino acids."

"Dose him with some Bob Martin's," Susie prescribed. "And have a couple yourself, washed down with a mug of beefy Bovril."

"I certainly will not."

"Okay, but the pair of you look as if you're in need of a natural tonic. What do you think, Denise?"

"Gran's adamant you can't eat too many figs, Susie. They also do wonders for the hair. She says any girl would be glad to have a thatch like mine."

"And a figure, Denise - that's another benefit of keeping regular."

"We're fine in all departments, thank you," Mr Nutbeam insisted. "In particular, Mr Ben's coat and my crowning glory have never been glossier. We both use the same herbal shampoo."

"Ah, that explains the mysterious mingling of fragrances arising from Mr Ben, Denise."

"A rhinoceros by any other name would smell as sweet, Susie."

"Don't you dare compare Mr Ben to one of those flatulent, pea-brained beasts," Mr Nutbeam scolded. "He's as intelligent as any chimpanzee."

"Never." I shook my head in disbelief. "Not with that dull look in his eyes - wouldn't you agree, Susie?"

"It's more of a hungry one in my opinion, Denise. Why else would the ravenous beast have feasted on your shoe polish." Susie opened her bag and pulled out a banana. "These go down a treat with chimps and Haggis. Here you are, boy."

"Woof!" Mr Ben swallowed the delicacy whole.

"You shouldn't have done that," Mr Nutbeam rebuked. "Mr Ben's forbidden snacks between meals."

"Oh, watch out, Susie, it's coming straight back up."

"I know food served on the railway has an uncertain reputation, Denise, but that was a bit of a sudden regurgitation."

"You should have peeled it for him first," Mr Nutbeam glared.

"But you said he was as clever as a chimpanzee," Susie retorted.

"Mr Ben's mental abilities can't compensate for a sad lack of fingers and thumbs - that's obvious to anyone."

"A fox could have done it," I argued. "They can unwrap a rolled-up hedgehog using nose and paws."

"How about a coconut, Denise? I'd back the chimp there."

"I've no wish to hear about, foxes, hedgehogs, chimps, coconuts, or any combination thereof," Mr Nutbeam frothed. "And neither has Mr Ben."

"Yes, what's the matter with the mutt now, Denise? He's whimpering and scuffing at the glass. Does Mr Ben want to get out and chase a sheep? It's what Alsatians were bred for."

"Maybe he's just dying for a breath of fresh air," I proposed. "It is slightly stuffy in here."

"Things have become rather heated," Mr Nutbeam acknowledged, wiping a hand across his well-insulated brow. "Perhaps we should have a little ventilation."

"Woof! Woof!"

"Mr Ben's agrees twice over," Susie smiled. "And look, he's pricked up his ears."

"Ah, the old boy must have heard the train whistle."

"Or maybe he spotted a squirrel frolicking out there," Susie suggested.

"A squirrel?" Mr Nutbeam squinted. "I can't see a squirrel."

"Third time lucky," Susie smirked. "Did the gentleman pass, Denise?"

"A double first in diction, with BBC honours, Susie."

"Pass - BBC honours - whatever are you two talking about?" Mr Nutbeam queried. "Nobody could confuse a cow with a squirrel. And for your further information, Mr Ben hasn't the slightest interest in wild - or squeaky toy - ones."

"Our dual mistake," Susie apologised. "Scrub the squirrels. They've served their purpose in ascertaining only your Alsatian yaps with a German accent."

"I don't follow," Mr Nutbeam frowned.

"Yes, it is tricky understanding dog Deutsch, so I'll translate. Mr Ben's whining that he'd like to cast his fate to the wind and let it ruffle his fur."

"Are you sure?" Mr Nutbeam pondered. "Mr Ben's never been an enthusiast for the outdoor life."

"All dogs enjoy a bark into the breeze," Susie declared, sliding open the window. "Trust me - I'm an Internet authority on canine psychology."

"Hold on to him, sir," I advised, as Mr Ben took matters into his own paws, getting up on his hind legs and thrusting his head into the slipstream.

"Careful now, boy."

"Woof! Woof! Woof!"

"You've no need to worry," Susie reassured, "he's wagging his tail nineteen to the dozen."

"You're right - I've not seen the old fellow so animated since the passing of the first Mrs Ben."

"Woof! Woof! Woof!"

"He's as happy as a pig in clover, Susie."

"His tongue's flapping in the gale, Denise."

"Phwweeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"And it's going right through him, Susie - his ears are whistling."

"Is that anatomically possible, Denise?"

"Apparently, Susie."

"Woof! Woof! Woof!"

"What's that you're saying, boy?" Mr Nutbeam leant forward to enquire.

"Woof! Woof! Woof!"

"Any idea the message Mr Ben's trying to convey, Denise?"

"He's probably agreeing with the panellists on 'The Brains Trust' that speed is the only truly modern sensation, Susie."

"Woof! Woof! Woof!"

"He heard you, Denise. That's a seriously clever animal you've got there, Nivvers."

"Mr Ben is one in a million," Mr Nutbeam boasted. "He's irreplaceable."

Splaaaaaaaaatttttttttt!

"Hooooooooowwwwlll!"

"Oh, watch out, Susie!" I cried, on Mr Ben suddenly spronking upwards and backwards. "The dog's having a fit."

"Woof! Wo..."

"Cut off in mid-woof, Denise. Has the excitement proved too much for the beast?"

"Oh, what's become of my Benjie?" Mr Nutbeam wailed.

"A big cob of coal caught your pal smack between the eyes," I reported. "Ouch, I bet that hurt, Susie."

"Cripes, Denise, if we'd taken the air, that rock could have had our names on it."

"Mr Ben's headed one for the team, Susie," I gulped, as the stricken canine collapsed onto the seat, and lay there, motionless, with his paws pointing to Heaven.

"He looks none too chipper, Denise."

"Gone with the wind, Susie."

Mr Nutbeam recoiled in horror. "Oh, what's to be done?"

"Leave it to us - we're the experts in this kind of situation," Susie claimed. "Take Mr Ben's doggy pulse, Denise, while I check his doggy breathing."

"Don't forget me," Mr Nutbeam choked. "How can I help?"

"Say 'Aaaaahhh'," I instructed.

"No, I mustn't - I'm trying to be brave for Mr Ben's sake."

"Don't argue - just open wide and say 'Aaaaahhh'," Susie ordered.

"Aaaaahhh."

"Blimey, you've got a hole in your sock."

"Don't Susie," I reproved, "levity is out of place in this situation. Could you repeat your heartfelt 'Aaaaahhh', sir?"

"It's not me lying unconscious. What good will that do Mr Ben?"

"None at all," I admitted, "but keep saying 'Aaaaahhh', anyway."

"Why, for goodness sake?"

"Because your dog's dead," Susie pronounced.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh - no he isn't!" Mr Nutbeam sobbed. "I saw him move."

"That was a dead cat bounce, but don't lose heart," Susie comforted.

"I can't help myself," Mr Nutbeam yowled. "I'll never see Mr Ben's like again."

"Yes, you will - taxidermist's are keen to stuff any old dead furry thing."

"How dare you even suggest such a fate for Mr Ben?" Mr Nutbeam bristled.

"He'd be a lot less trouble and cheaper to keep in the long run, but if that doesn't appeal, you can probably sue whoever sold Mr Ben his ticket for a replacement," Susie counselled.

"If I'm suing anyone ..."

"Who's to be sued?" We forsook Mr Ben and looked out into the corridor, there to behold the guard assuming a commanding position in the doorway. "Not the railway company, I trust."

"Ah, you've arrived in almost the nick of time to prevent a tragedy," Susie greeted the wiry bantam of a fellow.

"I'm empowered to deal with on-board passenger complaints - so what's the problem here?" he demanded, from under an oversized, peaked cap. "Has there been a seating dispute?"

"Yes - and one that led to those little harpies killing my soulmate," Mr Nutbeam charged, jabbing an accusing finger at us. "They sent my dearest to his doom."

"Calm down, sir - you aren't making any sense."

"Does the murder of a loved one ever make any sense?" Mr Nutbeam moaned.

"Murder you say," the guard frowned, surveying the compartment. "So ... where's your partner's body?"

Mr Nutbeam put his head in his hands. "Under your nose, before your very eyes," he bawled. "The old chap was honest and faithful right up to the end."

"That's as may be, but where did he meet it?" the guard puzzled, after again scrutinizing the scene. "We appear to be lacking a victim."

"See the four-legged friend lying there," Susie whispered.

"Yes."

"The mutt ain't catnapping - if you get my meaning."

"Well, I'm blowed." The guard had a scratch under his cap before tapping Mr Nutbeam on the shoulder. "Am I to understand you're married to a dog, sir?"

"Of course I'm not married to a dog," Mr Nutbeam barked. "What on earth gave you that idea?"

"You did, sir - and we do live in enlightened times."

"Are you an imbecile, man!"

"Now, now, sir, abuse will ..."

"Don't talk to me about abuse. Abuse is this pair of young Valkyries amusing themselves by shoving Mr Ben's head out of the window."

"The gentleman's raving," I protested. "Look at the size of the brute - that dog would make two of us."

"We were little Red Riding Hoods to his big bad wolf," Susie claimed. "But for the beast having a timely seizure, you'd be wielding the fire-axe now."

"That does put a completely different complexion on the matter," the guard ruminated.

"No, it doesn't," Mr Nutbeam objected. "And you shouldn't give their fictions the slightest consideration or credence. These girls have spouted nothing but impudent nonsense from the very beginning."

"Be that as it may, sir - in my opinion, an animal with teeth that size ought to be muzzled, especially in a first-class carriage. Railway regulations have definitely been flouted somewhere along the line."

"Don't come down too hard on Mr Nutbeam," I pleaded. "The sudden shock of his best buddy's departure has left him befuddled with grief."

"You can inform Niven we're happy to let the whole matter drop," Susie offered.

The guard nodded at Mr Nutbeam. "Wouldn't that be for the best, sir?"

"You mean you're letting them get away with culpable homicide?"

"It's a dog, sir - and no spring chicken. He has more grey hairs around his chops than you and me put together."

"Mr Ben and I are both in the prime of life."

"And you should take it easy, as well, sir. You're looking none too sprightly at the moment."

"Never mind diagnosing me - apply the remedy to those little mischiefs, and make it hot and strong."

"It's not for us to apportion blame - or dispense it, sir," the guard advised, fixing Mr Nutbeam with a meaningful stare. "Accidents will happen on the best-run railway - like the puddle in the corridor, I had to mop up."

"Are you implying Mr Ben wasn't fully house-trained?"

"Perhaps not train-trained, sir, but that's water under the bridge."

"Don't you mean pee in your bucket?" Susie grinned.

"I suppose I do, Miss," The guard chuckled.

"This isn't a laughing matter," Mr Nutbeam seethed.

"Quite, sir, and in all seriousness, my duty now is to effect the sanitary transportation of your dog's body for the rest of the journey."

"Mr Ben stays here," Mr Nutbeam insisted. "We won't be separated."

"Come, come, sir, we can't leave him decomposing on the seat. He's a bio-hazard, and there are the other passengers to consider."

"You're absolutely right," Susie affirmed. "Sharing a compartment with a dead dog won't read well on Trip Advisor."

"Patience, my dear," the guard appealed. "I intend to resolve the situation post-haste."

"Then hurry up about it, and don't hold the post-mortem in here." Susie wrapped her arm around me. "Can't you see poor Denise is teetering on the brink? She's still recovering from the shock of last Sunday's bomb outrage."

"Rather that, than being cooped up with a corpse," I whimpered. "It'll revive yesterday's zombie nightmare."

"Rest assured, Miss, I shall exercise all the powers at my command on your behalf."

"This is intolerable," Mr Nutbeam spluttered. "You're taking these flibbertigibbets' side against the author of 'Four Devils and a Midget'."

"As much as I enjoy a good read, sir, your companion is the one giving me cause for concern. He must be removed from this compartment without delay."

"You're exceeding your authority, my man," Mr Nutbeam protested. "Mr Ben has a first-class, return ticket."

"That's neither here nor there, sir. Your dog won't be coming back from where he's gone."

"Are you completely insensitive?" Mr Nutbeam whined. "I need time and space to grieve with Mr Ben before committing him to his reserved plot in the pet cemetery."

"Dead bodies travel in the guard's van, sir - preferably in a sealed coffin. The rules are quite explicit, but I'll bend them further than I should in this case, on compassionate grounds."

"And as a goodwill gesture on our part, we'll give you a lift with Mr Ben," Susie volunteered.

"You're not to touch him," Mr Nutbeam bawled. "You've done enough damage already."

"We have to be practical, sir," the guard interposed. "You shouldn't overexert yourself - we don't want a double tragedy. And as much as I'd like to help folk with their luggage, I can only undertake light duties, thanks to my bad back - not to mention the other activity-limiting injuries I don't talk about."

"Have you tried rubbing in Algipan?", I enquired. "My granddad swears by it."

"Prevention is better than cure - especially when none exists for any of my multiple afflictions," the guard winced, straightening up. "I need to avoid all unnecessary bending and abrupt movements."

"The burden falls on us again, Denise. Grab the beast's legs."

"You damn well leave Mr Ben alone, and let him rest in peace," Mr Nutbeam cursed.

"That's language I never expected to hear from a literary gent, Susie."

"You cheeky young whippersnappers. Guard - don't let them lay a hand on Mr Ben."

"I'm sorry, sir - it's an emergency, and I'm provisionally deputising the young ladies while they help expedite the matter," the guard asserted, restraining an agitated Mr Nutbeam in his seat. "I suggest you close your eyes and take a little nap. What's to be done has to be done."

"But you can't ..."

"Yes I can - by the powers vested in me, I'm impounding your late dog. He is now legally railway property and at our disposal."

"Why you ...you ..." Mr Nutbeam fulminated. "This is an outrage - I'll report you to your superiors. What's your name, man?"

"Jeremiah Harbottle, sir," the guard saluted, grimacing to attention. "Ex-corporal - wounded in action - of the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers."

"A handle not to be rattled, Denise."

"In my book, it trumps a Niven Nutbeam, Bachelor of Modern Literature, any day of the week, Susie."

"Be quiet," Mr Nutbeam commanded. "I've heard more than enough from the pair of you. I shall write to your parents by first-class post," he threatened. "What's your address?"

"Poppycock Cottage, down Forget-Me-Not Lane," Susie responded.

"Did you hear that rank insubordination, Harbottle? Do your duty and remove the little madams from my presence at once."

"Very well, sir." Jeremiah turned to us. "Would you oblige the gentleman and the railway by conveying his dog to the guard's van, girls. My vertebrae displaced themselves for England, costing me my flexibility and a well-deserved third stripe."

"That doesn't seem fair," I sympathised.

"It isn't, but I never complain."

"Then anything to help a redoubtable old soldier," Susie smiled. "Are you ready, Denise?"

"Willing and able, Susie. When have I ever refused to participate in our good deed for the day?"

"A couple of irregular boy scouts - that's what we are, Denise."

"Pshaw!" Mr Nutbeam snorted. "You're not fit to polish their woggles. Baden-Powell would turn in his grave."

"Worry not, Mr Nutbeam, we won't drop the dead donkey," Susie promised, as we rotated Mr Ben through the doorway. "My uncle's a top funeral director, and we're familiar with this procedure, aren't we, Denise?"

"All too, Susie - we could do it in our sleep. In fact, I'm surprised we haven't."

"Then it's directly down to the guard's van, if you please," Jeremiah urged. "I'll be along after I've written out a receipt for the gentleman's goods."

"Mr Ben is not goods," Mr Nutbeam glowered. "His grandfather on his mother's side has an entry in the 'Canine Who's Who'."

"But we know what's what, don't we, Denise?" Susie grinned, on our straightening up Mr Ben in the corridor. "Away we go now."

"Don't you dare take another step," Mr Nutbeam warned. "This is intolerable, Harbottle - I won't have you and your minions treat Mr Ben like a piece of lost property."

"Think of the old boy as a blown-out umbrella, sir, and look forward to replacing him with a new improved model." Jeremiah handed Mr Nutbeam a hastily scrawled scrap of paper. "You can reclaim your friend at the company's earliest convenience."

"But Mr Ben might disappear into the bowels of railway bureaucracy, never to be seen again."

"I can guarantee you there isn't any danger of the dog going astray, sir."

"Don't I know it," Mr Nutbeam wept. "Mr Ben has hung up his lead, and we've taken our last stroll together."

"Make a positive of it," Susie suggested. "Get yourself a poodle next, and then you'll be able to share the same hairdresser as well as walkies."

"You shouldn't criticise the gentleman's coiffure, Susie," I reproved. "We're nihilists not stylists."

"I've endured an excess of your juvenile humour," Mr Nutbeam fumed. "Take their names, Harbottle."

"You can leave the necessary formalities to me, sir," Jeremiah declared, while winking at us. "Make yourselves and the deceased scarce, girls."

"Yes, it's high time we left, Susie, before rigor mortis sets in and manoeuvring becomes difficult."

"Okay, Denise, here we go."

"Left paw down a bit, Susie - after you."

"And don't fret too much, Mr Nutbeam," Susie called over her shoulder. "Mr Ben is a sunbeam now."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"This is hound dog day all over again, Susie," I smiled, as we swayed along the train, bearing Mr Ben to his temporary resting place.

"It does bring back happy memories, Jeffrey."

"Two weeks to the hour, but it seems like years ago," I reflected.

"What a to-do that was, Jeffrey."

"You lost your shoes, Susie."

"And you found your muse, Denise."

"Ah, yes, we remember it well."

 

 

Chapter 180

"This laying down of the dead couldn't have panned out better," Susie enthused, after we'd deposited Mr Ben, paws-up, on the floor of the guard's van. "Our helpfulness plus a little sweet-talk will enable his temporary deputies to recruit Corporal Harbottle for a permanent ally."

"Against whom?" I queried, whilst endeavouring to restore the shine on my shoes with the help of Mr Ben's finely conditioned, bushy tail.

"Thoom, Jeffrey, the mugger and his mysterious associates."

"They're in the plural now, are they, Susie - when did the plot suddenly thicken?"

"Since I started using my criminal imagination, of course."

"And what new, outlandish theories have you come up with?"

"Dr Watt employing a bodyguard means he wasn't a random victim."

"That's highly probable," I accepted.

"And the doc hadn't booked a ticket on our excursion just for the scenery."

"How do you know he intended catching this particular train?"

"It's a Sunday, Jeffrey - no others were leaving near the time."

"I can't really fault that argument, either, Susie."

"Most important of all is the briefcase - I'm sure that's aboard. And its contents are so important, the doc showed more concern about keeping them out of a certain Fritz's clutches than his own injuries."

"Perhaps he had a flask and sandwiches inside," I suggested, rising to my feet after returning Mr Ben's brush to him.

"Try to give matters the serious attention they deserve, Jeffrey."

"Yes, how do my high heels look, Susie?"

"Back to their highly polished, fetish finest, Jeffrey. You can see your frillies reflected in them."

"Oh, if only, Susie."

"Stop Denising, Jeffrey, and turn your mind to the ulterior motive behind the theft."

"That object will have to remain hidden for now, Susie, and I'll have to subject you to out-and-out Denise because I hear the heavy tread of the ex-army guard's boots."

"Okay, but button up," Susie muttered. "We want to appear totally respectable young women in the eyes of the authorities."

"Much chased teenage girl is all I can manage this week," I pouted, twirling to face the door.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, my dears - I couldn't get away," Jeremiah apologised, shuffling into the van and then straight onto his seat.

"Is your back playing you up, Mr Harbottle?" Susie enquired.

"It always sends a message when I stand too long in the same spot," Jeremiah grunted. "That's why I left the REME - even though they begged me to stay."

"We can appreciate why - you possess tremendous judgement and self-discipline," Susie commended. "Firmly, but fairly, is how you handled one of the awkward squad."

"You have to be polite to passengers in spite of themselves," Jeremiah shrugged. "But this one tried my patience to the limit. I thought his tantrums would go on for ever."

"Yes," Susie agreed, "we found the old Ponce Charming like a dog with a bone once he got started."

"Don't I know it," Jeremiah sighed. "I wish I'd never mentioned the health and safety aspects of a carelessly discarded banana."

"Mr Ben sicked that up, didn't he, Denise?"

"Grossly, Susie, as evidenced by the object being covered in his slobber."

"A fact which did not escape my trained eye," the guard emphasized. "I spent some time in the Royal Observer Corps before finding my true vocation as a spanner monkey."

"Having that expertise, it's no surprise you got him bang to rights," Susie applauded.

"The gentleman's denials were of no avail, and he finally admitted joint responsibility with the deceased. Although he still argued for ages about who should legally remove the offending fruit ... and whether it was, in fact, a fruit."

"It is - of a herb, not a tree," I elucidated.

"Exactly what I would have said, given half a chance," Jeremiah nodded. "But the man continually quoted Shakespeare and himself at me."

"I hope Mr Nutbeam's theatricals didn't result in his making up more fibs about us," Susie frowned.

"Only in passing - after I persuaded him to pocket the banana as a last souvenir of his faithful companion."

"That's okay, then," Susie smiled.

"Not for me it wasn't. Before I could get out of there, the silly buffer moved on to relating his dog's vegetarian life story."

"Did the tale keep you riveted?" I asked.

"My spine felt it had been - with red-hot ones," Jeremiah groaned. "All that bending over while the funny old cove illustrated his ramblings with photos of Mr Ben's four weddings."

"Formal affairs, were they?" Susie queried.

"Even the dogs wore top hats." Jeremiah rolled his eyes. "And guess who stood as the best man on each occasion."

"It seems we had a lucky escape, Susie."

"Not half, Denise - we might have been exposed to the honeymoon snaps, as well."

"It'll be four weddings and a funeral the next time Mr Nutbeam reminisces, Susie."

"That settles it," Jeremiah determined. "I'm not going back there again. I've done my duty in respect of customer relations for today."

"Just out of interest, have you encountered any other peculiar characters this trip?" Susie wondered.

"Most of the passengers have bees in their bonnets if you ask me. Grown men should put childish hobbies behind them and take up a proper adult pastime like pigeon fancying - a mature calling they should make an Olympic sport."

"So you'd have noticed a strange bird, with a funny accent, aboard," Susie persisted.

"I've spotted a few southerners honouring us with their presence. Are you looking for somebody in particular?"

"No, it's just that Denise is keen to practise her German on a native speaker."

"You could try Mrs Pickersgill in the buffet car," the guard grinned. "Nothing gets past her, and she does all her shopping at Aldi."

"That's close enough," Susie decided. "We'll pay Mrs Pickersgill a visit - pall-bearers are entitled to refreshments after laying down their load."

"Just a word to the wise," Jeremiah confided. "Don't risk any of the pork pies or sausage rolls on special offer."

"Never fear, we'll turn up our noses at any reheated left-overs, won't we, Denise?"

"The only fast food I'll entertain, Susie, is fish and chips fresh out of the boiling oil."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"We'd like two nice cups of tea in the morning,"

Susie crooned at the jolly lady serving behind the counter.

"With or without?"

"With or without what?" I enquired.

"Handles," the woman laughed. "Gotcha there, my pretty sunshines."

"Good and proper," Susie beamed. "We're happy to bring a little light into people's lives, aren't we Denise?"

"Definitely, Susie."

"We'll sing our song to cheer the tea-lady along,
For we may never pass this way again."

"Why can't all my customers serenade me with Perry Como?" the woman sighed. "Some folk are too miserable to exchange a civil word."

"Perhaps they had difficulty with the language," Susie hinted. "Have you served any foreigners today?"

"A London toff asked me to refrain from addressing him as 'love'. He claimed it's mutually demeaning and then had the cheek to question his change."

"But no one from further afield than that male chauvinist, feminist miser," Susie persevered.

"If you're seeking more exotic company than dyed-in-the-wool steam enthusiasts, you're on the wrong bus, dearies."

"My uncle passed on his tickets and promised a day to remember, but he forgot to tell us why, and now it's too late to get off," Susie lamented.

"Ah, that explains it - as soon as I set eyes on you, I said to myself they're an unusual couple to have aboard," Mrs Pickersgill chuckled. "And now it turns out you're the girls from uncle - but dressed more like the lady Avengers."

"You've guessed who our heroines are, Mrs Pickersgill," I smiled.

"They're my favourites, too. I only wish you'd brought John Steed along. He's such a gentleman with those lovely manners - he'd never argue over a stray fifty pence."

"What we're interested in is if you've served a suspicious, ungentlemanly passenger," Susie coaxed. "You're the best person to ask, according to Mr Harbottle, being a keen student of human nature, and all."

"Not that I'm nosy, or anything, but there's an odd body." Our eyes followed Mrs Pickersgill's extended finger as she pointed to a man slumped in the far corner. "The chap sat down with his order, and he's been staring at the floor ever since."

"Oh, dear, Denise - that strikes me as a somewhat unnatural pose. Let's investigate further."

"Oh, dear, indeed," I muttered, tracking Susie across the listing carriage. "I fear the worst."

"Whoops, he's taken a sudden turn for it with the train," Susie exclaimed, when the formerly immobile figure keeled over at our approach. "What do you make of the situation, Denise?"

"Only that even in extremis, he clung on like grim death to his pork pie and sausage roll, Susie."

"Then it's true what they say, Denise - you take your life in your hands with railway food."

"Not if you never manage a bite, Susie. They're both still in pristine condition."

"Then maybe this is our Mr X, Jeffrey, and another person unknown persuaded him to put his head out of the window. Look - he's wearing a hood, just like the mugger."

"Nearly everyone on the train is, Susie."

"But they're not dead. You can't deny ..."

"Oh, what's happened!" Mrs Pickersgill came bustling over, Marigold gloves and dishcloth at the ready. "Is the man ill?"

"It's worse than that, he's dead, mam," I reported.

"No wonder he never moved a muscle," Mrs Pickersgill gulped.

"And the fellow won't in future," Susie confirmed. "What's the procedure in a case of an unscheduled departure?"

"All I know is he can't stay here - it's not hygienic. But there's nothing in my contract says I have to clear away dead bodies."

"Then it's another trip to the guard's van for us, Denise. Prepare to take up the load."

"Wouldn't it be wiser to let the deceased lie where's he's fallen, Susie?"

"No, get him out of my sight," Mrs Pickersgill flushed. "I'm on the change, and the slightest upset can bring on a funny turn."

"You heard the lady, Denise - it's time to play the good Samaritans again. Grab the gent's feet."

"All right," I sighed, "I suppose it's what Perry Como would do in a situation like this."

"Wait a minute, I'll just remove the pork pie and sausage roll." Mrs Pickersgill steeled herself and prised the delicacies out of the dead man's hands. "It's the bin for these - we don't want any wild rumours flying around. You understand the position I'm in, girls."

"You can count on our discretion," Susie assured. "Anything found in this chap's stomach, he brought with him."

"Thank you, my dears - I have to be extra careful after the tadpoles in the tea urn. But how those froglets got in the fruit salad, I never could fathom."

"I've heard enough, Susie - are you ready to roll?"

"After we make sure we've secured all his belongings, Denise. Have a peek under the table."

"There's not a briefcase to be seen, Susie," I smiled.

"Funny you should mention that," Mrs Pickersgill mused. "I noticed one on the floor earlier, but the next time I looked, it had vanished."

"So you didn't see who took the thing," Susie frowned.

"No, and I won't say somebody stole it from the unfortunate gentleman - or that it even belonged to him. We don't want to further complicate matters, do we?"

"Certainly not," I agreed. "As far as we're concerned the briefcase never existed. Right, Susie?"

"Dead, Denise - and I'm ready for the off. One ... two ... three ... lift."

"This is getting to be a habit with us, Susie."

"Magic moments,
Memories we've been sharin'.
Magic moments,
When we are pall-bearin'."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"This is taxing work, Jeffrey - it's a pity we had to forego some well-earned refreshments."

"I'm not too disappointed, Susie. Mrs Pickersgill is definitely not the most fastidious of hosts. When the teapot wouldn't pour her a restorative cuppa, she blew down the spout."

"We've been saved diplomatically declining her hospitality, then."

"But now you'd better tactfully announce our arrival, Susie," I instructed, on our arrival at the threshold of the guard's van. "We don't want to give the man too much of a shock and risk putting his vertebrae out of alignment."

"Yoo-hoo, Mr Harbottle," Susie called. "Make room for a little un - Mr Ben's got company."

"What the ..." Jeremiah sprang from his seat. "Ouch!" ... and hobbled towards us. "Who's that?"

"An unknown traveller," I reported.

"And very much the worse for wear," Susie added, as we laid our burden alongside Mr Ben.

"He isn't dead, is he?" Jeremiah shuddered.

"As the dog," I declared.

"Oh, Lord," the guard groaned. "I've only just finished the paperwork on the last one."

"You'll be filling out your forms in triplicate," Susie prophesied. "These things happen in threes, you know."

"Don't say that - two's too many. This could ruin the whole trip, and it's my responsibility," Jeremiah fretted. "Did anyone see you transporting the body?"

"No," I affirmed. "The dynamometer coach is the centre of attention, and we've come from the buffet car."

"Oh, shoot!" Jeremiah exclaimed. "I warned Mrs Pickersgill amending the use-by dates is stretching things a month too far."

"You don't need to worry," Susie reassured. "The bloom on her pies didn't take the bloom off this bod's face. The customer died before he had the chance to be food-poisoned."

"And Mrs Pickersgill swiftly removed any potentially incriminating evidence," I testified.

"That's a relief," the guard whistled, wiping an incipient bead of sweat from his brow. "Nellie already has a lot on her plate, and she's a kind-hearted soul - you've only to ask her monkey and her mother-in-law."

"Takes special care of the pair of them, does she?" Susie smiled.

"Above and beyond the call of duty with regard to the awful Aggie - the ungrateful, demanding woman came downstairs for the first time in ten years last weekend."

"That might make life easier for Mrs Pickersgill in future," I anticipated.

"It already has," Jeremiah announced. "The funeral was on Tuesday - and now both Mrs Pickersgills can rest in peace."

"A not unexpected passing, or a shock to all?" I enquired.

"Nellie couldn't believe her eyes - and her luck. The old harridan wiped the last of the vinegar from a dish of cow heel, sat bolt upright in bed, broke wind, and died."

"The monkey's still okay, though," Susie grinned.

"As long as the little blighter keeps his paws off my pocket watch," Jeremiah grumbled. "Koko's a devil for shiny things."

"Attracted to gold and silver, is he?"

"And the seat of my trousers."

"That could pose a slippery problem," I sympathised.

"The truth is I wouldn't trust him or his mistress with a toilet roll - several of which have gone missing lately."

"Blame that on the passengers, Mr Harbottle," Susie advised.

"I have - but don't say a word about any of this," he whispered. "Management might start questioning the increased throughput - and not only of toilet rolls."

"Our lips are sealed," Susie vowed. "Denise and I are always on the side of the underdogs - when they aren't actual dogs."

"You're a credit to your school," Jeremiah acknowledged.

"You should get that in writing, Susie," I muttered.

"Pardon." Jeremiah cupped his hand to his ear. "You'll have to speak up - my audio impairment is another legacy of the rigours of army life. A squadron of battle tanks at full throttle makes a hell of a din."

"I said it seems a bit disrespectful leaving the departed just lying there, between a dog and two garden gnomes."

"Yes, where did those little chaps come from, Mr Harbottle?" Susie queried.

"Lost property, my dear - you wouldn't believe the various odds and ends I've shared my van with over the years."

"Dead bodies included?"

"Never - and this one will be better off out of sight under a forgotten overcoat I seem to have acquired from somewhere or other."

"The gentleman would thank you for it if he could, sir," I smiled.

"To my mind he isn't much of gentleman, despite carrying a smart case. I did wonder if it belonged to him."

Susie gave me a knowing nudge before probing for more information. "Oh, have you met the bod before?"

"While we were delayed in the station, I surprised the surly beggar in your very compartment."

"Go on," Susie urged. "What was he up to?"

"No good, in my opinion," Jeremiah frowned. "The rascal had a furtive look, and my conviction he lacked a first-class ticket proved correct. I politely asked him to relocate, but didn't receive a reply in kind."

"What did he reply in?" Susie pressed.

Jeremiah blushed at the memory. "One mustn't speak ill of the dead, especially in the presence of young ladies, so I'll say no more and have done with the matter."

"We can read between the lines," Susie winked. "Though shouldn't you search your guest to try and find out who the vulgar fellow is?"

"I'm not sure I have the right of intimate access - I am only a guard."

"But we need to know more about this, and we don't," Susie argued.

"I can say that about almost everything," Jeremiah moaned. "Life's so complicated nowadays."

"This is your chance to acquire a bit of inside information," Susie prompted. "You're like the captain of a ship when we're underway. You exercise ultimate authority over all on-board - especially those showing mutinous tendencies."

"The captain of a ship, eh." Jeremiah savoured the idea. "I can't marry folk - but very well, you're my witnesses." The guard bent at the knees, squatted down, and turned out the corpse's pockets. "Nothing here, except his ticket, a few pounds ... and two short pieces of string."

"Two short pieces of string, Denise! What would Sherla Holmes deduce from those about their late owner?"

"That for some inexplicable reason, he carried around a piece of string with the middle missing," I concluded.

"Don't make a Gordian knot out of a simple string theory, Denise. There's an obvious solution."

"Which is?"

"The mugger used them as do-it-yourself bicycle clips, of course," Susie smirked. "Bingo, Denise!"

"Okay, let's away and see if anyone will give us a game. That should keep us out of trouble for a while."

"Too late, Denise - the balls are already up in the air. It's just a question of when we win the jackpot by tracking down the mystery man who marked the card of chummy here."

"Any idea where to start searching?"

"Not specifically, but one thing's for sure - our sought after somebody hasn't left the building."

"I get you, Susie," I smiled, ushering her out of the van. "Bye for now, Mr Harbottle," I waved. "We don't have to go look for Elvis."

"Just a minute - what was that about a mugger and ..."

"Like you, Mr Harbottle, we won't speak ill of the dead," Susie called over her shoulder. "Now he's been laid to rest, it's best to forget about all extraneous matters."

"I only wish you'd do the same," I muttered. "Mugging's one thing, murder's another."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Rushing me away from the corpus delicti and into the toilet won't alter the facts," Susie protested. "We have a deceased thief and his killer aboard."

"A possible briefcase snatcher," I allowed, "whose body hasn't a mark on it. What makes you think foul play is involved?"

"Come on, Jeffrey, it's too much of a coincidence. The chap had a case which has gone missing, and he didn't choke on mugger's remorse."

"More conventional natural causes are available, Susie."

"Not when there's the tell-tale scent of almonds emanating from the body."

"I must have missed that. All I picked up on were his sweaty trainers."

"Then you can't argue with someone who took the head-end, Jeffrey."

"Ah, but you also leant on the counter next to the almond slices. Have a smell of your sleeve."

"That would make it a piece of cake," Susie sniffed, brushing off the crumbs. "The perfect means to deliver a surreptitious dose of cyanide."

"No doubt an autopsy will reveal all," I suggested. "Unfortunately, Susie, you forgot to pack the pathology kit."

"But we could have checked for puncture marks, Jeffrey. That's the only visible sign of air in the bloodstream. Who knows what a close examination of the victim's belly-button would have revealed?"

"Navel fluff, Susie - and nonsense is what you're talking. Now you're inventing a Mr Y to knock off Mr X by a variety of methods."

"You've an answer for everything, Jeffrey, but just you wait until I track down the doc's stolen briefcase. The guy in the guard's van had it, and when we find who relieved him of his ill-gotten gains, we'll be singing from the same songbook."

"How's this for starters?" I smiled.

"Don't act like you misunderstand me
When there is simply no mystery to it all."

"I'm with you there, Jeffrey," Susie harmonised.

"Do you love me, really love me, as I love you?
It's the answer to everything if you do."

Thuuuuump! Thuuuuump! Thuuuuump!

"Who's that banging on the drums, Jeffrey?"

Claaaaannk! Claaaaannk! Claaaaannk!

"I don't know, Susie, but now they're rattling the cymbals."

"Hey, what's going on in there?" A frantic voice cried. "I'm bursting for a wazz!"

"Hold on," Susie called. "We're having trouble with the flush."

"Bugger that - unlock this bloody door!"

"Am doing," I answered, slipping back the bolt.

"And about time!" A red-faced man, clutching his crotch, pushed past us. "Go and rehearse your karaoke somewhere else."

"Sorry," I apologised, as we squeezed out into the corridor. "But this is the place on the train with the best acoustics."

"I'm wetting myself because of your bleeding acoustics," the man yelped.

"Mind the squirrels don't bite, sir," Susie cautioned, before he slammed the door on us. "Or you might have another nasty accident."

"Shove your bloody squirrels!"

"In his haste, I hope the English gentleman remembers to lift the seat, Jeffrey."

"So, after being rudely interrupted, whither shall we slowly wander, Susie?"

"We'll follow our noses, Jeffrey, and snoop our way up and down the train."

"What if folk should take offence at us peering inquisitively into their compartments?"

"Simple - we'll tell them we're looking for a lost dog."

 

 

Chapter 181

"This is most undignified, Susie," I muttered, as we squinted into the compartment through a gap in the pulled down blinds. "Behaving like a pair of furtive voyeurs."

"Shush, Jeffrey, and looky there on the seat - an attache case with the initials 'A W'."

"It isn't exactly what I'd call a briefcase, Susie."

"Not everybody is as pedantic as you are, Jeffrey. It's near enough for us to investigate further. The 'W' could stand for 'Watt'."

"I suppose you've noticed the only occupant is a vicar, Susie."

"Yes, Jeffrey - and it's a Sunday, so this shouldn't be his day of rest. In my good book, he has questions to answer."

"The reverend may not take kindly to your interrogation. From his shutting out of the world, he's presumably an individual who values his privacy."

"The revvy does appear a mite eccentric, dressed in that old-fashioned way. I wonder if he's related to the bod who wrote 'Thomas the Tank Engine'."

"Well, I'm not asking for his autograph, Susie. It's odds-on the lone rector won't welcome our intrusion."

"The compartment isn't reserved, Jeffrey, and having first-class tickets means we can sit where we like on the train."

"But maybe not where he likes."

"A vicar isn't the pope - once we're in, he can't excommunicate us."

"The Reverend Nicholas Horrobin tried to. I just hope this man of God confines his extra-curricular activities to steam loving, and not devil worshipping."

"Or industrial espionaging at worst," Susie grinned. "If my theory's correct, the contents of that case may give you a big surprise."

"Even though there's not much chance of picking up another set of runes courtesy of a rogue priest, I shall act with considerable caution in all that follows, Susie."

"And you're wise to do so, Denise. Victorian vicars notoriously found it difficult to resist the charms of a nubile young maiden's finely-turned ankles and smoothly-rounded knees - let alone a flash of her thighs and a glimpse of her stocking tops."

"Then you'd better lead the way, Susie. You're the one wearing the trousers while I'm the one in Wonderland."

"Okay, prepare to engage the holy gentleman in conversation, Alice, and we'll test his spiritual IQ."

"After you - the first lesson's all yours," I submitted, sliding back the door.

"Good morning, your grace," Susie beamed, righteously occupying the seat opposite. "Do you mind if we seek sanctuary in your company?"

"Sanctuary?" The vicar raised a bushy eyebrow and put down his Church Times. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, my child."

"We're the only girls on-board, and the interest were arousing is giving us great cause for concern," Susie explained. "Isn't that the truth, Denise?"

"The gospel, Susie," I agreed, shimmying down beside her. "We've suffered a severe mauling. It's lions versus Christians in those compartments."

The vicar cast an appraising eye over us. "You appear not the least dishevelled. Surely you exaggerate."

"Denise should have said 'it's reminiscent of being thrown to the Italians'," Susie amended. "But she's too much of a lady to mention pinched bottoms in your presence."

"Quite so." The vicar pursed his lips. "I don't think you need go into more detail."

"And we gained no respite from their fondling in the corridor, either," I continued, smoothing out my jacket as evidence. "The number of folk wanting to squeeze past us has been unbelievable."

"And with the carriage rocking and rolling like nobody's business, you were almost completely disoriented, weren't you, Denise?"

"I didn't know whether I was coming or going, Susie," I shivered. "I'm not used to being manhandled."

"Dear me," the vicar frowned, "that's most extraordinary behaviour for railway enthusiasts. I've always found them to be an upstanding society of fellows."

"We'll take your word for it, sir," Susie accepted, and patted me on an exposed knee. "Compose yourself, Denise - the boys probably meant no real harm. How were they to know we've had a very sheltered upbringing?"

The reverend gave us a sceptical look. "Is that so, my dear?"

"Yes, my uncle's the head of the family, and stands no nonsense. He's an undertaker."

"A fine body of men," the vicar approved.

"Unky's a Charon among them. I can ask him to punt some business your way, if you like," Susie offered.

"That's most kind of you, but I'm afraid my diary is already full to Christmas and beyond."

"You're taking time off from sermonising today, though."

"I've arranged for the Reverend Sydney Pirbright to minister my parish while I enjoy a short sabbatical. Every soul occasionally needs a little peace and solitude."

"Then we'll just say thanks for letting us join you, and no more," Susie bowed, settling back in her seat. "This is a strange coincidence, isn't it, Denise - meeting up with two vicars in two days?"

"Are you hoping for yet another illuminating experience, Susie?"

"If only, Denise, but we don't want to impose on the Reverend A W."

The vicar glanced at the attache case and smiled. "Aubrey Worple to my flock - and you are the Misses ..."

"Smith on your left, and Jones on your right," Susie indicated. "Two little lambs who haven't quite lost their way."

"I'm most gratified to hear it," the vicar declared. "Is that a result of your previous ecclesiastical encounter?"

"In spite of, I'd say. Although we did find engaging in a devilish dispute with a dedicated disciple of the old religion extremely stimulating."

"Yes, an exchange of views with our Catholic brethren can lead to an animated debate."

"Our opponent's outlook on life and death was certainly all-embracing, eh, Denise?"

"Awfully liberal, Susie," I agreed. "And what a reactionary the man turned out to be - after losing the moral argument, he still went down with his sacrilegious guns blazing."

"Do I detect the slightest hint of irony in your tone, my dear?"

"More than a hint," I confessed. "The false-believer did strive mightily to convert us, but we suspected he may not have had our long-term, spiritual interests at heart."

"And one difference of opinion led to another, didn't it, Denise?"

"So much so, Susie, I was tempted to give our adversary a clout round the earhole with my Methodist hymnbook."

"I see," the vicar nodded, making an arch with his hands, "you're Non-conformists."

"That's putting it mildly," Susie confessed. "Thank goodness the Spanish Inquisition's no longer around or we'd be in severe doctrinal difficulties."

"I won't judge you too harshly," the vicar avowed. "Young people are not well equipped for moral thought, because it requires wisdom of the world which is hard-earned."

"Yes, and Denise is always quick to remind me of the fact," Susie affirmed. "She has her very own strict principles."

"But we aren't heretics," I insisted. "Apart from my suspicion Mathematics is written by a higher authority, we stick faithfully to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, never straying further."

"Highly commendable - although you should widen your horizons," the vicar advised. "You're missing such a lot."

"We're not that keen on the earlier fire and brimstone bits," I shivered.

"I understand, my child, but there are some most instructive narratives in the Old Testament. Take the account of Sodom and Gomorrah, for example."

"A petrifying, cautionary tale," I allowed. "But it's not one of our favourite bedtime stories, is it, Susie?"

"Ah yes, we made careful note of the yarn, Denise, although we preferred the sequel, Noah's Ark."

"And I pray you learned something of value from it, too."

"Oh, we certainly did - and we took to heart the message."

"And what may I ask is that, young lady?"

"The importance of always keeping in trim," Susie responded.

"Keeping in trim?" the Reverend Worple queried.

"Yes - otherwise you may be in a bit of bother if God lands you with a big job when you're six hundred years old."

"Quite," the vicar coughed. "Oh, pardon me."

"Granted," Susie smiled. "All that preaching can give a man a squirrel in the throat."

"A squirrel in the throat," the vicar echoed faultlessly, to Susie's dismay. "That's a new one on me."

"It was a slip of the brain," Susie explained. "I can't get squirrels out of my mind, can I, Denise?"

"Not since we found one hibernating in our fridge, Susie."

The Reverend Worple's eyes widened. "Dearie me, what happened next?"

"There's nothing more to say - its tale is told," I lisped.

"Forgive me," the vicar croaked, "but I don't see where this talk of squirrels is leading."

"Neither do we, but you have to admit they would tickle more than a frog," Susie grinned. "Isn't that right, Denise?"

"I don't know much about squirrels except that they do nutting in the autumn, Susie."

"And then they hibernate and do nothing in the winter, too."

"My uncle's a motor mechanic, and he does nutting all the year round."

"Why - was he made redundant, Denise?"

"No, he took a wage cut."

"Even so it's still good pay for doing nothing."

"It's a pittance, Susie. His wife's a braider, and she makes more doing knotting."

"That's reverse sex discrimination, Denise. All folk should get the same for doing nothing."

"They're hoping to retire in ten years and do nothing together for the rest of their lives."

"But meanwhile they're working their fingers to the bone, doing nothing at work."

"Nutting and knotting, without end, Susie."

"They must be fed up doing nothing, Denise."

"They're always ready for a holiday from doing nutting and knotting."

"Doing nothing in their own time, eh. Well, I suppose a change is as good as a rest."

"Yes, Susie - uncle runs after butterflies, doing netting, and auntie sits there rocking, doing knitting."

"What's the world coming to, Denise. They're fully occupied doing nothing, and an educated man, like the vicar here, is only doing nothing six days a week."

"And then doing something when everyone else is doing nothing, Susie."

"There's nothing more to be said, Denise, unless the vicar has anything to add."

"Kaaahhkkk! Kaaahhkkk!"

"It sounds as if our Dinky Dooery hasn't gone down too well with the reverend, Susie."

"A monk would break his 30-year silence to heckle us, Denise."

"Kaaahhkkk! Kaaahhkkk!"

"Get our coats, Susie - we're leaving."

"Uummpphh! Uummpphh! Oh, excuse me - I couldn't hold it in a moment longer."

"It's okay - we won't be insulted if you throw us out."

"Our pitiful patter isn't to blame, Denise. I don't believe his holiness has been paying that much attention."

"If the vicar did listen through gritted ears, Susie, he was Christian enough not to interrupt."

"Or hurl a rotten tomato, or two, Denise."

"Uuuurrrrgh! Uuuurrrrgh!"

"Make that the kitchen sink, Susie."

"Kaaahhkkk! Kaaahhkkk!"

"Cough it up, Aubrey," Susie encouraged, "it might be a bus."

"Uummpphh! Uummpphh! Oh, now my stomach's turning over. I must have eaten something that disagreed with me."

"Are you all right, sir?" I asked. "Your convulsions remind me of our cat choking on a hair-ball."

"You haven't got a cat, Denise."

"Not any longer, Susie."

"Urrrrggghh! If you'll excuse me," the vicar gasped, shakily rising to his feet, "I feel a need to visit the washroom."

"Have a drink of water while you're there," Susie suggested. "And don't worry about your personal effects - we'll take care of them like our own."

"The toilet's two coaches down," I indicated, as the vicar staggered into the corridor.

"He's off and scurrying, Jeffrey - close the door, and we'll open the box."

"We shouldn't really, Susie. It's the man's private property, and you've no reason to be suspicious of him."

"The revvy had you raising a finely-arched, feminine eyebrow, more than once."

"They're unplucked and completely natural, Susie."

"As I said, Denise is totally convincing with regard to all particulars, Jeffrey - in contrast to the vicar."

"The names he gave were somewhat surprising," I allowed.

"Exactly - Aubrey Worple - pull the other one, Jeffrey. He obviously invented it on the spur of the moment."

"It's not the first alias that would spring to my mind in an emergency, Susie. Do you know anybody called 'Worple' - or even 'Aubrey', for that matter?"

"Well, there's Audrey Wortle, for starters."

"You just made that up."

"Which proves how easy it is," Susie smirked, flipping open the latches on the attache case. "I'll sneak a peek and see if the rev's in possession of any classified documents."

"Okay, but be quick about it."

"Whooo-oo!"

"So what sort of papers are in there?" I asked, as Susie's eyes widened.

"Private ones, like you said, Jeffrey," Susie frowned, and fully raised the lid. "Here, have a look."

"Crumbs! So that's what they got up to in Gomorrah," I whistled. "But where does the half a pork pie come into it?"

"Poring over such goings-on, probably makes you want to get your teeth into something juicy, Jeffrey."

"And spicy, Susie - I never imagined old folk were so bendable."

"Perhaps they've been photoshopped."

"Or we're viewing it upside down," I blinked.

"Whichever way, it's queer light reading for a vicar. Perhaps all is not as he seemed."

"The reverend did have a peculiar taste in Bible stories. I can think of more appropriate subjects than Sodom and Gomorrah to discuss with innocent young girls."

"I'd put nothing past such a man, Jeffrey. We'll need to keep a watchful eye on him."

"And very watchfully, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"It's possible someone got at the case before us," Susie concluded, when she'd finished checking for secret compartments. "We can't just sit here, twiddling our thumbs, waiting for the return of the prodigal, Jeffrey."

"Before you plot our next move, Susie, how about a round of sprouts?"

"Girls don't indulge in farting contests, Denise."

"It's a pencil and paper exercise, Susie."

"I'm wondering what interminable game the vicar's playing, Jeffrey. He could have composed a couple of sermons while visiting the porcelain god."

"Perhaps the Reverend Worple is suffering from a lack of physical as well as moral fibre," I mused. "Should we see if he's unavoidably detained on the pulpit?"

"Okay, we've spent enough time doing nothing," Susie decided. "We'll check if his worship really is otherwise engaged and then seek out suspects new - agreed, Jeffrey?"

"I'm saying nutting, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Officialdom's already a-knock, knock, knocking, Jeffrey."

"Then let's leave the authorities to investigate, and sidle on by," I proposed, even as Susie quickened her stride.

"Hello again, Mr Harbottle," she hailed, before popping her own question. "Are you having a problem with one old revvy locked in the lavatory?"

"It's the vicar hogging the bog, is it?" Jeremiah frowned, staying his knuckles. "Then I'd best leave the gentleman to his ablutions."

"The Reverend Worple departed our company in a hurry and has been gone quite a time. Perhaps you should check he isn't awkwardly discommoded," Susie hinted.

"I have had no answer and heard not a tinkle," Jeremiah reflected. "So to allay your concerns, I consider it my duty to effect an emergency entry. Stay there, girls," he ordered, turning his pass-key in the lock, "lest an explanation of my uninvited incursion is required."

"How about we drift away before all is revealed? Susie," I whispered. "We've been set up to take the blame for any embarrassment caused if the vicar's discovered in flagrante with himself."

"Hang on, Denise - the invasion of privacy isn't going smoothly."

"Uuuhhh!" the guard grunted, on his attempt to gain access. "Something's jamming up the works."

"We'll push you, and you push the door," Susie offered. "Whether you use your nose is up to you."

"All right, I'm ready," Jeremiah resolved, putting his shoulder to the deal. "But careful of my crumbling spine."

"One ... two ... three ... shove, Denise!"

"Oh, heaven's above!" Jeremiah exclaimed, as we propelled him headfirst into the toilet. "I don't believe it!"

"What did I tell you, Susie," I muttered. "The vicar's been caught exposed."

"It's worse than that, Denise, judging from Mr Harbottle's shocked expression."

"Another one's kicked the bucket," Jeremiah wailed, reeling away into the corridor.

"Are you sure?" Susie questioned. "The vicar was in rude health and coughing fine when he left us."

"That's a dead man on the floor if I ever saw one. He's downright deflated - have a look for yourselves."

"We'd rather not, sir," I demurred. "A defrocked vicar isn't a fit sight for young girls' eyes."

"The gentleman's maintained the proprieties, my dear - he hasn't taken his trousers down. You won't be compromised by lending me a pair of helping hands."

"Then don't worry, Mr Harbottle, we won't desert you in your hour of need," Susie declared.

"If you could oblige again," the old soldier grimaced, pressing his hands into the small of his back. "It would be a blot on my copybook to have the other passengers inconvenienced for the rest of the journey."

"Mr Harbottle's concern for the lavatorial comfort of the travelling public is a shining example to us all, isn't it, Denise?"

"Yes, we dispose of the deceased while he sees to the living, Susie."

"Very well," Jeremiah agreed, "You carry, and I'll clear the path of any gawkers."

"On route, you should pick up the reverend's attache case," I advised. "His family wouldn't want it consigned to lost property."

"Rest assured, I shall make a complete inventory of all the gentleman's belongings," Jeremiah promised. "Nothing will be omitted."

"Okay, Denise, what's the best way to tackle the job? There isn't much room to manoeuvre in there."

"I suppose it'll be easiest if we each grab a leg, and drag the body out by the heels and then along on the shoulders, Susie."

"Brilliant, Denise, and if anyone is moved to enquire why we're hauling him behind us, we can tell them the vicar has over-imbibed in the communion wine."

"You're never at a loss for an unlikely story, Susie."

"It's a gift, Denise."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Three in a row." Susie stepped back to admire our handiwork. "They make a grisly picture, Denise."

"Wouldn't it appear more artistic with the dog in the middle?" I suggested.

"It's a question of decorum, Denise - then they wouldn't both fit under the overcoat. How does it look to you, Mr Harbottle?" Susie called to the guard.

"My sainted aunt!" Jeremiah gawked, from his private corner. "This is enough to give the pope apoplexy."

"What's that you've got there?" Susie innocently enquired of the aghast official. "The parish magazine?"

"Don't ask, girls!" Jeremiah stuffed the offending article inside his jacket. "I've never seen anything like it in my life ... not even in the old bazaar in Cairo."

"It's that bad, is it?" Susie goggled.

"Worse - I only hope the old goat didn't make any improper advances towards you girls while on railway property."

"We never gave him the chance," Susie asserted. "We crossed our legs and everything else the instant he mentioned Sodom and Gomorrah."

"The dirty beast, abusing his learning," Jeremiah snorted. "And him a reverend, too."

"Anglican by day and Bohemian by night," Susie reproved.

"Although the vicar had hair growing out of his ears, we shouldn't rush to judgement," I cautioned. "Suppose someone slipped the offending article into the case for a bawdy joke."

"There you go again, Denise - always wanting to believe the best of folk."

"But she has a point." Jeremiah thoughtfully stroked his chin. "This literature coming to light can only lead to upset for all involved. I should discreetly dispose of the evidence. And the half-eaten pork pie - the hairy mould may lead to questions being asked about its provenance."

"Too true," Susie agreed. "Feeding folk dodgy meat products is almost as bad as putting folk in them."

"I'm sure Mrs Pickersgill has never gone that far," Jeremiah objected. "Whatever the rumours regarding her husband's present whereabouts."

"Taken his custom elsewhere, has he?" Susie smiled.

"Walter could have been another Bobby Charlton, with his rocket-shot and comb-over, but he wouldn't give up his whippets. So tongues wagged when the man, who could nutmeg a mermaid, disappeared and left his prize pups to fend for themselves."

"If you want to avoid any more sensational gossip, you'd better take the magazine from your inside pocket and chuck it off the train," I advised.

"It's against company rules," the guard frowned, crossing to the window. "But I was trained to use my initiative in the REME."

"That's right - cast his mates to the wind," Susie grinned.

"And don't forget the pork pie," I reminded him.

"I trust you will," Jeremiah requested.

"We're already turning our backs on the unsavoury facts of the case, aren't we, Susie?"

"And putting the whole episode behind us, Denise. Come on, let's leave Mr Harbottle to it, so there are no witnesses to his suppression of incriminating evidence."

 

 

Chapter 182

"There's nothing to be gained by not minding our own business, Susie," I argued, in the forlorn hope of encouraging a swift return to our compartment. "All we're acquiring is pall-bearing practice."

"Only because I judged now is not the moment to alarm old Jeremiah by examining a randy, deceased priest for invisible signs of foul play."

"Like the tell-tale damp patch left by a poisoned ice-dart."

"That's another method of elimination we should check for, Jeffrey."

"I'd rather not, Susie - there's too much chance of a false positive."

"This is no time to be squeamish if we're going to find the double killer."

"The vicar's another victim of Mr Y, is he?"

"Do keep abreast of things, Denise," Susie urged, as we reversed direction at the top of the train and swayed back along the corridor. "The Reverend Worple is now Mr Y, and the murderer is Mr Z."

"So you have a Mr Z bumping off a Mr X and a Mr Y. Apart from using up letters of the alphabet, what other progress have you made, Susie?"

"I have to admit we've some catching up to do after not getting off to the most auspicious start."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at three dead bodies and not a shred of evidence supporting your theories - except a possible pair of improvised bicycle clips."

"Then let's find Ronan, and see if he has any incongruous characters to report. Maybe our steam expert has run across someone unfamiliar with the intricate workings of a Walschaerts valve gear."

"You're chasing train bores, Susie. Enjoy the journey, and let stolen briefcases lie."

"It's early miles yet, Jeffrey."

"With the most interesting to come, Susie. We're steaming north on the mainline now - that will give the Duchess a chance to display her full 3,000 horsepower."

"3,000 horsepower, eh, Jeffrey - how many Aston Martins is that?"

"About half a dozen - but stop sports car dreaming, and concentrate on steering us around the traffic up ahead."

"He looks a wide boy," Susie observed.

"In more ways than one," I murmured, as we slowed to a halt in front of the expectant youth blocking our passage.

"Hey, what do you know - Ronan wasn't romancing about his twin princesses," the adolescent impediment to our progress snickered. "It's Susie and Denise - and looking even more alluring in the flesh."

"Ignore the boor, Denise - don't give him the time of day."

"I wouldn't tell a complete stranger which year it is when we haven't been formally introduced."

"But as good as, darling," the lad leered. "Ronan couldn't stop gabbing about the couple of cuties he'd copped."

"That's 'cuties' - as in 'acuties'," Susie spelled out. "Give way, or you'll be feeling the sharp points of our elbows."

"I surrender." The boy mockingly raised his hands. "Don't attack."

"Then skulk back into your cage, you little beast, and let us through," Susie directed.

"If you're keen on wild life, come into the compartment, and I'll show you my pet snake," the youth winked.

"Oh, buzz off," Susie snorted.

"Here, get an eyeful of this." The youth plucked a multi-coloured, rubber cobra from inside his coat and waved it under Susie's nose. "I bet you've never seen one this close up before."

"Thanks - and in return, I'll give you an earful of the thing." Susie snatched the joke shop novelty from her aspiring tormentor and smacked him round the head with it. "How does this strike you?"

"Ooowww! That hurt."

"Then behave yourself, or you'll have one on the other side to match, mon petit chou-fleur."

"Save your energy and vocabulary, Susie," I advised. "Your love-tap and French is lost on the likes of him."

"Yes, you don't know your own strength," the boy whined. "There's a big metal spring in there, and you wouldn't want to do Ronan's kid brother a permanent injury."

"I find it hard to believe the two are in any way related, Denise."

"So do I, Susie. Ronan behaved like a perfect English gentleman towards us."

"As will Hector O'Flaherty, given half a chance, ladies. I'll even let you keep my little pal."

"I was going to," Susie asserted, coiling the fake snake into her bag. "I'll return your property at the end of term."

"I don't want it - you can have it. I'm fed up with the thing," Hector sneered, and turned his charm on me. "I've had enough of being the teacher's pet, darling. I'd rather spend my playtime with a naughty schoolgirl."

"Okay, but first, are you Hector the 100 ares, or Hector the braggart?" I queried.

"I'll soon prove I'm not boasting, sweetie. Are you up for some super snogging?"

"Oh, is that an offer to share your minestrone?"

"Minestrone - what's that?"

"Vegetables and pasta - my favourite - you broth of a boy."

"That's me," Hector smirked. "Although I'm into cream of mushroom."

"Careful, Denise, the hungry young wolf is wilfully misinterpreting what's on the menu."

"If you're peckish, gorgeous, play your cards right, and we'll all go to MacDonald's on a double date," Hector snickered. "Come to think of it, we don't need that wuss, Ronan - four's a crowd when I'm available."

"So's three, Eck," Susie retorted.

"Don't worry, Denise, baby," Hector winked, "Your mate won't persuade me to dump a girl like you, who's got up to tease."

"My mother approves of my whole wardrobe," I huffed. "Almost everything I wear is from Junior Miss at Marks and Spencer."

"The ribbon in your hair might be, but the rest isn't exactly a Sunday School outfit, is it?"

"He doesn't know what he's talking about, does he, Susie?" I blushed.

"I suspect our friend is one of those guys who have an unusual interest in women's clothes, Denise."

"Ah, I've got it, Susie," I smiled. "You're a wannabe dress designer, are you, Mr Hector?"

"No, a fashion photographer, ducks. How about undoing another button or two and posing for a few intimate pictures?"

"Sorry," I apologised, "I'm under exclusive contract to Stephanie of Lancston."

"Go on," he cajoled. "I'm a whiz with Ronan's camera."

"Maybe - but seeing that you don't have it to hand, your whole approach is out-of-focus."

"Hey, I know how to get you in the mood," Hector persisted. "Would you like to see my dirty photos?"

"No thanks," I sniffed. "We'd rather you kept your socks on."

"Socks?" Hector puzzled. "Who mentioned socks?"

"You did - and your bare-footed cheek defeated the object."

"What object, Miss Gibberish?"

"Your puns are over his pedestrian head, Denise. The bozo doesn't get it."

"Yes, I bloody do!" Hector spluttered. "She's girly text-speaking ... or something equally daft."

"The peasant's adding insult to injury, Susie. We intellectuals eschew such vulgar means of communication."

"Here - chew on these, you smart-arse." Hector drew two drink cans from his pockets and began shaking them. "I'll splatter the smile off the other side of both your faces."

"He must be one those Cubist artists, Susie."

"On guard, Denise! His filthy photos didn't seduce us, but his fizzy Vimtos might."

"Not so fast, Picasso," I cried. "Here - take this!"

"Oooowwwwww!" Hector yelped, dropping his would-be spray-paints, on the impact of my stiletto. "That's not fair."

"And you warn me about retaliating first, Denise," Susie chided. "But well done - you beat the yob to his ring-pulls."

"The boy got under my feet, Susie," I explained, skipping back out of harm's way. "It's lucky I didn't throw a shoe, spiking his guns."

"He's the one who's hopping mad, Denise. You've done the mischief a mischief."

"Aaaaaawwwww! That went right through my Kickers."

"Hector defeated by a killer heel - there's a turn-up for the myth," I mused, as my victim jigged up and down in pain.

"Mind how you go there, sonny," Susie cautioned. "It's important to keep your feet firmly on the ground."

"Except when putting one's pants on, Susie."

"Oh, careful, Denise - a frustrated Ecky's regained his balance and is rearming himself."

"He looks as pent-up as his pop, Susie."

"Don't get any more wet ideas," Susie warned, as Hector salvaged his unfired artillery. "Or your shins will suffer for your sins."

"I'm saving them to wash down my lunch," Hector glared, retreating out of harm's way. "They're too good to waste on a sissy girl."

"Denise is modelling her butch biker babe outfit today. But count yourself lucky you didn't cross swords with her when she's a profusely petticoated Lolita."

"And accessorised to the hilt, Susie - a swift thrust of my pink parasol would have really left his eyes watering."

"I don't know what Ronan saw in you two," the red-faced boy spluttered. "You're bloody mental ..."

"Geniuses," Susie grinned.

"... and you aren't that well blessed, either. I'm into girls with really big breasts ... and blondes."

"Be a gentleman, then, Ecky, and withdraw to your compartment before you explode," Susie instructed.

"Shan't!" he hissed defiantly, before half-stepping inside. "And don't call me 'Ecky'."

"Okay, poppet."

"Just you wait until my brother gets back."

"You're behaving like a spoilt only child," Susie jeered. "I don't believe you've got a brother."

"Yes, I have - and here he comes now. Hey, Chunky!" Hector shrieked down the carriage. "Guess what these loopy girls have been saying about you."

"Hello Ronan," we chorused.

"Hi, Susie. Hi, Denise. Are you looking for me?"

"Yes, and your baby bruvver's kept us amused, while we were baiting," Susie smiled. "The boy will make a great alternative comedian if he doesn't grow up."

"I'm not a boy - I'm bigger than you are, Missy."

"Don't scowl, Hector," Ronan admonished. "Be polite to my friends."

"Why should I, Chunky? She whacked me with my snake."

"Good - it serves you right. After the last letter from school, you were told never to take the thing out in public again."

"It was only a joke - girls have no sense of humour," Hector sulked. "And that's nothing to do with this, anyway. She stamped on my foot with her deadly weapons - just out of spite."

"No, I didn't," Susie protested.

"Not you, your pal in the high heels." Hector jabbed a finger at me. "And she's made it throb something awful."

"Pointing's rude," Ronan scolded.

"Yes, watch it," Susie advised, "or you might have a digital mishap, too, and end up limping through the pages of the Beano."

"Did you hear that, Chunky? She threatened me."

"How many times have I to remind you - don't call me 'Chunky'."

"I forget, Ronan, but they started it. I'll be hobbling with a swollen big toe tomorrow, and it's all rude Miss Shiny Shoes' fault."

"There's no need to hang up your stilettos in remorse, Denise," Susie judged, peering down at Hector's injured extremity. "The injury doesn't look so bad to me."

"It's insignificant compared to having a mobile library run over your Hush Puppies," I agreed. "That left granddad writhing in agony."

"Even then, Denise, I bet he didn't make as much of a fuss as Hector, here."

"You're right, there, Susie. Granddad suffered in silence when the driver came up and told him to shush."

"Did you hear the silly bimbo, Ronan? Now she's making fun of crippling me."

"Don't exaggerate, Hector, and mind your manners with Denise."

"It's not bloody fair," Hector whined. "She should be the one apologising for an unprovoked assault."

"Okay, I'm sorry, and I regret any future inconvenience caused," I smiled. "It's just bad luck you put your foot out of the door as we were passing."

"You little liar - you did it on purpose."

"Pardon the brat's behaviour." Ronan shoved Hector into the compartment. "Sit down and eat your crisps, or I'll tell mum you've been bothering girls with your snake again."

"No, don't do that, Ronan," Hector pleaded, as the door closed on him. "I never touched either of them. They wouldn't let me."

"I hope you'll excuse Hector's lapses," Ronan sighed. "He's at a funny age."

"Little brothers - what would you do with 'em? Mine costs me a fortune and listens at keyholes," Susie confided. "Incidentally, have you espied any other passengers with peculiar habits?"

"There's one guy who doesn't know the Coronation Class have 6' 9" driving wheels, as opposed to the 6' 6" of the Princess Class. That's pretty damn strange for a genuine gricer, in my experience."

"He's probably one of your visiting Germans, Susie," I grinned. "They can't get their heads around feet and inches as well as squirrels."

"It's a distinct possibility, Denise."

"I suppose so," Ronan reflected. "The chap used a word I'd never heard before when I accidentally trod on his scarf."

"Had he it wrapped around his neck at the time?" Susie enquired.

"Tightly, and I took the opportunity to warn him of the danger of getting something that long caught up in the machinery."

"What happened next?"

"He used two words I am familiar with."

"And you did?"

"Yes - for the second time today - but not before I informed the fellow he was making a lot of fuss over a slightly stretched scarf."

"Perhaps his grandmother knitted it specially for him, as a birthday present," I suggested.

"Or for a giraffe," Ronan laughed. "You should have seen the length of the thing. I wonder if he's a vintage Dr Who fan, too."

"We'll ask him when we meet, won't we, Denise?"

"And whether he keeps a pet squirrel, Susie."

"He didn't behave like a small animal lover, more a ..."

"Oi, Ronan!" Hector ejaculated, from inside their compartment, before poking his head out of the door. "Can I borrow your hanky?"

"No - and don't 'Oi' me."

"Go on - I'm all wet and sticky. My Vimmy violently erupted when I opened it, thanks to your stupid girlfriends."

"Who are generous to a fault," Susie smiled, tossing a packet of paper tissues his way. "Wipe yourself down with those, and try not to get so all shook up in future."

"Clean the seat as well," Ronan ordered. "People have to sit on it."

"And they have to eat," Hector moaned. "I've finished the crisps, and I'm still hungry. Quit rabbiting on about trainspotting - where are my pork pies?"

"Sold out - I got you ham sandwiches instead. Here - these were the last ones." Ronan handed over the packet. "Don't make another mess - they're a bit crumbly."

"Let's wish him the best of luck with those, Denise."

"They may have even more life in them than his Vimtos, Susie."

"Or a tramp's vest - enjoy any hidden extras in there, Ecky."

"Bugger off, you dozy ditzes," Hector glared. "Go and spoil somebody else's snack."

"Don't act mard and leave us this way," I appealed. "Play the little gentleman and say good-bye with two tiddles and a wink."

"Get lost, you mad tottie," Hector frothed, retiring into the safety of the compartment and slamming shut the door. "The next time you stand on anybody's foot, I hope you fall off your bloody high heels and break an ankle."

"Sorry about that," Ronan apologised.

"Hey, Ronan, make the bossy one give me back my cobra."

"No - and shut up."

"You're bloody infatuated that's what you are," Hector spluttered, before finally being silenced by a mouthful of Mrs Pickersgill's boiled ham.

"The boy's a trial to us all," Ronan groaned, "Mum's forever at him."

"But on the plus side, he isn't faddy about his food," I smiled.

"Nevertheless, junior siblings need to be kept firmly in check," Susie asserted. "Spare the rod and spoil the child."

"It doesn't hurt to bribe them, either," I added.

"I've tried that," Ronan moaned, "but Hector still shows no respect to his elders and betters. He fails to appreciate a dedication to gricing is a first step in my ambition to become a revolutionary Minister of Transport."

"When I'm Prime Minister, you'll be my first appointment, following Denise as Chancellor of the Exchequer," Susie promised.

"Is that before or after you win the Nobel Peace Prize?" I enquired.

"Before, Denise. The only thing is I don't fancy three years of Politics, Philosophy, and Economics as a grounding for climbing the greasy pole."

"PPE is old hat, Susie. Graduate in Climastrology and you could be the first Eco-PM."

"I don't know, Denise - wind farms and lentils aren't every voter's cup of fair-trade tea."

"I'd be happy to serve in such a government," Ronan enthused. "It fits in perfectly with my plans for magnetic levitation and ..."

"Hey, Chunky, this green mustard tastes funny," Hector oinked from inside the compartment, holding up a half-eaten sandwich for our inspection. "Are you trying to poison me?"

"Big brotherly responsibility calls, Ronan," Susie indicated. "You'd better get in there and stomach punch the little beast before it proves fatal."

"Oh, are you going already?"

"Yes, Denise and I have to see a man without a dog, so it's bye for now."

"Okay - we'll meet up again later, and I'll explain my scheme for storing energy in giant flywheels."

"We'll look forward to it," I nodded. "And in the meantime, it'd be best if you let Hector only eat cake."

"Washed down with prune juice," Susie recommended. "That'll rebalance his hormones."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Over the points, over the points,
Over the points, over the points.
The Lakeland Special's steamin' down the line.
The Lakeland Special's making up time.
Over the points, over the points,
Over the points, over the points."

"Ooo! The vibrations went straight up through my high heels to Pinky and Perky, Susie. It felt quite erotic."

"Don't dawdle fondling yourself, Denise, we have leads to follow."

"Okay, Susie, but refrain from pulling a fractious fellow's scarf if you run into him," I cautioned, as we rolled along the corridor.

"We're unfailingly polite, Jeffrey, but it's strange how we bring out the beast in some people, isn't it?"

"There's nothing we can do about it, Susie. Folk with a low pun threshold are just plain biased against us."

"Yes, all of them do seem to have big bottoms, Jeffrey."

"The dogs as well, Susie."

"Speaking of which, here we are - back where we belong - first class. Before we make our next move, let's sit awhile and quietly reconsider the facts of the case."

"That may be somewhat difficult with Mr Nutbeam present, Susie. Either he'll continue haranguing us, or mournfully relate interminable shaggy Mr Ben tales."

"Not if we hint the best place for him is the buffet car and its supply of recuperative cuppas."

"Mr Nutbeam may not be too eager to accept further suggestions from us," I advised.

"There's more than one way to skin a dog, Jeffrey."

"And we're working our way through them, Susie," I sighed, as she slid open the compartment door.

 

 

Chapter 183

"Well, autumn time is calling,
The golden leaves are falling,
And we just saw a crow flying by.
While poor Niven's hands were wringing,
We were singing
The stories that broke his heart."

"This whole affair's a bugger's muddle," Susie concluded, five minutes after we'd waved a sad farewell to Mr Nutbeam.

"An eloquent and succinct summing up," I agreed, whilst continuing my count of passing telegraph poles.

"It's the poet in me, Jeffrey."

"Whose other lyrical inspirations contributed to Mr Nutbeam's tearful departure."

"I told you two girl Elvises' emotional rendition of 'Old Shep' would have the desired effect," Susie smirked.

"The Dinky Doos novelty delivery of the B-side - 'How Much Is That Doggy In The Window?' played its part, too. 'The one with the waggly tail' brought the memories flooding back."

"Leading to Mr Ben's bereft master needing to drown his sorrows in the cup that cheers."

"Our flippantithesis of threnody did Mr Nutbeam a kindness, Susie. If he's moved to recite an elegy to Mr Ben, between sips, I'm sure Mrs Pickersgill will happily lend a sympathetic ear."

"If you'd lend me both of yours, Jeffrey, instead of constantly looking out of the window, we might gain an inkling of what's going on."

"I'm multi-tasking, Susie. While listening to you fantasizing about murder on the excursion express, Denise has been daydreaming of us performing as pony-tailed Dinky Doos resplendent in their Fifties prom dresses, leaving Jeffrey free to deduce our speed is 72 mph."

"How will that help?"

"It won't - and neither will what's looming. You'll have to stow your conspiracy theories in the luggage rack for now."

"Why - when I'm also adept at tripling up on investigations?" Susie grinned, slipping her arm around my waist.

"Because on reflection, this pane in the glass indicates we're likely to have another one for company."

"No wicked for the piece, then, Denise." Susie nonchalantly removed her hand from my thigh, before half-turning her head to eye the spectator staring in at us from the corridor. "Hey, the odds are it's none other than Ronan's uncommon antagonist - what luck, Jeffrey."

"Or maybe not, Susie - a short-tempered curmudgeon who favours the rugged granny look won't make the ideal travelling companion."

"He's carefully considering his next move," Susie muttered, scrutinising the bescarfed, alpine-hatted stranger, in return. "I wonder if Dr Who thinks we know something he doesn't about Dr Watt, and he'd like bringing up to date with the latest developments."

"Perhaps it's less complicated than that, and he's really on the prowl for young girl assistants," I frowned, pulling down my skirt and sitting knees together, as the man slid open the door.

"What's up, doc - is the Tardis' dimensional stabiliser on the blink again?" Susie greeted our visitor.

"You're the fourth person who's asked me that today, and it's becoming rather tiresome," the newcomer scowled.

"You aren't a Tom Baker buff, then," Susie continued, undismayed. "I should have known - the muffler's right, but the tifter's wrong."

"For your information, they're my club hat and university scarf," the fellow retorted, making himself superciliously comfortable on the seat opposite.

"That length can't be standard issue," Susie argued. "Did your auntie knit it specially for you?"

"It's none of your business," our guest snapped.

"A dog's just died lying there, Mister," Susie smiled. "I hope you aren't squeamish."

"I'm not - and if you must address me, it's 'Doctor'."

"I did before - so why get upset?"

"Because I'm a genuine PhD, not some empty-headed actor pretending. I worked hard to become a senior lecturer in geography."

"There's a coincidence," Susie beamed. "My kid brother's well up on that - he collects stamps. Have you any swaps for the little rascal?"

"Modern day Earth studies aren't about countries, capitals, and flags. I'm engaged in a highly scientific discipline."

"Hey, are you what Denise calls a climastrologist - a disciple of the Book of Warmon?"

"Ah, your ignorance knows no bounds - you're climate change deniers," the man accused.

"Are we, Denise?"

"Why not, Susie - we deny pretty much everything else."

"You won't be so sceptical when the Fylde Coast is under fifty feet of water, my girl."

"Oh, are you an oceanographer, sir?" I enquired.

"Quite the opposite - my particular field of interest is orology - that's the study of mountains, to the unversed."

"He might have an ology, but he's still a geography brain like bad old Russell Slope," Susie whispered in my ear. "You'll have the bod for breakfast, Jeffrey."

"What was that?"

"Just wondering to Denise whether the orologist has clocked this is a first-class compartment."

"I graduated with first-class honours and first in my year," the high achiever boasted. "Making this the appropriate location for me - how about you?"

"We're top of our class, too," Susie countered.

"That'll be the twittering class, no doubt. Fly away now, and I won't report your social climbing to the guard."

"Keep your hat on, doc - Denise and I are fully paid-up natural aristocrats."

"Don't refer to me as 'doc' - it's Dr Philipsz - with one 'l' and an extra 'z' on the end."

"Pleased to meet you - I'm Susie Jones with three English 's's. Where did you lose your 'l' and gain a 'z' - Germany?"

"'Philipsz' is of Dutch origin, I believe."

"What's the Dutch for squirrel, then?"

"Squirrel - how the hell should I know?" the doc snorted, with no trace of an accent. "Do you always talk such nonsense?"

"If your first name's Jan you'll communicate in double Dutch, too," Susie grinned.

"Extremely witty, I'm sure, but it happens to be Llewellyn."

"How many 'l's in there?"

"Four."

"So that's where the missing one in 'Philipsz' decamped to."

"Why don't you just keep quiet and stare into space, along with your vacant friend?"

"Don't be misled by her dreamy baby-blues, Llew. Denise is a deep thinker. She's constantly meditating on the higher arithmetic."

"That's the ten-times table on a good day, I suppose."

"Nah, it's all algebraic pis and chis every day with Denise."

"Steak pies and chips, I think you mean," Dr Philipsz scoffed, disdainfully looking down his nose at me. "There's no disputing the girl would make a comely little waitress at a truck-stop. She only needs a frilly pinny and she'd be dressed for the part."

"Don't take the gentleman's chauvinism sitting back, Denise. Get out your order pad and scribble down your latest mathematical achievement for his delectation."

"I wouldn't want to bore the pants of you again, Susie."

"No way, Denise - I love it when you speak Greek, but, I must admit, I don't understand how thetas help with the Countdown numbers game at teatime."

"Are you referring to my elementary proof that zeta(2) is pi squared over six, Susie?"

"That's the one, Denise. Silly me - confusing my thetas with your zetas."

"And glib talk with profound learning," Dr Philipsz sneered. "Parroting the Greek alphabet fails to impress a true academic."

"You succeeded in a lot more than that, didn't you, Denise?"

"We shouldn't swank, Susie," I murmured. "It ain't rocket science, only A-level maths."

"Don't hide your insight under a blushel, Denise. That's an achievement for someone barely out of short trousers, isn't it, doc?"

"Yes, most remarkable," Dr Philipsz sniffed.

"It certainly is," Susie emphasised, "considering Denise has only been studying the subject for a month."

"I have read ahead, though, sir," I confessed.

"And that's what I'd like to do," Dr Philipsz insisted, taking out a Wainwright's guide from his coat pocket. "Try amusing yourselves, instead of failing to amuse me. Or, better still, go for a walk. You'll find a young man in the dynamometer car as irritating as you are."

"Have you the feeling someone wants to get rid of us, Denise?"

"I can't think why, Susie - can you?"

"Not a clue, Denise - what do you suggest?"

"I've brought the cards, Susie," I revealed, unzipping my bag. "Cut for deal?"

"Satan's picture book and a pastime of the Devil, Denise. You're intent on leading me astray."

"They're a good mental and physical exercise," I maintained, dexterously shuffling the deck.

"But you take all the fun out of it with your card counting and memorising, Denise. I'm at a disadvantage and never have a chance."

"How about we even the odds with a quick game of snap, then?"

"Can't you play something less noisy?" Dr Philipsz groused.

"Snip snap snorem, but that will be better with more players," Susie decided. "Should we deal you in, doc?"

"Definitely not - here, give me those." Dr Philipsz snatched the pack from my hand. "Let's see how clever you really are."

"That's the spirit," Susie encouraged. "Successfully pitting her wits against a senior wrangler, even if it's only in geoggers, will make Denise's day."

"She won't figure this poser out," Dr Philipsz professed, after splitting the pack into two equal heaps. "There are fifty-two ..."

"The number of weeks in a year, Denise," Susie winked. "I hope the doc's not going to recite 'Deck of Cards' in its entirety."

"Pay attention," Dr Philipsz instructed. "You," he glared at me, "turn over one of the piles, and then bring them together again."

"Like this?" I asked.

"Exactly - and you'll agree there are now twenty-six face-up cards and twenty-six face-down cards in the pack."

"Indubitably," I nodded.

"Shuffle the deck a few times and then deal half to me."

"Mix them up well, Denise - don't give the sucker an even break."

"We'll see who's a sucker," Dr Philipsz rasped. "Somebody will soon vacate this compartment, and I'll be left in peace."

"The future's in his cards, Denise - let the man have them."

"Okay, Susie," I smiled. "1, 2, 3 ... ... ... 24, 25, 26 - there you are, sir."

With a smug expression, Dr Philipsz picked up his share. "And now we'll check how many face-up ones I've received," he announced, and began enumerating them. "1 . . 2 3 . 4 . . 5 . . . 6 . 7 . 8 9 . . . . 10 . 11 12 - twelve in all."

"Then you must have fourteen, Denise. We've won!" Susie whooped. "Do we get a jigsaw, doc?"

"No, you don't - and you haven't won. That's not the point of the exercise."

"Hey, no changing the rules half-way through the game," Susie objected.

"There are no rules," Dr Philipsz asserted. "And it's not a game."

"What is it, then?"

"An educational lesson - and a wager," he offered. "If I'm accurate in my prediction, you remove yourselves from my presence."

"A prediction about what?" Susie queried.

"The fact that your friend has exactly the same number, 12, of face-up cards as I have."

"Is it true, Denise?"

"I won't argue with a man who has the self-assurance of your Uncle Frank, Susie."

"The doc is similarly irksome, Denise, but does that make him right?"

"Just remember who held the trumps after the gamble with your uncle before you risk our seats, Susie."

"26 minus 12 still equals 14 as far as I'm aware, although perhaps a degree of caution is called for against a PhD - even one in geography."

"Naturally, it's only fair that you should have a reward if I'm wrong," Dr Philipsz tempted, brandishing a twenty-pound note. "Your swift departure against this."

"How about one each?" Susie proposed. "Then we can buy that really big jigsaw of Mount Everest, to occupy us during the long winter evenings."

"Very well - but you won't want a reminder of my taking you down a piton or two," Dr Philipsz mocked, doubling his money. "Start counting your side's face-ups."

"Make it a fabulous fourteen, Denise."

"I'll do my best, Susie."

"Make it good enough - I'm counting on you."

"Onesie, twosie," I trilled.

"I love yousie," Susie responded.

"Threesie, foursie ..."

"I adores thee ..."

"Fivesie, sixsie ..."

"Kiss me quicksie ..."

"Sevensie, eightsie ..."

"You're my datesie ..."

"Ninesie, tensie ..."

"Ain't you heavensie ..."

"Elevensie, twelvsie ..."

"Be my palsie ..."

"Stop messing about and get on with it," Dr Philipsz directed. "You'll soon be laughing the other side of the door."

"You really believe all the rest are face-down, do you?" I smiled at Dr Philipsz.

"Of course, they are," he snapped. "Deal them out - I want to be alone."

"Seriously, now, Denise - concentrate," Susie urged, as I revealed the next card.

"Thirteensie ..."

"Unlucky for somesie ..."

"No!" Dr Philipsz choked.

"Oh, dearsie mesie," Susie lamented. "Whatsie upsie, Greta?"

"It's impossible," Philipsz spluttered. "There couldn't be any more."

"Well, there are, and we ain't finished yet," Susie gloated. "Go for it, Denise - prove me exactly right."

"And one moresie makes fourteensie - as you calculated, Susie. Arithmetic wins over sleight of hand."

"Pay up, Dr Muggins," Susie demanded.

"There should have been only twelve," the shocked doc insisted, ignoring her and staring me in the eye. "You cheated," he hissed.

"I can't see how," I blinked. "We started and ended with a total of twenty-six face-up cards. Nothing could be fairer than that."

"Don't play the innocent," Dr Philipsz seethed. "I know what you did, you crafty little so-and-so."

"You surprise me," I smiled. "I expected a man with your qualifications to blame all natural disasters on climate change, and not the cunning of reason."

"I've a good mind ..."

"But apparently not one as beautiful as Denise's," Susie jeered. "And no welshing on your bet, Llewellyn, or we'll have the guard in here to punch your second-class ticket."

"Take the money!" Dr Philipsz exploded, rising from his seat and throwing the notes at us. "You're nothing but a pair of young scoundrels."

"Just because we're in our teens,
And we still go to school,
You thought that we were ripe for taking,
But we're nobody's fools."

"And bloody shut up singing!"

"The doc's another pillock of society we've ended up out of tune with, Denise."

"Why, you, you ... if I wasn't a gentleman," Dr Philipsz fumed.

"You aren't - scientific or otherwise," I affirmed.

"Just you wait - I'll have you both kicked out of this compartment."

"The boot's on the other foot," Susie reminded him. "We've got the first-class tickets."

"We'll see about that."

"Mind you don't trip over your scarf in your haste to depart, squire," Susie warned. "We wouldn't want to be held accountable for someone else getting it in the neck."

"$*%$*$*%!!"

"That's the second time today we've been subjected to language I never thought to hear from a scholar," I frowned, as the frustrated orologist volubly unwound himself from the compartment to curse off down the corridor. "And he even lacked the manners to tip his hat to us."

"$*%$*$*%!!"

"Cover your ears, Denise."

"I wonder how many four letter words there were in his doctoral thesis, Susie."

"In my estimation, Jeffrey, Dr Philipsz is a man educated beyond his intelligence."

"First-class honours mean nothing these days, Susie."

"The bod had ideas above his station, Jeffrey."

"And in more ways than one," I smiled.

"Yes, he was always on a loser, Jeffrey. Subtracting 12 from 26 shouldn't bamboozle the average geographer, though, so it's a puzzle what the wally thought he was playing at."

"There's no mystery, Susie. You didn't watch the good doctor's hands closely enough, and he failed to pay sufficient attention to mine."

"You couldn't have flipped two cards over, right under his nose, even with Pinky and Perky as a distraction."

"I'd no need to resort to base coquetry, Susie," I huffed. "And my modest little mounds wouldn't impress a man who's devoted his life to the study of mountains."

"So how did the quickness of the hand deceive the eye, Jeffrey?"

"It didn't, Susie. I saw the doc turn over his half before he started counting, so I matched the move."

"What difference did that make?"

"Not the one Dr Philipsz intended," I smirked. "It meant we were back with 26 face-ups between us, instead of each of us having the same number."

"I don't get it, Jeffrey."

"You will, Susie - cogitate for a moment."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Bloody hell, Jeffrey, the arrogant bugger must have taken us for a proper pair of prunes."

"Yes, it's funny how some folk reckon Denise can't add 2 and 2 together."

"A state of affairs you actively encourage by always wanting to appear super girly."

"I can't deny it. Although you must admit there is a little method in my Missness," I pouted. "Unthinking condescension towards Denise does have its advantages."

"In clubs, diamonds, hearts, and spades," Susie grinned. "We should have deprived the doc of his precious scarf as well as his money. The pompous ass can count himself lucky he got off so lightly."

"Yes, a person could lose their shirt, playing cards with me," I smiled. "Do you fancy a game of brag, Susie? I'll give you a three button plus hand up skirt start."

"Okay, Denise - it's time Mrs Peel coached Miss King in some of the finer points of undercover activities."

"You deal - while I pull down the blinds to ensure Emma and Tara enjoy a degree of privacy for their tutorial."

"And then we'll begin by checking if Denise is concealing any additional aces about her person."

 

 

Chapter 184

"Wooooo, Susie!"

"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, Denise!"

"I never saw them engage in anything like that on the telly, Susie."

"The producers of the Avengers missed a trick in not partnering those two in a series of their own, Denise."

"I'm glad we didn't, Susie."

"Diversions aside, it's back to business now, Jeffrey."

"If you insist," I smiled, buttoning my jacket.

"As I was saying, before we were orologically distracted," Susie resumed, after raising the blinds and sitting down opposite me. "It's a bugger's muddle."

"If someone is weaving a tangled web, Susie, they won't appreciate your attempts to unravel it. We should find other ways to occupy ourselves and not become further involved."

"But we could already have waded in deeper than you think, Jeffrey."

"How so, Susie?"

"Dr Philipsz is high on my list of suspects even though he passably pronounced 'squirrel'."

"It may prove a fallible test, Susie."

"I can well believe it, Jeffrey - and that the doc really did deliberately seek us out."

"If so, it isn't the first time we've attracted an older man's unwelcome attention."

"Something other than our Lolitaish charms might have aroused this one's interest, Denise."

"Such as, Susie?"

"Possibly seeing us transporting the body ..."

"That's a recurring theme, too, Susie."

"... of the likely mugger, and perhaps wondering if we had a clue to the whereabouts of the missing briefcase."

"That the corpse communicated to us with his dying last words, I suppose."

"You can scoff, Jeffrey, but it's clear the doc lacked a first-class ticket, so, unless he had an ulterior motive, why risk a fine for the pleasure of our company?"

"The frustration of having to share his space is nearer the mark, Susie. The man hardly tried to win friends and influence people."

"Quite the reverse, in fact, Jeffrey."

"But for my turn of the deck, Susie, he would have sent us packing with no questions asked about our exploits."

"Precisely, Jeffrey - for some reason or other the dodgy doc wanted to be left alone in the compartment to do we know not what."

"Now you're jumping to a totally different conclusion on the same lack of evidence."

"No, I'm plausibly proposing an alternative hypothesis for his strange behaviour," Susie asserted. "A good detective explores every avenue."

"And where does this particular cul-de-sac lead?" I queried.

"The back of the seats, Jeffrey. Remember Jeremiah said he ejected the body in the buffet car from here. Perhaps Dr Philipsz witnessed the incident."

"And put one and one together to make five."

"The doc is only a geographer, but he may have added things up correctly, in this particular case."

"That's why the contents of the Reverend Worple's proved such a disappointment to you, is it, Susie?"

"Exactly, Jeffrey - let's check if the compartment-crasher hid the really hot stuff away before Corporal Harbottle gave him his marching orders."

"I'm not shoving my hand down unexplored depths," I objected. "I'll get all sorts of gunk under my nails."

"You can be too fussy about their appearance, Denise. Polishing the polish is a buff to far."

"It's not vanity in this case, Susie - it's hygiene. And I'm even fussier about what I touch as Jeffrey."

"Okay, you stand on the seat and make a gap for me."

"Is that really necessary?" I questioned.

"Yes - I've stepped over the result of Mikey spending all afternoon with his hand trapped down the sofa."

"But what if someone should look in?"

"I'll tell them I startled Denise with a cry of 'Squirrel on your shoe!'"

"You think of everything, Susie."

"I know, Jeffrey - up you go."

"This is ridiculous, Susie," I protested, as I held on to the luggage rack. "A person passing by could see my stocking tops."

"Wrap your skirt around to keep the squirrel on your shoe out."

"I've only got two hands."

"Stop complaining - nobody's there to ogle your undies. And nothing's here - work your way along."

"You'll be sorry when you discover a wodge of sticky chewing gum."

"There's no danger of that, Jeffrey - this is first class."

"A deliquescing prawn sandwich, then."

"Not even a button - hop over to the other side."

"After this, I'm not taking the light fittings apart," I warned, as Susie began plumbing the depths of the second seat.

"That won't be necessary, Jeffrey. Down you come - I've found it!"

"Found what?"

"A flash drive!"

"Don't get overexcited, Susie," I advised, on making my descent. "That could belong to anybody. Folk are always losing their personal data in transit. It's knocked left-behind umbrellas right off the number one spot."

"You just concocted that, Jeffrey," Susie retorted, waving her novelty prize under my nose. "This is probably crammed full of top-secret information."

"Or, by the looks of it, an appropriate receptacle for a student's media studies coursework."

"Don't be so superficial, Jeffrey. It may display an empty-headed outer casing to the world, but the vital inner contents are what counts."

"I'm simply saying the thing's more likely to have gone missing on a daily commute."

"Ah, but these old carriages are only used for specials."

"Then it was probably lost down there ages ago. And, anyhow, why should Dr Watt carry something that small around in a briefcase? It would have been safer in his pocket unless he's a madly eccentric inventor."

"There's an easy method of seeing whose theory is correct," Susie challenged. "We'll borrow the next convenient laptop, and then all will be revealed."

"I trust that's not 'borrow' as in 'steal'," I frowned.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"This is perfect," Susie rejoiced, pulling up outside a compartment at the front end of the train. "A man alone, engrossed in his computer."

"But with the opposite seat fully occupied."

"It's bums on seats, not bags, that count, Jeffrey. Let's get in there double-quick."

"Okay, but stick to the can-you-spare-a-USB-port plan - no sudden acquisitive inspirations," I warned, before sliding open the door.

"Sorry to interrupt," Susie beamed, holding forth the flash drive, "but we found this little, yellow fellow in the corridor and wondered if he'd fallen out of your pocket."

Two beady eyes blinked up at us from under a bowler hat. "No, that's not mine - I'd never buy such commercialised tat or be so careless with my private data."

"Good on you," Susie approved. "The silly chap who lost this is probably cursing his negligence."

"Then he has only himself to blame," the man declared, warily retrieving his belongings. "A place for everything, and everything in its place is my maxim."

"Thanks for the invite," Susie nodded, commandeering the newly vacant space. "We'd like to take the weight of our feet, wouldn't we, Denise?"

"It has been a long, fruitless search for the owner," I sighed, sitting down beside her.

"Then I suggest you hand it over to the guard," our unenthusiastic host advised, closing the lid of his laptop before stowing it away.

"We tried that," Susie fibbed, "but for some reason he didn't wish to assume the responsibility for its return, did he, Denise?"

"I gained the impression he's preoccupied with much graver matters closer to home, Susie."

"Leaving us with the dilemma of what to do next, Denise."

"Right, Susie - we would feel most uncomfortable accosting strange men and asking them about their flash drive. They could interpret our query the wrong way."

"But we don't put you in that category, sir," Susie assured. "On the contrary, a pinstripe suit, together with matching waistcoat and tie only add emphasis to a natural air of authority and responsibility."

"I do work for the railway in an important administrative capacity."

"Oh, then this is a busman's holiday for you."

"Even so I'd hoped to enjoy an undisturbed trip to the Lake District, far from the maddening crowd, young lady."

"Whatever - it seems we couldn't have brought our problem to a superior person," Susie flattered.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not employed by this particular company, and I really can't assist you."

"But your laptop might," Susie hinted.

"I'm afraid not - I couldn't allow third-party access."

"Go on - John Steed wouldn't refuse a lady Avenger's request."

"Who?"

"John Steed - like you, he dresses smart, sports a bowler, and is the epitome of an English gentleman."

"Then go and ask him," the grump retorted. "I have to limit my machine's use at the moment. The battery's low, and the mouse is playing up."

"Get a replacement from Poundland," I recommended.

"I doubt their cheap rubbish would be any improvement."

"They perform exactly to the standard of Microsoft products," I smiled. "You don't get what you pay for."

"But it's hard to believe they're any good at that price, Denise."

"Actually, they only cost 43 pence wholesale, Susie."

"Truly amazing, Denise - how do the Chinese manage it?"

"That's mouse production for you, Susie."

"See what we did there, off the cuff, especially for you?" Susie bowed to our audience. "Now how about letting us check the drive in your computer to see if anything on there can help with our quest?"

"No, no!" The man vigorously shook his head." That's completely out of the question. It would compromise my security - I may pick up a virus or a keylogger."

"Golly, are you an IT whiz kid?" Susie goggled.

"I did attend a Power Point course while gaining my Open University degree."

"What in - trainspotting?" Susie quizzed.

"No, human resources."

"These gricers are a brainy bunch, Denise - first modern literature, then geography, and now human resources. It'll be media studies next."

"So you're a BA," I intervened, as the gent's brow showed signs of furrowing. "Mr ... er ...?"

"Clapham," he finally yielded. "Eric Clapham."

"Oh, like in up the junction and on the omnibus?" Susie grinned.

"Are you being facetious?" Mr Clapham glared.

"Sorry," Susie apologised, "our travelling by train has led to a thoughtless association of ideas."

"And we couldn't help noticing, your refined metropolitan accent," I appeased. "You sound as if you're from London."

"I reside in the Royal Borough of Cheam," Mr Clapham smirked. "I've travelled up especially for the trip to enjoy the unique atmosphere of a vintage steam journey. A rare experience these days, and not one I would wish disrupted."

"We're totally in sympathy with you," Susie agreed. "It costs a pretty penny to indulge such whims. Have you had a win on the lottery?"

"I take no part in such popular folly," Mr Clapham sniffed. "Discounted tickets and luncheon vouchers are fringe benefits of my profession."

"We really have dropped in on a top executive from the capital city, Susie," I concluded. "For us unsophisticated provincials, this is like meeting a celebrity."

"How right you are, Denise - I should have realised from the start that Mr Clapham's no mere John Steed fanboy. Excuse my belated recognition of your true status, sir."

"Very well, but refrain from such impertinences in future. My hard-earned achievements, however modest and late in life, are deserving of respect."

"We certainly could learn a lot from a man of your mettle," Susie accepted.

"I'm always happy to educate the upcoming generation," Mr Clapham preened. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

"Yes - did you actually shoot the deputy as well as the sheriff?" Susie winked.

"What are you talking about?" Mr Clapham puzzled.

"Don't come over all modest - I bet people pester you all the time to give them a riff on your Stratocaster."

"My what?"

"Your guitar, Eric, old son."

"Drop it Susie," I hissed. "Our host is an unheard of Clapham from Cheam not the noted Clapton from Cream."

"Whoops, Denise, me and my butterfly brain."

"It was a common mistake to make, Susie, but you should beg Mr Clapham's forgiveness for taking his name in vain."

"Sorry again, sir --it's what comes of having only a five second attention span. You're blessed with the hands of an axeman, though. You aren't in the Sweaty Palms, by any chance, are you?"

"No, I am not!" Mr Clapham snorted. "It must prove a great nuisance to you that knowledge can only be acquired by hard work."

"That could be my uncle reprimanding me, Denise."

"And you should have taken heed, Susie. He's a man well qualified to give instruction."

"Ah, your uncle's a teacher, is he?" Mr Clapham approved.

"No, an undertaker, who has a very jaundiced view of modern youth. Particularly when his back's playing him up and his house is falling down."

"Touch wood, I haven't met with either misfortune ..."

"He has now, Susie - both of them," I murmured.

"... but I, too, despair at the lack of deference from juniors," Mr Clapham sighed. "Slovenly, rude, and opinionated is what they are ..."

"Two out of three for us ain't bad, Denise."

"... and it's ten times worse since those arriviste outsource coordination facilitators began encroaching on customer relations territory," Mr Clapham moaned.

"Office politics can be the bane of a sensitive soul's life, according to dad," Susie sympathised.

"Very true," Mr Clapham grimaced. "Many's the night I can't sleep for worry. And when I do, I dream I'm being chased by a giant gorilla."

"Does King Kong catch you?"

"It hasn't yet, but the possibility keeps me awake until dawn."

"You should try counting squirrels," Susie advised. "Dad never gets past eleventy-eleven."

"Squirrels?" Mr Clapham pronounced the word perfectly, even while perplexed. "I can't see that working. Don't they move too fast?"

"Sorry, I meant hippopotamuses."

"No, you didn't," Mr Clapham accused. "I endeavour to have an intelligent conversation with you, and my reward is more of your infantile drivel."

"Hippopotami, then?" Susie suggested.

"Don't bandy words with me, young lady. In my day, children knew better than to cheek their elders."

"Yes, fings ain't wot they used t'be, are they, Denise?"

"Is that a cue for a song, Susie?"

"The way to Eric's USB-port may be through his ears, Denise. Let's serenade him with a merry melody from his very own manor."

"Hey, do us a favour!" we whooped.

"They've turned our local Palais into a bowling alley, now
Fings ain't wot they used t'be."

Mr Clapham hugged his laptop ever closer. "You're wasting your breath on low-brow sing-a-longs - I'm a Gilbert and Sullivan man."

"Then you're in for a treat," Susie smiled. "Just wait until you've heard the Dinky Doos' alternative, high-brow lyrics. Are you tuned in Denise?"

"From the cor blimey to the sublimey - take it away, Susie."

"There's girls struttin' in leather trousers, and
Boys fillin' out see-through blouses, wow
Fings ain't wot they used t'be."

"Sit still, and behave yourselves - or I shall take steps ..."

"Eric's about to shock us all,
Doing knees-up rock 'n roll ..."

"I certainly am not!"

"Once we danced from twelve to three ..."

"Will you cease cavorting, you young beatniks!"

"Ah, you guessed it," Susie applauded. "We're doing the asbo shuffle."

"Back us on your guitar ... plinkety-plonk,
Playing those three chords only."

"I've never heard such ridiculous nonsense."

"We've got news for Eric C,
Fings ain't wot they used t'be."

Mr Clapham threw up his hands in despair. "Message received, if not fully understood. Now, for goodness sake, can we have some peace and quiet."

"Hang on - the best is yet to come. Original, risque lyrics, if you please, Denise."

"There's toffs wiv toffee noses, and
Poofs in coffee houses, and
Fings ain't wot they used t'be."

"That's quite enough. Stop right there," Mr Clapham commanded.

"Onward and downward, Denise."

"Once in golden days of yore,
Ponces killed a lazy ..."

"Don't you dare!" a reddening Mr Clapham admonished. "Any more blue material and I shall summon the guard."

"Sorry, Eric," Susie apologised. "From the look of you, we thought you'd enjoy a good do."

"If you're attempting to take the Michael."

"Are you irritable because you're really Hank Marvin, Mr Clapham?" Susie queried.

"Will you desist! I don't play the guitar."

"Who asked about your musical accomplishments? Hank Marvin is rhyming slang for starvin'."

"Then why not say so directly in the Queen's English, and without the silly accent?"

"Keep your 'air on, mi old china," Susie grinned. "Your Lancashire lasses are using the vernacular to make their visitor from darn Sarf feel at home oop North."

"I'm not a bleedin' Cockney," Mr Clapham expostulated. "I have my own bijou flat in a gentrified area of London."

"So does my dad's cousin Augustus," Susie smiled. "Have you met him?"

"He's one in eight million - it's highly unlikely we move in the same circles."

"Augustus does a lot of that, seeing as he can only afford to rent a single room."

"And doesn't he share it with his wife and three kids, Susie?"

"You're forgetting the Great Dane and the mother-in-law, Denise."

"They must be awfully overcrowded, Susie."

"Only at night when the landlord backs his car in, Denise."

"Somebody is not amused, Susie," I muttered, when her denouement met with an icy response.

"I don't know what you are implying," Mr Clapham scowled, "but I can assure you my apartment will be liable for the mansion tax by the time I've paid off the mortgage."

"That's something to look forward to, but meanwhile even prospective multi-millionaires have to eat," Susie hinted. "Aren't you ready for an early elevenses?"

"I never indulge between meals," Mr Clapham asserted. "Only the slackers in the office do that."

"Your highly disciplined behaviour is to be commended, but it could lead to mid-morning lethargy," Susie warned.

"I always partake of a most adequate breakfast to see me through until lunchtime, thank you."

"You can't live off cornflakes alone. A grown man needs his boiled beef and carrots," Susie advised.

"The sausage rolls from the buffet car have provided today's animal protein - and they were exceptionally savoury," Mr Clapham enthused, licking his lips. "I can still taste them."

"Cripes, Denise - there's corporate loyalty for you."

"Above and beyond the call of duty, Susie."

"It'll be the call of the lavvy before too long, Denise. Do you feel okay after your morning repast, Mr Clapham?"

"Well, I'm still chafing over the lady short-changing me. It clearly stated '3 for the price of 2' on the board. I was loath to argue the matter on a Sunday, but ..."

"Yes," I nodded, "it's not the principle, it's the money."

"Fifty pence is fifty pence, my dear. Many a mickle makes a muckle."

"Oh, our mistake, Denise - Mr Clapham isn't a Cockney, he's one of the London Scottish."

"They're rugby players, aren't they, Susie?"

"In that case, I hope Eric has his slow hand insured for millions, Denise."

"For the last time of asking, will you stop this Clapton claptrap," a flushing Mr Clapham choked.

"Enough is enough, Susie," I cautioned. "We don't want to be responsible for precipitating a funny turn in the gentleman."

"What do you mean by that?" Mr Clapham demanded.

"Haven't you heard?" Susie whispered. "Sausage rolls and pork pies have mysteriously vanished from Mrs Pickersgill's menu. According to our inside information, they're off in more ways than one."

"Baloney!" Mr Clapham spluttered, suppressing a burp. "I purposely avoided the curled-up cheese sandwiches."

"Mr Clapham obviously knows his onions concerning railway food, Susie. We may be doing the on-board catering a disservice by spreading salacious gossip."

"One thing is spicy for sure, Denise, and that's those bangers. I can smell them on their next victim's breath."

"Granddad won't entertain anything that's been wrapped in plastic. He says it's a breeding ground for germs of the worst kind."

"What else does your granddad say?" Susie nudged, as Mr Clapham covertly exhaled into his hand.

"Don't lick your fingers when counting money."

"Mrs Pickersgill does, Denise."

"It has become rather close in here," Mr Clapham mumbled, removing his hat and loosening his tie.

"Don't put your head out of the window," Susie warned. "That could lead to a permanent cure."

"Oh dear," Mr Clapham flushed. "Now I'm seeing silver spots dancing before my eyes."

"Look on the bright side, sir," I encouraged. "You didn't go the whole hog and consume a pork pie."

"But perhaps the third sausage roll was an overindulgence," Mr Clapham sweated, turning distinctly grassy around the gills.

"Behold a man who failed to check if his weenie glowed in the dark, Denise."

"Are you okay, sir?" I asked.

"No, distinctly groggy," he groaned, rising shakily to his feet. "If you'll excuse me a moment."

"A life of sex, drugs, and sausage rolls has finally caught up with poor old Eric, Denise."

"For the umpteenth time, I am not, and never have been ..." Mr Clapham quivered in mid-censure. "Oh, dear ..."

"Don't delay - it's that way for the trots," I pointed, as he gurgled out of the door. "The toilet's conveniently situated next carriage along from the buffet car."

"Have a dose of Epsom's Salts in a froffy coffee after you've reviewed your breakfast, Clappers," Susie called after the departing invalid. "And you'll feel wonderful tonight."

"We should give a mock legend a better send-off than that, Susie."

"Okay, Denise - cue the violins."

"Monkeys flyin' round the moon,
Eric'll have it up there wiv 'em soon.
Fings ain't what they used t,'
It's a lot we used t',
Fings ain't what they used t'be!"

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Success, Jeffrey - we're unexpectedly alone with an abandoned laptop."

"I'm only surprised Mr Clapham didn't throw it at us before throwing up."

"That was always a possibility I had in mind, but things have worked out even more expediently."

"More by luck than judgement, Susie. You can't have foreseen iffy railway food sending Eric the Green in search of Australia."

"Those sausage rolls did a magnificent job," Susie grinned, liberating the computer from its bag. "After hiding his laptop away from our prying eyes, in his haste to depart, Mr Clapham neglected to turn it off."

"A breach of basic security, as bad as granddad believing no one would ever guess 'Burnley5Blackburn0' was his password."

"Hey, Jeffrey, that gives me an idea for cracking dad's account."

"It's not worth the effort - you won't learn anything to your advantage."

"But now we might," Susie anticipated, inserting the flash drive into the USB-port. "What secrets are you keeping, my little, yellow friend?"

"'Confirming the Blue Nature of Navel Fluff'," I read, as a lone file presented itself for inspection.

"Bugger!" Susie snorted, after opening and rapidly scanning the document. "It's Shane Shufflewick's dissertation on exactly what it says in the title."

"Don't look so disappointed, Susie," I smiled, when following a double check of its subject matter, she removed the drive and slotted Homer Simpson's head back into place. "You can't be too surprised it doesn't hold anything of fundamental importance."

"You shouldn't judge a memory stick by the cartoon character cover. That could easily have been a ruse to mislead folk about its true contents."

"You're certainly correct on one score, Susie."

"You can smirk, Jeffrey, but it doesn't mean we're abandoning the case."

"I never imagined that for a moment, Susie."

"Right, have you any ideas as to our next move."

"Yes, pick up the scroll wheel off the floor and drop a pound into Mr Clapham's bowler for a new mouse."

 

 

Chapter 185

"There's a bad apple in the gricers' barrel, and we're going to find him," Susie maintained, as we rocked and rolled back to our first-class base.

"Ah, you've come up with a plan B, have you, Susie?"

"I wouldn't go that far, Jeffrey."

"I wish we hadn't come this far, Susie. Look - the guard's signalling to us from our compartment."

"And he seems frightfully upset."

"Like a man who's found a tell-tale trail of high-heel punctures in his best upholstery," I gulped.

"Don't worry, Denise - we can blame any superficial cosmetic damage on the late Mr Ben's errant canines."

"I doubt it's only a matter of minor refurbishments, Susie. Mr Harbottle's agitation is increasing by the second - he must be at the scene of a major incident."

"Quick, girls - get in here," Jeremiah hissed down the corridor. "We've another one for under the overcoat."

"Hurry up, Denise!" Susie urged, scooting ahead. "It's a fourth dead body."

"Not so loud," Jeremiah shushed. "We don't want to panic the other passengers."

"Never mind them, let's hope we haven't any reason for alarm," I muttered, as Susie arrived outside the compartment.

"Guess what, Denise - it's Who in there - fulfilling my prophecy."

"Why - did Dr Philipsz die with his hands trapped down the seat?"

"No, grasping at the scarf around his neck. And he can't say folk hadn't warned him of the danger on more than one occasion."

"The doc does appear in the purple," I observed, over Susie's shoulder.

"And Mr Harbottle's in a blue funk, Denise."

"Don't stand out there chattering - come in and close the door," the guard implored. "I need a second opinion."

"After you, Susie - you're still the girl with the first-aid certificate."

"This casualty is beyond resuscitation," Jeremiah moaned, stepping aside from Dr Philipsz. "We've a corpse on our hands, haven't we?"

"The bod's dead all right," Susie announced, after a quick inspection of the body. "And he was helped on his way."

"You don't think the poor chap is a casualty of Mrs Pickersgill's rogue comestibles, do you?" the guard fretted. "I checked his pockets, but couldn't find any trace of sausage rolls or pork pies."

"Calm down," Susie comforted. "He's obviously been strangled."

"Strangled!" Jeremiah choked.

"Muffled with his own muffler," Susie affirmed. "The killer had a hand-knitted weapon supplied by the victim."

"He can't have been murdered - that's impossible!"

"You're right, Mr Harbottle, the gentleman must have had an accident," I agreed. "A scarf that long is a disaster waiting to happen."

Jeremiah frantically scanned the compartment. "But there's nothing in here to snag it on," he despaired, when his fleeting hopes were dashed.

"If you want another straw to clutch at, perhaps the doc self-indulged in one of those kinky sex games that went wrong," Susie hinted. "See if he's been walking around in women's underwear, along with the alpine hat and hiking boots."

"Oh, God, it goes from bad to worse," the guard groaned. "He's not an MP, is he?"

"No, an orologist," I reassured.

"Bless my waterworks!" Jeremiah put his fingers in his ears. "I don't wish to know what passengers get up to in the privacy of their bathrooms."

"An orologist gets up mountains," I explained. "A healthy outdoor activity requiring its own specialist attire."

"Praise be for that," Jeremiah gasped. "We'll assume he has the inner combinations to match his outer garments."

"A reasonable supposition," I allowed.

"And that the unfortunate fellow experienced some sort of freak mishap causing a fatal tightening of his muffler," the guard uncertainly concluded. "Although I wouldn't want to be caught out making a false entry about what he died of."

"Cover yourself by putting down 'The victim died of a Sunday'," I advised.

"Excellent, dear," Jeremiah approved. "My company sergeant in the REME would be proud of the ploy. He was almost an officer, and now he's a used-car salesman."

"Sophistry and dodgy dealing aside, I still favour foul play," Susie maintained. "Person or persons unknown, with a scarf, in the first-class compartment."

"No - this is definitely almost natural causes like the others." Jeremiah composed himself and counted them off. "That's two stiffs from here, one from the buffet car, and one from the toilet."

"So far," Susie cautioned. "But you may want to hop over there as it's now occupied by a potential sausage roll fatality spilling his brekkie."

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes - and the gent's not a commonplace trainspotter, he's a railway VIP."

"What a Sunday excursion this is turning out to be," Jeremiah wailed. "Bugger the triple-time! I'd have been better off staying home and creosoting the fence."

"Or bringing along a big bucket of whitewash," I suggested.

"I've scarcely benefitted from Mrs Pickersgill's finagling," Jeremiah protested. "The neighbour's dog ate most of my share."

"How is it?" Susie enquired.

"As frisky as ever - just ask the postman."

"You'd better take your cue from him and knock on the door of the loo," Susie directed, "Someone should check if Eric Clapham is back in tune."

"He's the VIP - Eric Clapton - the chap from wotsitsname," Jeremiah goggled. "Did I hear you right? Sometimes I'm hard put to distinguish one constonant from another."

"Clapham's what I said," Susie confirmed. "He's a celebrity from Cheam who couldn't get out of here fast enough."

"That's it - Cream - I knew it was something cheesy," Jeremiah claimed. "So ... has old Eric brought his guitar with him?"

"No, and the state he's in, it's doubtful he'll ever strum another chord."

"My first duty is to the living," Jeremiah declared. "I can pop along to the toilet immediately if you'll again lend your support to a veteran who sacrificed the best bones of his back for the safety of the country he loves."

"Oh, did you sustain the injury on active service?" I asked.

"All I'm at liberty to say is, when needed, I was there," Jeremiah divulged, in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Where exactly?" Susie wondered.

"Everywhere and nowhere," Jeremiah mouthed. "I'm bound by the Official Secrets Act, and forbidden to talk about my undocumented postings."

"So you bear the extra burden of having to suffer in silence with your slipped discs," I sympathised.

"Actually, I've shrapnel still shifting around between the ribs, as well, but I never talk about that, either," the guard grimaced. "Or the tinnitus that's tormented me ever since the gas oven blew up with my head in situ."

"You've no need to play the old soldier with us," Susie smiled.

"I'm not," Jeremiah insisted. "That happened off-base, doing a foreigner at the local bakery."

"Mr Harbottle's a walking miracle, Denise."

"I certainly am," Jeremiah nodded. "I don't know where to put myself when the fragments move into my right hip, and the pain shoots out of my left buttock."

"I expect it's even worse in the cold weather," I commiserated.

"And the damp - and at other times the slightest thing sets it off," Jeremiah emphasised. "Putting my socks on is like playing Russian roulette."

"That could be Uncle Frank bent double, frozen to the spot, while tying his shoelaces, Denise."

"You need say no more, Susie. Mr Harbottle deserves our full assistance in averting such a backtastrophe."

"Then if you would oblige a non-relative by transporting this gentleman to my van," the guard requested.

"Come on, Denise, let's help our hero accomplish his duty."

"Be discreet about it," Jeremiah cautioned. "We mustn't cause panic among the travelling public."

"Trust us, sir - we know what we're doing, don't we, Denise?"

"Only too well," I sighed, taking a firm grip on Dr Philipsz's hiking boots. "Mind you don't lose his hat, Susie."

"Everything's under control this end, Denise. Upsy-doccy - and we're off Mr Harbottle."

"We'll pick him up on our way down,
And take your friend away ..."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I always did worry about Dr Who getting tangled up in his scarf and suffering the consequences," I remarked, as we manoeuvred our load down the train.

"Don't pretend you believe the doc fell victim to an everyday mishap, Jeffrey. This is Mr Z, another fatality who unexpectedly got it in the neck."

"If so, you've run out of alphabet, Susie, and bang goes your theory of things happening in threes."

"Perhaps the dog didn't count, Jeffrey - or we're into a second set."

"Careful, Susie - a stumbling block's appeared up ahead, and it seems we've aroused his curiosity."

"Give way," Susie called to the man lurching unsteadily along the corridor towards us. "St John's Ambulance volunteers and casualty coming through."

"Oh, what's happened here?" the fellow laughed, only half-stepping aside. "Your mate's a funny colour."

"The gentleman's fallen victim to a severe case of travel sickness," I explained. "He forgot to take his precautionary Quells this morning."

"Whooo - these old carriages do rock and roll a trifle," the cheery chappie chortled. "It's almost like being on the cross-channel ferry - apart from the lack of duty-free."

"That doesn't seem to have hindered you," Susie reproved.

"Be prepared is my motto," the fellow smirked, tapping his jacket. "Ging gang goolie goolie goolie, girlies! A boy scout's never caught without two bottles to rub together."

"Dib, dib, dib - you're a trifle mature for woggles, funny hats, and silly trousers, aren't you?" Susie questioned.

"The old Napoleon keeps this Ian Duke young at heart," the man guffawed, causing him to reel back against the window. "Do you get it - or don't they teach victorious English history in schools, these European civil war days?"

"Perhaps you should retire to your compartment before you trip over your boots and meet your very own Waterloo, Mr Duke," I advised.

"Call me, Dukey - and I'm fine. It's the bloke you're carrying you should worry about. He looks like death warmed up, and what I'm hearing sounds positively fishy."

"Shush," Susie hissed. "The slightest hint of things nautical and our patient comes over all queasy."

"You can't put him ashore, so where are you going?"

"To the guard's van when you let us pass," Susie retorted. "He'll be more comfortable laid out to rest in there."

"If you ask me, the bod could do with a dose of medicinal brandy," Duke hiccupped, producing a hip-flask from his pocket and leaning over our cargo. "Here you are, my son - have a swig of this. It'll put hairs on your chest."

"No don't," I protested, as the liquid dribbled down Dr Philipsz's chin. "That's the worst thing you can do - it'll choke the invalid."

"Quit bleating, and hold the guy's head up, nursey."

"Duke off, and leave his care to the professionals," Susie ordered, swinging a boot at the would-be revivalist's shin.

"There's no call for violence," Duke recoiled. "I only wanted to assist. The poor sod needs a reviver - he felt as cold as the grave."

"No, it's your hands that are numb," Susie argued. "You're wide-eyed and legless. Go take a walk until your hat blows off."

"I'm not wearing a hat."

"Exactly - or are you too blotto to get the message."

"I'm slightly jolly, but sober enough to judge there's something funny brewing here," Duke slurred. "Have you girls been up to some kind of mischief with your friend?"

"Definitely not, m'lud," I pleaded. "We're innocence personified."

"Go on, get it off your chest, and confess to old Dukey about it. I can help you."

"Only by moving aside, and letting two angels of mercy pass," Susie insisted.

"If you're really St John's, why aren't you in uniform?"

"Because we're off-duty," I responded.

"So am I," Duke winked.

"No, you're off your trolley."

"Can I get aboard my little cherry tart's, then?"

"I don't know what you mean," I huffed.

"Yes you do," Duke ogled. "Got up like that, you're offering an open invitation to sample the goods."

"We think you should go away and sit down before you're caused to accidentally topple over," Susie threatened.

"Maybe I am slightly under the weather, but to diagnose me properly, you'll have to feel my pulse."

"I'm sorry, our hands are full at the moment."

"And so's your bosom buddy's bra," Duke leered. "Her boobs are straining at the nipples to get out."

"No, they're not," I spluttered. "Kick the cad for his impertinence, Susie."

"I'll box his ears for you, Denise."

Whaaaaaaccckkkk! Susie duked the Duke.

"Ouuuuccchhhhhh!"

"And here's another for good measure."

"Oh, don't let go your end, Susie!"

Thuuuuummmmp!

"Whoops, Denise!"

Whuuuuuummmp!

"Now look what you've done, Mr Duke!" I cried, as our burden bounced off the floor. "You've made us dump the doc."

"Bang on his head - you'll be in trouble with matron," Duke gloated, before bending down to feel Dr Philipsz's neck. "And the police - this fellow's dead, or I'm a Dutchman."

"Recht you are, Johann," Susie countered. "He's merely sleeping."

"The big sleep," Duke persisted. "You can't fool me - I knew you had a goner there from the moment I set eyes on him."

"His present precarious situation is entirely your fault," I contended. "Until we ran into you, our convalescent was progressing favourably."

"To the cemetery."

"It's pointless arguing with the chump, Denise - he's a total haddock."

"There's no need for insults. All I'm saying is the corpse is entitled to a second opinion."

"So what are you planning to do about it?" Susie demanded. "Ask is there a coroner on the train?"

"A gentleman never compromises ladies under any circumstances - even when he's been gratuitously insulted." Ian Duke tapped his nose. "I'll stay stumm. I should call the cops, but I'm not getting involved. The stiff's your problem."

"He's not a stiff, and you're the one with a problem," Susie asserted. "Ian Duke should stick to Irn Bru."

"I'll be sober in the morning," Duke crowed. "But he'll still be dead, and you'll be the ones with the explaining to do. No wonder you're so keen to see the back of me."

"That's one thing you're right about," Susie glared. "But you were slow to get the message."

"And now I'll be quick out of here. I'm buggering off before you're rumbled and proceedings turn nasty."

"Ta-ra, and don't go spreading unfounded rumours on your tipsy travels," Susie warned.

"Okay, I never saw the deceased," Duke sniggered, pushing past and rolling away down the corridor. "I was off to bye-byes the whole time - trains have that effect on me."

"Unluckily for us, we ran into a bad Samaritan who didn't pass by on the other side, Jeffrey. But no real harm's been done, and it's back to business."

"Sorry, Dr Philipsz," I apologised, as we raised him from the floor. "We realise this is a second best way to treat a first-class body."

"Any lapse in our conveyancing standards is the third-rate Duke of Wallington's fault," Susie snorted. "The drunken dolt behaved like the Viscount Oik of that Ilk."

"I wonder just how inebriated he really is, Susie."

"You mean acting like an archbishop enjoying a Sunday off was just a front, Jeffrey?"

"His fingers found Dr Philipsz's carotid in two shakes without a shake."

"Yes, they did - and Mr Duke's eyes weren't out of focus. Pinky and Perky certainly appeared as more than a blur to him."

"Perhaps along with other things, too, Susie - maybe he ran into us after a furtive inspection of the guard's van, and his behaviour concealed an ulterior motive."

"You've a suspicious mind as well as a beautiful one, Jeffrey."

"Thank you, Susie - I hope it's instrumental in our not being caught in a trap we can't walk out of."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"That's four nicely in a row," Susie announced, after we'd deposited Dr Philipsz alongside the other three bodies. "But there's something rotten in the state of this lark, Jeffrey - and I don't only mean the meat products."

"Well, this lot are out of sight for now," I reflected, having lined up the sleeves of the bodies' makeshift shrouds in an appropriate fashion. "It's fortunate Mr Harbottle had a mac in his safe-keeping along with the overcoat."

"Plus three umbrellas, a walking stick, and a pair of wellies," Susie itemized, after a scan of Jeremiah's personal space. "Not forgetting the dynamic duo of gnomes back here."

"They're no common or garden gnomes, Susie. That's Big Ears and Noddy, more of my childhood favourites. The little chap still is - even though he's a taxi-driver."

"Those could turn out be hazardous pointy hats on their heads, Jeffrey. I can foresee a horrible accident if a weary landscaper carelessly parks himself for a breather."

"Someone was already forgetful enough to leave them on a train."

"And Jeremiah's taken advantage. I wonder what else the old boy's appropriated."

"More perks of the job, I imagine, Susie."

"I bet Mr Harbottle's never short of a mobile phone or two, Jeffrey."

"Don't look for them now, Susie - here he comes."

"Blinking passengers," a disconsolate Jeremiah mumbled, as he shuffled into the van. "If they're not dying on me, they're finding something to complain about."

"Hello, Mr Harbottle - it's mission accomplished," Susie reported. "Another body safely stowed away, and no one's any the wiser."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes - they're all too busy with their stopwatches and tachometers - or fast asleep - to cause any problems," Susie assured.

"And we've used your mac to cover the departed," I indicated. "We hope you don't mind."

"Ah, I've been meaning to turn that and a few other left-behinds into lost property," Jeremiah coughed. "It's a mystery to me how the junk just seems to pile up of its own accord."

"And you've brought more along with you," I noted.

"I felt it would be in everyone's best interest to confiscate the last half-dozen of Mrs Pickersgill's pork pies rather than run the risk of more accidents," Jeremiah asserted. "Good friend that the lady is, sometimes it's necessary to exert my authority."

"Another of the many trials of the job," Susie sympathised. "Speaking of which - how went it with Eric?"

"Don't talk to me about stuck-up celebrities," Jeremiah spluttered. "I only asked the miserable beggar if he had a spare signed photo for my sister-in-law, and he flew into a rage."

"Clappers gave you the old fast hand, eh?"

"He tried, but flailed in vain. Thanks to my years of unarmed combat training, I managed to dodge the blows, handicapped as I am by my war wounds."

"You're lucky Eric didn't bring his axe along," Susie smiled. "He could have wreaked havoc on your ears with that."

"Give me James Galway and his flute, any day of the week," Jeremiah snorted. "Although that's the last time I compliment somebody on looking younger without their beard and wipe the sick off their shoes with my Sunday handkerchief."

"You're an example to public servants everywhere," Susie approved. "Not many would show such concern for the welfare of their charges."

"Only to have it thrown back in my face," Jeremiah fumed. "The snooty snob got right up my nostrils with his shirty attitude."

"Eric does have a high opinion of himself," Susie agreed.

"You can say that again. The ungrateful basket boasted he's some sort of railway pen-pusher and tried to pull rank on me. I nearly told the big-headed blighter what to do with his customer relations."

"Don't take it personally," I consoled. "Mr Clapham was rude to us, too, in spite of our best efforts to please."

"There's no satisfying some folk," Susie affirmed. "We even serenaded old Eric with a Cockney ditty to make him feel at home, but he wouldn't be moved until Mrs Pickersgill's sausages did their worst."

"And it serves the stuck-up swine right," Jeremiah crowed. "Having a temper like that can only undermine a fellow's digestion."

"Well, don't let his bad manners spoil your dinner," Susie advised.

"Or any of this morning's other unfortunate incidents," I added.

"But where will it all end?" Jeremiah wailed, clapping his hands to his head. "I'll have more forms to fill in than when we had ferrets on a train."

"Did they kill anyone?" Susie enquired.

"No - they only frightened a few folk half to death. I'd the enviable record of never having lost a passenger - not even a dog - until this trip. And now four come along at once - the thing's uncanny."

"Spooky, isn't it?" Susie nodded.

Jeremiah shuddered and lowered his voice. "I'm not a superstitious type - apart from my lottery numbers, and they've yet to come up - but I can't believe such a run of bad luck. It's not normal."

"No, it's likely to be a Poisson distribution," I offered. "The classic example is cavalrymen being kicked in the head by their horses."

"I can't recall that happening when I served in the army," Jeremiah frowned. "Although we experienced our fair share of accidents. I had a near miss with a bayonet on more than one occasion, and several squaddies shot themselves in the foot."

"Different sample spaces, same function," I smiled.

"If you say so, my dear, but I wish you hadn't mention poisoning just now. You make me wish I hadn't left my packed lunch unattended."

"Out of Mrs Pickersgill frying pan, and into the unknown assassin's line of fire, eh, Denise."

"Did you say 'assassin'?" Jeremiah jumped. "Good God - a man in my strategic position is likely next on his list."

"Remember the words of your biblical namesake," Susie encouraged. "Attack you they will, overcome you they can't."

"But I'm not wearing my tin hat and flak jacket."

"Take no notice of our wild speculations, Mr Harbottle," I soothed. "Sometimes our imaginations go off at a tangent."

"It's not surprising under the circumstances," Jeremiah moaned. "I know I don't know what to believe."

"The fact is there's not a visible sign of violence to be seen," I continued.

"Poison wouldn't ..."

"No, Susie, we should keep any outlandish theories to ourselves. Mr Harbottle has enough to endure already."

"I certainly have, with my afflictions," Jeremiah groaned. "I can only hope your day out on the train among dead bodies hasn't been further spoiled by my imposing on you."

"We're glad to have tendered our assistance, aren't we, Denise?"

"Always happy to help a true gentleman, Susie."

"Thanks, girls, you've performed like real little troopers, but you'll have to excuse me now," Jeremiah announced, checking his gold half-hunter. "It's time I returned to my proper job. Guard duty calls - we're pulling into Carnforth."

"Okay," Susie smiled. "Fingers crossed, we don't have a grief encounter there."

"That's where we leave the main line and my troubles," Jeremiah determined. "I shall deliver the unfortunates to the appropriate authorities, and then, all being well, unwind with a hot drink from my thermos as we continue our journey along the Cumbrian coast."

"You deserve a rest and a mention in dispatches for the way you've conducted yourself, sir," I commended. "If ever a corporal deserved a field marshal's baton."

"That's promotion enough, Denise, we also have business to take care of. Let's leave Mr Harbottle to begin easing his frustrations by waving his flag and blowing his whistle."

 

 

Chapter 186

"You've got your wish, Susie," I observed, as we gathered speed out of the station. "No one went awol, with a briefcase tucked under their arm."

"Jeremiah had to look sharp, though," Susie grinned, stepping back from her vantage point at the carriage door. "He nearly missed his own train."

"I think he tried until the last moment to offload the bodies, but the station master was having none of them."

"That's a double result for us, Jeffrey. It means our quarry and his victims are still aboard."

"Hang on, Susie, your Mr X has already gone from a mugger to an industrial spy, and now he's a serial killer."

"Is it likely three people have suddenly shuffled off this mortal coil with no outside assistance? Ask yourself that, Jeffrey."

"I'd rather not, Susie, but there is a more immediate question I'd like answered."

"Which is, Jeffrey?"

"You can't see my nipples through this blouse and bra, can you?"

"Only when Denise gets aroused," Susie smirked, pulling me along after her. "So don't button up for the moment, and we'll have a first-class tete-a-tete on the current situation."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"We won't be enjoying a comfy interlude in there, Susie," I concluded, after surveying the trashing of our compartment.

"What do you deduce from the ripped-up seats, Jeffrey?"

"I suppose a gang of football hooligans could have infiltrated one of the steam societies."

"Don't dissemble, Jeffrey - it's obvious someone had the same idea I did."

"Only he employed a more cutting-edge technique than shoving his hand down the back of the upholstery."

"Precisely - and since we got there first, our man hasn't found what he's looking for."

"Neither have you, Susie."

"Not for want of trying, Jeffrey, and this latest development proves my theory."

"So you're convinced Dr Watt's wotsit, whatever it is, is hidden aboard."

"Completely, Jeffrey - and that after his failure here, chummy paid a visit to the guard's van while old Jeremiah was otherwise engaged on the platform."

"For what purpose, Susie?"

"To frisk the bodies to see if he'd missed anything first time round, of course. We need to check if the deceased have been disturbed."

"And to inform Jeremiah of the damage to our compartment before we get the blame."

"Then we can kill two squirrels with one stone, Jeffrey."

"Only metaphorically, I trust, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"It's us again, Mr Harbottle," Susie announced. "Your loyal deputies have returned."

"With an account of the latest incident," I continued, as Jeremiah looked up from miserably contemplating the bodies. "Prepare yourself for a slight shock."

"Oh, my giddy aunt, not another fatality," the guard blenched.

"Don't despair, sir," Susie smiled, "We haven't come bearing bad tidings of a previously healthy customer of Mrs Pickersgill meeting a sudden end."

"Three men and a dog are more than enough, however they departed," Jeremiah moaned. "And I've been saddled with them for the duration."

"Is that what you were discussing with the station master?" Susie enquired.

"The fellow's no station master," the guard snorted. "Just a jumped-up porter, acting as Sunday relief, who refused to shoulder the responsibility incumbent on his temporary position."

"He's not informing the police, then?" Susie probed.

"Is he buggery - if you'll pardon the barrack-room language. The clock-watcher's only concern was to be home in time for the football, leaving muggins to do his dirty work."

"It's like dad says - you can't get the help these days," Susie empathized.

"I don't know how the upstart landed the job," Jeremiah frothed. "He's as thick as Mrs Pickersgill's Bisto. Usurping a guard's authority and waving the train off without waiting for me to blow my whistle could have resulted in an embarkation tragedy."

"Yes," I nodded, "we saw you scrambling aboard, Mr Harbottle. I hope the sudden change of pace didn't cause your shrapnel to oscillate."

Jeremiah flinched and massaged the small of his back. "It's only slightly worse than usual at present, but there'll be hell to pay when I'm putting out the wheelie bins tonight."

"Perhaps now isn't the best time to bother Mr Harbottle with the damage to our compartment, Susie."

"Damage - what damage?" Jeremiah spluttered. "You haven't been dancing on the seats in those shoes, have you?"

"I'd never let Denise do such a thing," Susie huffed. "At home, I'm very strict with her about where she performs in high heels."

"Then what's happened? Tell me the worst."

"An unknown agent's slashed the seat coverings apart," I reported. "Stuffing's scattered all over the place."

"Bother, that's more forms to fill in," Jeremiah groaned. "The paperwork for deaths in transit is nothing compared to that for vandalising the company's property. Heads could roll for this."

"The man may never have spoken a truer word, Denise. First, it's a frenzied assault on furnishings, and then on the folk who sit on it."

"You think there's a mad ripper among us," the guard choked. "God preserve us! It's only a matter of stations before passengers turn up with their throats cut."

"We weren't alerted by any screams on our way here," I reassured. "But in your absence, Susie believes an unknown agent may have taken liberties with the already dead."

"Never!" Jeremiah gasped. "What fiend would do such a thing?"

"A criminal returning to enjoy a perverse pleasure in the results of his handiwork," Susie offered.

"You really think that murder can't be ruled out," Jeremiah quailed.

"It's a possibility, isn't it, Denise?"

"A distinct one - in your opinion, Susie."

"Still, it might not be the worst news in the world," Jeremiah shrugged, after digesting the information. "That would put Mrs Pickersgill's pork pies in the clear."

"I'd still not risk those you confiscated, though," I warned.

"Take them home for the neighbour's dog," Susie advised.

"Mr Ben under there wasn't murdered, was he?" Jeremiah fretted. "After my words with his master, that really could put the cat amongst the pigeons."

"Definitely not - the mutt as good as committed suicide, didn't it, Denise?"

"I can vouch for the fact, Susie. The blame for Mr Ben's demise lies squarely at his own four paws."

"I certainly hope so," Jeremiah sighed. "Mr Nutbeam struck me as the sort who'd delight in taking his grievances to a higher authority."

"Believe us, Mr Harbottle, you won't have any trouble with the RSPCA," Susie promised.

"Thank Heaven for small mercies."

"Not so small - the RSPCA are ruthless in their pursuit of wrong-doers, aren't they, Denise?"

"We certainly were, Susie."

"You're in the RSPCA?" Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. "You look far too young to be in uniform."

"Susie appointed us honorary volunteers, sir," I saluted.

"Can you do that off your own bat?" Jeremiah questioned. "Don't you need qualifications?"

"Not when confronted with a pet emergency," Susie explained. "And catching four yobbos playing beach cricket with a kitten certainly counts as one."

"Moggies aren't best friends of pigeons and a plague on the allotment - particularly around the strawberries." Jeremiah screwed up his face in distaste. "No matter how much cream and sugar I put on, a reminder of that tom's visits lingered."

"That must have been a bitter harvest for you," I commiserated.

"They didn't all go to waste, though - my loss was Mrs Pickersgill's mother-in-law's gain. She especially enjoyed them after her tripe and onions."

"Even so, you won't have much pity for our little pussy's plight," Susie suggested.

"I've no objection to giving cats the hosepipe treatment, but ... engaging in ball games with them ... I suppose you have to draw the line somewhere."

"In the sand, in this case, Mr Harbottle - when Denise and I braced ourselves to intervene on the outnumbered tabby's side."

"It's what I've come to expect of you," Jeremiah approved. "Although I hope you looked out for your own safety."

"Oh, we did," I smiled. "We were the first to duck when Tiddles lashed a rank long-hop for a mighty six."

"And mercy mission accomplished, we abandoned hats and jackboots, but not a sense of civic responsibility," Susie emphasised. "We're always available to those who, unlike our feline friend, struggle against the odds."

"I appreciate your attempt to raise a laugh from me, but it'll be no joke if the relatives fail to recognize I've done my utmost for their loved ones," Jeremiah grieved. "Laying them out on the floor of a grimy guard's van does seem a somewhat inadequate treatment."

"You've nothing to reproach yourself for, Mr Harbottle," I comforted. "They couldn't have ended up in a better pair of hands."

"Or safer," Susie commended, after taking a peek under the overcoats. "It appears everybody's been left in peace to their slumbers, Denise."

"There is a sleeve out of place from our previous arrangement of things, and the attache case has also moved a trifle, but someone could have accidentally kicked them when they passed."

"Just the minor, but not insignificant details you're apt to notice, Denise."

"I've tried to treat the departed in the most respectful manner," Jeremiah insisted. "But, occasionally, thanks to my back, the left foot can't quite keep up with the right foot."

"That's another cross you're bearing without complaint and without impairment of efficiency," I praised.

"I try my best," Jeremiah winced. "Although having your parade boots run over by an armoured car doesn't make matters any easier."

"We'd be the last to criticize your efforts, Mr Harbottle. My uncle, the undertaker, couldn't have done a more professional job in this situation."

"I've turned off the steam heat in here, but it is an eight hour round-trip," Jeremiah brooded. "I fear the deceased may generate more noxious smells than the consequences of Mrs Pickersgill's specials."

"You've no need to harbour the least concern, Mr Harbottle," I stressed. "Health and Safety can't fault the manner you've dealt with an unprecedented railway situation."

"To tell the truth, the morning's events have left me totally bewildered," Jeremiah confessed, shuddering as he glanced at the coats. "And the fact there are four bodies sharing my guard's van has put me right off Mrs Harbottle's dripping butties."

"It's enough to spoil anyone's appetite," I agreed.

"They're a Sunday treat, and I really look forward to it," Jeremiah grumbled. "I'm only allowed them once a week."

"Cheer up, Mr Harbottle - every shroud has a silver lining," Susie encouraged.

"If only I could think of a bright side, I'd look on it."

"Oh, if that's all - finding a chink of light to leave you with is no problem, is it, Denise?"

"Mr Harbottle has already provided his own, Susie. Having a mad poisoner, cum strangler, cum ripper on the loose does take the heat off Mrs Pickersgill's pork pies and sausage rolls."

"Not to mention any further fallout from her ham sandwiches, Denise. I wonder how Hector's feeling."

"All too romantic - we should avoid any further risk of embarrassment, Susie."

"Okay, Denise - I never had Ecky marked down as a prime suspect, but I know one warranting further investigation."

"Keep him under observation, whoever he is, but be discreet about it," Jeremiah pleaded. "Don't alarm the other passengers - I think we've got away with it so far."

"We haven't heard a whisper of disquiet, Mr Harbottle," I assured.

"And not a murmur about the pork products, either," Susie added. "Apart from old Eric's gurglings."

"I've no worries there," Jeremiah smirked. "He's bound by the railway code of silence. It's more than his index-linked pension and subsidized travel are worth to kick up a fuss."

"And you needn't have any anxiety about your emoluments, either, sir," I vowed. "Your superannuation package is safe in our hands."

"Come on, then, Denise, let's return to carriage patrol and ensure Corporal Harbottle is presented with a long-service medal and a country-wide rover on his retirement."

 

 

Chapter 187

"Riding on the Duchess Of Sutherland
Silverdale, Arnside, Sunday morning rail.
Seven cars, and a pair of restless riders,
One conductor, guarding four deceased males."

"Whither shall we wander now, Susie?" I enquired, after we'd left Jeremiah up to his ill woes in paperwork. "I don't fancy a return to base and subjecting my bottom to naked springs."

"We'll remain on our feet to patrol the corridors, Jeffrey. That way no funny business will get past us, and we'll preserve our callipygian figures."

"If we meet your Mr ... what comes after Z, Susie - Omega?"

"There's no need for Greek affectation when you aren't mathematicking, Jeffrey. Stick to the Queen's English, like what I do. We're reverting to X for the killer, and his victims are now A, B, and C."

"You're making an unclear alphabet soup of the situation, Susie."

"We aren't the only ones fishing in murky waters, Jeffrey. I'm pretty confident Mr X still hasn't got what he wants."

"Has the thought occurred to you, Susie, that since we've occupied the first-class compartment and transported several bodies, Mr X might believe we've got what he wants?"

"Of course, Denise - and it may prove an even greater attraction to him than your most obvious feminine charms."

"I can't help it if my buttons keep working undone, Susie."

"Accidentally on purpose, Denise - you can't go five minutes without checking Pinky and Perky are still in full bloom."

"Reluctant as I am to encourage you in your endeavours, Susie, I think we should check if Mr Ian Duke really has gone to bye-byes."

"You've anticipated my next step, Jeffrey."

"I thought I might as well not delay the inevitable, Susie."

"You don't fool me, Miss Smith. I knew you wouldn't be able to contain Pinky's and Perky's enthusiasm for the chase."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"You can't just go in and whip the newspaper off his face, Susie," I cautioned, as we scrutinized the stretched out figure in the compartment. "It could lead to a ruckus."

"Not with a Guardian reader, Jeffrey. They're always ready to forgive everything of anyone - except Margaret Thatcher, of course."

"Mrs T's reign of terror worked wonders for the scrap metal business, Susie. Mum's a great admirer of hers."

"So am I, Jeffrey - and emulating the Iron Lady, we have no alternative but to confront an Ian Duke."

"But what if it's not," I argued. "Isn't it more likely he'd be snoozing under page 3 of the Sun?"

"I remember those shoes, Jeffrey - or a pair very similar."

"How similar, Susie?"

"Well, there were definitely two of them. Come on, let's see who's dreaming of a socialist paradise. It'll only be a minor embarrassment if we're wrong."

"And possibly a major one if you're right. I don't want Denise to arouse a sleeping beast."

"Okay, Beauty, we'll stay outside, flip a penny on his head, and observe the reaction."

"I've only got a pound."

"Even better to make an impact with," Susie enthused, sliding open the door. "Pass it over."

"Here - and limit yourself to a gentle full-toss, not a hundred miles per hour bouncer."

"I'll just put a touch of top-spin on it." Susie took aim and flipped the coin at the recumbent figure. "How's that?"

"He's still out," I judged, as the pound rolled off the paper and onto the floor. "If the man really has downed a bottle of brandy, this isn't going to wake him up."

"Maybe we should try sticking a hatpin in his leg."

"He's not hypnotised, and we're not dressed for ladies' day at Ascot."

"You've been fantasizing again, Denise. Now I know why Jeffrey doesn't complain when Channel 4 Racing replaces Countdown."

"I wish we were watching either now, Susie," I muttered. "Because, on closer observation, the sheets of the Guardian are becalmed. There aren't any rustles of life."

"You're right - the boyo's not breathing. We'd best reveal the face behind the headlines." Susie stepped inside the compartment and snatched away the newspaper. "The Doc Martens didn't lie, Jeffrey - it is our supposedly drunken friend."

"And he's the goner this time, isn't he?"

"All the way - what do you think he died of?"

"For Mr Harbottle's sake, let's hope an inflammatory article by a militant feminist gave the chauvinist Mr Duke apoplexy."

"I suppose it's not beyond the bounds of possibility. To safeguard's dad's blood pressure, mum has deleted the Guardian website from my bookmarks."

"Don't you miss the agonising over the plight of the polar bear and where the next au pair is coming from, Susie?"

"No, Jeffrey - I'd already graduated to The Onion. You might as well get the news first hand."

"We seem to have acquired an uncanny knack for doing so, Susie."

"I've noticed that, too, Jeffrey. The question now is should we keep this latest development to ourselves or present Jeremiah with a full-house?"

"We don't want to act in anything other than a totally innocent fashion, Susie."

"Showing up with a fifth body is pushing it a bit, though, Jeffrey. Perhaps we should leave Mr Duke to rest in peace, after having a delve into his pockets."

"No, don't touch the body, Susie. Retrieve my pound, and then we'll fetch Mr Harbottle to check for a fatal sausage roll."

"But we'll have to make sure he doesn't kick up a fuss, and stop the train to call in the police."

"Will we, Susie?"

"Definitely, Jeffrey - we shall have to persuade Jeremiah keeping everything under wraps is the best policy."

"I await our arguments with interest, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"After us, Mr Harbottle," Susie urged, propelling the reluctant guard into the latest victim's presence. "We're directly behind you."

"You're the man for the job," I encouraged, as he peered nervously at the body. "The facts of the case will need entering in triplicate."

"I was never one to shirk my duty," Jeremiah maintained, and began anxiously examining the compartment and its occupant. "I just hope no suspect comestibles or sexual proclivities come to light on this occasion."

"Who needs CSI when there are men like Mr Harbottle in charge, Denise?"

"Not us, Susie, it appears," I concluded, on hearing Jeremiah's heartfelt sigh of relief.

"The chap's passed away, but otherwise, all's in order," the guard decided, after his preliminary investigation. "No blame can be attached to the railway for his premature departure."

"We noticed yesterday's Guardian lying on the floor, and wondered if Mrs Pickersgill had used it to wrap a pork pie in, didn't we, Denise?"

"Something of the sort, Susie, but we shouldn't speculate now Mr Harbottle's given his verdict."

"Thank God, this isn't her People's Friend," Jeremiah grunted, picking up the paper, and covering the corpse's face with it. "Or I might have been tempted to supress more evidence."

"Never, Mr Harbottle," Susie declared, "in every case, you've acted with the utmost integrity. But you'd better check the deceased's belongings, just to be on the safe side."

"Yes, I'll need his details for my report." Jeremiah bent over and frisked the body. "Good - no perishables - but here's his wallet."

"I hope it's not pigskin, Denise."

"Something does appear to have taken Mr Harbottle by surprise," I murmured, when the guard stiffened, staring open-mouthed at the contents.

"Maybe the information is in German, Denise."

"He's certainly had another shock, Susie," I whispered. "I hope we don't have one, too."

"Blow me!" Jeremiah finally gasped. "That's a turn up for the book."

"What is?" Susie prodded. "Who is it?"

"Duke - Ian Duke - and he's a sergeant in Special Branch."

"Policeman, parson, geogger man, thief - I wonder how they're all connected," Susie mused.

"It's a conspiracy, and I'm in the middle of it," Jeremiah wailed. "What's going on here?"

"It's a mystery to us," Susie claimed. "The passengers just keep keeling over like nobody's business."

"Lord, help us!" Jeremiah slumped onto the seat. "After this latest catastrophe, MI5 will be paying me a visit," he trembled.

"Don't worry, Mr Harbottle," I comforted. "The spooks won't come walking through your door."

"Only because I'll have been exiled to Buggleskelly to serve out the remainder of my days," the guard groaned.

"They can't hold you responsible for an unavoidable loss of passengers," I argued. "It's not as if you're the captain of the Titanic."

"Or even the catering officer," Susie thoughtfully added.

"This isn't down to Mrs Pickersgill's irregular food management," Jeremiah shivered. "I'm a rational man, but I can almost believe there are sinister forces at work on the train."

"Don't let your imagination run away with you," I advised. "Even spooks have a day off, and nobody else has reported anything unusual going on. Maybe it's all a series of tragic coincidences."

"Yes, Denise," Susie agreed, "Mr Harbottle should think twice about alarming the other passengers and wrecking their trip. They could probably claim ten times their money back - or more if they're stranded miles from home."

"When you put it that way ... the late lamented haven't been shot or stabbed ... or died screaming," Jeremiah ruminated. "In fact, they all looked at peace with the world - apart from the unfortunate gentleman who got tangled up in his scarf."

"It's my opinion, you should strive to keep a lid on things," Susie counselled. "The slightest upset and folk are litigation mad, thanks to all those telly ads."

Jeremiah meditated a moment more. "I've often wondered if I could claim for having the lumbar region of a man twice my age. Changing tracks on a tank, when you're up to your knees in mud and crud, stresses the spine something awful."

"Suffering for his country will be Mr Harbottle's only reward, Susie."

"It's the old, old story, Denise."

"You don't know the half of it," Jeremiah grimaced. "Sometimes the pain goes straight down my leg into my big toe."

"Which one's that?" I enquired.

"The one with the bullet lodged in it - but I never mention the incident, traumatic as it still is. A fraction either side, and I'd never have seen the white cliffs of Dover again - or my pigeons flying over them."

"You'd better clear the way, then, Mr Harbottle, and we'll carry the load," Susie offered.

Jeremiah limped aside. "That's most gracious of you. And could you be quick about it, before an inquisitive passenger happens along."

"Okay - are you ready to bend at the knees to help a disabled veteran, Denise?"

"Yes, Susie, although you wouldn't be so ready to volunteer our services if you were the one tripping the weighty fantastic backwards in high heels."

"Give over, Denise - you know it's your most favoured role in our partnership."

"Not when there's a dead body, instead of layers of tulle, between us, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Oh, oh, hokey-cokey," Susie chirped, as we wobbled after the guard into his van. "Budgie up, my dead felons, we've another to join you."

"They're innocent until proven guilty, Susie," I reminded her.

"Okay, Denise - but can we squeeze this dubious character in under there?"

"Hold it, Susie," I instructed, on reversing into a suddenly immobile Jeremiah. "Mr Harbottle's been frozen in his tracks."

"Crikey, Denise - I can see why," Susie exclaimed. "Have a look over your shoulder."

"Oh, someone anticipated your request for space, Susie - a departed has gone missing."

"The vicar's taken off his coat, but he wasn't stopping, Denise."

"You think the reverend got up and left under his own steam, do you?"

"Or he's been removed for a nefarious purpose, Denise."

"Oh, Jehoshaphat!" Jeremiah came out of his trance. "Now we've a bodysnatcher on-board, to top things off."

"There's no need to panic just yet, Mr Harbottle," I asserted. "After all, you've only your own word for it he had died."

"Yes, the old boy made a lively looking corpse compared to the others, didn't he, Denise?"

"I hardly gave the reverend a second glance when we had him in tow, Susie."

"It seems a closer examination might have been called for, Mr Harbottle, but with you being ex-army, we didn't question your diagnosis."

"I never actually came into that close a contact with any dead bodies," Jeremiah admitted. "Only dead radios."

"There you are, then," I smiled, "the vicar could be as right as ninepence and feeling on top of the world after a recuperative snooze."

"Or walking around in a daze, like a zombie," Susie conjectured. "And looking for a more substantial meal than the pork pie that didn't quite kill him."

"Don't, Susie," I reproved. "Such wild talk will only upset Mr Harbottle."

"Thank God, we didn't put the dog on top of him," Jeremiah quaked. "That would have added insult to injury. But my mistake could still cost the company tens of thousands in compensation."

"Before you go looking for the vicar to make a pre-emptive apology, can we put this one in the vacated space," I asked. "He's becoming something of a hindrance."

"I wouldn't want to get the wrong side of Special Branch, as well," Jeremiah moped. "The sergeant had a flask on him - are you sure he's dead, and not just dead drunk?"

"Quite," Susie confirmed, as we lowered the late Ian Duke into position. "He's stone-cold, and gave us a negative breath test."

"I'll take it on trust, then," Jeremiah accepted, rearranging the coat over the bodies.

"We shouldn't take his credentials on trust, though, Mr Harbottle," I cautioned. "Fake everythings are easy to come by these days."

"That's right," Susie agreed, "he could've been a foreign agent working undercover - before you covered him up."

"Bless my pigeon toes," Jeremiah groaned, "we'll have a man from Interpol dropping in on us next."

"Or a woman from Interflora - a few bunches of flowers wouldn't come amiss at this juncture, eh Denise?"

"There's not much chance of that, Susie, but heaven knows what surprise packages the villains intend to deliver."

"You mean more than one of them are on the loose?" Jeremiah panicked.

"Too many for you to worry about, Mr Harbottle. You can leave the rest to us," Susie reassured. "You've already given of your best, putting your back out, putting it into the job."

"I'll say I have - I'm a mental and physical wreck," Jeremiah wailed. "But I'll soldier on - the vicar's welfare is my immediate concern. The poor fellow might accidentally fall off the train if he hasn't fully recovered."

"Cometh the hour, cometh the corporal - while you round up his rev, we'll keep guard," Susie offered. "Just in case a Burke and Hare are on the prowl."

"Very well, if you don't mind being left alone with the deceased."

"Not in the least, and we'll feel safer here, won't we, Denise? The state the roaming vicar's in, he may have roaming hands."

"Yes, Susie, now he's reanimated the man could lack all inhibition. And with his taste in classical literature, it's only a drop of the trousers away from a theoretical discussion of Sodom and Gomorrah to a practical demonstration of the Kama Sutra."

 

 

Chapter 188

"We need to have a proper ponder about this latest development," Susie decided, after hastening Jeremiah out of the guard's van.

"I imagined you'd be raring to rush into action and get hot on the vicar's trail before anyone else, Susie."

"Do you really believe the so-called Aubrey Worple rose from the presumed dead and then just wandered off, Jeffrey?"

"It's a possibility."

"That is highly improbable."

"So what has happened to him, Susie?"

"I don't know, but you'd expect a genuine clergyman to kick up some sort of fuss if he awakened third along in a temporary mortuary."

"Stroking a giant, deceased Alsatian."

"Precisely, Jeffrey - that would disturb a saint's equanimity."

"And even turn his guts to water, Susie. Perhaps the vicar's first instinct on reviving was to revisit the bathroom."

"In that case, we can safely leave his rediscovery to Mr Harbottle."

"Whom you wanted to get rid of so we could search this place."

"Trume, Jeffrey - we'll check if the light-fingered Jeremiah has absentmindedly removed any articles of significance from his guests and squirrelled them away as lost property."

"Before we start, Susie, I've another acorn of information for you. From my pall-bearing perspective, I noticed the late Sergeant Duke had horse hair on the soles of his shoes."

"So now we know the identity of Jack the Seat Ripper, Jeffrey."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"You did a loyal servant of the railway a grave injustice, Susie," I chided, when we found all the deceased's belongings triply accounted for in Jeremiah's immaculate copperplate. "The man's recorded every item."

"And in minute detail - do you think Mr Ben's collar really is inlaid with Georgian solid silver, Jeffrey?"

"It's stamped with a king's head and a lion, Susie. Mr Harbottle is obviously a fan of the 'Antiques Road Show', confirming he, at least, is a genuine Englishman and above suspicion."

"I never doubted it for a moment, Jeffrey. I only wanted to see if any of the victims were carrying an unusual personal possession."

"Well, they weren't. So what now, Susie - are you going to inspect under their fingernails for a microdot?"

"You're fantasizing again, Jeffrey."

"Didn't you say a good detective explores every avenue, Susie?"

"Not that one - it's something more substantial we're looking for. Our next steps will be in pursuit of the elusive Reverend Worple."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"It's not only the vicar who's vanished, Jeremiah's nowhere to be seen either, Susie," I fretted, when we'd negotiated the length of the train.

"He must be in the toilet or that compartment with the blinds half down. I didn't get chance for a proper look with you hurrying me out of the carriage."

"And with good cause," I huffed, pointedly adjusting my skirt. "It was Denise's bottom that got gratuitously felt up."

"You shouldn't have put your tush in his arm's way, Jeffrey."

"He took me by surprise, Susie. That's not the sort of juvenile behaviour you expect from a man of mature years."

"Your old admirer did blame his loss of balance and instinctive grasping for support on a buckled rail."

"And instead of berating him for his lies, you were only moved to enquire if he'd bumped into an unsteady vicar similarly affected."

"After first extracting an apology for the mishandling of you, Jeffrey."

"Delivered with a smirk, as the cad fell my way again. Pinky and Perky barely avoided his secondary advances."

"But you didn't need to keep on scampering once we were out of reach."

"Have you forgotten the other two gentlemen who wanted to play squash with us in the corridor?"

"That was their story, but, I must admit, you would expect trainspotters to behave more like members of a badminton society than a rugby club."

"Yes, it's truly disappointing," I sighed. "I'm almost persuaded there's something to be said for wearing trousers when navigating narrow passages."

"But not quite," Susie grinned.

"Not by a short skirt," I smiled. "I wouldn't want to hide my legs away."

"Then it's time to retrace our steps, Denise, and seek out a pair that have vanished from public view."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"You can't expect to find a vicar in every blind-drawn compartment or a dead body each time you visit the toilet, Susie," I consoled, after investigating the places we'd missed on our way up the train.

"He must be somewhere, Jeffrey - and Mr Harbottle - unless it's a case of men overboard."

"Oh, chap ahoy, Susie," I signalled, indicating an all too familiar navigational hazard in our path. "Prepare for evasive action."

"It's your serial-groping gricer again, Denise, and he's warming up his ogle."

"Guard my bottom while I shield my top, Susie. That's a prelude to the big, clumsy clown pretending he still hasn't found his train-legs."

"One hand is protectively poised over your rear, Denise."

"Full steam ahead, then, and damn the tall paedo."

"Back up - we're coming through," Susie called, swinging her bag out in front. "And you run the risk of a severe bantering if there's any argy-bargy nonsense this time."

"Good, you're here again," the man gushed, greeting us with open arms. "It's entirely my fault we weren't appropriately introduced earlier. I'm Heinz Campbell."

Susie's face lit up. "Heinz - that's a German moniker, Denise - and he acts like the cat who's after the cream. Do you suppose his nickname could be Fritz?"

"Nah, Susie - if anything, it's Two Soups."

"Chicken noodle and cock-a-leekie if the stains on his collar don't lie," Susie grinned.

"Aw, give a silver fox a chance," Campbell appealed. "I'm a good-looking fella with ..."

"A style as smooth as silk, eh, Denise."

"And as creepy as the worms that spin it, Susie."

"You've got me all wrong, girls, but I'll forgive your misapprehension," Campbell oozed. "This is likely your first encounter with a man of the world, possessing my savoir faire."

"Savoir faire - what's that when it's chez nous, Denise?"

"Not something we'd welcome, Susie, but we'll lend the old, grey Mr Tod the bus fare home if he'll take a trip."

"Calling a chap an old toad is a tad personal," Campbell frowned. "Especially one who's been moved to meet you, after admiring the boy Ronan's artistic endeavours with his camera."

"Yes, he paints with megapixels," I allowed. "But that's no excuse for losing your bearings over a photo of a Walschaerts valve gear."

"It's so beautifully framed in leather, though," Campbell smoodged.

"The man has a silver tongue to match his silver hair, Denise."

"And roving hands to go with his roving eyes, Susie."

"Which couldn't help noticing the two of you. You've been skittering up and down the train all morning. Are you looking for somebody?"

"The guard," Susie responded. "We promised our parents we'd immediately report any unwelcome advances by strange men to the authorities."

"You're the odd ones out here," Campbell winked. "We've never had a brace of young beauties on these outings before. Are you sure you didn't hop on the wrong train?"

"Positive," Susie insisted. "The tickets were a present from my uncle, for services rendered."

"Oh, he's one of those kinds of uncles - interested in biker girls among other things, is he?" Campbell leered.

"Certainly not, Uncle Frank is the epitome of establishment respectability," Susie huffed. "He's a Masonic mortician - and we're his budding apprentices, aren't we, Denise?"

"Almost fully-fledged, I'd say, after our recent experiences, Susie."

"Don't tell me Ronan's little monster really did see you carrying a corpse," Campbell laughed. "I thought he was just sore about his foot."

"You're correct on both counts," I affirmed. "And we've learned how to rapidly size up folk. Right now, I'd estimate we're looking at a prospective client who's 6' 2'' and 220 pounds, dead weight."

"At his age, he's a prime candidate for Uncle Frank's savings plan, Denise."

"Can we sign you up for the mature male economy pack, sir?" I asked. "It's a better bargain than an over-50 insurance plan."

"And we won't bury you any further in debt," Susie guaranteed. "It's pay now - die later."

"Ha, bloody, ha," Campbell guffawed. "But what do I get in the here and now?"

"A free fluffy squirrel for the grandkids to remember you by."

"A fluffy squirrel," Campbell sneered, without mangling a syllable. "Hector wasn't joking - you are a couple of crazy girls."

"Hey, Denise, someone's been putting it about that the Dinky Doos are daft."

"Wee Eck is a shrewder judge of character than we thought, Susie."

"And so am I," Campbell glared, lurching forward as we swept round a curve. "I know when I'm being taken for a ride."

"We're dead serious about your making provision for the future," I emphasised, stepping back and avoiding his plunge. "You should always have something put aside for the totally expected."

"I'm not one to tempt fate," Campbell trembled, fingering a gold medallion before zipping up his coat.

"Heinz is suddenly not so full of beans, Denise."

"Perhaps somebody just walked over his grave, Susie."

"Can't you change the subject?" Campbell scowled. "I'm already nervous about flying to the Isle of Man for the Thomas Weekend."

"And not without cause should the totally unexpected happen," Susie warned. "What if there's a bomb on-board? You'll wish you had a Saint Christopher around your neck, not a Taurus the Bull."

"Don't talk nonsense - the only good thing about Nordwurst is terrorists will never have heard of them."

"We speak from bitter experience, Heinzy. Just last weekend we had our heads in the clouds and narrowly escaped being blown up, didn't we, Denise?"

"I barely had time to pick up my underskirts and high heel it down the aisle to safety, Susie."

"You showed a remarkable turn of speed, considering you were hampered by all your bridal trappings, Denise."

"They only added to the excitement, Susie," I blushed. "I still go weak at the knees at the memory of you carrying me over the threshold and kissing me under the veil."

"I've always wanted to meet a pair of teenage, lesbian sisters," Campbell goggled. "But you don't look old enough to get married."

"I do when in full fashion make-up," I pouted. "If you'd seen my mother's portfolio of me, you'd appreciate I'm a much sought after young Miss model."

"I can believe that," Campbell smirked, his eyes straying to Pinky and Perky. "But not that you've been blown up."

"Well, it's true," I claimed. "And it makes you wonder what's next on their list, when they'd sink to targeting a virgin bride parading innocently along the catwalk."

"Nowhere is safe these days, Denise. Never mind wedding fayres and jumbo jets, I expect some fanatics are harbouring a grudge against old, coal-fired steam engines that dirty their washing and belch copious amounts of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere."

"The Duchess is a prime target for eco-warriors of the keep-it-in-the-ground brigade, if there ever was one," I agreed.

"What do you think, Heinzy?" Susie enquired. "Have you spotted any shifty-eyed, solar-powered train enthusiasts in the dynamometer car?"

"Of course not, and I'm going back there for some intelligent conversation. It's making my head ache trying to keep up with your twaddle."

"A common complaint of the verbally challenged, but we were only replying in kind," Susie countered. "Off you go, and good luck finding any young lovelies to practise your chat-up lines on."

"I don't need to search for them - women chase me. They take one look at my Burberry anorak and smell money."

"That isn't what our noses tell us, is it, Denise?"

"Definitely not, Susie."

"When you rub in Vick,
Where you used to splash on Brut,
You're the oldest swinger in town."

"That's wintergreen - I spent four hours exercising in the gym yesterday," Campbell spluttered. "I've the body of a man half my age - broad shoulders ..."

"Balancing a more than slightly forward stomach," Susie observed.

"Which I'm currently working on," Campbell asserted.

"A likely story from someone who's lugging that corporation around," Susie grinned. "I bet you don't look good naked anymore."

"Why, you cheeky young ..."

"When you zip up your wranglers,
And your belly's in the way,
You're the oldest swinger in town."

"I'm younger than John Travolta ... and thinner."

"So's my granddad - and he can do his bally button up - and he's got his own hair."

"I'm not listening to any more of your drivel," Campbell snorted. "Distinguished looks, ancillary grooming, and sophistication are wasted on gobby girls like you."

"A fine friend you turned out to be, Soupy, begrudging us our sales commission," Susie huffed, as Campbell stalked off. "You won't find a better deal at the Co-op."

"Get lost! I'm not being buried alive by a couple of loony, dipstick lesbians."

"I think we disturbed his sense of immortality, Jeffrey."

"But not your Mr X, Susie - Heinz is another suspect who passed the squirrel test. We've little to show for our coach safari."

"You're right, Jeffrey, and this latest diversion may have played into the opposition's hands. While the cats were away ..."

"Another body might have gone walkabout."

"Mr Harbottle certainly has," Susie frowned. "We shouldn't have let him undertake the recovery of a zombie vicar on his own."

"Where to now, then?"

"The guard's van, Jeffrey. We'll update who's present - dead and alive."

"And if we're still short a soul or two?"

"We'll check if anybody's trying to avoid detection by hanging off the back of the train, Jeffrey."

"I hope that isn't a prelude towards someone, not a million miles from here, climbing onto the roofs of the carriages, Susie."

 

 

Chapter 189

"... 6 ... 7 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10." We counted, enumerating the number of feet and paws protruding from the bottom of the coats.

"That equates to five bodies under there," Susie concluded. "Things don't add up here, Jeffrey."

"You can't argue with the fact we now have a full-house, Susie."

"So while we were dishing it out to old Two Soups, the Reverend Worple has been returned to his place of rest."

"Only if someone changed his black patent leathers for brown hobnail boots," I indicated.

"Brown hobnail boots - they ring a bell, Jeffrey."

"Blow a whistle, don't you mean, Susie," I corrected, as we drew back the covering to reveal their owner. "Mr Harbottle's a train guard, not a bus conductor."

"Points taken, Jeffrey, but is he a live one or a dead one?"

"I'd say Jeremiah is peacefully slumbering, Susie."

"Not in Uncle Frank's diplomatic sense, I trust."

"And no longer so peacefully now - he's started snoring."

"That's a good sign."

"But is this?" I asked, on raising higher the overcoat. "Looky there, Susie - before sleeping on the job, Mr Harbottle stripped down to his thermals."

"Wow, they're on the bright side, Jeffrey."

"Same colour as his flag - red for danger - that's flown too."

"So where are his clothes?" Susie wondered. "And the other tools of his trade? There's not a peaked cap or an Acme Thunderer to be seen."

"Do you suppose the vicar had a boyhood ambition to work on the railway when he grew up, Susie?"

"I more than suppose - I'm blooming certain. As the means to his devious ends, the reverend's abandoned his spiritual vestments and assumed the garb of temporal office."

"All we can say for sure is, Mr Harbottle's here, and his uniform and the vicar are gone."

"But he's not forgotten, by Heaven's grace," came a gloating voice from behind us. "You wouldn't want to miss my epilogue."

"Uh-oh, Susie," I gulped, as the door of the van slammed shut, and we spun on our heels to face the born-again Aubrey Worple. "There's been an unceremonial changing of the guard."

"And not for the better, Denise. It appears the reverend saw the light at the end of the tunnel before returning to haunt us."

"We really are having no luck in our encounters with men of the cloth, Susie."

"They're holier than thou to begin with, Denise, but then off comes the cassock, and out pops the cloven hoof."

"If you can't trust a prelate, in whom can you have faith, Susie?"

"Fowler's Modern English Usage in your case, Denise."

"Don't be too disappointed, my children," the defrocked priest comforted. "I have to confess this morning marked my first excursion in holy orders."

"Get away," Susie whistled. "All that talk of Sodom and Gomorrah utterly fooled this pair of innocents, didn't it, Denise?"

"We could've been back behind our dusty desks in Sunday School, having the Old Testament wits scared out of us, Susie."

"Speak for yourself, Denise - I remember feeling pretty chuffed to learn an avenging and wrathful God was on my side."

"Stop wittering," the man glared. "I've stomached a surfeit of your blasphemous biblical nonsense."

"Unorthodox, but never blasphemous," I objected.

"I'm finished arguing doctrine with you. From now on, what I say goes."

"That's all well and good, but first, would you mind intoning 'squirrel' again?" Susie requested.

"Squirrel," he enunciated. "The German test is wasted on me. Now shut up - it's your turn to do the listening."

"That's a harsh way to address two devout, young ladies," Susie scolded.

"Since renouncing the Church, I've no need to politely turn the other ear to infantile gibberish."

"Nuts, he's insulting the Dinky Doos' comedy crosstalk, Denise. The fellow may have perfectly pronounced 'squirrel', but the lack of a sense of humour shows his true colours."

"No, it doesn't, Susie - that's Mr Harbottle's red flag sticking out of his back pocket, not a German Imperial Eagle."

"The old boy passed it on to me, along with his other instruments of authority," the ex-cleric smirked. "I'm now the replacement guard who joined the train at Carnforth. A story which will be accepted by all the passengers. Apart from you, of course - but that shouldn't prove an insoluble problem."

"And Mr Harbottle - is he okay?" Susie asked. "Because Jeremiah's chosen a funny place to take a nap."

"You shouldn't begrudge him a time-out. With one thing and another, this has been a busy day for the little man."

"Finding his jacket tight around the shoulders, are you?" Susie enquired. "Perhaps Denise can let it out a bit - the girl's a whiz with needle and thread. She sews every last sequin onto her dance dresses."

"Then the pretty seamstress is deserving of a hard-earned rest alongside you and the guard."

Susie raised an eyebrow. "Not a permanent one, I hope."

"You amateurs will wake up, totally refreshed, with a renewed appetite for life - unlike my professional rivals."

"That's a relief," I breathed. "We feared you might force-feed us Mrs Pickersgill's pork pies."

The former minister grimaced in disgust. "Your briefing appears to have been more thorough than mine in one vital respect. Our plans were almost ruined by your foul railway cuisine."

"What a calumny!" Susie protested. "Mrs Pickersgill warms up only the finest leftovers from Aldi."

"Supermarket shock troops of the eternal enemy - but it takes more than a putrid German indelicacy to defeat the Motherland's finest," the man boasted. "I was only temporarily distressed before shutting down and entering a Zen-like trance to speed my recovery."

"Mind over mould, eh." Susie shook her head in disbelief. "The bod still looks deathly pale and in need of a pick-me-up, doesn't he, Denise?"

"Dreadfully," I smiled, opening my bag. "Here you are, sir - we've brought you an English apple fresh from the tree."

"Put it away - a Specnaz commando has no need of your recuperative apple."

"That's okay - I haven't actually got one. We've already polished off our Ribston Pippins."

"Then why did you make the offer?"

"Because I knew you'd refuse."

"Don't play any more of your childish word games with me," our adversary glowered. "I'm fully revived, and, as you can see, alert enough to have already capitalized on the situation."

"Yes, a guard with a big hat does carry more weight on a train than a humble priest in a dog collar," I allowed.

"Even one who goes by the illustrious name of Aubrey Worple," Susie agreed. "Tell us, old fruit, did you creatively conjure that up to match the initials on the attache case?"

"I mustn't take all the credit. The works of P G Wodehouse are required reading for recruits educated to pass as pukka Englishmen."

"Ah, but can you add a fly slip to a silly mid-off and a backward short-leg?" Susie quizzed.

"I favour a deep extra cover," the man sneered. "Our preparations leave nothing to chance - the institute possesses a complete set of leather-bound Wisdens. Douglas Jardine's bodyline tactics for keeping upstart colonials in check are much admired."

"How about that, Denise?"

"What we've got here is something altogether bigger than cricket, Susie."

"Considering the opposition, Denise, it's a blessing we didn't find one of the victims zipped up in a sports bag."

"I'm relieved we aren't staring down the wrong end of a lethal, Russian umbrella, Susie."

"Despite the reference to the Motherland, Denise, it's difficult to believe the gent's training hasn't been Teutonic in its thoroughness."

"Actually, we'll have to mark the bounder down, Susie. The Wodehouse character in question is named Alexander, not Aubrey."

"I'm well aware of that, my dear, but we aren't robots. We're permitted to improvise, and I considered Aubrey a more appropriate appellation for a rural vicar."

"Okay, then, what's the name of Alexander Worple's nephew?" I challenged.

"Biffo," the man instantly replied.

"No, it's Corky," I corrected.

"You can't trick me. Korky's a cat in the Dandy."

"And Biffo's a bear in the Beano, Mr Mole. A well-read agent would have the fact at his fingertips."

"I did - and I also know that he's been replaced on the front page by Dennis the Menace."

"It's still no excuse for muddling him up with Biffy Biffen, a friend of Bertie Wooster, and a fellow member of the Drones Club."

"Or Bingo Little, Denise - but let's not nit-pick. Even if the cad has difficulty distinguishing his 'Y's from his 'O's, he speaks better English than a native."

"Yes, from his accent, I would never have guessed our friend, Ivan, is Chinese, Susie."

"Have your little joke," the ex-rev snickered. "And although Ivan is as good a name as any for me, I'm sorry to disillusion you - he's far from your friend."

"Whoops, Denise - where's a communication cord when you need a chain to pull?"

"Never fear, my dears, I'm not so terrible. Nowadays, Central Command frowns on operatives unnecessarily liquidating naive little nuisances."

"Denise and I are okay, then. We still believe in Father Christmas."

"And I hope when the time comes he fulfils your wishes, but for the present you're the ones who will be doing the giving. You have something I want."

"Hey, we've heard that before, Susie."

"Keep your hand on your ha'penny, Denise. The uniform's gone to his head - he'll be demanding to punch our tickets next."

"And your heads if you don't return something that my masters have agreed terms for, and is legally our property," Ivan insisted. "Where is it?"

"It's where it always was, isn't it, Susie?" I blinked.

"Unless someone's rearranged things down below, Denise."

"Delaying backchat won't help your cause," Ivan warned. "It's clear to me you took advantage of my incapacity to search Dr Watt's case."

"There you are, Denise - my theory has proved perfectly correct."

"Much good it's done us, Susie."

"Well, how were we to know the object in question had already been removed by Ivan?"

"But it hadn't," our rival revealed. "I suffered the same disappointment after I acquired the case."

"I wonder how he managed to accomplish that under Mrs Pickersgill's nose, Denise."

"I've a feeling it's unwise to ask, Susie. The less we know about any unscheduled departures, the better."

"Take heed of your friend," Ivan advised. "And pray you're never a silenced witness to a demonstration of my refined technique."

"Unlike the poor chap who mugged the good doctor," Susie inferred.

"Yes, there am I searching the train, wondering where Watt had got to, when whom should I bump into, but a shoddy fellow carrying an expensive attache case that probably didn't belong to him."

"And he sealed his fate by failing to supply a name to match the initials," I surmised.

"Under duress, he invented some ridiculous story about only wishing to personally restore the lost property to its rightful owner ... in return for a substantial reward."

"But your negotiations evidently proved unsatisfactory," Susie presumed.

"They always do with thieves and double-crossers. And unhappily for them, I don't deal in half measures."

"You must have felt pretty miffed yourself when you found the case empty," I suggested.

"Considerably so, and I still am as you may be about to discover."

"Don't take your loss out on us," Susie huffed. "We're all in the same troika now."

"Only while I remained incapacitated, you went looking for the missing plans," Ivan accused. "And since my recovery, a process of elimination has convinced me that you were successful in your quest."

"I doubt you'll believe this," Susie offered. "But the truth is, we became fully occupied with other matters after a certain Dr Philipsz dropped into our compartment, uninvited."

"As you did with me."

"Not exactly - the doc behaved in a rude and unfriendly manner. In fact, the conceited chump tried his best to get rid of us so he could have the place to himself."

"That I do believe," Ivan acknowledged.

"Then we'd recommend you have a quick word with Dr Philipsz, wouldn't we, Denise?"

"We would if the doc wasn't dead, Susie."

"Good point, Denise - with all the comings and goings, it's easy to lose track of who's not who anymore."

"Perhaps it needs the point of my stiletto to refresh your memories," Ivan threatened.

"Hey, that's one sure way of gaining Denise's undivided attention," Susie grinned. "Somebody's spied you have a high-heel fetish, Miss Smith."

"Shush, Susie," I blushed. "I don't want my little peccadilloes broadcast to the world."

"Then button up," Ivan ordered. "Displaying your charms is futile - I'm trained to resist the temptations of decadent Western flesh."

"Ah, Susie - and with the gentleman's penchant for an intimate study of our popular literature, we now have a possible explanation for the source of the unusual magazine."

"I wonder how an erstwhile vicar got on with resisting the attractions therein, Denise?"

"Impeccably," Ivan crowed. "While studying our enemies vices in the most minute detail."

"Your dedication to duty does you credit," I conceded.

"Thank you," Ivan bowed. "May I, in return, bestow on you the honour of crossing swords with a summa cum laude graduate of the Academy."

"Doc Philipsz claimed much the same, didn't he, Denise?"

"In his case, pride went before a fall, Susie."

"To me that came as no surprise," Ivan gloated. "And if you wish to avoid a nasty one, keep in mind you're not dealing with an incompetent like Philipsz now."

"That's right - the dirty four-flusher failed to cheat us at cards," Susie snorted. "A man could get killed doing that. Did he try the same game with you and suffer the consequences?"

"No, I only eliminated the spook who strangled Philipsz. You English always pay the price for aiding us against the Germans," Ivan laughed.

"Your victim being the gallant gentleman who vandalized our compartment?" I ventured.

"Yes, and since he didn't possess the contents of the case that leaves the leather girls, who were there before him and Philipsz, as the sole remaining suspects."

"I knew dressing in biker bondage gear would land us in trouble, Susie. These outfits just cry out female secret agents."

"You jumped at the chance to walk in Tara King's shoes for the day, Denise."

"I thought it might be fun letting you rope her into your Emma Peel obsession, Susie."

"Our role-playing has served us well up to now, Denise. It's just a pity old John Steed didn't bring along his bowler and brolly instead of a bottle of brandy."

"Who?" Ivan interjected.

"Oh, it seems you've delivered a googly, Susie."

"So let's hear about your comrade, John Steed," Ivan demanded. "Have you passed on the goods to him, or is this another of your attempts to confuse?"

"You should know," Susie declared. "You murdered the poor blighter."

"I did not."

"You mean you took the liberty of terminating the chap without being properly introduced," Susie reprimanded. "Isn't that against the code of the Woosters?"

"We'll discuss espionage etiquette later. Just tell me where this elusive John Steed is hiding," Ivan commanded.

"Under the overcoat," Susie indicated. "We put him in your departed vicar's place, second along from the dog."

"Stay there," Ivan ordered, and moved across to examine the body.

"Their cultural education can't be up to much if it missed out on something as iconic as the Avengers," Susie whispered.

"I hope your flying jumping scissors kick is up to scratch now Ivan realises he's been had," I muttered, on the Russian discovering he'd already made the acquaintance of his English counterpart.

"What kind of fool do you take me for!" Ivan rasped, rising to confront us. "This is the imbecile who thought a sergeant in Special Branch could match a colonel in the GRU, and you know how I dispensed with him."

"Not really - Mr Harbottle was all for putting it down to natural causes, wasn't he, Denise?"

"Who were we to argue with an ex-soldier who's been up to his armpits in muck and grease guns, Susie?"

"Yes, what about the guard?" A new suspect occurred to Ivan. "Is he the operative working with you?"

"We can't deny, together, we've upheld the high customer service standards of Northern Express," Susie admitted.

"With Mr Harbottle maintaining a meticulous record of items of lost property," I hinted. "Before you execute any hasty action in our direction, I suggest you have a delve into his concealed cubby-hole if you can find it."

"This is your last chance," Ivan relented, backing away to investigate. "No hiding place will escape my highly-trained eye."

"Now's our chance," Susie hissed, as Ivan turned and began checking for secret recesses.

"Mr Harbottle's hors de combat, but he's left us well provisioned with weapons," I murmured, arming myself with a recent addition to his waste-bin. "Grab one of Mrs Pickersgill's worst, Susie."

"We'll soon discover what they're made of, Jeffrey. The moment of culinary truth is arriving."

"There's nothing here!" Ivan exploded, after exploring in vain.

"To be honest - we were lying for time," I confessed.

"What are you up to?" an enraged Ivan swung round, gawping for a moment at our raised pork pies, before striding menacingly towards us.

"Don't let him get too close, Denise, he may have a poisoned boot up a trouser leg."

"I can already see the whites of his cheeks, Susie."

"Then grenades away, Denise!"

"Rapid fire, Susie!"

"We haven't got what you want, but take these instead."

"Ooooowwwwwww!"

"And those," I followed up.

"Ouuuuccchhhhhhhhhh!"

"Ivan cried in pained surprise,
As the concrete hardened crust,
Of a stale pork pie caught him in the eye,
And our target bit the dust."

"Aaaaaaaarrrggggghhhhhh!"

"Bingo, Jeffrey! He's gone down like a sack of potatoes."

"Let's hope Ivan isn't making a meal of it, Susie."

"Not after skidding on the gristle and banging his head on Mr Ben's still formidable canines, Jeffrey."

"Ooooooooowwwwwwwww!"

"Biffo, Susie! Savaged by a dead dog. Who needs jujitsu when you've got foodjitsu?"

"Floored by Mrs Pickersgill's foul fare for the second time today. The bod should have known better than to let down his guard again."

"Ivan - he drove the fastest Lada in the East."

"But his Oriental philosophy proved no match for Western consumerism," I rejoiced.

"Pip, pip, old bean, we'll shove a custard tart in your face the next time around," Susie whooped, as we hurdled the pair of dirty dogs and withdrew in good order, leaving a Russian Borzoi dazedly wrestling a German Shepherd.

"That's one secret weapon Ivan can report back on to his masters," I smiled, when we were safely on the other side of the door.

"Central Command missed a trick in not making Benny Hill DVDs required late night watching for their undercover agents, Jeffrey."

"Even so, Susie, a climactic chase sequence may prove difficult to avoid - and one or more shoe changes could still be afoot."

 

 

Chapter 190

"If Ivan looms into view, we'll join the crowd in the dynamometer coach," Susie determined, on our arrival mid-train. "He won't dare make a nuisance of himself in public."

"Nuisance is putting it mildly," I frowned. "Who knows how far Ivan will go to recover what he believes has come into our keeping."

"The more immediate question is, Jeffrey - despite our denials - have we actually got it?"

"Not unless your Homer Simpson has more to him than meets the eye, Susie."

"We missed a trick there, Jeffrey. I should have dangled the little fellow under Ivan's nose to test his reaction."

"I suppose the drive could contain a Linux partition invisible to Windows," I mused. "It's not impossible, although it seems unlikely."

"As does Ivan making us his target and being ignorant of who's really in possession of the prize."

"I only wish we knew, Susie, then we could avoid the thief's company."

"On the contrary, we'll be safer seeking it out, Jeffrey. Because here comes Ivan, crummy, but unbowed."

"This way, Susie, before he spots us with his highly-trained black-eyes. I've always wanted to see a mechanical integrator in action."

"Can you drive one of those without a road licence, Jeffrey?"

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Unfortunately, Susie, it appears all, but the most dedicated enthusiast, have deserted the bridge," I muttered, when, on entering the dynamometer car, we encountered only a solitary figure.

"Hi, Ronan," Susie waved. "Are the wheels still going round and round?"

"The Duchess is steaming as good as new," Ronan enthused. "Her sister engine would have regained the world speed record, given the right track. Did you know that Mallard's run was downhill?"

"And she had to limp home for repairs, after blowing her big end," I added. "A4s couldn't sustain high speeds like the Coronation Class."

"Fancy you knowing that, Denise," Ronan gaped. "I wish you'd been around earlier to support me against the East-coasters. We had quite a heated argument."

"Yes, we expected to find a hive of activity in here," Susie confessed. "Where's the rest of your merry band?"

"They've buzzed off to prepare for our scheduled stopover in Ravenglass. That's the next item of interest on the agenda."

"What's the big attraction - are you having lunch there?" Susie enquired.

"Yes - Hector insists - and the branch-line fanatics will be inspecting the narrow gauge locos, but compared to a mighty Pacific, they're just kiddie toys."

"That sounds right up your bedtime story, Denise. Do you fancy visiting Thomas and friends?"

"We could go even further in getting away from it all, Susie, and take a ride behind one of them. The journey up Eskdale was a favourite of Wainwright."

"Hey, Susie," Ronan goggled, "is there anything Denise doesn't know?"

"I sometimes wonder."

"But not lonely as a cloud, Susie - the patter of patent leathers indicates company is fast approaching."

"And so is the station, Denise."

"Then we can make sure we're not caught on the hop by Ivan."

"Who's Ivan?" Ronan asked.

"Inform our friendly autograph hound, Susie."

"Well, it's like this ..."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"From Russia without love - let's fly from Ivan, Susie," I urged, after we'd left Ronan, having more than satisfied his curiosity.

"For all his spy schooling, Ivan isn't in the James Bond villain class," Susie judged, opening the carriage door. "We'd have had to summon up a deadlier surprise weapon than a stale meat pie to porkaxe Red Grant."

"We shouldn't count out our psychos before we're home to roost, Susie," I cautioned, as we stepped onto the platform. "Another one could lie in wait for us anywhere."

"I'm still holding something in reserve," Susie grinned. "Are you, Jeffrey?"

"For a last-ditch effort, I'm relying on my trainers if we need to go into emergency reverse."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"You can continue strutting in your stilettos, Denise," Susie reassured, after looking back along the coaches. "Ivan isn't hotly following in our footsteps - he's experiencing a slight delay on the line."

"By having to pose for a selfie," I smiled.

"Thanks to my suggesting Ronan should secure the signature of a man who'd waved his flag on the Trans-Siberian Express."

"And let's hope assuming Mr Harbottle's position also causes Ivan some inconvenience with the station master."

"Yes, the scheming bugger will need to temporarily keep up appearances, or else he might have to explain an unconscious guard and four dead bodies."

"If only, Susie, but Ivan's probably thoroughly primed for this very situation."

"In my opinion, you can't beat off-the-cuff and on-the-spot improvisation, Jeffrey. What should we do next?"

"How about catching the next bus home?"

"From here - on a Sunday?"

"There must be something going south."

"Meandering very slowly at best - we'd never get back before midnight. How will you explain that to your mum?"

"A broken brake pipe ... leaves on the line ... unexpected flooding ..."

"Belay the station announcer talk, Jeffrey," Susie ordered, ushering me off the end of the platform. "We'll have a council of war and a peaceful cup of tea at the Turntable Cafe over there."

"Always assuming the owner hasn't just vacuumed up her pet budgie."

"That'd be too much of a coincidence, even for us, Jeffrey. We won't have any hoover problems this trip."

"If you don't say so, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"There's no sign of a budgie or Ivan, but that crew-cut, blond man in the black leather mac is pretending not to look this way, Jeffrey."

"You can't blame me, Susie. I'm fully buttoned up, and my legs are tucked under the table."

"I don't recognize him from the train, Jeffrey. I wonder if the fellow's interested in us because he's one of them, or one of the other."

"Probably both, Susie," I sighed. "They're precisely the kind of disreputable folk we seem to attract on our jaunts."

"This one looks as if he'd be happy hitting his grandma over the head with a shovel."

"The unsavoury Mr Big's just ordered a double helping of sweet stuff, but he's still keeping a sharp eye on us."

"Casually drink up, Jeffrey, and we'll observe his reaction when we stroll leisurely out of the door."

"That's fine with me, Susie. I feared you might be planning an undignified exit through the window of the Ladies'."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I can feel eyes boring into my rucksack," Susie muttered, as we crossed the car park. "The bod's deserted his cream buns, and he's following us, isn't he, Jeffrey?"

"It appears so," I agreed, on glimpsing our shadow in a van's wing mirror. "But don't look back."

"We won't need to - chummy's reflected in here." Susie came to a halt at the rear window of the next car. "We'll mark time and see what develops."

"He's going over to that BMW."

"A German connection, Jeffrey."

"Don't get overexcited, Susie - he's just sitting in it."

"All too obviously waiting for us to make a move."

"The question is why, Susie."

"You'd think a professional would be more adept at going unnoticed. Perhaps he has only an amateur curiosity about girls in short skirts and high heels, Denise."

"I'm not dropping behind to find out, Susie. Let's circle round to the platform where there's safety in numbers."

"Sparse ones, this late in the season, and not for long, either - they're queuing up for a ride on that cute little train. Should we tag along, Jeffrey?"

"We may as well take the scenic route, Susie. It'd be a shame to come all this way and miss seeing England's highest mountain."

"How about we sit in one of those tiny, open carriages, Jeffrey. They look just the kind of thing a person could accidentally fall out of if circumstances so conspired."

"Then we'd better hold on tight to each other, Susie."

"Okay, let's get two returns."

"Wait until I change into my Little Pony trainers and then you can ask for half-fare."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Another clerk who never even blinked," Susie huffed, on our departure from the ticket office. "Being accompanied by you, Jeffrey, somehow knocks two years off my age when I'm trying to act two years older."

"I don't think Denise should assume all the responsibility if we're taken for barely teen twins, Susie."

"Sisters is understandable - but twins? Our hair isn't remotely the same shade. The lady must be colour blind."

"That can't explain it, Susie - I'm not wearing a green fun wig."

"Luckily for you - or you'd have to keep your hand on your head since we'll be exposed to the elements."

"Come on, then - and when we get comfortable, just to please you, Denise will slip into her high heels and redo her lipstick. That way, we should pass for at least fifteen."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Arm in arm together,
We knew we'd found forever,
As we rode along through Eskdale,
With the sea breeze in our hair."

"Very tuneful, girls - do you do requests?"

"Within reason," Susie replied, turning in her seat. "But not usually for sinister strangers who creep up on us."

"Choosing to sit here alone, I'm sure you were awaiting me, or someone of a similar disposition," our stalker declared.

"We didn't know there were any Russian red moles lurking aboard, did we, Denise?"

"All I've seen are American grey squirrels scampering by the line, Susie."

"Our agent on the train warned me of your fondness for childish babble," the man glared. "But I won't be drawn into a discussion about moles and skweerels."

"Hey, is your name Fritz?" Susie challenged.

"Who told you that?" he demanded, eyebrows arching in surprise. "Has the Russian, fake English vicar gone in with you, after falling for your feminine charms?"

"We did leave him flat on his back in awe," Susie admitted. "But it was the squirrel that gave you away."

"Where is this Skweerel - and who's he working for?"

"Say nothing, Susie," I cautioned. "Fritz is evidently not as well briefed as your typical Bavarian."

Fritz's brow furrowed again. "And you also know I represent the interests of Siemens."

"Do we, Jeffrey?" Susie whispered.

"We do now."

"Aside from him driving a BMW what made you mention Bavaria?"

"Just a shot in the dark - Fritz has the appearance of a man who'd feel at home slapping his lederhosen."

"While being whacked in the stomach with a knuckle-duster."

"What are you muttering?" Fritz hissed.

"We were discussing making you an offer you can't understand," I smiled.

"And, more practically, the rewards to be had for assisting the most corrupt company in Europe," Susie hinted.

"They are uncommon - I guarantee," Fritz assured.

"That's fine," Susie nodded. "We prefer payment in gold, not euros."

"I'm sure you'll have no complaints after we finalise our deal, but first you have to deliver the goods."

"I can see us having the same trouble with Fritz, we had with Ivan, Susie."

"Yes, it could prove a bit of an annoyance, Denise. How should we proceed?"

"Perhaps a little present will speed up negotiations," Fritz offered, reaching into his mackintosh.

"Oh, on guard, Susie," I advised. "This isn't Father Christmas we're doing business with."

"But I am ready to join in your party games," Fritz responded. "Guess what I've got under here."

"Animal, vegetable, or mineral?" Susie quizzed.

"Highly polished mineral," Fritz smirked.

"With animal connections," I gulped, as a metallic barrel poked out from beneath his coat. "That's quite a handy inducement."

"How right you are," Fritz grunted, holding up the gun. "Particularly now my itchy finger is on the trigger."

"Careful there," Susie warned. "You could blast off the top of your head with that thing."

"Then I'll point my Luger away from me," Fritz drawled. "And you'd better hope we complete our transaction before the whistle blows."

"Ooer, bad news, Susie, we're heading towards a penalty shoot-out against a German, and there's no Russian linesman to queer his pitch."

"Footballing metaphors aside, Denise - in the spy field, I believe Fritz has issued what passes for a veiled threat."

"It seems pretty clear to me, Susie. With a gun in his hand, if the gentleman says it's Monday - it's Monday."

"It's Sunday," Fritz snapped.

"We're not arguing, are we, Denise?"

"It would be foolish to do so with a real tough guy, Susie."

"I bet even the sewers back up when he walks down the street, Denise."

"Enough of your jabbering, or my associate will do the talking," Fritz warned.

"Waving those things around can boomerang on you," I advised. "One of granddad's friends was out hunting when a great big bear snuck up behind, snatched the shotgun from him, and stuck it in his ribs."

"Gee, Denise, you never told me that before," Susie goggled. "How did it all end?"

"In matrimony - the hapless chappie had to wed the bear's daughter."

"You dummkopf!" Fritz thrust his Luger in my face. "Any more nonsense, and there's one girl who won't make it up the aisle."

"That's an awful thing to say, considering Denise's bridal ambitions," Susie protested. "The little love's always begging to be laced into her wedding dress, so she can rehearse for our big day."

"I only wish I had a veil to blush behind now, Susie. My attempt at a shaggy bear story didn't go down as well as the original. Perhaps it's the way I tell it."

"Don't blame yourself, Denise - you were playing to a hostile audience. And, besides, Germans are notorious for having an underdeveloped chuckle muscle."

"Then you'll take me seriously when I promise you I have bullets to spare for each pretty little knee," Fritz rasped.

"Under the circumstances, mine vote unanimously we waste no more time in giving Herr Fritz the works, Susie."

"Okay, Denise." Susie took out Homer Simpson from her pocket. "Here you are, sir - this is the only item we've picked up on our travels."

"What's that?" Fritz scowled.

"It's Watt's what's what, isn't it?" Susie grinned. "If not, it's all we have to show for four dead bodies plus a sorely used Ivan."

"Perhaps he's the one who has the MacGuffin," I suggested. "Before suffering his first funny turn, he kept a tight hold on that attache case with the initials 'A W'."

"I'm not interested in Ivan and Mr MacGuffin, whoever they are - or their luggage. I want the documents you've deviously acquired ... or else it'll be last requests time," Fritz threatened. "So put away that silly child's toy."

"Ivan behaved like a good egg compared to this bratwurst, Denise."

"As things are panning out, Susie, we may have acted a little hastily in not allying with the Russians when we had the chance."

"Perhaps we did wallop their representative prematurely, Denise, and missed gaining some much needed intelligence."

"There's no point pretending you haven't got the papers," Fritz warned. "I know better."

"The man must be totally barmy if he believes that, Susie."

"It's a mystery where some folk get their ideas from, Denise."

"More brains in one of Mrs Pickersgill's pork pies, as granddad would say - if he knew Mrs Pickersgill."

"I'll overlook the insults if you give me what I want ... alternatively ..." Fritz raised his Luger.

"He's leaving it to our imagination, Denise."

"No, I'm not - so what's it to be?"

"You were misinformed - there are no papers," I asserted. "Your agent on the train is obviously confused after suffering an acute case of food poisoning."

"Ha!" Fritz jeered. "Is that ridiculous excuse the best you can come up with?"

"It ain't ridiculous," Susie retorted. "What's the correct medical term for porcine induced hallucinations, Denise?"

"Hocus-pocus, isn't it, Susie?"

"I've had enough of your clowning," Fritz glowered. "Open those bags."

"Okay, but don't shoot the frog when it hops out at you," Susie cautioned. "That's the way hunting accidents happen, isn't it, Denise?"

"I hope not - Kermit's like one of the family. We've had him since before he was a tadpole."

"Spawn to gun - it'll be a tragic way for the little chap to meet his end." Susie unzipped her backpack and delved around inside. "Let's see - has the nasty man scared you into hiding under my Obsession, Kermit?"

"Give it to me - I'll put a stop to this claptrap," Fritz barked, grabbing the bag with his free hand. "Now here's a surprise - your fictitious frog's nowhere to be found."

"Yikes - the cobra must have eaten him," Susie wailed, thumping the underside of her rucksack. "Come out of there, baby!"

"Aaaahhh, what's that!" Fritz yelled, frantically jerking away in an attempt to avoid Hector's menacingly uncoiling snake. "Get it off me!"

"Spit in his eye, Nagina!" Susie whooped, scoring a direct hit with a follow-up squirt of perfume.

Baaaannnng!

"Aaaaaarrrrggggghhhh!" Fritz screamed, throwing his hands in the air, on the bullet striking home.

"Duck, Susie!" I cried, as the gun sailed over our heads, out into the heather.

"Ooops - Fritz should have got rid of his Luger before he shot himself in the foot with it, Denise."

"It couldn't have gone off better, Susie - now he won't be able to chase us. We can say 'auf niemalsehen' to our German friend."

"Don't leave me this way," Fritz pleaded, blinking through the tears while struggling to remove his shoe. "I could bleed to death."

"How about that, Denise? A Hun who was at our throats, now wants us at his feet."

"Winston Churchill couldn't make it up, Susie."

"My granddad was an admirer of the great man," Fritz weepily claimed, wrapping his sock around his big toe. "And so am I."

"Fritz is only an ersatz tough guy, Denise. Winnie would have laughed at such a minor abrasion, wouldn't he?"

"Definitely, Susie - I've inflicted worse damage with my stilettos."

"Nicht stechen mich!" Fritz cowered, putting up his hands. "I really want to be your friend - I was only following orders."

"Stay your foot, Denise - Fritz is about to reveal the identity of his accomplice on the train."

"Glauben Sie mir - I would if I could," Fritz swore. "All I know is I had a call, over an hour ago, saying you'd stolen the blueprints that should have been passed on to me at the cafe, and I've heard nothing since."

"A likely story," Susie scoffed.

"I wouldn't lie to you," Fritz trembled, while anxiously examining his injury. "Do you think I'll get gangrene? I've had these socks on a week."

"Here ..." I threw him a tube of Germolene. "Rub that in."

"You're too soft to be a boy scout, Denise, but you have the full complement of sweater adornments and are prepared for anything."

"I've always brought a soothing cream along since you suffered from blisters, Susie."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Denise."

"And now your feet are in trim, it's the least we can do for the poor blighter. Fritz has suffered the consequences of our mixing up a frog with a snake."

"He doesn't have my sympathy, so we'll leave the cur to lick his wounds. Are you ready to bale out, Denise?"

"I'm already changing my shoes, Susie."

"Okay ... bags away ... and girls overboard, Denise."

"Hit the ground running, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Hey look," Susie laughed, as we scrunched to a halt alongside the track, "Fritz wasn't kidding about being a Winston Churchill fan - the gentleman's waving us off with a bloody V-sign."

"More likely he's signalling Vergeltung will follow from his associates," I frowned. "Perhaps we should have relieved him of his phone while we had the chance."

"It doesn't matter, Jeffrey. The opposition on the train will know the score, without any help from Fritzie, when we bounce back into Ravenglass and resume our journey."

"I hope you realise, Susie, that means we won't be going to the mountain, but mayhem might come to us."

"To them, Jeffrey - and starting now. Here's James the Red Engine, puffing down the line on a return journey."

"And we're stranded between stations, Susie."

"Then out with your thumb and up with your skirt, Jeffrey."

"As it's James, I'll deploy my high heels and undo another button, as well, Susie."

"You may just get us a special invitation to ride on the footplate, Denise."

 

 

Chapter 191

"That turned out to be a highly informative ten minutes," Susie beamed, as we strolled along the platform at Ravenglass. "If I ever get my hand on a regulator again, I'll know exactly what not to do."

"The driver was most understanding about having to make an emergency stop, Susie."

"As he said, Jeffrey - that's what buffers are for. Otherwise, why put them there?"

"I felt Mr Scuttle might have been referring to his collision with Pinky and Perky, Susie."

"Double entendres were the last thing on his mind, Jeffrey. A dedicated engineer's first thoughts are always for the welfare of his locomotive."

"You're absolutely correct, Susie - the man's out there now, polishing its brass dome with an oily rag ... while eyeballing us."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Our reappearance may upset Ivan's cabbage-cart," Susie grinned, as we pulled out of the station. "I wonder how he'll welcome the return of his nemeses."

"I'm also concerned about the reception from Fritz's friend on-board."

"Look on the bright side, Jeffrey, we've most likely already laid out the villain in the guard's van."

"But if it wasn't Dr Philipsz who called Fritz before being permanently cut off, someone else among the passengers has got our number, and we haven't got his."

"Either way, I'm sure there are still unknown unknowns, Jeffrey, but sooner or later, they'll show their hands."

"With guns in them."

"That would be a big clue. But for now, we'll quietly saunter down the train and see if we elicit any undue reaction."

"Like they shoot us, I suppose."

"Nothing so melodramatic, Jeffrey - it may be only an ill-concealed, guilty twitch of an eyebrow."

"Which you'll unerringly discern, Susie."

"I've an infallible seventh sense about these things. Although you'd better button up, Denise - we don't want to run the risk of any false positives."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I suppose you can't blame an enthusiast for wanting to peruse his 'Giants of Steam' magazine, safe from prying eyes," I allowed, as we changed carriages after being told where to get off by an irate gricer.

"The things that go on behind drawn blinds," Susie snorted. "If the man had any feeling for the sensibilities of his fellow passengers, he'd have locked himself securely in the lavvy before admiring the centrefold."

"On the other hand, he's the only one who's shown the least surprise at our presence."

"So far."

"Perhaps the person you're looking for has already left the train," I proposed.

"Why would they do that, Jeffrey?"

"If they've met with more success than we have, Susie, and found what they want."

"So you think Mr X might not have got back on-board at Ravenglass."

"Possibly - or he could have jumped off at the last signal stop."

"You're just wanting an excuse to give up the search, Jeffrey."

"Because, apart from anything else, if you carry on like this, inquisitively poking your head into every compartment, folk will take us for a couple of peeping tomboys."

"No, they won't - people don't think that way about girls."

"Okay - Nosy Nellies."

"Or glancing queens, young and sweet, barely sixteen," Susie laughed.

"Who shouldn't be asking complete strangers if they've seen our pet squirrel."

"You're a teaser who'll turn them on, Denise."

"Let's just hope they're carrying nothing more deadly than tambourines if they demand we dance to their tune, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"We've come this far, Jeffrey, so we may as well check what Ivan's up to," Susie decided, when we reached the rear of the train without further incident. "We could even forge a wary alliance for as long as it suits us."

"Why not," I agreed. "Our Russian friend should be pleased to hear we've dispatched a German rival."

"That's a good idea, Jeffrey. And we'll mention the war - both of them, in fact."

"You never do things by halves, Susie, but don't rush into the guard's van. We'll quietly ease open the door and survey the situation from without."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"What do you see, Jeffrey?"

"That normal service has been resumed, Susie," I muttered. "And you won't believe it."

"Why not?"

"Because a fully functioning Mr Harbottle is sitting there, enjoying his packed lunch - and apparently without a care in the world. Here, take a look," I invited, stepping aside.

"The old boy's back in uniform and scoffing as if nothing's happened, Jeffrey."

"Jeremiah does appear remarkably unfazed for a man who woke up to find himself sharing a bed with corpses," I agreed. "And how did he retrieve his clothes from Ivan without a struggle?"

"We need to pose a few impertinent, pertinent questions, Jeffrey."

"All things considered, we should be on our guard with the guard," I cautioned. "Best let him do the talking for starters."

"Okay, we'll play dumb and hear what he has to say." Susie slid open the door and stepped into Jeremiah's lair. "Hi, Mr Harbottle - have you saved a crust for your devoted deputies?"

"Susie and Denise!" Jeremiah almost choked on the last of his lunch. "Then I haven't been dreaming - you really do exist."

"We think so, don't we, Denise?"

"Ergo sumus - that was good enough for Descartes, Susie, although some folk do find us unreal."

"Not me," Jeremiah declared. "Until you showed up, I feared my mind was playing tricks with me."

"How about that, Denise," Susie smiled, "our timely return has come as an incredible relief to Mr Harbottle."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Susie. Mr Harbottle regained his appetite for life before our arrival."

"But without fully understanding what's going on," Jeremiah confessed, wiping the dripping from round his mouth.

"How about partially?" Susie asked.

Jeremiah beckoned us closer. "This is just between ourselves, but, Heaven forbid, I might have nodded off while on duty."

"Never!" we chorused.

"I wouldn't believe it myself of a man who had an unblemished record as regards sentry duty, but how else can I explain the bad dream?"

"Let's hear it - in vivid Technicolor," Susie prompted.

"One of the corpses rose from the dead," Jeremiah gulped. "It all seemed so real, but I couldn't move a muscle."

"Perhaps you experienced a waking nightmare, Mr Harbottle," I suggested.

"Whatever it was, my dear - it frightened the bloody life out of me."

"Go on," Susie encouraged. "What happened next?"

"Nothing - that's the last thing I remember. The rest is a blank until I'm sitting here, feeling fair clemmed."

"And it's the first thing you attended to after waking up."

"Yes - I was so hungry I could have eaten one of Mrs Pickersgill's pork pies that were rolling around on the floor."

"You must have found the temptation really unsettling," Susie sympathised.

"Most disconcerting," Jeremiah burped. "Thank the Lord, I had my own sandwiches readily to hand."

"A sudden craving for junk food is small beer compared to waking up surrounded by the recently deceased," I claimed. "How did you cope with their presence?"

"That's another funny thing," Jeremiah chuckled. "I remember the bodies piling up, and being worried about all the extra paperwork, but now I don't give a hoot. In fact, I feel quite footloose and fancy-free ... and so do my vertebrae."

"Smell Mr Harbottle's breath, Denise."

"I never drink on or before duty," Jeremiah protested. "Although, right now, I wouldn't say no to a bottle of milk stout. It might help clear my head."

"While you were somewhat bemused, do you recall having an encounter with the vicar?" I probed.

"The vicar?" Jeremiah thought for a moment. "He's one of the departed, isn't he?"

"Are you certain about that?" Susie pressed.

"Yes - I recall finding him spark out in the toilet, and now he's under there." Jeremiah swayed across the van to the bodies and lifted the overcoat. "See, the fellow's as large as life - only he's dead."

"So he is," Susie goggled. "An hour ago, Ivan turned up alive, an hour before that, he appeared dead, and an hour before that, he was alive - and now he's dead again. What do you make of it, Denise?"

"Evidently, your Mr X must have become involved, Susie."

"Mr X - who's he?" Jeremiah puzzled. "And which is Ivan? There are four here - and a dog."

"Ivan's one of them, but Mr X isn't," I elucidated.

"He's one of the other," Susie warned. "Whoever they are, they're working against us, Mr Harbottle."

"They ... wait a minute ..." Jeremiah blinked after staring at the bodies. "Why's the vicar wearing my shirt?"

"Because you're wearing his," Susie pointed out.

"I can't be ..." Jeremiah protested, unbuttoning his jacket. "But I am ... and his dog collar. Dear God, I fall asleep on the job, and wake up in a corpse's clothes. What the devil possessed me?"

"Well, it weren't the pixies," Susie smiled.

"Shush, don't go taking the little people's name in vain, on top of everything else," Jeremiah whispered, turning aside to discreetly check he still had his own underwear. "They won't be mocked."

"It's okay," Susie winked, "the fairies haven't breached your long-johns."

"How do you know I'm wearing my winter woollies?" Jeremiah spluttered. "What have you been up to while I was taking a nap?"

"Exploring the hidden delights of Ravenglass, and not your nether regions," Susie assured. "We only just got back in time to catch the train."

"You shouldn't have deserted me in the first place," Jeremiah complained. "Today's goings-on are more than one man can cope with."

"Not if he's an ex-army corporal," I maintained.

"I'm all at sea," Jeremiah moaned. "Things are moving too fast for this old soldier."

"We'll steer you safely into port," Susie promised. "And on Monday morning, you can drop by your local Post Office and slowly shuffle along in the queue for a couple of hours."

"Sometimes I think that's all I'm fit for." Jeremiah sadly shook his head. "Me, the man they nicknamed 'The Cat' in his goal-keeping pomp, reduced to an arthritic hobble."

"Never mind, you can still spend the afternoon, asleep, curled up in front of the fire," I smiled.

"Not when there's bread to be put on the table," Jeremiah sighed. "I would have liked to join the Royal Mail on my honourable medical discharge, but those sacks would have played merry hell with this spine of mine."

"You sit on your stool and take it easy, Mr Harbottle," Susie instructed. "We'll happily do the heavy lifting, won't we, Denise?"

"It's getting to be a habit with us, Susie."

"You're not expecting more bodies to turn up, are you?" Jeremiah fretted. "I'm running out of room in here ... and the necessary forms."

"Don't trouble yourself with the bureaucratic details," Susie directed. "Just concentrate on becoming fully compos mentis again."

"And try not to lose any sleep over the transmigration of shirts, Mr Harbottle," I advised. "Look on it as one of life's rich mysteries."

"Yes, best let dead-to-the-world vicars lie," Jeremiah decided. "My shirt was fraying at the cuffs, anyhow."

"That's settled, then," Susie determined. "Come on, Denise, it's time we were back on the trail."

"If we only knew of whom, Susie."

"Ooom, I wish you'd stop slipping those 'm's in, Denise - it's so pedantic."

"Okay, Susie, I'll try to ensure you won't have to take 'em up with me again."

 

 

Chapter 192

"What are the chances Ivan really is dead and gone now?" Susie wondered, as we strolled along the corridor.

"Whether he's enjoying the big sleep or a little nap isn't our main problem," I argued. "Let's concentrate on not falling foul of whoever put Ivan back under the overcoat, and Jeremiah back in his jacket."

"Our shadowy Mister X, Jeffrey."

"Who may emerge into the light if he believes the Misses S and J are walking around with what's unlawfully his. The man will be at pains to introduce himself."

"Somewhat forcefully, I imagine."

"It's at times like this, I wish we were back home stamp collecting," I sighed.

"Funny you should say that," Susie smirked, waving a large manila envelope under my nose. "How would you like to add this to your collection?"

"Where did that come from?"

"I used my initiative and swiped it off Jeremiah's shelf on the way out of the guard's van."

"You're not thinking he's involved now, are you?"

"Of course not, Jeffrey - Mr Harbottle obviously innocently removed the article from one of the deceased."

"And you guiltily snaffled it - why?"

"Because, in my judgement, it's an incongruous object for somebody to be carrying around on a train."

"So what's inside?"

"Nothing."

"Then we're making real progress, Susie."

"We very well might be, Jeffrey - see there's a funny foreign stamp on it."

"Don't tell me you've switched the MacGuffin from secret plans to a rare philatelic treasure."

"Either that, or a hidden microdot cunningly concealed beneath the triangular."

"You can't be serious, Susie."

"It wasn't me who first mentioned microdots, Jeffrey."

"And you rightly dismissed the notion out of hand."

"But now, considering the elusiveness of whatever it is everyone's after, perhaps the idea's not so far-fetched, after all."

"It's a charade, Susie. You've been watching too many cloak and dagger films."

"And paying careful attention to the plots, and not the fashions modelled by Audrey Hepburn, Jeffrey."

"That's because the twists and turns of haute couture are far more of a novelty to me, Susie."

"Then sashay along to the buffet car, Miss Smith, where you can elegantly steam the stamp off this envelope while dreaming of being tightly embraced in your fair lady's Ascot gown."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"I wonder where it will fall, Susie," I murmured, as we approached the counter.

"What, Jeffrey?"

"The dewdrop hanging off Mrs Pickersgill's nose - it's hovering on the brink."

"We'll be okay borrowing the good woman's kettle, Denise, but you wouldn't want her slicing your boiled ham."

"Pardon, dearies," Mrs Pickersgill greeted us, with a double wipe of her sleeves. "I've been up to my ears in Domestos disinfecting you know where, after you know who, since you know when, and it makes my eyes water something fierce."

"I was saying to Denise, Mrs Pickersgill's the one to help us out of a bit of a jam," Susie smiled.

"I'm here to serve, especially you, my little loves, but if you could do me another favour first." Mrs Pickersgill leaned forward and took us into her confidence. "Will you relieve me here while I have a quick comfort break in the smallest room?"

"Take your time - we're happy to oblige." Susie had the flap up in an instant, and ushered me behind the counter. "Mrs Pickersgill's no need to rush spending her penny, has she, Denise?"

"Definitely not, Susie - one should let nature take its course when on the loo."

"I always do, and I find reading helps pass the time," Mrs Pickersgill confided, tucking the Sunday Post under her arm. "I would like to catch up with this week's 'Francis Gay' if you can spare ten minutes."

"Don't worry, your comestibles are in safe hands while the 'Queries Man' also answers all your posers," Susie assured.

"And there's my horoscope, so if you could make it a quarter of an hour - or perhaps a tiny bit more."

"No problem - this is the ideal opportunity to put our A-Level hospitality studies into practice, isn't it, Denise?"

"Our maiden chance, Susie."

"You shouldn't have any trouble - just take care not to sell any of the meat products I've put aside for my monkey bag," Mrs Pickersgill instructed, before scurrying away, one hand clutching her newspaper, the other her belly.

"The lady's perambulating as if she's fallen foul of her own pork pies, Susie."

"Forget Mrs Pickersgill's predicament, Denise - here comes our first customer. Button up your jacket, and shimmy into this frilly pinny."

"Oh, lace over leather." I quickly held out my arms. "Okay, if you insist on having me dressed for the part, Susie."

"I do - Denise must be appropriately adorned to man the cake stand while I attend to the delicate business of stamp removal."

"This is a trifle ooh-la-la for Northern Express, isn't it?" I pouted, on Susie swathing me in the ruched creation.

"Perhaps they're another British institution that's been taken over by a French conglomerate," Susie grinned, firmly securing my uniform with a giant bow before crowning me with a satin tiara. "There, Miss Princess of the Aisle - you're decked out good enough to curtsy."

"Ooo, I want a notebook and pencil to take down your orders, Susie."

"Over here, Miss, when you've finished prettifying yourself."

Susie patted me on the bottom. "Off you go, Denise, and remember - service with a smile - we've the reputation of railway catering to uphold."

"Come on, darling - chop-chop."

"Sorry for the delay, sir," I apologised, on taking up position at the till. "Mrs Pickersgill's emergency replacement is ready to address your nutritional needs."

"And not before time," the tweed-suited man admonished, through his array of cameras. "Chattering away back there while the paying public starves."

"Please excuse me," I bobbed. "I was receiving last minute instructions from my supervisor. I'm the new girl on the rota and want to make a top-flight impression."

"You'll have no complaints regarding your appearance, sweetheart, but good looks and a shapely figure aren't everything - it's proficiency that counts."

"Yes, sir," I blushed. "What's it to be?"

"A couple of sausage rolls for starters, Sugar."

"Sorry, they're off."

"Okay, two pork pies, then."

"They're off, as well."

"How about a ham sandwich?"

"All gone, I'm afraid - together with the spam turkey breast. If you can smell it, we haven't got it."

"Then what is on the damn menu?" the man grunted.

"Rock cakes and hot cross buns - but they might be left over from Easter."

"That stuff's no good to me - I want something with pork in it."

"Really, Denise, everyone knows you can't get pig's blood out of a scone," Susie called, through a cloud of steam. "Offer the gentleman a packet of smoky bacon flavoured crisps."

"We've sold out," I reported, after a delve in the cabinet, before smiling up at the exasperated customer. "Would some beef hula hoops satisfy your carnivorous craving, sir?"

"No, they wouldn't! Not when I can see sausage rolls hidden away back there. Taking them home to feed the family, are you?"

"Certainly not," I huffed. "Come here, Susie, and clarify how certain items have been withdrawn from sale for health and safety reasons."

"That's right - let's hear from the mistress, and not the maid."

"Denise is only doing her duty, preserving you from gastronomic harm, Mr ... er ..."

"Truscott - Rex Truscott - and I don't need some interfering little busybody telling me what to eat. I have the cholesterol level of an Olympic athlete."

"Ah, you've got the wrong end of the pig's trotter, Mr Truscott," Susie explained. "When Denise says they're off, she means they're off."

"Off?"

"Yes - off off."

"Don't swear at me, young lady."

"I didn't - the first 'off' is as in rancid. The whole lot's a month past their use-by-date."

"Then it's lucky I wasn't poisoned," Truscott gulped. "You shouldn't be selling such stuff."

"We're not - it's going straight into the swill bin for hygienic recycling. Isn't that company policy, Denise?"

"Waste not, want not, Susie, even if it does involve a certain amount of cannibalism in the process."

"Before you spoil my appetite, altogether, what have you got that's not off and not sold out?" Truscott demanded.

"How about picking up a Penguin?" I suggested. "They're probably larded with animal fat, and we've the full range of colours to choose from."

"I'm not going to eat the wrappers," Truscott barked. "But give us a couple before I die of hunger - and make sure they're the purple ones."

"Feed Rex the biscuits, Denise," Susie woofed.

"What was that?"

"Just clearing my throat of steam," Susie coughed. "Is there anything else?"

"A mug of tea - strong enough so the spoon stands up in it. And Gigi, here, can bring it over to me. I'm going to sit down."

"Denise is not a waitress."

"Then why is she decked out like one?"

"There's no answer to that, Susie. Go and see how things are brewing while I conjure up a reply."

"Okay, hold the fort, Denise - I'll be back in a jiffy with the PG Tips."

"Would you like to see a card trick to pass the time?" I beamed, as Mr Truscott impatiently drummed his fingers on the counter, after checking the best-before-dates on his Penguins.

"No, I bloody wouldn't."

"That leaves us with the weather, then. Turned out nice again for autumn, hasn't it?"

"Don't try and soft-soap me, Gigi."

"I'm Denise, and only my knickers are French," I huffed.

"Then they bloody suit you, Gigi, tarted up like that. Auditioning for the Folies Bergere, are you - or the fairy on a Christmas Tree?"

"I think you may have been over-extravagant with the bow," I trilled to Susie.

"Never mind Mademoiselle Denise - take it as a compliment, ma cherie."

"Two of you doing one job, and I'm still waiting," Truscott fumed, glancing over at Susie. "Get on with it girl - the kettle's boiling."

Susie dropped a teabag in the cup. "Hang on a minute - I don't want to waste the steam."

"What's that you're doing there - are you interfering with the Royal Mail?"

"Just adding to Denise's stamp collection - she's a keen amateur philatelist."

Mr Truscott tapped his cameras. "And my keen professional eye remembers you staring into my compartment - on more than one occasion. Let's have a closer look at that letter and see who it belongs to."

Susie strode over and handed me the stamp. "It's all yours, Denise - this art concealed no science. And here's an unused, brown envelope for you, sir - sorry there isn't a wodge of the folding stuff inside."

Mr Truscott examined the evidence. "Well, you were behaving suspiciously. And, anyway, where's my tea?"

"Still stewing - you wanted it strong."

"But not stone cold," Truscott harrumphed. "I've had better service on Easy Jet."

"Here's your chance to emulate an air hostess, Denise," Susie winked. "Glide over and fetch our passenger his cuppa."

"You're the wind beneath my wings, Susie," I breezed, floating away across the floor, fluttering my bow behind me.

"And bring the milk and sugar with you, Tinkerbell," Truscott ordered, breaking into his Penguin. "I like to do it myself."

"When you're indulging in your other hobby, have you ever snapped a squirrel?" Susie queried.

"Never," Truscott snorted. "Squirrels aren't part of our industrial heritage. My photographic mission is to capture for posterity the throbbing pistons and reciprocating crankshafts of mighty engines."

BAAAAAAANNNNNNNNGGGG!

"Ooooohhhhhh! Hold on to the crockery, Denise," Susie exclaimed, as the carriage lurched over at an alarming angle. "We're taking to the air."

WHUUUUUUUUUUMMMMPPPP!

"Someone put the brakes on!" Truscott yelled.

SCREEEEEEEECCCCCHHHHH!

"The train's gone off the rails, Susie," I cried, clinging onto her with one hand while balancing the tray in the other. "These are less than ideal waitressing conditions."

"But you haven't spilt a drop, Denise. You're a credit to the pinafore."

"Last night's Lolita investments are paying dividends sooner than expected, Susie."

SCRUUUUUUNNNNNCCCHHH!

"Keep those knees together and roll with it, Denise."

"Bloody hell - what's happening?" a white-faced Truscott gasped, desperately clutching onto the counter. "We're going to crash."

THUUUUUUUUUMMMMPPPPP!

"Hold on, sir - we've encountered several degrees of turbulence, but everything's under control," I announced, as the carriage almost righted itself before juddering to a halt. "There - panic over - you can unbuckle your seatbelt."

"Oh, my God, I thought we were done for," Truscott squeaked, "I need a drink."

"No milk and four sugars in his tea, Denise - the passenger requires it extra sweet and strong."

"Here you are, sir," I curtsied. "Stirred, but not shaken - compliments of your hostess, Tinkerbell. I hope you'll fly with us again."

 

 

Chapter 193

"Are you sure phoning home is such a good idea?" Susie paused in mid-dial. "They might get the train back on the tracks."

"Nobody else appears to think so," I advised, as I watched the scramble for the relief bus, through the carriage window. "Anyhow, it won't do any harm to ring our excuses in early."

"Call your mum, then."

"No, I don't want to give her cause for concern, and it's your fault we aren't already on our way. Women and children first would have put us doubly at the head of the queue."

"A chance to ransack deserted carriages could play right into the opposition's hands, Jeffrey. We're going to be the last to leave the scene of the crimes."

"Then if you insist on hanging around here, it's your responsibility to explain why we've gone missing," I argued.

"Okay," Susie conceded, putting the phone to her ear, "but you back me up. Dad can be a doubting Thomas at times."

"More of a perpetual gullible George, considering what you get away with."

"Shush, he's answering - remember we're in this together."

"In what together, Susie?"

"Hello, dad - the buffet car, what else?"

"Mischief, Susie."

"Not on our part, dad. We've been the victims of circumstances far beyond our control, and my first thought is to warn you we may arrive late home tonight."

"From where, Susie?"

"I don't know precisely. The train's broken down, and we're stranded in the back of beyond."

"It could only happen to you, Susie."

"It's not our fault, dad. We would have offered the driver our shoelaces, only we didn't have any."

"Susie."

"Yes, dad."

"Put Denise on - I want to hear the truth in plain English, and not fibs in gibberish."

"Here, Denise." Susie shared her mobile with me. "Inform dad of the technical details of our plight."

"Hello, Mr Jones."

"What's happened, Denise?"

"Susie's right, sir - we're not to blame. We've been knocked off course by an act of God."

"Don't tell me you were struck by lightning."

"No - derailed by leaves on the line is the official excuse, Mr Jones. The engine jumped the points, and it's left us high and dry. They'll need a couple of cranes to get things moving again."

"It sounds like a serious accident."

"We were shocked, dad."

"And stunned, Mr Jones."

"But you're both okay."

"Not a hair out of place, dad, although less well-balanced folk fell like ninepins, either side of us."

"Then I'll tell your mother the engine suffered a mechanical failure. I wouldn't want to alarm her unnecessarily."

"Yes, that's best, dad, but it just goes to show you never know what's around the next corner."

"With you, I certainly don't, Susie. So when can we expect you?"

"It's hard to say, dad. We stood back, and let those in greatest need take our places on the first bus."

"And now you're waiting for the second, are you?"

"Or the third, or the fourth - if they ever arrive. This is Northern Express we're relying on, so you can expect us when you see us."

"Somehow, Susie, I don't believe you've told me the whole story."

"We'd like to share the totality of our steam experiences with you, dad, but it's a Caramac and two Quality Street tale, and my battery's running low."

"Is it really, Susie?"

"Fairly low - and you'd want me to save some power in case of a major emergency. We can give you all the minor details of the day when we see you."

"Very well, Susie."

"Okay, bye for now, dad."

"Tell mum I'm fine and still wearing the same clothes I went out in, Mr Jones."

"I will, Denise - and one more word before you go, Susie."

"Yes, dad."

"Try not to catch the wrong bus again."

"That was eight words, dad. But don't worry, I won't let Denise side-track me into a tour of the Pencil Museum."

"Good-bye, Susie - I'm expecting a full set of crayons."

"Ta-ra, dad," Susie grinned, and switched off her phone.

"We're maintaining radio silence from now on, are we, Susie?"

"We wouldn't want it ringing at an inopportune moment, Jeffrey."

"You mean while we're sleuthing around waiting for your Mr X to make a move - whatever that might be."

"Who knows which course we'll have to take, Jeffrey? But trust me, we'll get there first."

"With you, Susie, I'm always confident we'll reach our destination, only I'm never quite sure where the destination will turn out to be."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Can you come up with a better plan than keeping the guard's van under observation?" Susie challenged, after we'd jumped down off the train and begun walking along the track.

"The person you're hoping will reveal himself may already have disappeared with the loot on the bus."

"Nah, Jeffrey, I'm betting Mr X hasn't laid his mitts on the prize, but believes we hold the clue to its hiding place. He won't let us or the bodies out of his sight."

"That's a comforting thought. If Fritz has informed Mr X the MacGuffin isn't in our bags, who knows where he'll decide to look for it next," I shivered, buttoning up my jacket.

"Don't do that just yet, Denise. There's Ronan photographing the scene for his records. You might easily be persuaded to add some artistic proportions to his portfolio."

"It'll make a welcome change from staring into the barrel of a gun, Susie."

"Denise has only to catch the flash of a lens to feel a pose coming on."

"I just can't help myself, Susie."

"Then here's another opportunity to be plastered all over Facebook."

"Hi, girls - I've got some great shots," Ronan called, as we appeared in his viewfinder. "I'm going to send them into Steam Days."

"You shouldn't glory in the demise of a Duchess," I reprimanded.

"The engine's okay, Denise - not a driving rod bent, and she's still on the rails with the front two coaches. I advised the crew if it weren't for the pile-up behind, they could back her off the branch-line and continue on their way."

"They must have been pleased to hear that," Susie smiled.

"Not really," Ronan frowned. "The driver told me to stop taking their picture and bugger off. I saw the fireman reaching for the nutty slack again, so I did."

"A wise decision for a lone gricer," I nodded. "But where were the rest of your gang when you needed them?"

"They'd gone off on the bus to the nearest pub, entrusting me to fully document the incident."

"That's thoughtful of the bods," Susie grinned.

"They promised to have a half of Tizer and a packet of crisps waiting when I catch up."

"Well, you can't say fairer than that," I allowed.

"I did persuade them to take Hector along," Ronan smirked. "And I've arranged to share a taxi with a travel-sick gentleman from London."

"Oh, we've met him," Susie smiled. "Eric's a celebrity gricer in another lifetime, but modest about it. See if you can get his autograph to make up for your missing the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"I will - I thought there was something familiar about the chap's face, although I couldn't quite place it under the bowler hat."

"Eric's gone up-market, shaved off his beard, and assumed the name of Clapham, but he didn't fool us," Susie winked. "You'll be riding with a guitar legend."

"Boy, what a trip this has turned into," Ronan enthused. "Can I have one more photo for remembrance before I go, girls?"

"We thought you'd never ask," Susie beamed. "Don't hide behind me, Denise. Come to the front and pucker up."

"All right, Susie, if I must," I blushed. "Is my lipstick okay after our nail-biting experience?"

"They're all a glossy perfection as per usual, Denise," Susie approved, unbuttoning my jacket. "Chest out and bottom to match - it's not every part-time waitress who has an opportunity to grace page 3 of Steam Days."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"You can't claim salvage money for re-boarding an abandoned train, you know, Susie."

"It won't be abandoned, Jeffrey. Jeremiah will have gone down with his van. Come on - that's where the next action will take place, and the old boy might need our help."

"You can count on it, Susie. The crash will have jogged his memory concerning another stray piece of spent ammunition he doesn't talk about."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Things aren't on the level," Susie warned, pulling me up into the derailed guard's van. "Watch your step with those high heels, Denise."

"Hello again, Mr Harbottle," I smiled over Susie's shoulder, on clambering aboard. "You appear to have had the worst of it in here."

"I thought the world had come to end," Jeremiah wailed. "The carriage moved beneath my feet and shook me to my core. It was worse than riding a bike over cobblestones."

"Still, apart from a possible gnashing of teeth, you've suffered no personal damage," Susie consoled.

"My knees wouldn't agree with you," Jeremiah grimaced. "I'll require steel pins in them next. I had to sacrifice what remains of their cartilage to save my spine from further compression."

"You won't know which leg to limp with, but try to be an optimist, and not an invertebrate pessimist," Susie encouraged.

"I'll do my best - but I started off nearly a six-footer in my top hat on our wedding day, and now look at me."

"Bandy you may be, like all top footballers, but everything still appears in perfect proportion, doesn't it, Denise?"

"Anatomically, Susie - Mr Harbottle's a model for the Vitruvian Man."

"Yes, he does artistically bring to mind the work of Leonardo de Milo."

"Being taken for a Peruvian film star won't get those lost inches back," Jeremiah lamented. "I'm a shrunken shadow of my former self."

"Then it speaks volumes that you've put others first and returned to your post, sir," I praised. "The departed couldn't be better served."

"But what a state they're in," Jeremiah frowned, pointing to the bodies. "They've all piled up on top of one another. And on a Sunday, too - it's most unseemly ... if not illegal."

"Best leave the dead to their own devices, Mr Harbottle," Susie advised. "You've also the living to take care of."

"Don't I know it," Jeremiah groaned. "I was run off my feet supervising the passengers onto the buses, and now I've discovered Mrs Pickersgill's locked in the lavatory."

"Why - is she too scared to come out?" Susie queried.

"No, the door's jammed, and I can't find my big screwdriver," Jeremiah fretted. "What a time for the thing to go missing."

"Have you looked if it's accidentally become inadvertently mixed in with your other lost property?" Susie hinted.

"Twice - when I wanted to stir my tea," Jeremiah moaned. "That screwdriver's very special to me. We went through jungle, swamp, and desert together. I once prised the lid off a tank with it, so we would have made short work of jemmying open a toilet door."

"Don't distress yourself, Mr Harbottle," I soothed. "Going by when we last saw her, Mrs Pickersgill will be far more comfortable reposing inside than out."

"Nellie did intimate she hadn't quite finished her business," Jeremiah nodded. "But it's my responsibility to clear the carriages of all personnel before the heavy-lifting gear arrives. Health and safety, you know."

"You're a stickler for the rules, Mr Harbottle," Susie approved. "But how do they apply to the deceased? Should we assist you in laying them out on the verge?"

Jeremiah mulled over the matter. "Best not - the gentlemen won't come to any more harm where they are, and five bodies by the trackside might exaggerate the gravity of the incident to the uninitiated."

"Yes, folk are ever ready to jump to wrong conclusions," I agreed.

"So I think it's best we leave them here, resting in peace - out of sight," Jeremiah decided.

"Mr Harbottle possesses the wisdom of Solomon, Susie."

"Sitting under a tree full of owls, Denise."

"That's a myth - pigeons are much cleverer birds," Jeremiah claimed. "Sometimes when I put my head in the loft, it almost feels like they're playing a game of dominoes with their droppings."

"There's no answer to that, Denise."

"Except the careful consideration Mr Harbottle gives to every course of action should serve as a lesson to us all, Susie."

"It's a product of my military experience," Jeremiah preened. "The training and discipline always stand one in good stead. They should bring back conscription - not for you girls, of course."

"Oh, we don't mind donning the odd uniform and taking orders occasionally, do we, Denise?"

"Hardly a day goes by without our getting in some kind of tactile manoeuvres, Susie."

"Then if you'd lend an old soldier a hand extricating Mrs Pickersgill from her predicament. There are places an ex-corporal ought not to invade."

"You can rely on us, Mr Harbottle," Susie saluted. "Quick march, Denise, and let's put our Salvation Army experience to good use."

"You've served in that as well as the RSPCA," Jeremiah goggled.

"Yes - we're supremely versatile girls, aren't we, Denise?"

"I couldn't have put it better myself, Susie - just a minute, while I change into my trainers."

"Is that really necessary, Denise?"

"Undoubtedly, Susie - battling a recalcitrant door won't be the last of our confrontations if you have your way."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"What has your reconnaissance of the situation revealed, Denise?"

"That the frame buckled in the accident," I reported.

"Exactly my thoughts," Susie concurred, after giving the door a cursory kick. "And since there's no time to lose, I've a plan to force the issue."

"Did you hear that, Nellie?" Jeremiah called. "We'll soon have you out of there."

"Please hurry up - I'm stuck uncomfortably on the toilet."

"Wedged in are you?"

"Not totally, but I'm frightened if I shift my weight, the carriage might turn upside down."

"You aren't that heavy," Jeremiah reassured. "Feel free to adjust your position - there isn't any danger of further movement."

"Even so it's hard to stand up straight, and I'm getting pins and needles sitting here, with my feet in the air."

"Relief is on the way. Stay where you are - clear of the door," Susie instructed. "To effect your liberation, we'll be employing a measure of violence."

"Violence!" Jeremiah spluttered. "I can't allow that - the door is railway property."

"What about you with your lost big screwdriver?" Susie countered.

"I'm a skilled engineer," Jeremiah protested. "I intended carefully levering the door ajar, so Mrs Pickersgill could squeeze through the gap."

"Half-measures will get us nowhere," Susie declared. "We're going to use the brute force of both your hobnail boots."

"My boots?"

"Yes, and out of consideration for your back, Denise and I will take the strain and support you against the carriage wall."

"Support me?"

"So you can bring the full power of your sinewy thighs into play."

"What?" Jeremiah gaped.

"Like this!"

"Oooh!"

"Get him under the arm your side and lift, Denise."

"I'm with you, Susie," I responded, as we raised Jeremiah off the ground.

"Oh, that's doing my vertebrae the power of good. I feel almost six-foot tall again."

"Then go on, Mr Harbottle," Susie urged. "Give it all you've got!"

"Don't let me drop, girls." Jeremiah closed his eyes, drew up his knees, and delivered a mighty two-footed wallop. "Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhh!"

Thwaaaacccckkkkkk!

"And another!" Susie encouraged.

"Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhh!"

Thwaaaacccckkkkkk!

"That's done the trick!" I cheered.

Whooooooosssssshh!

"Thar she blows!" Susie exclaimed, on the door flying open.

"And here we go," I cried, when the coach began to keel over in sympathy. "Get a grip, Susie."

"Oooooeerrr!" Jeremiah yelled, before disappearing after his boots into the lavatory.

"Prepare for another bumpy landing, Denise."

CRRRRRRAAAAAASSSSHHHHHH!

"Bottoms down!" I cried.

SMMMMMAAAAAAASSSSHHHHH!

"Lawks-a-mercy, Jeremiah!"

"Pardon this sudden intrusion, Nellie - but I couldn't lay my hands on my big screwdriver."

"That's the way to do it!" Susie whooped, as Jeremiah spread-eagled Mrs Pickersgill on the Armitage Shanks.

"Overdo it," I amended, from our new horizontal vantage point. "We may have exceeded the carriage tilt safety margins."

"Yes, those boots weren't meant for wrecking, Mr Harbottle," Susie admonished a stunned Jeremiah. "You were only supposed to kick the bloody door in, not give the coach the full Italian job."

 

 

Chapter 194

"You'd have thought Mrs Pickersgill would have shown a touch more gratitude," Susie complained, as we crawled a strategic retreat through the overturned coach. "That was no way to thank her rescuers once she got her breath back."

"Jeremiah's shock entrance did catch the good lady with her bloomers down, Susie. I just hope we haven't left him in the lurch, at the mercy of her tongue, after the trouble he's had with her pork pies and sausage rolls."

"They're two adults, Jeffrey. I'm sure they'll sort things out between them when they get untangled."

"That make take some contorting, Susie. Mrs Pickersgill did appear to have Mr Harbottle firmly in her thighs."

"So I noticed. Jeremiah will be grateful our hasty good-bye has spared all parties any subsequent embarrassment."

"Yes, that's not the kind of performance a proud old soldier would want an audience for," I agreed.

"And now it's our turn to act," Susie announced, on her arrival at the open end of the carriage. "Prepare to disembark, Jeffrey."

"Bags away, Susie - and don't land on mine."

"Why - what's breakable in there, apart from your high heels?"

"Oh, a couple of special pens I haven't had a chance to try out yet, with everything's that's been happening."

"This is no time to take up calligraphic crossword solving, Jeffrey," Susie snorted, before dropping down to the ground.

"I'll put my illuminated writing on hold for the moment," I promised, after alighting alongside her. "In the interim, where to now?"

"Back to the rear, of course. We'll check if anyone's taking an unusual interest in the unattended bodies."

"Okay, but let's try to avoid anyone taking an unusual interest in us."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"... verfluchen die storenden Madchen."

"What did I say, Jeffrey!" Susie exclaimed, on our approach to the guard's van. "Listen - it's Deutschland uber alles in there."

"Which is a good reason to keep your voice low and head down," I hissed. "That last bit translates as - 'curse the interfering girls'."

"Who've caught the German opposition with the lederhosen round their ankles."

"Not so fast," I muttered, as Susie carried on regardless. "Let's watch and wait awhile."

"Fortune favours the brave," Susie whooped, and charged towards the carriage. "This is our chance to get to grips with the Fuhrer who's been leading us a merry knee dance."

"Look before you leap," I yelled after her, when a lean, mean figure materialized at the door. "Don't go rushing in where we laid to rest the dead."

"I'm past the point of no return, Denise. Come on - this isn't the time for pussy-footing about."

"Stimmt, meine kleine Katzchen," our steely-eyed host greeted us, a thin smile playing on his even thinner lips. "I'm more than ready to meet you - there's much we have to discuss."

"Sieg heil, Denise! - we've hit the Junkerpot," Susie enthused, scrambling aboard to engage the foe on Jeremiah's home ground. "His Kaisership's sporting a monocle and a duelling scar to jackboot."

"Careful, Susie - I've seen friendlier faces on a pirate flag."

The apparition bowed and clicked his heels. "May I introduce myself - Franz Beckenbauer, late of Leipzig, at your service."

"Susie and Denise, a pair of aces, fresh from Nutwood," Susie fired in, as I climbed up behind her.

"This is only two of your party accounted for. Where's the Jeffrey I heard you calling to?"

"Don't tell him, Denise."

"It's okay, Susie - our emergency backup has enough of a start."

"What do you mean?" Beckenbauer glared.

"Only that, as we speak, our trusty messenger is winging his way across the fields to inform MI5," I disclosed. "And they'll arrive to foil your dastardly scheme before you can say 'Who's been reading my emails?'."

"Oh no, they won't," Herr Beckenbauer rasped, turning to the rear of the van. "You heard that, Hans - get after their absent friend."

"Hey, Denise, it's Dick und Doof in here," Susie laughed, on a lumbering figure emerging from the shadows. "If Fritz was Mr Big, this is Mr Bigger."

"Oh, Hans, Franz, and bumps-a-daisy!" I cried, as the hulk brushed us aside, jumped down, and set off on his wild-Jeffrey chase.

"Gehe, Hans!" Beckenbauer urged. "And don't return empty-handed."

"We're off to a flyer," Susie whispered. "There goes one heavy we won't have to deal with."

"Yes, being Hans free is an advantage," I murmured.

"What's that you're saying?" Beckenbauer demanded.

"Just reassuring Denise that her Jeffrey isn't in any danger. The boy vanished from right under your nose, without even showing you his clean pair of heels."

"Hans will bring him back by his bootstraps - have no fear."

"We haven't," Susie retorted. "Jeffrey can hide in plain sight. Your gloomy, mean giant won't see the third of our threesome for lipstick and leather."

"An English idiom I am not familiar with, but as sure as eggs are in the basket, Hans will pull the bacon out of the frying pan."

"Your faith in your colleague is touching - although it won't alter the fact he's been sent on a fool's errand," I maintained.

"Whatever his intellectual shortcomings, Hans is a magnificent athlete. Despite the disqualification, he remains Olympic shot put champion in our record books."

Susie arched an eyebrow. "Failed a drugs test, did he?"

"No, the sex test - we in the East were pioneers in gender equality. The Party never failed to democratically recruit the best man for the job," Beckenbauer boasted. "Wimbledon was within our grasp ... and then the Wall came tumbling down."

"I told you so, Denise - we're up against a bunch of crafty criminals who are experts in the arts of deception."

"They're not the only ones, Susie, and we still might beat them at their own game."

"You should thank Pinky and Perky that Jeffrey has slipped under the enemy radar, Denise."

"All three will fall prey to Hans," Beckenbauer asserted. "Since shedding those extra pounds, he's fleet of foot."

"But may as well try to catch the wind, eh, Susie?"

"Jeffrey can hide a while behind your smile, Denise."

"Then as a precaution against the unexpected, I'll dispense with further pleasantries ..."

"We must have missed those, Susie."

"... and get down to steel screws, as you English say. Shall we bring our cards from under the table?"

"Ah, there speaks a man you can do business with, Denise."

"Then let's start with Fritz, young lady."

"Fritz - is that your dog?" I queried.

"No, he's the agent you shot, after flinging a killer snake in his face."

"Somebody's been phoning in porkies to hide their incompetence, Denise."

"So what's your version of events?" Beckenbauer challenged.

"We don't have one," Susie smiled. "All we can tell you is Fritz failed to receive the object you're hoping to acquire."

"I already know that to my cost."

"Checking Fritz's expenses might save you a good few euros," I suggested. "He ordered a double helping of patisseries and left the lot untouched on his plate."

"We can afford to be generous to faithful servants," Beckenbauer hinted. "How many would you consider a fair reward?"

"Is the man trying to buy our loyalty with cream buns, Denise?"

"Well, he won't succeed with euros, Susie. The whole scheme's a German racket."

"And a highly successful one - we've imposed the discipline of the Bundesbank on our continental rivals and are triumphantly bending them to our will," Beckenbauer exulted. "Grosser Deutschland arises whilst Great Britain is reduced to little England - no longer even a nation of its own shopkeepers. But I digress - we're not here to discuss politics."

"How about religion?" Susie proposed. "We could agree to disagree."

"Philipsz was correct ..."

"Ah, we suspected he worked for your side," Susie claimed.

"Ineptly - he achieved nothing, apart from informing me that you are experts in the art of prevarication."

"The bod was mistaken. I don't recall us prevaricating recently, do you, Denise?"

"Your straddling of my slave princess could be so interpreted by a classical scholar, Susie."

"You and the origins of words, Denise - getting off playing dictionary games while I'm sitting on the wench."

"Only because I thought you were never going to have your way with me," I blushed.

"But it was worth waiting for, eh. And we remember it well."

"Ah-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh,
Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy
Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy
Eee-eee-eee!"

"I've heard enough," Beckenbauer snapped, a nerve twitching below his eye. "You're persisting with your prevarication."

"No, we're not," Susie disputed. "We always take up this position - or one very similar - when harmonising."

"And that's what I wish our relationship to be," Beckenbauer intimated, pausing to replace his monocle. "Harmonisch."

"Aye-aye, Denise - Franny's switching to the smarm offensive. Be on the alert for some two-faced double-dealing."

"Come now, meine hubsche Madchen," Beckenbauer schmoozed, "you can believe me when I say I find the pair of you very dolly-dolly spies - and most attractively attired. We would have made magnificent use of your talents in the Stasi. Girls like you could have had their own choice of motorcycles."

"These Germans certainly know how to pay lip service to the blarney stone, Denise."

"It seems they're desperate to reap what we saw, Susie."

"Desperate - I think not," Beckenbauer smirked. "Although your immediate cooperation will be for the greater good of all."

"Ah, the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer, Susie."

"Well said, Denise."

"I can't take the credit, Susie - it's from William Blake."

"That's the 'Tiger, Tiger' chappie who saw angels everywhere, isn't it, Denise?"

"And Eternity in an hour, Susie, but I'd settle for a couple of Red Devils manifesting themselves in the here and now."

"That's asking a bit much, Denise. Would you settle for a brace of boys in blue plodding along?"

"Neither will be appearing at the thirteenth hour," Beckenbauer declared. "You're grasping at strawberries."

"What does the man mean by that, Denise?"

"I'm not sure, Susie, but I suppose it's better than having us smell his raspberries."

"If you don't hand over Dr Watt's secrets, you'll be tasting the coffin."

"Hey, are you displaying the famous German sense of humour?" Susie smiled.

"Ask your Russian friend," Beckenbauer hissed.

"Ivan was no friend of ours," Susie objected. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Then Hans has done you a favour in neutralizing our mutual enemy."

"How?" I questioned. "We don't recall seeing your champion on the journey."

"You wouldn't - he boarded at the last signal stop."

"Which you arranged."

"We are highly efficient in all things," Beckenbauer acknowledged, with another click of his heels.

"To Ivan's dismay, it seems, Susie."

"We can't complain about that, Denise. He hadn't the best of intentions towards us."

"Then you'll be happy to reward our exertions on your behalf," Beckenbauer insisted. "I want what you removed from Dr Watt's attache case."

"That's nothing, and we haven't actually got it on our persons, have we, Denise?"

"Not that you're aware of, Susie, and this accident has further complicated matters for us. And for you, I expect," I smiled at Herr Beckenbauer.

"Your hopes are in vain if you think this break in the journey will frustrate my plans."

"Hey, don't look at us, mister," Susie protested.

"I'm not - I also effected the switching of the points. We had to improvise when you and the GRU operative became thorns in our ointment. I literally derailed your endeavours," Beckenbauer sniggered.

"Bit of an extreme measure, wasn't it?" I contended.

"Clearly English track maintenance isn't up to German standards," Beckenbauer sneered. "What should have been a temporary diversion has led to a permanent halt."

"Hard luck, comrade," Susie grinned. "That's what happens when Marxists fall out."

"You don't know what you've got,
Until you lose it.
You gave Ivan all your trust,
But he abused it."

"I'm Prussian, not Russian," Beckenbauer swaggered. "A direct descendant of the Teutonic Knights."

"Then Alexander Nevsky to you," I countered.

"Your historical knowledge does you credit, my dear, but our quest for Lebensraum in the East has never ceased. It continues to this day and is meeting with unprecedented success."

"Really?" Susie queried.

"The euro and German mercantilism conquer all, with not a panzer unleashed, while others fight among themselves," Beckenbauer gloated. "Don't you watch the news or read the papers?"

"Only the local rag - what's the latest front-page story, Denise?"

"'Hat Found In Tree', Susie."

"Not an obvious candidate for a 72-point banner headline, but I suppose they can't unearth a scoop like 'Mayor Too Fat To Skydive' every week."

"Your English eccentricity will be the death of you," Beckenbauer goaded. "A country that recklessly loses the industrial capacity to build its own trams is doomed."

"You're all for pinching our theoretical advances, though," Susie accused.

"In this instance, Dr Watt spurned a generous offer he shouldn't have reneged on and foolishly chose to sell the secret of his breakthrough discovery to the Russians."

"You can't blame us for that."

"I don't, my dear, but now our semi-legitimate approach has failed, the velvet glove must give way to the iron heel intended for the conniving doctor."

"Oi, oi, Denise, I think things are about to get serious."

"We can avoid further conflict if you give me what I want right now - with no more beating around the houses."

"Believe us, sir," I entreated, "we would if we could - only we can't."

"Another of your fairy stories," Beckenbauer scoffed.

"Speaking of which, have you frisked Noddy and Big Ears back here?" Susie enquired, indicating the gnomes standing stoically in the corner behind us. "Perhaps they're keeping it under their hats."

"You'd be well advised not to try my patience any longer with your double-speak," Beckenbauer warned.

"It's your fault for failing to listen properly," I rebuked. "We don't always mean what we say, but we always say what we mean, don't we, Susie?"

"Interpreting our duologues is as easy as spelling bees or peeling a pineapple, Denise."

"You are sailing close to the thin ice," Beckenbauer menaced. "Up to now, I've proceeded with the utmost circumcision, but I shall employ more direct methods of obtaining the information if you carry on holding out like sore thumbs."

"Oh, back to you, Susie - my eyes are watering."

"Okay - get this, Herr Beckenbauer. Our considered opinion is one of the deceased has carried Dr Watt's secret to this guard's van with him," Susie submitted. "That's what Ivan thought. Hans shouldn't have been so quick to dispose of the poor beggar."

"We admit to nothing. As far as I'm concerned, they all died of natural causes."

"Go on - tell us how who did what to whom and why," Susie urged.

"Alas, I cannot help you."

"Yes you can - you're self-evidently a Mr Know-it-all."

"Flattery won't work with me, my dear. Are you familiar with the expression 'executive denial'?"

"I've tickled a Princess of the Nile while whispering in her ear - does that count?"

"You're prevaricating again," Beckenbauer glowered.

"The heroines are allowed to," Susie argued. "But you're the arch-villain, and at this stage in the plot, it's incumbent on you to superciliously reveal all before coming to a sticky end."

"You have our roles reversed, my girl," Beckenbauer mocked, producing a hypodermic needle from his pocket. "And here's the means to bring the point home to you."

"Oh, cover up your belly button, Denise, some madman is intent on pumping air into our veins."

"I wish you'd stuck that jewel in with superglue, now, Susie. I may never do the dance of the seven veils again."

"You're to be congratulated on guessing my target," Beckenbauer snickered. "However bubbles in the bloodstream are a highly inefficient method of achieving the desired end."

"Every cloud has a silver lining, eh, Denise?"

"I hope you find it so." Beckenbauer gave the syringe a preliminary squirt. "Our chemists were the finest in the world, and not only synthesised undetectable drugs for the winning of gold medals ..."

"I'm convinced the man means monkey business - aren't you, Denise?"

"Definitely - it seems the Marxist has come equipped for every eventuality."

"The bugger has more plans than Hitler when he invaded Russia."

"But look what happened to him, Susie."

"Continue with your cross-talk, and you'll experience what happened to Ivan, my girl."

"I've gone all of a tremble at the thought, Susie."

"Perhaps we should reconsider our loyalties, Denise."

"And say a little prayer, Susie."

"You won't find any comfort in the opium of the people," Beckenbauer jeered. "After this treatment, you'll become mere puppets subject to the forces of history."

"Oh, help us, mother," I gulped.

"The family like religion is an impediment to progress," Beckenbauer sermonized. "The state and its officers are destined to rule supreme."

"The cad's an unreconstructed Bolshevist, Denise."

"You shouldn't be surprised," Beckenbauer revealed. "We all are at the top. Our side lost the cold war, but won the political and cultural battles."

"Then can we remind you of your international socialist principles, sir?" I appealed.

"No, they're long forgotten - but you've still time to save yourselves by obeying orders," Beckenbauer advised. "Just tell me where Dr Watt's missing blueprints are."

"As I said, before being rudely intimidated, we believe one of those under the overcoats had them," Susie repeated. "That's why we came back here after everybody else left."

"Mr Harbottle, the guard, is so jealous of his authority, he wouldn't let us inspect the departed's personal possessions earlier," I explained.

"Just between ourselves and the gnomes, passengers' lost property has a tendency to unofficially relocate itself to Jeremiah's cubby-hole," Susie indicated.

"We did catch a glimpse of some mysterious papers he'd hidden away," I elaborated. "Mr Harbottle said they were his laundry lists - but he's a wily ex-soldier, and up to all the tricks of the SAS."

"Now's your chance to check out any recent acquisitions," Susie encouraged. "The old gent's on manoeuvres with Mrs Pickersgill in the lavatory and may not surface for quite some time."

"Harbottle ... Pickersgill - what sort of made-up, comic names are they?" Beckenbauer snorted.

"Traditional ones, like Schicklgruber," I offered.

"You have given me fool for thought," our opponent conceded. "There may be more to this Harbottle than meets the ear. I shall conduct a foot and branch search of his van and its contents."

"Have a look in every little crook and nanny, as we natives say," Susie instructed. "You wouldn't want to miss a dictionary of English idioms."

"Don't forget to examine the linings of the deceased's coats," I advised. "The secrets may be sewn in there."

"I will overlook nothing, but if I'm disappointed in my quest, on Hans' return we will apply whatever further pressure I deem necessary," Beckenbauer threatened. "A regrettable step, but a necessary one when there is a failure to communicate."

"We couldn't disagree with you more, old chump," Susie agreed.

"We'll see who has the last laugh," Beckenbauer barked. "Now - move over there, away from the door."

"While you're rooting, keep an eye-glass out for Jeremiah's big screwdriver," Susie requested. "It's another precious item that's unaccountably disappeared."

"And it won't be the last if this is another of your delaying tactics," Beckenbauer swore, shooing us into the corner.

"Come on, Susie, let's join Noddy and Big Ears. I'll feel safer in the company of English gentlemen."

"Pah!" Beckenbauer expostulated, as he bent down to examine the bodies. "Those toddler tales are sentimental nonsense - I was brought up on the nightmarish legends of the Brothers Grimm."

"Someone's asking for a rude awakening," Susie muttered, fingering the top of Noddy's pointy cap.

"I think you have the instrument at hand to deliver it, Susie."

"Give us a lift with the young fellow-me-lad, Jeffrey."

"Quietly does it, Susie," I whispered, as we aligned our battering ram.

"Ready to joust, Jeffrey?"

"Yes - I'm geared up to quixotically tilt at the windbag."

"Then Ivanhoe!" Susie whooped.

"Thunderbirds are go!" I cried, and we launched ourselves across the van at the stooping target.

"Aim for below the waterline, Denise."

"Where there's a breach to be exploited, Susie."

"Was ist ..."

"Don't get up to greet us, and excuse our manners," we chorused, thrusting Noddy to the fore, giving Beckenbauer a glimpse of things to come.

"Himmel, Arsch, und Zwirn!"

"Aligned, wielded, and delivered!"

"Ooooooooooooooooooooooo!" our adversary howled, as we drove the gnome home.

"Bull's eye, Denise!"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

"That's a book for the turnip, Susie."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!"

"We've done the sauerkraut an inconvenient injury, Denise."

"Ooooooooowwwwwwwwww!"

"And a half, Susie."

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkk!"

"With a B above top C - he's joined the sopranos, Denise."

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.............!"

"Only dogs could hear that last note, Susie."

"Aaaaaaawaaaawwwwwwww!" Beckenbauer screamed, falling backwards onto the floor, with our warhead still holding doggedly in place.

"That Noddy's a game little bugger, Denise."

"He's Blytonned the blighter's life, Susie."

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!"

"They don't like it up 'em, Denise. We've shown the way to deconstruct a Marxist."

"And he can't really object to the force of the puppet consigning him to the dustbin of history."

"Oooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!"

"That's fixed the sod's wagon," Susie grinned, at our victim's fruitless attempts to find a modicum of relief. "We've graduated from thorns in the side to pains in the arse."

"Ass, Susie ..."

"Bless you, Denise."

"... let's not be too vulgar."

"Okay, we'll politely leave Franzie severely skewered."

"That should come as no surprise to an old panzer lover."

"Eeeeeuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh!"

"Whatever, Denise - we've settled his hash for now. And with a bell stuck up it, he won't be silently sneaking up on us in future."

"We've done good to another in minute particulars, Susie - William Blake would approve."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" Beckenbauer writhed onto his stomach and pounded the floor in agony. "I'll have you little Untermenschen annihilated," he cursed.

"Someone's lost control of his cruel upper lip, Denise."

"They're behaving like a bear with a sore end, Susie."

"Ooooooohhhh - where are you, Hans?" Beckenbauer whimpered, curling up into a ball and sucking on his thumb.

"Pull yourself together," Susie admonished. "International espionage is a man's game, isn't it, Denise?"

"I wouldn't know about that, Susie - although it certainly isn't crown green bowls."

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!"

"It's awful to witness a fellow human being in such intense pain, Denise, but I think we should resist the temptation to lend a helping hand."

"We couldn't if we wanted to, Susie - I've already donated my Germolene to Fritz."

"Then there's nothing more we can do for the poor unfortunate. So our next move is, Denise?"

"Getting the heck out of here. The approaching thunder of hooves means Hans is stampeding his way back."

Susie glanced out of the window. "Crikey, Denise, the faithful servant's obeyed orders and hasn't returned empty-handed. He's carrying a stray sheep under his arm. What an insult to your other self."

"Run, Susie! And that's both of us speaking. Even with Big Ears on our side, we'll be no match for Hans. As the Germans say - don't eat your cherries with him."

"You're right, Jeffrey, it's time to vamoose. The guy could accommodate the whole of Toyland with room to spare."

 

 

Chapter 195

"Here we go, once again,
Taking our lives in our hands.
We're running away down the railroad.
And we swear, once again,
That we'll never be caught.
We're racing our foes down the railroad."

"They've started out after us, Susie," I reported, after checking to our rear. "But Franz is limping badly with one hand up his bum and the other on Hans' shoulder."

"Head for the engine, Jeffrey. The fireman's probably a huge bloke with muscles to match Hans, or - failing that - a bloody big shovel."

"We shouldn't bank on his gallantry, Susie," I advised, as we hurtled past the two carriages that had made it safely onto the branch line behind the Duchess. "I'd rather we disappeared directly into the woods."

"It's a fair way across the open fields, Jeffrey. What if they've got guns?"

"One thing's for sure, Susie," I observed, when we came alongside the idling Pacific. "We haven't got allies. The crew have abandoned ship."

"Then all aboard, Jeffrey." Susie grabbed the hand-rail and hauled herself into the cab. "We can't pull up the ladder, but we can bombard our attackers with cobs of coal."

"That's not the number one idea in your head, Susie," I claimed, after joining her on the footplate. "Your eyes are clearly flashing green for go."

"But didn't you always want to be an engine driver, Jeffrey?"

"Not since I gave up wearing short trousers, Susie."

"Wasn't that only yesterday, Denise?"

"And today we're again being pursued by men with murderous intent," I warned, on checking the enemy's progress. "Franz went head over jackboots, but the bounder's on his feet again, and now he is brandishing a gun."

"Just one between them - things could be worse."

"They are - Hans has acquired something Jeremiah did misplace. The brute's wielding a big screwdriver, and Franz is instructing him on where he'd like it relocated to give us a dose of our own comeuppance."

"Don't panic - we can jump down the other side before they get too close. First though ..." Susie grabbed hold of the nearest lever. "If I remember rightly this is the regulator."

"You do," I confirmed, while grasping the handle next to me. "And I've got the brake."

"Everything's a few sizes up from the ones in the miniature engine, but we'll pilot this juggernaut with ease, Jeffrey."

"Okay, get ready - I'm setting her free. Full steam ahead - for real this time - because here they come."

"And off we go!" Susie opened the throttle, and I announced our departure with a blast on the whistle.

Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo!

"Choo, choo, choo, choo,
Choo, choo, choo, choo,
We feel so good today.
Oh, hear the track,
Oh, clickety-clack,
We'll go our merry way!"

"But not very far if we don't feed in more coal," I warned, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. "See, Susie - I came prepared for all your escapades."

"And there am I thinking Denise had developed yet another clothes fetish."

"Well, I wouldn't say no to strutting in a pair of high-heeled, thigh boots while modelling this outfit."

"Later, Denise - for now, start shovelling in your trainers."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"How are you doing, Susie?" I enquired, as we steamed inland.

"Everything's working like clockwork, Jeffrey. What's the world speed record?"

"126 mph - and out of reach on an uphill run, so keep it steady as she goes."

"Compared to steering a bus and reining in a hearse, this is as easy as falling off a piece of soap, as Herr Beckenbauer would say," Susie breezed. "We'll soon be out of sight as well as out of range."

"Perhaps not," I cautioned, after a glance down the line. "Hans and Franz have completely disappeared from view, and that can only mean they must have hitched a ride on one of the coaches we have in tow."

"Worry not, Jeffrey, there's still a tender full of coal between us, and no way through."

"But there is a way over. Look - they've opened the rear carriage door and are climbing up."

Susie looked back ... "Ah, the roof of all evil." ... and then forward. "Where's a low tunnel when you need one to brush off a couple of unwanted hangers-on?"

"They're coming to bury us not praise us, Susie. Herr Beckenbauer is preparing for a shoot-out."

"Nutty slack against hot lead could prove a bit of a mismatch, Jeffrey - any bright ideas?"

"Funny you should ask that, Susie," I smirked, unzipping my bag again. "I did bring along a last-minute addition to our defensive resources."

"That had better be a super powerful perfume spray you're toting, Denise."

"We won't have to rely on improvised chemical weapons this time, Susie. Recent events alerted me to the perils I can encounter when abroad with you, so I've come appropriately forearmed."

"Don't say Denise has packed a pair of boxing gloves, as well, Jeffrey."

"Not likely - letting you wrestle her into submission is my only physical contact sport. These latest acquisitions will keep our foes at a distance when we return fire."

"With what, Jeffrey?"

"A deadly accurate weapon faster than a speeding bullet, Susie," I smiled, handing her one of the gadgets I'd conjured up. "Here, have a battery-powered pen."

"Replying to their opening salvo with a postcard may be none too brilliant a notion, Jeffrey."

"Ah, but press the button, and these write with light. They're laser pointers - my newly-arrived, dive-bombing seagull deterrents."

"Booby dazzlers, eh," Susie grinned. "I knew you were up to some good, checking the post and buying those batteries."

"And this is the ideal situation to deploy my purchases. One glaring misstep and our enemies will have gone with the slipstream."

"Let's hope so, Jeffrey, because here they come. Prepare to repel boarders."

"Aim for the eyes, not between them, Susie."

"Woo! Supergirl and Green Lantern
Ain't got nothing on us,"

We chanted, focussing our emerald beams onto their respective targets.

"Donner und Blitzen!"

"They don't know what's hit 'em, Jeffrey."

"Was zur Holle!"

"They didn't blink fast enough, Susie."

"Verdammt noch mal!"

"Blinded by the light - it's hands up time, and never mind where the feet are."

"That's not a good idea atop a speeding coach. Should I give them a warning whistle?"

"Go on, Jeffrey - add to their confusion."

Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo!

"Ich glaub, mein Schwein pfeift!"

"The pigs are more likely to be flying, Susie."

"They're casting caution to the wind, Jeffrey."

"Duck, Susie - a jettisoned big screwdriver is coming our way."

Claaaaaaannngggg!

"Jeremiah will be glad to have that back, Jeffrey."

"We'll deal with the returned lost property later, Susie. For now, keep pumping those photons."

"Wo bist du, Hansie?"

"Oops, someone's lost his monocle, Jeffrey."

"And their balance, Susie."

"Hals und beinbruch!"

"Grabbing hold of Hans isn't going to help, Jeffrey. He's walking in the air, too."

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"

"There they go, Susie - locked in a comradely embrace."

"Ooooooooohhhhhhh!"

"Men diving overboard!" we cheered, as the startled twosome cartwheeled into space.

"Crikey, Jeffrey, that's a performance worthy of an Olympic gold medal."

"I make it 2 1/2 somersaults with 1 1/2 twists in a pike position so far, Susie."

Thuuummmmmmppp!

"Aaaaaaaaawwwwww!"

"I think Franz would agree we were wise not to venture up, up aloft when conducting our search, Jeffrey."

"I'll second that, Susie, and Hans is about to - he's arriving down below, below, below."

Buuuummmmmmppp!

"Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggh!"

"Excellent technical merit marks for the pair's high degree of aerial synchronisation, Jeffrey, but wiped out by the belly-flop entry."

"Hans on Franz, unfortunately."

"Another bummer for Beckenbauer. He looks done in."

"A twenty stone shot putter landing amidships would take anyone's breath away, Susie."

"Oops - Dick und Doof are on a roll. There they go down the embankment."

"And with that, I think we can congratulate ourselves on a job well done."

"I know the very word to sum up the situation, Jeffrey. What's the Deutsch for 'Schadenfreude'?"

"'Epicaricacy' isn't it, Susie?"

"Possibly, Jeffrey ... but one things for sure, Franzie won't be having the last laugh."

"Germans never do, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Why didn't you tell me you had those little beauties before, Jeffrey?" Susie smiled, as I returned the lasers to my bag, along with Jeremiah's big screwdriver.

"They hardly bear comparison with your Uzi, Susie. I thought you might dismiss them out of hand."

"Really - or were you worried I'd act a trifle trigger-happy, zapping everything in sight?"

"The thought never crossed my mind, Susie. I bought the extra one especially for you. Marauding gulls can pose as big a menace as guarding dogs when we're out delivering your dad's magazine."

"And they really do ruffle the pesky birds' feathers?"

"Of course, Susie - I followed your doggy lead and confirmed it on the Internet. What could possibly go wrong?"

"This for a start, Jeffrey - we're hurtling into the end-of-line station. I hope you googled how to stop a runaway train, as well."

"Put her into reverse, Susie."

"Hands to the brake, Jeffrey."

"Say another little prayer, Susie. It's always useful to have help from a goddess when your arms get tired."

"Just in case she's busy elsewhere, give another blast on the whistle, Jeffrey."

Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo!

"Assume crash positions, Susie."

"Oh, the runaway train came up the hill and she blew.
The runaway train came up the hill and she blew,
The whistle wide and the throttle back,
And she blew, blew, blew."

Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo! Whooooooooooo!

 

 

Chapter 196

"The train now arriving at platform one is on fire. Passengers are advised not to board this train."

"Hell, we're not bound for glory, are we, Jeffrey," Susie gasped, whilst we applied our full weight to the brake handle and hoped gravity would do the rest.

"They're exaggerating, Susie - it's only sparks flying upwards from the wheels now they're sliding, not rolling."

"Friction is our friend, Jeffrey. We're going to make it."

"Only just - we'll be bumpers to buffers."

Kiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssss.

"How about that for precision parking," Susie cheered, as 105 tons of mighty metal gently rebounded to a halt.

Sssssssssssssshhhhhhhh......

"The 13:39 has arrived bang on schedule," I announced, over a last gasp of escaping steam from the Duchess.

"Sir Topham Hatt should roll out the red carpet for us, Jeffrey."

"You'll have to forego taking a bow, Susie. We're exiting stage left, cloaked by a curtain of mist."

"Okay, bale out, Jeffrey, before the mellow fruitfulness hits the fan. I'm right behind you."

"This way, Susie - keep to the blind side," I urged, when we touched down. "Across the siding, along the embankment, and then up over the dry-stone wall."

"Before vanishing across the fields, Jeffrey, leaving the authorities mystified at the unscheduled appearance of a ghost train."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Another fine mess we've somehow emerged from unscathed," I rejoiced, on our managing to scamper unobserved to the edge of a wood. "We must stop retreating like this, Susie."

"I have to agree, Jeffrey, at times, we can act a trifle reckless."

"Wreckful, don't you mean, Susie?"

"Definitely not, Jeffrey - we never so much as scratched the Duchess' paintwork. And even if we had, there's a couple of fall-guys, back along the track, who'd be the number one suspects."

"Hansie and Franzie escaped the fishy meat course, but they'll only receive their just desserts if they cop it for grand theft loco."

"They will, Jeffrey - what kind of an alibi is putting the blame on two non-existent schoolgirls?"

"Especially when their other crimes and misdemeanours are taken into account."

"Unless everybody claims diplomatic immunity, or it's all hushed up by MI5."

"We won't hang around to find out, Susie. Come on - through here - I heard a car go by, the other side of the trees."

"Then into your traffic-stopping high heels, Denise, and we'll hitch ourselves a lift."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"This is a long and winding road, Susie."

"And lonely on a lazy Sunday afternoon, Jeffrey, so we need to maximise our chances. Have Denise undo another button or three."

"The top one is more than enough, Susie, and don't encourage me to raise my skirt, either," I frowned. "We wouldn't want to attract the wrong kind of good Samaritan."

"Worry not, Jeffrey, any evil Philistine will receive an eyeful of more than they bargained for from your twin concealed lasers."

"Let's hope they can remain in reserve for the rest of the day, Susie. I don't wish to be swooped on again - even by a seagull."

"How about an SUV? Look one's just come flying over the hill."

"Would you believe it?" I gawped, on recognising the driver of the rapidly approaching vehicle. "Hugh Howe has got a big car, and that's Dr Watt sitting up front with him."

"Crikey, Jeffrey, so it is. And someone's in a hurry - I wonder if they're in pursuit of the train."

"If they are, it could lead to further complications," I cautioned. "Perhaps we should keep our thumbs down and our noses out of their business."

"We aren't letting a golden opportunity to get to the bottom of what was in the case pass us by." Susie marched into the middle of the road and thrust out her arm. "Start dancing and a-prancing, Denise."

"This isn't the time or place for cheerleading."

"Just skip a little, then."

"Oh, out of the way, Susie!" I cried, pulling her back onto the verge as the SUV sped towards us. "They're not going to stop."

"The ungrateful swine!" Susie gestured at the departing Land Rover. "After we put ourselves out rushing to their assistance when they were in need."

"You may have vented too soon," I calmed, pointing along the road at the now slowing vehicle. "It seems they've had second thoughts about offering us a ride."

"Get a move on, then, Jeffrey," Susie urged, setting off at a sprint. "Let's climb aboard before the silly ditherers change their minds again."

"I'll catch you up. I'm swapping shoes first as a precautionary measure. Those brake lights may also indicate red for danger."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Whoops - getting on while the bus is moving, Denise," Susie scolded, leaning over to close the door. "You nearly missed our lift through always wanting to match your footwear for the occasion."

"We should both tread carefully, Susie," I murmured, settling down beside her in the back of the Land Rover.

"She's safely aboard - carry on, Hugh," Dr Watt ordered, before apologising for the quick getaway. "I'm sorry we nearly went without you, but every second counts on our recovery mission."

"I've only myself to blame," I acknowledged. "I hope I haven't missed anything of consequence."

"I was just remarking to your friend - this is quite a coincidence."

"More than 'quite', wouldn't you say, Susie?"

"Worthy of at least an 'amazing', Denise."

"If not an 'incredible', Susie."

"Some chance rendezvous, I don't think," Howe grunted, from behind the wheel.

"Yes, we all meet again. What a surprise, eh, Denise?"

"Nothing surprises me anymore, Susie."

"I wish I could say the same," Dr Watt sighed. "But I'm still in a daze from this morning's events."

"Perhaps you're suffering from delayed concussion," Susie suggested.

"Possibly, my dear ... while your faces are firmly imprinted in my memory, I'm struggling to recall your names."

"That's because we weren't formally introduced," Susie smiled. "Say 'hello' to the Misses Smith and Jones."

"Hhruuuummph," Howe coughed. "Smith and Jones - another unlikely story if I ever heard one."

"Now, Hugh," Dr Watt admonished, "I know you took a little persuading to pick up our young friends, but one good turn deserves another."

"A Smith or a Jones between them, maybe - but not both suddenly appearing together, in my professional opinion, sir."

"You weren't very professional back in the alley, deserting Dr Watt when he came under attack," Susie reminded him. "You could have had a corpse for a client, save for our timely arrival."

"Very timely - and now you've turned up again, right on cue. Perhaps your claim to be private detectives wasn't such a joke, after all."

"You haven't a clue what you're talking about," I huffed. "We've not even a provisional driving licence between us, and my mum would never allow me to walk down mean streets dressed like this."

"Then why are you using the most obvious of aliases?" Howe glared into the rear-view mirror.

"We're not," Susie contended. "Somebody has to be called Smith and Jones. We can't all take our surnames from interrogative pronouns."

"Yes, really, Hugh," Dr Watt intervened, "I think your suspicions are verging on bad manners."

"So why aren't these two Misses miles away on the train they were so anxious to catch this morning? Answer me that."

"Go on, Denise - enlighten the man, before I say something we'll both regret."

"You're absolutely correct about our intended itinerary, Mr Howe. Only a catastrophic points failure north of Ravenglass, leading to a severe derailing, has prevented us from already experiencing the delights of Carlisle."

"Where we planned to diligently count the bricks in Hadrian's Wall," Susie grinned. "Denise brought along her Barbie hand-clicker, specially."

"Very funny," Howe snickered, his tone revealing a serious unamusement. "But it doesn't explain how you came to be directly in our path, and intent on stopping us at all costs."

"Hugh has a point, Miss Jones," Dr Watt interposed. "Standing in the road like that, we might have run you down."

"I did act a little rashly," Susie admitted. "But we were desperate for transport after being forsaken by the railway authorities."

"I don't believe a word of it," Howe snorted. "Or that there has been a crash."

"You would if you'd witnessed the upended carriages and the mad rush for the bus," Susie asserted. "It was every man for himself, and two genteel girls couldn't compete in the crush, could they, Denise?"

"We were left numb by the scrum," I affirmed. "Abandoned to our fate, without a hi-viz jacket to share between us - it's no wonder we went unnoticed."

"Camouflage jackets would have been more appropriate for what we've had to do, Denise. Coming through that wood, we might easily have fallen prey to one of the monstrous beasts of Cumbria."

"You should be on Jackanory," Howe scoffed. "Those big, black cats are nothing but an urban legend."

"That's no comfort when you're wild in the country," Susie responded.

"Your stories definitely are," Howe sneered.

"But they're not fishermen's tales like your feeble 'Save the Tuna' excuse for going missing when required."

"Saving the tuna, Hugh?" Dr Watt questioned. "I thought you were chasing the mugger."

"I was - ignore their fantasies, sir. We should eject the interfering pair immediately - before they cause any more trouble."

"I'm at a loss to follow your reasoning, Hugh. What have the girls done wrong?"

"First they were in the alley, and now they're here, sir. In my experience, such things don't happen by accident."

"I really don't see how it could be otherwise," Dr Watt demurred.

"It's not beyond the bounds of possibility somebody has planted a bug on you, sir."

"You're certainly sitting next to a silly bugger," Susie retorted. "He'll have us dropping in from a helicopter next, Denise."

"Perhaps showing the gentlemen our punched tickets will provide sufficient proof of our innocence, Susie."

"Hold on tight if you do, Denise. They're our only means of getting home before midnight."

"I don't doubt you for a second," Dr Watt declared. "We'll be delighted if the girls accompany us to the station, won't we, Hugh?"

"If you say so, sir," Howe scowled.

"Expecting to meet someone there, are you, Dr Watt?"

"Only hoping, Miss Jones - and to retrieve the contents of my briefcase. Hugh's convinced the thief used my excursion ticket to make good his escape - hence our mad dash north to arrive in Carlisle before the train."

"What is it exactly that's gone missing, Dr Watt?" I enquired.

"The specifications and detailed working drawings of my revolutionary prototype."

"You've reinvented the wheel, have you?" Susie winked.

Dr Watt put a finger to his lips. "That, my dear, must remain top secret for now. I just hope we're in time to prevent my brainchild from falling into the wrong hands."

"It's only a fleet of buses, not a flying Duchess, you're racing now, but prepare to be disappointed," Susie warned. "Because with the pile-up, and everything, some passengers have fallen by the wayside, and others just fallen, Aubrey."

"Aubrey - who's Aubrey - is he one of them?" the doctor blinked.

"No, he's one of you, isn't he, A W?" Susie smiled.

"No, I'm not an Aubrey."

"Sorry, my mistake - I must have misheard your mumble when you were down and out."

"No you didn't," Howe accused, twisting in his seat. "And I'm on to your scheming. After poking your noses in at every opportunity, you're trying to pump Dr Watt for classified information."

"Watch where you're going," I cried. "This is sheep country, Hugh - there could be a ram around the next bend."

"Don't change the subject now the cat's out of the bag," Howe rasped. "Letting slip the initials 'A W' proves you've seen them stamped on the stolen case."

"Is that right, girls? If so, please tell me," Dr Watt appealed.

"Careful, Susie," I whispered. "You may have already revealed too much."

"Just flying a few exploratory kites up the flagpole, Jeffrey."

"Well, don't get carried away with them," I cautioned.

"See, sir, they don't want us to hear," Howe claimed. "They were uncooperative this morning, never giving me a straight answer, and now they're conspiring behind our backs."

"I sincerely hope that's not true, my dears."

"You need have no misgivings about us, sir," Susie assured. "We can vouch for our own integrity unlike someone I could mention, who conveniently absented himself at a critical juncture."

"Don't listen to her, Dr Watt. She's trying to hide they know more than they're letting on."

"Yes, it does appear the girls have set eyes on my briefcase," the doc agreed.

"Maybe it was yours," Susie conceded. "But to get it back, you'll have to dispute the ownership with the other A W."

"And who is that, pray?"

"The Reverend Aubrey Worple."

"The Reverend Aubrey Worple - I ask you!" Howe threw up his hands in disbelief. "It'll be His Highness, the Archbishop of bleeding Canterbury, next."

"Hey, keep your mind on your driving, your hands on the wheel, and keep your private eye on the road ahead," Susie directed. "There's two little girls sitting on the backseat, who prefer hugging and kissing to ending up dead."

"One thing is for sure - you little madams aren't lacking in effrontery," Howe glowered.

"I resent the implication," I blushed, buttoning up my jacket. "And quite to the contrary, we had a lengthy theological discussion with the very Reverend Worple, and if he wasn't a valid vicar, you're not a bona-fide bodyguard."

"Yes, show us your badge," Susie challenged. "And not the one out of a cornflake packet."

"I'll show you where to get off if you don't shut it," Howe seethed.

"This isn't helping, Hugh," Dr Watt protested. "Let's put our differences aside and concentrate on overtaking the buses."

"I'm as keen to catch the thieving little basket as you are, sir."

"The way Hughie's going there's no chance of that," Susie indicated. "He's taking the high road, and they're taking the low road. Break out your Clan Smith tartan, Denise, we could end up in Scotland, two little kilties roaming in the gloaming."

"I don't wish to even remotely consider such a possibility, Susie."

"Don't worry, Miss Smith, our destination will be determined by science," Dr Watt announced. "I'm pleased to say the previously faulty satnav is now functioning perfectly thanks to my expert tuning."

"You should have left the damn thing alone in the first place," Howe grumbled. "Then we'd be speeding up the motorway and not meandering down these back roads, after going round in circles."

"It's programmed to save petrol," Dr Watt maintained. "This is evidently the shortest route as the crow flies. I've no doubt we are being guided safely and economically to Carlisle station."

"The bus station or railway station?" I questioned.

"The girl's right, Hugh, deciding which has become an additional problem."

"We've only their word for it there was a derailment, sir. It may just be a ruse to divert us."

"You know better than that, Hughie," Susie ventured. "One of your friends on-board must have kept you up-to-date with the latest developments."

"You're crazy," Howe spluttered. "There's no mate of mine on the train, I can promise you that."

"Can he, Dr Watt?" Susie probed. "Or has your minder made any mysterious phone calls since we last met?"

"Several, now you come to mention it ... but Hugh's mostly never had an answer."

"Losing touch with his partner in crime might explain why he's so on edge," Susie insinuated.

"They were strictly family matters," Howe insisted. "It's only natural a wife should worry about somebody in my line of work."

"You're not wearing a wedding ring," I observed.

"I take it off when I'm on a case."

"But there's no evidence of it leaving a mark," I argued.

"I'm the detective, not you," Howe exploded. "Don't agg me, you little smart-ass."

"Keep it clean, sir," Susie reprimanded.

"And you can shut up, too."

"Oops, we've struck a raw nerve, Denise."

"I only wish it didn't belong to our chauffeur, Susie. The manner his hands are gripping the steering wheel is giving cause for concern."

"Not to mention his foot pressing down on the accelerator, Denise."

"Watch where you're going!" Dr Watt wailed, as we careered into a blind corner on the wrong side of the road. "There might be something coming the other way."

"You want to get there fast, don't you?" Howe roared, in unison with the engine.

Dr Watt buried his head in his hands. "Not this fast - and not this way."

"I'm only following the useless bloody satnav," Howe snapped, swinging the Land Rover off along a dirt track. "It's taking us down the wrong road again, but it's fine with me this time."

"Oh, it's not the bus or railway station we're bound for, Susie - it's panic stations."

"For the rest of the day, Missy," Howe barked. "Unless you can find a taxi half-way up a mountain - because that's where I'm dumping you."

"Prepare to act," Susie hissed.

"Easier said than done," I muttered.

"I've got a plan to fix him - hands over eyes, Denise."

"This is no time for playing hide-and-seek, Susie."

"Not yours - his."

"Won't that be even more dangerous?"

"Not when I'm doing the back-seat driving."

"Okay, but let's make a proper job of it," I resolved, taking off my jacket. "He won't see through this."

"Hood the hoodlum," Susie cried, throwing herself over the seat, and grabbing for the steering wheel.

"What the hell!" Howe shrieked, as we swerved to the left, through the hedgerow, and ploughed across a field. "Get the bloody thing off me!"

"We're speeding up, not slowing down, Susie. How are we going to bring the situation under control?"

"Hold on, Denise, while I think what to do next."

"No time, Susie - drainage ditch ahead. Turn, turn, turn!"

"I'm trying, but Hughie-boy's pulling in the opposite direction."

"And we're hurtling straight on. Rap him over the knuckles with Jeremiah's big screwdriver."

"I already have it to hand, Denise."

Whaaaaaacccckkkk!

"Aaaaarrrgggghhhh!" Howe screamed. "What's your bloody game?"

"This!"

Thwaaaaaacccckkkk!

"Ooooooooowwwww!"

"Let go the wheel - or you'll never play Subbuteo again."

Whaaaaaacccckkkk!

"Stop it - you'll kill us all!"

Thwaaaaaacccckkkk!

"Get your belly out of there!"

"Aaaaarrrgggghhhh!"

"We're beyond safe braking distance, Denise, and old banana fingers still won't be moved."

"Leave him to it, Susie, and get your feet against the seat."

"Ooooooohh, I've left my stomach behind," Dr Watt howled, at the ground falling away beneath us.

"Crash positions, Susie - brace yourself!"

"Down, down, down we go!" Susie yelled, as the SUV plunged into the dyke ...

Bumpity-bumpity-bump!

... and twin heads catapulted forward into the windscreen.

"Oooooooooo!"

"Aaaaaaahhh!"

Crackity-crack!

"Hold on, Susie!"

"Ooooowwww!"

Crackity-crack!

"Aaaaarrrrggh!"

"Vehicle recall alert, Denise - double seatbelt and airbag failure."

"With stunning consequences, Susie, that have left our travelling companions knocked cold."

"And us up the creek, down the ditch, lacking a paddle, Jeffrey - or do you think there's a chance of summoning the AA out here?"

"Out where, Susie?"

"Good point, Jeffrey - what does the satnav say?"

"'Tilt', Susie," I reported, on peering between the crash victims. "We may be in for a long day's march into the night."

"But, at least, we've learnt another valuable lesson, Jeffrey."

"What's that, Susie?"

"It seems these motors don't go anywhere, after all."

 

 

Chapter 197

"It makes a change to be laying out live folk, Susie," I reflected, after we'd dragged Dr Watt and Howe from the SUV and lined them up alongside the dyke.

"All equally neatly done, Jeffrey - and in spite of the unfavourable circumstances, we scarcely got the bods' trouser bottoms wet. Although their waterlogged feet may give them some later cause for concern."

"It's ours I'm worried about now, Susie. We forgot to pack the yomping boots."

"Then let's jump aboard, Jeffrey. I'll put her in reverse, and we'll see if these four-wheel drives are everything they're cracked up to be."

"I suppose it can't do any harm," I allowed, climbing in beside her. "But don't back us all the way to Nutwood."

"From here with the turn of a key," Susie grinned, and hit the accelerator. "Full boost vertical - prepare for lift-off!"

"Supercar ... Supercar ... Supercar!"

"Hooray, and up she rises," I whooped, as the Land Rover launched itself bodily out of the dyke.

"Success!" Susie exulted, on our bumping down to earth. "Next stop somewhere or other."

"And Dr Watt will be accompanying us on the journey. He's returned to semi-consciousness and is staggering across." I leant over and opened the rear door. "Jump in, sir," I urged.

"Where am I?" the doc croaked, and promptly collapsed onto the seat.

"He's gone again, Susie. That's two bangs on the noggin he's suffered today."

"No rugby for him for a month, then."

"But another gent's preparing to pile in, here and now, Susie. Mr Howe's sploshing after his client, anxious to do some mischief."

"Starting with raising his whole fist, and not just his thumb, at us, Jeffrey."

"That's no way to request a lift, Susie."

"Hughie-boy has other ideas."

"Get the hell out of there!" Howe yelled, banging on the roof. "Or I'll have your guts for garters."

"We're definitely not picking up this hitchhiker, Susie. Put it in gear, and slam your foot down."

"Afterburners on, Jeffrey! Full boost horizontal!"

"Supercar ... Supercar ... Supercar!"

"That's the way to do it, Susie," I cheered, as we rocketed forward, leaving Howe floundering in our wake.

"We're off, we're off,
We're off in a motorcar!
There's a private bobby behind us,
And we don't know where we are."

"You haven't seen the last of me," the incensed detective cursed, before pitching headlong into the earth and disappearing from view. "Uuuuuuuurrrggghh!"

"Ooops, someone tripped over their turn-ups and missed his footing, Susie."

"Let the devious sod eat dirt, Jeffrey. He'll need the fuel for his coming slog to the nearest bus stop."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"We're back on the road again.
We're on our way."

"But only to the nearest station, Susie," I cautioned. "The M6 is no place for an SUV with two little children on the front seat."

"At times, you can say the most hurtful things, Jeffrey. You should learn to express yourself more diplomatically."

"The traffic cops won't when they ask to see your driving licence and insurance."

"Okay," Susie accepted, "perhaps some present risk avoidance is called for after our earlier excitements."

"Good, and to guide us to the mainline, I've got the satnav working."

"So where are we heading?"

"You'll never guess, Susie."

"Amaze me, Jeffrey."

"We're on course for the Pencil Museum in Keswick."

"I'll resist the temptation to stop, Jeffrey."

"Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to pick up a souvenir for your dad, Susie. That would lend credence to our story - whatever you decide to make up."

"I shall tell the truth, and nothing but the truth - with certain necessary omissions."

"And we could include a set of crayons and a colouring book for your uncle. They're the latest form of relaxation for stressed executives."

"That should prove more satisfying than filling in the 'A's, and the 'B's, and the 'P's, and the 'Q's, etc, etc, of the Mortician's Monthly. But coming from me, unky may view the gift with a certain degree of suspicion."

"Yes, the thought behind it might well be misinterpreted," I agreed. "Second childhood, and all that."

"We'll get a couple for Mikey, then," Susie chuckled. "It'll make a change from scribbling on toilet walls."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Pull into the next lay-by, Susie."

"I have fantasized about parking up a Lover's Lane with you, Denise, but won't you feel inhibited with Dr Watt on the back seat - unconscious or not."

"He's coming round, going by his mumbling, so this is our chance to ask a few pertinent questions about what everyone is after."

"You'll hear my voice, on the wind, 'cross the sand ..."

"Oh, the doc's humming a happy tune now, Jeffrey. If he thinks it's karaoke night out on the bay, we may not get much sense from him."

"We won't need much if the object is already in our possession."

"Have you been keeping something to yourself?" Susie frowned, as she brought the Land Rover expertly to a halt at the side of the road.

"No, you've got Homer Simpson."

"And you pooh-poohed that idea."

"But since no one's found anything else, perhaps we should reconsider the matter."

"Is that the only reason?"

"While you were flashing the little chap under Fritz's nose, I noticed '32gb' stamped on Homer's ample rear, but it showed up as only a slimline 4 gig drive in Windows."

"Which means, Jeffrey?"

"Either it's an eBay fake, or it really does contain a hidden partition. And here's the man who might know."

"Oh, where am I?" We swivelled in our seats as Dr Watt sat up, his head in his hands. "Ow - it hurts."

"No wonder - you've had a bump on a bump," Susie diagnosed. "Dad says they're a lot less painful when you spill blood."

"Your father?" Dr Watt rubbed his eyes. "I can't remember having met him. How's he involved - did he drive us here?"

"Dad's a rugby player who once took a knock too many, like you, leaving him in a daze for days. And he's still subject to recurring bouts of bafflement while in my presence."

"Ah, I see the connection," Dr Watt blinked. "Your father's just stepped out for a breath of fresh air to clear his mind."

"Yes, he's over there, behind the hedge, answering a call of nature."

"Oh, now you mention it, my feet feel wet," Dr Watt shivered. "I haven't unconsciously disgraced myself, have I?"

"No, you went for a paddle with your shoes on."

"Did I?" Dr Watt's brow furrowed even further. "This isn't making any sense to me. I'm having difficulty recollecting the latest sequence of events."

"Don't try too hard," Susie advised, "just answer our questions, and it will all come flooding back to you."

"Yes, where is Hugh?"

"Oh, we ditched him a while ago when it became apparent he's one of them," I explained.

"One of whom?" Dr Watt puzzled.

"Thoom that are working against us," Susie clarified.

"Ah, you're on my side - and Howe wasn't."

"You need have no doubt about it, because accidents speak louder than words," Susie declared. "We've taken it upon ourselves to neutralize Fritz and his friends."

Dr Watt breathed a sigh of relief. "Then I can't thank you enough. The German interests had become ill-disposed towards me on the flimsiest of grounds."

"We found they were similarly quick to take offence," Susie concurred.

"I won't be doing business with Siemens again," Dr Watt vowed. "Their negotiators proved unfamiliar with the concept of a non-refundable deposit."

"Money - the root of all disputes," Susie nodded.

"Never a truer word was spoken." Dr Watt sadly shook his head. "A paltry sum, which I'd already spent, led to a regrettable misunderstanding with their easily offended representatives."

"So they informed us when we proceeded to secure your interests - at great risk to ourselves," Susie stressed.

"But you don't sound like Russian agents ..." Dr Watt paused, directing his gaze from Susie to me. "... or look like them."

"Because we're not ..."

"In uniform today, Comrade Denise," Susie winked. "As much as you adore the dress discipline and gold braid."

"Okay, Mistress Susie," I saluted. "It's your decision to admit we're working in not-so-plain clothes."

"Then you're colleagues of Borisenko," Dr Watt concluded.

"That's Ivan to Denise and me. We were only on code name terms with our loyal tovarich before he fell victim to the German capitalist running dogs."

"Don't overdo it, Susie," I muttered. "The current crowd are Mafia-Opportunists, not Marxist-Leninists."

"Cappuccino, Jeffrey."

Dr Watt leant forward. "Pardon, I didn't quite catch that."

"It was for our ears only," Susie clarified. "We have to reassess the situation now Ivan's departed the scene, and your deal with his organization has become common knowledge."

"Oh, have I been talking too much?" Dr Watt fretted. "I didn't mean to be indiscreet."

"No, you're doing fine - we'd already deduced the significance of Homer Simpson," Susie bluffed.

"Oh, I've mentioned the flash drive!" Dr Watt panicked. "I can't remember ..."

"You won't," Susie fibbed. "You babbled it in your stupor."

Dr Watt grasped the back of the seat in alarm. "But not the names of my late great aunt's seven cats?"

"They make up the password for the Ext partition invisible to Windows, do they?" I speculated.

"Oh, you don't look like geeks, either, but you're familiar with Linux," Dr Watt wailed, striking his forehead in agitation. "Oooooowwww!"

"Mind how you go," Susie warned. "Vital information in there may be at risk."

"It may have gone missing, but all is not lost," the doc determined, recovering a degree of composure. "Homer's data is encrypted, and nobody will begin to guess my heptacode."

"How about Bashful, Dopey, Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Sneezy ... and Doc!" Susie gleefully offered.

"No, no, seven times no," Dr Watt crowed, and relaxed in his seat. "Wherever my blueprints are, they're safe under the cover of my nephew's navel fluff and my eccentric aunt's pride of pussies."

"Bugger, Denise - what are the names of Enid Blyton's Secret Seven?"

"There's eight of them with the dog, Susie."

"And you're way off the scent, anyhow," Dr Watt asserted.

"Days of the week, colours of the rainbow, wonders of the world, the seven continents, the seven seas, the seven deadly sins." Susie ticked them off. "All too obvious, Denise - any suggestions."

"The Magnificent Seven - everybody forgets the German one."

"Not me, Denise - I won at Trivial Pursuit thanks to stealing a look at Horst Buchholz."

"It doesn't matter if you were right then, because you're wrong now," Dr Watt gloated. "You young folk will never discover the key to my secure seven."

"Go on, Denise, wipe the smirk off another doc's face with a spot of your lateral thinking."

"Dave ... Dee ... Dozy ... Beaky ... Mick ... And ... Tich."

"Oh my great aunt's pussies - you know!" Dr Watt's jaw only had time to half drop before he keeled over unconscious in his seat.

"How on earth did you do that, Jeffrey?" Susie gaped.

"Supernatural isn't it, Susie?" I smiled. "Or possibly I discerned a clue from the doc warbling 'The Legend of Xanadu' as he returned from his black barren land of oblivion."

"Ah, bullwhip crack-away, Jeffrey - I can see the bod mistiming his miming now - and in leather trousers, too. That's another classic we should add to our repertoire."

"And it just goes to show the educational value of watching ancient repeats of 'Top of the Pops' is not to be discpised, Susie."

 

 

Chapter 198

"Well done, Tara and Mrs Peel," Susie applauded, after we'd indulged in a little front seat congratulation. "That successfully wraps up another case for the Avengers of the Good Samaritans Detective Agency."

"Not until we get rid of the great MacGuffin," I cautioned. "Other less well-informed parties could still pop out of the woodwork in pursuit of it."

"That's hardly likely, Jeffrey, but how should we dispose of our much sought after yellow fellow?"

I looked over at the snoring form on the back seat. "The drive does legitimately belong to Dr Watt, Susie."

"But it might contain stolen secrets he intends passing to the Russians. And they must be pretty important if the Germans were desperate to get their hands on them, as well."

"Quite honestly, Susie, the doc doesn't conduct himself in the manner of an international master spy."

"He only needs to have been in the right place at the wrong time. Those government bods are always losing state papers. Perhaps Watty found the flash drive in the back of a taxi."

"Then he wouldn't know the password. More likely he's a crackpot inventor who's trying to sell his plans for a better mousetrap to the highest bidder."

"You're always looking to put a damper on things, Jeffrey, but even you don't believe folk would go to all this trouble for that."

"You'll soon have the opportunity to settle the matter one way or the other," I challenged, as Dr Watt began emitting signals of another reawakening. "With your subtle probing, you should have little difficulty winkling out the truth from the bewildered old boy."

"Just watch me and learn." Susie turned us both around and resumed her interrogation. "Hello there, doc - feeling refreshed after your forty winks?"

"No, I think I've had a nightmare." Dr Watt stared at us intently. "Does the name 'Dave Dee' mean anything to your generation?"

"Never heard of the guy, have we, Denise?"

"Not unless he's the wizard of the dribble who plays centre forward for Melchester Rovers - or is that Laurie Lee, the footballing poet?"

"Oh, forget it, my dear." Dr Watt dismissed the subject with an airy wave of his hand. "The man isn't important."

"He's not a great inventor like yourself, then," Susie flattered.

"Ah, you read Barry Horrocks' 'Fylde Folk' interview with me in the Shoreham Gazette last year, did you?" Dr Watt beamed. "It was like being on 'Desert Island Discs' - only without the needless distraction of records."

"Denise cut it out to paste in her scrapbook. The little lady's an aspiring boffin herself. Why, just yesterday, she fixed a broken telephone using only a nail-file and native wit."

"I'm delighted to hear it." Dr Watt patted me on my ribbon. "Dedicate yourself to science, my girl, and one day you may become as famous as I am. But be warned - it's a lonely life at the top."

"Your achievements are way beyond a simple Miss Smith," I blushed.

"Denise is over-modest," Susie insisted. "Her precociousness has already startled the redoubtable Barry Horrocks - and he's encountered a pink elephant or two in his lunchtimes."

"A more exceptional journalist you couldn't wish to meet, Miss Jones. My idea for a clockwork mobile phone left him totally astonished."

"And so are we," Susie grinned. "How many wheels has it got?"

"Just the one - that's the beauty of the concept."

"See, I am on the right lines," I murmured. "He is a Gyro Gearloose."

"And a slight headcase, to boot."

"Pardon, my dears," Dr Watt frowned, pulling on his earlobes. "The multiple blows seem to have played havoc with my loose wax."

"We were saying if the train hadn't slipped a gear and left the track in a roosh, we'd have missed meeting our very own Thomas Edison en route," Susie smiled.

"He beat me to the electric light bulb," Dr Watt chuckled. "Although my fan-assisted toilet bowl would have trumped everybody in the domestic appliance market."

"That's not the project you're currently pursuing, is it?" Susie probed.

"Sadly the Wattowaft never made it past the second prototype."

"You met with insuperable technical difficulties, did you?" I asked.

"Deep-seated ones finally became apparent, my dear. Everything was going swimmingly until a brave volunteer ..."

"Volunteer?" Susie goggled.

"I'd rather not have used family members as guinea pigs, but a man can only not digest so much All-Bran for the sake of scientific progress."

"You must have put in heroic efforts," I marvelled.

"We all did, but to no avail. The blowback problem when floaters were present proved a hard nut to crack."

"Perhaps you were looking at the situation from the wrong end," I hazarded. "An excess of fat in the diet might be the root cause of your trouble."

"That's an avenue I should have explored, but it's too late now," Dr Watt mourned. "It's money down the drain."

"Flushed away all your available funds in the process, did you?" Susie sympathised.

"And then discovered to my cost, I'd been up against the might of the Japanese, the world leaders in lavatory hygiene and associated household technologies."

"Denise could have told you that. She's become a dedicated follower of their domestic servant fashions."

"It's all effluent under the bridge now," Dr Watt sighed. "Mitsuwashi brought out their own product before I had the chance to get to the bottom of the problems with my Wattowaft."

"How inconvenient," Susie commiserated. "You should rename it your Wattoloo."

"The reverses I suffered were soul destroying at the time," the doc confessed.

"An understandable reaction, but we sincerely hope it hasn't inhibited your genius from pursuing further projects, don't we, Denise?"

"Chippendale didn't down tools when he found the world was full of tables, Susie - he carved a niche for himself. And I'm sure the good doctor is capable of persisting and perspiring with the best of them."

"I already have, young lady, and with a sight more than one percent inspiration." Dr Watt leaned forward and continued in a confidential whisper. "I'm about to revolutionise the vacuum cleaner industry."

"Hasn't somebody already done that?" Susie suggested.

"They've merely prepared the ground, and now the world is ready for the launch of Watt's hover hoover," the doc announced. "It floats, as it sucks, as it cleans. It's a Wovoover!"

"And that's the secret everyone has been dying to get their hands on?" I frowned.

"Oh, now I've bragged too much - careless talk costs royalties." Dr Watt slapped himself on his bumps. "Ouch!"

"You might well say 'Ouch!'," Susie spluttered. "What a fuss about a bloody domestic appliance. All this to-doover over a Wovoover, Denise."

"Dr Watt was mad to encourage the spy versus spy nonsense, Susie."

"You underestimate the importance of my breakthrough," Dr Watt huffed. "The spin-off potential is enormous."

"Like hover mowers, I suppose," Susie snorted.

"You can scoff, Miss Jones, but I had the Germans and Russians competing for my favours."

"More fool them."

"You wouldn't say so if you'd seen the selection of teasing photographs I supplied them with," Dr Watt smirked. "Each one showing not quite enough to give the game away. The components could have been part of anything they cared to envisage."

"Piccies of a glorified hoover wouldn't fool even Mikey. What do you make of it, Denise?"

"Things may become clearer when we know where Dr Watt works, Susie."

"At British Nuclear Fuels," the doc declared, thumbs behind his lapels.

"Which department?" I enquired.

Dr Watt switched to running a finger around his collar. "My team has the sole responsibility for through-the-night maintenance."

"Then you're an office cleaner not a real scientific doctor," Susie accused.

"I am to the Saint Regis University of Liberia. An institute that recognises the achievements of a practical man who gets his hands dirty experimenting on a shoestring budget."

"Not something to be advised at British Nuclear Fuels, I'd imagine, Denise."

"But communicating with foreign powers on their stationery - or using a corporate email address - might have proved useful to Dr Watt, Susie. I wonder what they thought he had on offer."

"Not a hover hoover that's for sure - more like an atomic interocitor."

"I never actually promised them the secret of cold fusion in so many words," Dr Watt protested. "There are other uses for a hundred gallons of heavy water."

"Are there, Denise?"

"It's good for learning to swim in, I believe, Susie."

"You wouldn't want to swallow any, though, Denise."

"Somebody did, Susie, and a lot more besides."

"Advising the interested parties to have an adequate supply of deuterium oxide on hand played only a limited role in promoting my Wovoover," Dr Watt insisted. "I practised no outright deception. Salesmanship is an integral part of bringing a new product to market - ask Edison."

"We can't - he's deceased, as are at least four others, thanks to you," Susie charged. "The Russian and German customers have neutralised each other, leaving you with a Wovoover on your hands."

"So, they were fighting to the death over my invention," Dr Watt mused. "That's a reward in itself."

"Not for us it wasn't," Susie huffed. "We were caught in the cross-fire."

"But my head hurts, too, and I had the best of motives," Dr Watt moaned. "The Wovoover is my gift to the world."

"Gift?" Susie queried.

"Doubly so - all profits would have funded my future research into perpetual motion if things had run as smoothly as intended."

"But why the complication of meeting your contacts on the steam excursion?" I quizzed.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have mixed business with pleasure, but I hoped a clandestine rendezvous on a speeding train, coupled with a surreptitious method of payment - for legitimate tax purposes, you understand - would enhance my credentials."

"How?"

"Well, wouldn't you expect a certain degree of intrigue if someone hinted they had available for sale classified information relating to a source of unlimited clean energy?"

"I think Dr Watt might have been influenced by the same films as you, Susie."

"An intricate plot will always add to the box-office, Denise."

"But at what cost, Susie?"

"I'm not entirely to blame," Dr Watt argued. "Reading 'Our Man in Havana' first gave me the idea. And the shifty Special Branch sergeant, I surprised going through the waste-paper baskets at work reinforced it. Especially after he swore me to secrecy in the interests of national security."

"He'd caught on to your scheme, had he?" Susie queried.

"The man gave nothing away, but I never trusted him an inch - he was over-familiar."

"A pound to a penny, Dr Watt chanced upon a certain Ian Duke up to no good, Denise."

"If he was moonlighting for himself, it's all academic now, Susie."

"But that's the name on the warrant card the fellow waved under my nose," Doctor Watt recalled.

"And did he take any further action?" Susie pressed.

"Not then - although I feared my unofficial use of certain facilities might soon come to light. So I decided I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb and began to spice things up a bit, in the hope of making a killing."

"The doc certainly succeeded in currying disfavour, Denise."

"We shouldn't judge a man too harshly whose one desire is to serve as a public benefactor, Susie."

"I suppose the doc's heart's in the right place - if not everything else - and the other lot did bring about their own downfall in the reckless pursuit of a MacGuffin."

"I believe we can exonerate Dr Watt in respect of their sudden departures, along with Mrs Pickersgill's pork pies, Susie."

"I wouldn't be too sure about those, Denise."

"There is something I'm not sure about," Dr Watt interrupted. "Now you're privy to my secret, girls, do you think it would be more marketing friendly to drop a syllable and go with just plain 'Wovver'?"

"Definitely," Susie nodded. "You'll have a lot less bovver with a Wovver."

"That's most apt," the doc enthused. "Because it's cordless and batteryless."

"It isn't clockwork-powered, is it?" I smiled.

"Don't tease, Denise - a pioneer like Dr Watt will have moved on to solar cells."

"They're scheduled for the Mark II version," the doc revealed. "The Mark I uses the model diesel engine salvaged from my Wattowaft. It made a bit of a racket in the smallest room, but I found early on electricity and water don't mix."

"Does a spotless lounge and the internal combustion engine?" I questioned.

"That's one of the beauties of my creation, Miss Smith - it sucks up its own noxious fumes, thus eliminating any pollution problem."

"We'll take the doc's word for it, eh, Denise?"

"Until the salesman comes knocking on the door, offering us a free demonstration, Susie."

"Lolita wouldn't lay down her dustpan and brush for anything."

"She might be so persuaded, but not her feather duster," I pouted.

"I can't place a Lolita or a feather duster," the doc confessed. "I seem to have lost the thread of the conversation again."

"It's not your fault this time. We made a slight diversion into Denise's ever expanding wardrobe," Susie explained. "We're out now and back on track."

"Ah, I've forgotten the most important thing - my blueprints!" Dr Watt chastised himself for the oversight by revisiting his bumps. "Ooowww!"

"Careful," I warned. "You might do yourself a permanent injury."

"It feels as if I already have," the doc winced, while massaging his scalp. "But have you any idea where my flash drive containing the Wovoover data is?"

"Right here, under your nose." Susie delved into her bag and brought it out. "We're happy to return Mr Simpson to his legal owner."

"Welcome home, Homer!" Dr Watt kissed his flash drive before inserting it into his top pocket. "If the Chinese get wind of today's Russo-German rivalry, we may still cherish hopes of acquiring an Apple Mac for you."

"Good luck in finding some other fools who'll overlook the principle of 'caveat emptor'," Susie grinned.

"Never fear, Miss Jones - I shall put this experience to good use in future licensing discussions," Dr Watt assured.

"Even though your secret is still exclusively available, I wouldn't stop doing the lottery," I advised.

"My schemes have failed to deliver this time," the doc conceded. "So until the millions do come my way, here's a little memento for you in lieu of a more substantial reward." Dr Watt removed two pens from beside Homer and passed them over. "These Wattoflows are unique - they write underwater."

"Hasn't that been done before, too?" I hinted.

"Only with ballpoints, not fountain pens."

"Then you've made a genuine breakthrough," I hailed.

"Thank you, my dear."

"Just one thing, though," Susie frowned. "Have you developed the paper to accompany them?"

"I'm working on that - and the ink."

"And we wish you every success, don't we, Denise?"

"Absolutely, Susie."

"It will come," Dr Watt maintained. "Never give up on something that you can't go a day without thinking about."

"That's a profound notion," Susie whistled. "Did you formulate it?"

"Yes, and people everywhere would do well to follow my example."

"Hey, we should write that down for future reference, Denise - deploy your notebook and biro."

"Are you sure, Susie? I imagined we'd rather folk forgot about things."

"Here - I'll do the job for you." Dr Watt took the responsibility out of my hands.

"Wouldn't it be more fitting to use one of your Wattoflows?" I suggested, as he put pen to paper.

"Not at the moment - they're unfilled. It's a temporary safety measure, pending the resolution of a minor flaw or two."

"This is very kind of you," I smiled, while he carefully transferred his advice into a spidery scrawl. "It's like having a personal letter from Professor Branestawm."

"There - and I've added the author's signature - Archimedes Aristotle Watt. The 'Aristotle' is unofficial. I was in the bath and felt inspired to unite the physicist, philosopher, and engineer in one man."

"AAW, eureka!" Susie grinned, on receiving the inscription. "That'll make this doubly invaluable. We'll need to take extra good care of it, Denise."

"And ourselves, Susie - it's time we were moving."

"Okay, and our destination is?"

"Penrith, according to the satnav. The mainline runs through there, and we can use our tickets to catch a train home."

"Is that all right with you, Dr Watt?" Susie enquired.

"Any place I can obtain some aspirins," Dr Watt grimaced. "As there's no cool hand of a Mrs Watt waiting to soothe my aching brow."

"Oh, you haven't suffered a personal loss, too, have you?"

"Not permanently, Miss Smith - Margaret is visiting her mother until the toilet's fixed."

"We sympathise with you, don't we, Denise? It's a solitary life being an unsung genius."

"That's the price one pays for having a mind that never rests, Susie."

"Very true," Dr Watt yawned. "But while we wait for your father to return, I'll take off my shoes and socks and have a short snooze."

"Good idea," Susie nodded. "Drift away, and we'll see you have the smoothest ride ever, won't we, Denise?"

"Always providing there are no more twists and turns in the road, Susie."

"How about a short diversion through the Pencil Museum, Denise?"

"Not literally, I hope, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Zzzzzzzzzzz ... Zzzzzzzzzzz."

"The doc sounds contented, perhaps he's dreaming about building a human-like robot for company, Jeffrey."

"If he does, Susie, he'll be frustrated again. The Japanese in their wisdom have got there first."

"Old Archimedes may have a screw loose and be lacking in invention Jeffrey, but he's discovered the correct philosophy as regards never giving up and soldiering on."

"And true to form, it's Winston Churchill's words he appropriated for his own, Susie."

 

 

Chapter 199

"Here we are, Jeffrey, safely arrived, and without a point on my driving licence," Susie smirked, after turning off the engine in the station car park.

"Very competently done all round," I congratulated her. "Only when you take the test, don't remove your hands from the wheel to return a salute from an AA man."

"Motorway etiquette, Jeffrey."

"Thank the Lord, we weren't on one, Susie."

"I guessed that when we overtook the second flock of sheep, Jeffrey."

"And it's time our dreamer on the back seat finished counting them. We shouldn't leave him asleep in charge of a Land Rover."

"Wakey-wakey, Archie," Susie nudged. "It's journey's end."

Dr Watt's eyes fluttered open. "Are we there yet?"

"Denise and I are, but you'll have to decide for yourself."

"Wherever I am, I just want to stretch out on a proper bed," Dr Watt groaned, massaging his neck. "I think I'm suffering from whiplash. Did we have an accident?"

"A slight upending which required me to take over as relief driver."

"But aren't you too young?" Dr Watt frowned.

"I'm a member of the Junior Navigators," Susie beamed. "We have the right to steer in an emergency."

"Yes, but what happened to your father? I thought he was in charge."

"Job done - Mr Jones is booking into the Station Hotel across the road," I indicated.

"I see - your friend sat in the driver's seat to have a little joke at the absent-minded professor's expense, did she?"

"Something like that, isn't it, Susie?"

"Very much so, Denise - although dad might not see the funny side."

"Oh, I'm sure he will," Dr Watt chuckled. "And I'm very grateful to him."

"Why don't you spend the night at the hotel, too, and thank Mr Jones, in person, for chauffeuring you?" I suggested.

"An excellent plan." Dr Watt became energised by the prospect, stood up, and collided with the roof. "Ouch!"

"Watch your head," Susie smiled, getting out and helping the doc disembark. "Come on, Denise, it's time to say good-bye."

"Just changing my shoes," I responded, before joining them as Susie handed over the keys of the car. "Hold on, we don't want to involve Dr Watt with the possession of a stolen vehicle."

"But isn't this Howe's car?" the doc queried.

"So he claimed when he saw us off in it," I acknowledged.

"That's all right, then."

"Following an altercation we had with the fellow if you recall, sir."

"Did we?" Dr Watt squinted. "Let me see ..."

"You won't because Howe pulled the wool over your eyes," Susie reminded him.

"Ah, the man deceived me."

"Yes, he undoubtedly double-crossed you and arranged to have your plans stolen. Isn't that the case, Denise?"

"There seems to be no other logical explanation for Mr Howe's illogical behaviour," I agreed.

"The two-faced scoundrel - I was in more danger from him than the Germans," Dr Watt spluttered. "Did he get away with it?"

"No - his accomplice temporarily did after bashing you on the bonce. You've been in the wars more than once today," Susie sympathised.

"Yes ... I remember ... a forehead as high as mine makes an inviting target." Dr Watt confirmed the impacts with a tentative feel of his wounds. "But then why was Howe so insistent on our pursuing the train if he'd already done the foul deed on me?"

"Perhaps when he realised the double-crosser had become the double-crossed," Susie conjectured. "Given what Ivan told us about his meeting with the mugger, wouldn't you say that explains Howe's actions, Denise?"

"We can only speculate, Susie. With luck, we'll never know the full story."

"The day's not over yet, Denise."

"Don't tempt fate, Susie."

"Wait a minute," Dr Watt interrupted. "We're forgetting the most important thing. What happened to my Homer Simpson?"

"He's back in your top pocket," I indicated.

"So he is. Ah, it's all becoming clear to me now ... I think." Dr Watt banged his bumps again. "Ooooowww! That's it - Howe drove like a madman ..."

"He'll be even madder after the loss of his wheels and a tiring trek," I predicted.

"Undoubtedly, my dear, and there is the additional matter of the fee we shook hands on before my hopes of cashing in a rare reward were dashed."

"Howe's betrayal of you has rendered any agreement null and void," Susie counselled.

"Absolutely," Dr Watt insisted. "It's not that he's in anyway entitled to recompense, but I wouldn't want to dispute the matter with the man. He might fly off the handle again, and my skull can't take another battering."

"Then you'd be wise to find a refuge as far from his car as you can," Susie advised.

"My sentiments exactly - I hope you'll pardon the abrupt departure after your efforts on my behalf."

"We hope you'll think no more of it," I smiled.

"I'll happily blank out all today's events," Dr Watt sighed. "But ... er ... just out interest ... you didn't come across an envelope, addressed to me, at any stage in proceedings, did you?"

Susie shook her head. "No, we only saw the attache case with your initials on it, and that's still on the train."

"Ah, well - you can't have your cake and cash it in," Doctor Watt lamented.

"You could always try railway lost property," Susie suggested. "But perhaps it's best to let pork pies, dead bodies, and sleeping dogs lie."

"Quite, my dear - I'd rather not alert the authorities to what's gone on."

"Your secrets are safe with us," Susie promised.

"Then say 'thank you' to your father for the ride - I'm sorry to have missed him." Dr Watt raised his arm and trotted bare-footed across the tarmac. "Taxi!"

"Our unworldly dreamer appears to have his head screwed on right when it comes to money, Susie."

"As do you, Jeffrey."

"Then let's get the full value from our tickets, Susie."

"Okay, Jeffrey - we deserve at least that, considering the patriotic effort we've put in. We took up the fallen torch and did the work of Special Branch for them - even though old Dukey may not have been totally legit."

"A rogue spy, independent traders, Russians, and Germans - all seen off," I smiled.

"The little Englanders triumph again, Jeffrey."

"If he ever got wind of our achievements, granddad would fly the Union Jack in our honour, Susie."

"He isn't a Europhobe, is he, Jeffrey?"

"No, granddad treats all foreign folk the same, regardless of origin."

"An admirable attitude."

"Yes, as he says, Susie - the shifty buggers don't like each other, so why should I like them."

"You can't fault his logic, Jeffrey."

"I wouldn't presume to, Susie - or your intuition."

"That won me a ride on the footplate of a Duchess and a drive behind the wheel of a Land Rover, but no Russian gold, German euros, or knighthoods were showered on us."

"Our negotiating techniques obviously weren't up to Dr Watt's standard."

"But you'd expect at least one of those agents to have had a thousand dollar bill or a few doubloons concealed about their person for espionage emergencies."

"That reminds me, Susie, we'll need to consult the Stanley Gibbons when we get home."

"I prefer Edward Gibbon in the singular. He had a Byzantine plot and more colourful characters to work with, compared to the decline and fall of the Royal Mail."

"All things philatelic fascinate me, Susie, and the foreign triangular we acquired could even prove of interest to you."

"Although off an anonymous envelope, Dr Watt's loss may be our gain, eh, Jeffrey?"

"Who knows if the aeroplane really should be upside down, Susie?"

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"What do you mean they're invalid - it's still Sunday, isn't it?" Susie argued. "Remind this jobsworth of the Railway Transport Act, Denise."

"The fact you're refusing to accept, sir, is that our journey has been interrupted through no fault of our own," I repeated to the ticket collector guarding his barrier like a Lakeland terrier.

"And with good reason." The man remained obdurate. "I only have your word for it."

"Ask anybody," Susie challenged. "We were first in line, offering to put our shoulders under the coaches to get things back on track, and last in the queue for the buses - which went without us."

"Then you've only yourselves to blame," the official declared.

"No, we haven't," Susie objected. "We were derailed thanks to your employer's neglect of basic points maintenance."

"That's the responsibility of Network Rail, an entirely separate enterprise."

"But yours sold the tickets, and then stranded us in the middle of somewhere," Susie complained. "Tell the gentleman of our frightful flight plight, Denise."

"A dreadful one it developed into, sir. We were left exposed to the elements, and had to muster all available resources to find our own way here."

"Trudging over the mountains," Susie shivered. "And we weren't singing 'Val-deri, val-dera' with knapsacks on our backs, were we, Denise?"

"Boy scouts were notable by their absence, Susie."

"No wonder - there's snow on them thar peaks. But you don't climb Mount Everest by standing at the bottom, thinking how slippery it is."

"Or worrying that it'll be starvation up there."

"The company can count itself lucky we aren't suing for frostbite, Denise."

"Not to mention chapped knees, in my case."

"You both look in the pink," the man contended.

"Naturally," Susie smirked. "We've been out in the fresh air for miles and hours."

"Your friend hasn't tottered far in those shoes," the ticket collector glared. "And they show no sign of scuffing - I can see my face in them."

"You shouldn't be looking down there at what's reflecting up," I admonished, bringing my feet together. "And, anyhow, we didn't walk the whole way. Despite the fact it meant ignoring mother's advice, we thumbed a lift."

"Yes, I can see you'd have no difficulty getting a ride," the man sniggered.

"Hey, you've seen our tickets," Susie riposted. "These are first-class passengers you're talking to, not any young hobbledehoys."

"You could have fooled me."

"Be careful, mister, we have friends in high places - and in the newspapers. Not to mention my dad's monthly magazine - it drops through millionaires' letterboxes."

"Whether their dogs want it delivered directly to the door or not, Susie."

"Exactly, Denise - that's the power of the press. Its reach is universal, as is the appeal of two abandoned orphans of a restored Duchess."

"Very well," the ticket collector finally conceded, "I shall summon senior management to deal with the matter."

"Is that the emergency button you pushed?" Susie enquired. "Move over and give us railway enthusiasts a peek behind the scenes."

"Stay where you are and don't try to sneak through - I've strict procedures to follow. Now - what are your names?"

"Smith and Jones."

"Is that hyphenated?"

"No, but if you'd like an illustrious moniker to put in your report, we're chums and deputies of the guard's guard, Corporal Harbottle, REME," Susie saluted.

"Who?"

"Jeremiah Harbottle - a paladin as brave, courageous, and bold as Wyatt Earp," I maintained.

"Never heard of him."

"You must have - he was Marshal of Dodge City."

"I know that. I've seen the films - and it's irrelevant. This isn't the Wild West ..."

"It can get pretty breezy where we've come from," I huffed.

"Don't interrupt. I also know that Northern Express guards are powerless to deputise anyone - pals or not."

"But what you don't know is we're privy to the secrets of our hero's brake van and carrying his instrument of authority," Susie asserted.

"Non-executive personnel have no right to issue civilians with official credentials - that's against every rule in the book."

"Mr Harbottle's personalized, whopping big screwdriver isn't subject to petty regulations. Withdraw Jeremiah's mighty Excalibur, Denise, and show the man."

"I'm cognizant with what a screwdriver looks like, but your ignorance of correct train terminology gives lie to your story. Guards no longer exist - they've been replaced by train managers."

"Not when you're on a nostalgia trip, they haven't," Susie countered.

"You aren't old enough to remember any nostalgia."

"Denise has read the complete works of the Reverend Wilbert Awdry to me, and you'll soon have the riot act read to you because here comes your boss, the fat controller."

"It's Sir Topham Hatt to a T H," I observed, of the rotund gentleman chugging towards us.

"A railway knight - just what we fair maidens need on our side, Denise."

"We'll see about that," the guardian at the gate muttered, greeting his superior with an obsequious bow as he puffed to a halt. "Sorry to infringe on your afternoon tea and biscuits, Mr Barrowclough, but we have a legitimacy problem."

"You interrupted me mid-dunk, Mr Snellgrove, and half a Gypsy Cream sank to the bottom," the station master complained, wiping the crumbs from his lips. "What's the trouble here?"

"The young madams are insisting on using these excursion tickets to continue their journey, sir."

Mr Barrowclough scanned the proffered travel documents. "Ah yes, the Cumbrian Coast Special - a slight degrading of the service has been reported."

"You mean we were dumped by the trackside, after being tossed around like a couple of ragdolls when the train jumped the points," Susie retorted. "What a way to run a railroad."

"Autumnal unseatings are unavoidable at this time of the year," the station master insisted. "Particularly with more and slippier leaves on the line as a result of man-made global warming."

"We heard it was man-made sabotage, didn't we, Denise?"

"They're probably spreading that rumour to avoid claims for compensation, Susie."

"Well, they aren't starting with us, or there'll be ructions."

"Now, now." Mr Barrowclough held up his hand in appeasement. "I'm sure we can ..."

"The artful fare dodgers are just trying it on," Snellgrove interrupted. "Take no notice of anything they say, sir."

"Other folk will, though, won't they, Susie?"

"Yes, how would you like to be vilified on Twitter for stranding two underage girls a county from home?" Susie threatened.

"And blacklisted by the Association of Railway Societies of England for good measure. An unfortunate acronym, but you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of them in an argument," I warned, pointing down the platform. "Look - there's the area secretary, sticking his head out of the carriage that's just pulling in."

"Hey, Ronan," Susie waved.

"Hi, Susie - Denise."

"Hear that, Mr Barrowclough - we're on familiar terms with the jaunt's official recorder," I emphasised. "Woe betide you if you're the subject of a critical entry in his logbook."

"Come on, you should already be aboard - this is our relief train."

"There you have it direct from Ronan the railway historian, wielder of a mighty pen," Susie gloated. "Give way before he advises we charge for the taxi that brought us here."

"You told me you hitchhiked ..."

"Don't argue with the young ladies, Mr Snellgrove. I've heard and seen quite enough."

"But sir ..."

"Stand aside, Mr Snellgrove - I'm responsible for customer relations, and I'm overruling you."

"They're laughing up their sleeves at us, sir. The little foxes could talk a banana out of its skin."

"Please, Mr Snellgrove - my tea's getting cold. I've enough aggravation at the moment with Mrs Barrowclough's haemorrhoids and the milkman's familiarity," the station master grimaced. "Return their tickets and nod the girls through."

"Thanks a lot, Sir Topham Hatt - enjoy the rest of your Gypsy Creams," Susie beamed, as he doffed his cap to us, and we continued unhindered on our way.

"And from me, sir," I called over my shoulder. "Try a bread poultice on Mrs Barrowclough's piles - gran swears there's nothing to touch them."

"Cheers, my dears. It's been a pleasure making your acquaintance. I could have had daughters like you, but for Mrs Barrowclough's impromptu headaches."

"Sometimes I believe we could charm the birds out of the trees, Denise."

"Just thank our lucky stars, we encountered a Mr Barrowclough, and not a Mr Mackay, Susie."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"We've arrived, and to prove it we're here," Susie announced, as we climbed on-board.

"Hello, Ronan, you look surprised to see us," I smiled.

"Susie and Denise - I thought we'd lost you," Ronan confessed.

"You can't keep a pair of good girls down," Susie winked. "We're always turning up like a couple of bad pennies."

"But how did you get to Penrith before the train?" Ronan wondered, after we'd taken our seats.

"Oh, we managed to hitch a ride," Susie breezed.

"That's a dangerous thing to do," Ronan frowned. "There are a lot of funny folk abroad."

"Yes, weren't you sharing a taxi with a Mr Clapham?" Susie grinned.

"I had a narrow escape there - the man went mad. He had some sort of fit when I asked for his autograph."

"Made a scene, did he?"

"He gave such a performance the cabbie refused to risk his upholstery and drove off without us."

"So you had another Archbishop of Canterbury experience," I commiserated.

"Not quite - the poor fellow belted his own head, instead of mine. He did stand on my foot as I helped him onto the bus - but I'm sure that wasn't deliberate."

"By the way, where is Hector?" Susie enquired.

"Oh, we won't be bothered by the little guzzler. The grub in the buffet car is going for free as a good-will gesture, and he's busy stuffing his face."

"The accident hasn't spoiled the day for one O'Flaherty, then," I smiled.

"No, but it's left a big gap in my logbook," Ronan lamented. "We've missed out coming back over the Ribblehead viaduct and through Settle."

"There's always next time," Susie consoled. "And a passenger in your influential position will probably receive complimentary tickets."

"That seems only fair," Ronan agreed. "Although it wouldn't affect my report in any way."

"Of course not," Susie nodded. "You're a man of integrity."

"And as such you deserve some immediate compensation," I decided. "We've an uncommon entry for your autograph book, Ronan."

"Really, Denise."

"Yes, the chap we had a lift from turned out to be a most odd fellow, but basically harmless."

"The extraordinary gentleman donated a couple of souvenir pens to us that we're happy to pass on to you," Susie offered, dropping them into one of Ronan's many pockets.

"Together with his personal message," I added.

"But don't you want them for yourselves?"

"No, we're happy just collecting stamps, coins, and banknotes. We really only accepted out of politeness, didn't we, Denise?"

"After allowing us to interrupt his journey, Susie, it would have been rude to refuse the doc's gifts and advice. Here, Ronan, have a read of this," I invited, handing over the sage's words of wisdom. "He's a man after your own heart."

"I understand the idea he's getting at, but who's Archimedes Aristotle Watt?" Ronan puzzled. "It's not the Archbishop of Canterbury, is it?"

"No, a man of scientific vision, like yourself," I elucidated. "He's an authority on belts and flywheels."

"Although it hasn't been recognized by his peers yet," Susie grinned. "The doc's finding it hard to get his levitation project off the ground. Perhaps you could give him a few expert magnetic tips."

"Thanks very much," Ronan blushed, carefully filing the sheet of paper away. "I hope you'll take these in return," he smiled, presenting us with a pair of his society's badges.

"We'll wear them with pride," Susie assured. "What a bonus - after already being more than adequately rewarded by your sharing of vintage steam lore."

"Perhaps you can do us another favour, Ronan. Here ..." I handed him the big screwdriver.

"What's this for, Denise?"

"Do you know Mr Harbottle, the guard on the excursion?"

"Oh, yeah, I've travelled with him before ... and got his autograph. Jeremiah was in the war - I'm not sure which one - he can't talk about it. Although he's lots of interesting tales to tell about his ordeals under fire."

"And so has that screwdriver - it went to Hell and back with our hero, so will you see to the safe return of his trusty weapon?"

"It's an honour to carry something inscribed 'Property of the Ministry of Defence - not to be removed'. I'll make it my top priority to restore it to its rightful owner."

"Good on you, Ronan," Susie approved. "By the way, did anything of note happen while we were otherwise engaged?"

"Not of railway consequence, but there has been a man asking after you. He seemed really keen on making your acquaintance - which isn't so surprising."

"Interesting, Denise."

"If not alarming, Susie."

"He appeared highly respectable," Ronan continued. "If you disregard the bulging biceps, shaven head and sunglasses. I was tempted to ask for his signature until he flexed the muscles on his scalp. It made my hair stand on end, so I thought better of it."

"What do you deduce from Ronan's tense tonsorial experience, Denise?"

"That we should be the ones hiding behind sunglasses, Susie - and the bigger the better."

"I've come to the same conclusion. Excuse us for a moment, Ronan, we may be gone some time pinning on your badges. Denise wishes to retire while I freshen her model-girl make-up."

"If only that were the whole story, Susie," I muttered, as she pulled me to my high-heeled feet. "But I've a feeling Miss Smith will be involved in more than just a good lipsticking before we get off this train."

 

 

Chapter 200

"There, Jeffrey, Denise is fully kissable again," Susie smiled, after repeatedly testing her previous handiwork. "Now behave yourself - no more diversionary tactics."

"So you're moving on to the real reason we're two young ladies locked in the lavatory."

"Can you think of a better place to discuss this latest development, without risking being overheard by our mystery fan?"

"I doubt the man's interested in adding us to his signed photo collection, Susie."

"I'm with you there, Jeffrey. He's definitely another operative after what we no longer have in our possession."

"Somehow, I fear he may not believe us when we attempt to explain the situation to him, Susie."

"And then the recriminations will start, no doubt."

"Which is why we should avoid a close encounter, and the smallest room isn't the ideal spot for achieving it. I want freedom to manoeuvre my knees and elbows, at the very least."

"The question is, Jeffrey - what's our best course of action if we aren't to stay cooped up in here for the rest of the journey."

"First off - one that avoids us being bundled away somewhere and strip-searched."

"You didn't mind being gift-wrapped nearly naked last night ... Wooo hoo ..."

"Shush, Susie," I hissed. "Not now - there's somebody shuffling about outside."

"That's another reason we can't hang around here. We'll have folk queuing up in acute discomfort. Open the door, and we'll be away to coaches new."

"Let's wait awhile and see if the visitor moves on," I murmured. "You never know whom we could run into."

"Youm acting paranoid, Jeffrey, and clinging on to the ems of your mother tongue."

"And with some justification - listen - it's no twinkle-toes hovering in the corridor."

"From Ronan's description, I'm sure our pumped-up guy restricts his liquid intake and possesses exceptional bladder control into the bargain."

"It still can't do any harm to take a preliminary peek."

"Okay ..." Susie opened the door a crack. "Uh-oh ..." A size 12 boot seized the opportunity to jam itself in the gap. "You won't credit what's on the other end of that, Denise."

"Oh yes, I will, Susie, and it makes Hansie look like a ballet dancer," I gulped, when the door was forced open by the foot's owner. "Where did he stomp from?"

"Same place as the other hulks, I imagine, Denise. We've grappled with Mr Big and Mr Bigger, and now Mr Biggest wants to muscle in on the act."

"But none of them outstanding examples of Greek chisel work, Susie. They lack the noble classical features of antiquity."

"What's that?" the intruder growled.

"Just girl talk - sorry to have kept you waiting, sir," Susie smiled. "We've raised the seat, washed our hands, and are leaving immediately."

"Don't go," The giant of a man blocked the exit. "I've been looking for you. We have weighty matters to discuss."

"It's a bit inconvenient just now," I balked. "Three's a crowd in our current location."

"Nonsense - there's room for a big one to squeeze in with two little uns."

"But not with our bags and your suitcase," Susie objected, as the colossus barged forward. "It's toilet items only in here. Why didn't you leave your luggage on the rack?"

"Perhaps because there are light-fingered lassies like you around."

"We resent that. Denise and I are as innocent as new-born lambs."

"Who wouldn't have strayed here if they hadn't stolen a Land Rover."

"Borrowed," Susie corrected.

"Hugh Howe thinks differently. Be on the look-out for two girls in Avengers fancy-dress was his last message before his battery went flat along with his feet."

"Ah, the fog is lifting, Denise. It seems we should have relieved Hughie-boy of his mobile as well as his motor."

"That's the only explanation, Susie. This gentleman must have been waiting in vain for him at Carlisle."

"Yes - my satnav works, unlike my thick brother-in-law's. He sends his regrets at not catching up with you, but he's asked me to act on his behalf."

"So Mr Howe likes to keep it in the family," Susie inferred. "Was the chap who mugged Dr Watt a relative, too?"

"He isn't any cousin of mine, and I warned Hughie against using the slippery sod, but he wouldn't be told," the man scowled. "It came as no surprise to me when I learned tricky Ricky had jumped on the train and tried to get away with the loot all for himself."

"He didn't, you'll be pleased to hear," Susie smiled.

"And neither will you - I never held out much hope of finding the girls with the secret, aboard, but fate has delivered the prize into my hands."

"It appears so," I sighed. "Cruel mistress that she is."

"And you're not escaping our clutches this time. Now shut up and back up," the man ordered, shepherding us from the door with his suitcase.

"That's a big trunk you've got there, mister," Susie frowned. "There isn't a body inside, is there?"

"Not yet."

"Sometimes I wish you weren't so inquisitive, Susie."

"But we've got the full story now, Denise, and my double double-cross theory has proved doubly correct."

"Regrettably, there's scarcely room in here for me to pat you on the back, Susie."

"Then we'll have to breathe in a touch, Denise."

"Okay, Susie, but when I do, it pushes Pinky and Perky out."

"To prevent Denise snapping a strap, would you consider reconvening the meeting in more spacious surroundings?" Susie requested. "Like the Albert Hall."

"No," the man grunted, securing the door behind him. "This is the perfect place for a cosy tete-a-tete."

"A Frenchie, after the Jerries and the Ruskies, Denise. But don't despair, next up, one of our transatlantic cousins will ride to the rescue - late again, but welcome nevertheless."

"I'm afraid this time you are definitely on your own," Mr Biggest gloated.

"He's right, Susie - I couldn't name one famous American trainspotter off the top of my head."

"Then it's down to God for Harry, England, and Saint George, Denise. Get ready to imitate the action of the tiger."

"Unfortunately for you, my little pussycats, I'm not French, and I won't be rolling over."

"Oh, my mistake," Susie apologised. "What are you, then, Monsieur ...?"

"You can call me Bruno."

"Oh, it's first-names from the very off, is it?"

"You decide - I'm Bruno Bruno."

"Ah, his parents lacked imagination, Denise."

"It's self-chosen - an international soldier of fortune requires a nom de guerre, pronounced the same the world over."

"Really - even in Japan?" I questioned.

"Hey, Denise, I bet Bruno could give those sumo wrestlers a shove for their ha'penny."

"He will take some moving, Susie."

"That's enough - I'm in no mood for backchat. In future, speak when you're spoken to."

"You were spot-on, Denise - he's not seeking our autographs."

"A fanatic, not a fan, judging by his performance thus far, Susie."

"So you knew I was looking for you, and decided to hide away from trouble."

"You could say we were erring on the side of caution after experiencing some unwelcome advances from various parties during our journey," I conceded. "Not that we're accusing Mr Bruno of any inappropriate behaviour, are we, Susie?"

"Yes, we are, Denise. Don't be so bloody polite."

"Your friend has the right attitude. Good manners are always rewarded - even by me," Bruno smirked, before being rudely interrupted by an angry hammering on the door.

Bangitty-bangitty-bang!

"How about we vacate the premises for the next in line, then?" I proposed. "Somebody sounds desperate for relief."

Bangitty-bangitty-bang!

"Bugger off - I'm busy," Bruno shouted back.

Bangitty-bangitty-bang!

"What's the matter - have you cloth ears? Get lost!"

"Open up - this is the train manager speaking. I know what's going on in there. I run a tight ship - mixed ablutions are not allowed on my watch."

"Go away, and mind your own business," Bruno barked. "Let a man visit the office in peace."

"He's trapped his secretaries in with him," Susie called. "And it's not only dictation he wants us to take down."

"I told you to belt up," Bruno hissed.

"Release the lock - this is your last chance to avoid a statutory penalty before I effect an official entry."

"The man ain't kidding," Susie advised. "Guards are fully tooled up these days."

"Yes, do as he says," I urged. "We don't want to be tasered into submission."

"Open up immediately - or I shall deliver you into the hands of the railway police at the next station."

"All right - we can make room for one more," Bruno growled, jerking open the door. "Welcome to the party, Big Ears."

"A man in the lav with two ladies in leather!" the train manager gawked. "I've walked in on an orgy."

"You're just in time to prevent a felony," Susie cried. "Arrest this pervert - he wanted to watch two little girls wee-wee."

"All over each other," I sobbed.

"You unspeakable swine!" the guard spluttered. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

"Yes - good-night, Big Ears." Bruno's muscular fingers pinched the base of the train manager's neck ...

"Ooooooeeeerrr..."

"Pleasant dreams." ... and guided him unconscious onto the toilet seat.

"Somebody's taken lessons from Mr Spock, Denise."

"The guard isn't prospering, Susie. I hope he hasn't boldly gone too far for his own good."

"The man's not dead, but let that serve as an example of the dangers of non-cooperation," Bruno rasped, slamming shut the door.

"About what?" Susie queried.

"That's right - the devious doctor's designs. Where's his flash drive, you little bunnies?"

"Oh, we've another daydream believer on our hands, Denise."

"I thought that Wovver was only true in fairy tales, Susie."

"Disappointment haunted all the doc's dreams, Denise."

"Observe - I'm not the least bit amused." Bruno temporarily removed his sunglasses and gave his eye muscles a workout.

"The guy could blink and crack walnuts, Susie."

"I'm still not laughing."

"We're not at our punny best," Susie admitted. "Sharing a stage with a strong man act, his suitcase, a train manager, and our two bags, plus the bog, wash basin, and towel dispenser is rather cramping our free-wheeling comedy style."

"To avoid your farce turning into tragedy, you'll give me what you've stolen."

"The bod's barking up the wrong tree, isn't he, Denise?"

"Madly, Susie."

"Not so, my cheeky moppets - I had an informative conversation with a gentleman who vividly remembers you pestering him to insert Homer Simpson into his laptop."

"Ah, that's the flash drive Mr Bruno's after, Denise."

"Now you're seeing sense, my girl."

"But you won't be seeing it, chummy," Susie informed him. "We've previously returned the object in question to the original owner."

"You expect me to fall for that," Bruno snorted, in sync to an urgent rapping on the door.

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"It's like Piccadilly Circus around here, Denise."

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Blast - who's that!"

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Another clown desperate to use the facilities," Susie offered.

"Well, they can tie a knot in it," Bruno fumed.

"Keep your scalp on," Susie scolded.

"And you'll keep your bald jokes to yourself if you know what's good for you."

"Whoops, Denise - it's so easy to inadvertently say the wrong thing these politically correct days."

"You really should try to be more tactful, Susie. Early hair loss is a traumatic experience for some men. We're sorry if that's the case with you, sir."

"I lost all mine at twenty-one ..."

"That must have been some card game," Susie whistled.

"Why you ..."

Rappity-rappity-rap! Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Bloody hell," Bruno exploded, and banged on the door in lieu of Susie's head. "Try somewhere else - this is engaged."

"You've only yourself to blame for holding a business meeting in the bog," Susie chided.

Rappity-rappity-rap! Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Piss off!" Bruno yelled.

Thumpity-thumpity-thump!

"He's not giving up, Denise."

"That's a six-pack of Vimto knocking, by the urgency of it," I deduced.

"Whatever they've imbibed to excess, it's making them hyper-frantic, Denise."

"They'll be pulling the emergency cord next, Susie, and charging to our rescue."

"We'll see about that!" Bruno pushed us back and flung open the door. "Can I help you, young man?"

"Oh, they're not the Seventh Cavalry, by a short cheese, Susie."

"Hey, you were Vimto percipient, Denise - it's our Ecky with his twelve-pack."

"So you know each other." Bruno grabbed Hector's anorak and yanked him through the door. "Then he'd better come right on in."

"Sorry to disturb you," Hector gaped, at the sight of the raging bull, "but I'm bursting."

"You've come to the proper place, Tubby. I wouldn't want you embarrassing yourself in front of the other passengers."

"If it's in use, I'll try again later when it's not so crowded," Hector squeaked.

"Get over there with your pals and keep quiet," Bruno ordered, pushing Hector into our arms.

"We don't want him,
You can have him.
He's too fat for us,"

We chorused, shoving Hector back where he came from.

"He's your problem now.
You can have him,
We don't want him."

"Well, you've bloody got him!" Bruno grabbed Hector's collar and thrust the startled youth between us.

"Oh, budge up, Susie."

"The more the merrier, Denise."

"What's happening?" Hector whined, clutching his crotch, as he was shunted forward. "Have we all been kidnapped by a white slaver?"

"Shut it," Bruno directed, depositing his charge into the train manager's lap. "There you are, Noddy - sort it out with Big Ears."

"Oh, he's found room for one more on top, Denise."

"I didn't mean what I said before, girls, honest," Hector grovelled. "Get me out of here, please."

"Quit snivelling, Tubby," Bruno glowered. "I'm not interested in you."

"Okay, but I ain't overweight - I'm big-boned - ask my mum."

"Just sit there and keep your fat mouth shut. Speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil, get no evil - geddit?"

"Yes - those girls are a nuisance, anyhow," Hector whimpered. "I won't tell on you, so can I use the toilet?"

"Be my guest."

"But it's already occupied, and ... Ah, he's not dead, is he - like Elvis?" Hector shuddered.

"No, but you'll be joining him in limbo if you don't stop whining."

"Oh, give the boy a leak," I pleaded.

"Bloody kids!" Bruno ranted, dragging the train manager onto the floor. "There - it's all yours. What are you waiting for?"

"I can't do it with people watching. Would you mind facing away?"

"Are you bleedin' bonkers!" Bruno seethed.

"Hold on for a little longer, Hector. We're more than happy to turn both cheeks, aren't we, Denise?"

"Definitely, Susie," I agreed, and gestured to Mr Bruno. "After you, sir - standing in a puddle will only hinder our negotiations."

"And there's the gentleman's trunk to consider, Denise - Hector's probably got enough in his tank to float it away."

"I'm not turning my back on you two. Get up against the door."

"Move over, then, so we can squeeze past," I appealed.

"Don't stand so close to me," Bruno spluttered, when we completed the manoeuvring. "You're invading my privacy."

"Can you ease over a shade, Susie? I've a feeling I may be distracting the gentleman."

"There's always most thrutching where there's least room, Denise."

"He's so enormous, wherever I stand, he's next to me, Susie."

"To knee, or not to knee? There's the rub, Denise."

"Try that, and you'll feel the flat of my hand," Bruno threatened. "Both of you - get out of my personal space."

"You're the bod taking up the limited real estate," Susie protested. "What do you need all that musculature for - did someone kick sand in your face as a skinny youth?"

"Carry on with the smart talk, Missy, and you'll find out the hard way. Now keep your distance," Bruno commanded.

"We would, but you welcoming every Tom, Dick, and Hector to the party means there's no distance to keep, isn't that right, Denise?"

"I'm happy having a crush on you, Susie, even if the walls are closing in on us."

"The feelings are mutual, Denise, but I'm more worried about the air. There isn't enough for the five of us in this tiny sealed room."

"And with the build-up of carbon dioxide, we'll soon start to feel drowsy," I yawned.

"Oh, you've got me doing it now," Susie gulped.

"Before long we'll all be too far gone to open the door," I sighed.

"Stop that," Bruno coughed, undoing the top button of his shirt. "And stay down your own end."

"Hey, you're not the slightest bit claustrophobic, are you?" Susie suggested. "Hard cheddar if you are, because there's more free space in one of my uncle's coffins."

"Shut up about coffins!"

"I wish I could, but it's like being buried alive, and hot as Hell," Susie complained. "And it must feel ten times worse for you - a man your size requires the ears of an elephant to prevent thermal runaway."

"It's the bloody heating - they've got it turned up too high," Bruno gasped.

"Would it help with your ventilation if we started breathing in sequence, sir?" I enquired.

"You're the ones who'll need resuscitating," Bruno puffed. "There's plenty of oxygen at my level. I'll be the last to lose consciousness."

"Not with your high metabolic rate, against two Duracell bunnies, you won't," Susie claimed. "We had your number from the start - that's why we lured you into this undersized enclosure."

"What do you mean?"

"You know," Susie taunted. "You're not so clever that you can pretend to be stupid."

"I'm not pretending anything as you'll find out if you don't quit your crazy talk."

"Perhaps we should change the subject, Susie, and confine our conversation to a neutral topic, like the weather."

"Okay, Denise - I predict it's going to become increasingly stuffy with thunder and lightning to follow."

"Preceded by a sprinkling of showers," I forecast, against a background of Hector's tinkling.

"For God's sake, stop piddling and start pissing like a man, boy," Bruno snapped. "It's worse than the Chinese water torture listening to you."

"I'm doing my best, but it won't come."

"Run the tap for him, Mr Bruno," I suggested. "That might help the flow."

"I'm not his nursemaid. Bugger the brat - we're getting on with our business."

"Oh, it's all flooded out at once," Hector cried. "And gone over somebody's head."

"Ooohh," the train manager groaned, partially revived by Hector's administrations. "Don't make me an accomplice in your filthy water sports."

"Go back to sleep!" Bruno bent down and repeated his Vulcan nerve pinch. "Sod it, now my hand's all wet."

"Sorry about that," Hector apologised. "Do you want to borrow my hanky?"

"Put that and Percy away before a sparrow pecks the little worm," Bruno bellowed.

"And don't forget to give it a good shake first," Susie instructed.

"Oooooooowwwww!" Hector screamed. "I've caught it in the zip. That's her fault, hurrying me up. She's worse than my mum for bossing people about."

"I'll shove your potty, bloody head down the toilet if you don't can it," Bruno cursed.

"You'd better not - my big brother will soon come looking for me," Hector blustered. "We're getting off at the next stop."

"And so am I - this is the end of any messing around," Bruno menaced, switching his glare to us. "Give me what you've pilfered right now, girls, or you'll feel the discomfort of my taking it by force."

"Gee, Denise, where's the honour among thieves? Mighty Samson, here, should be ashamed of threatening two fragile Delilahs."

"You're way off the mark there, Susie. With Mr Bruno having no hair to cut, it's more of a David and Goliath situation."

"Let's make everyone happy, then," Bruno grunted, seizing Hector by the ears. "I'll behave like a Philistine gentleman and pull pieces off your boyfriend, instead, until you come across with the goods."

"Leggo!" Hector yelped. "I'm not their boyfriend. Those daffy girls broke my foot. Gerroff - and I'll show you the bruise."

Bruno tightened his grip. "Here we go, ladies - apres moi, the delug," he laughed.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrggggghhh! Give him what he wants before he rips off my ear," Hector begged.

"Pardon me, sonny, I feel a slight touch of cramp coming on," Bruno snickered, before adjusting his stance. "Is this your sore foot under mine?"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssss!"

"Hang on in there, Hector," Susie encouraged. "Defeat is an impossibility. Who said that, Denise?"

"Napoleon wasn't it, Susie?"

"Aren't you confusing him with Wellington, Denise?"

"Fork over those blueprints, or Tubby will be meeting his very own Waterloo," Bruno snarled. "Starting right now!"

"Ooooooooooooooooowwwwww!"

"Don't give in, Hector - time is on our side," Susie predicted. "The brute's endurance is limited. He'll collapse from exhaustion before any permanent damage is done."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but inflicting pain has given me a second wind," Bruno cackled, "And now a third."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhh!"

"We can't allow a fellow steam enthusiast to be treated in this fashion, Susie. I could never look Thomas the Tank Engine in his face again."

"Then hand me that flash drive, or I'll hang up Tubby by his ears," Bruno swore.

"If it's the pens the man is asking for, Denise, perhaps we should let him have them toot sweet."

"There's more than one, is there," Bruno muttered. "So the wily Dr Watt planned on selling his secrets to both parties."

"Don't speak ill of the mad," I rebuked. "It's standard practice to back up priceless data and keep it in a different place."

"Spare me the IT lecture - I've had my fill of your delaying tactics," Bruno warned, releasing his grip on Hector's burning lobes. "Hand over the goods, or sonny boy will be blessed with a nose like Rudolph's to match his ears."

"Beast," Hector sobbed, and shrank between the bathroom furniture to not rub his wounds.

"After the way you've behaved, your presents won't be gift-wrapped," I admonished. "You'll have to take them as we find them."

"Just get on with it," our agitated antagonist ordered, as another knock came on the door.

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Bear with us, Mr Bruno," I requested.

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Come on - move it - I don't want to deal with any more visitors. It's a bloody madhouse in here already."

"Ah, you're feeling the room's shrinking again," Susie detected. "Best open up before the palpitations start."

"I can hear the pounding of his heartbeat, Susie - it's racing ninety-nine to the dozen."

"And the pulses in both temples are throbbing with the strain, Denise."

"It must be like a pressure cooker inside his skull, Susie."

"There'll be steam coming out of the ears next, Denise."

"If he doesn't blow his top first."

"His scalp's gone as red as a rooster."

"Shut bloody up!" Bruno bawled.

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"And you!"

"Let them in," Susie urged. "Who knows? It might be Elvis, himself."

"This is your very last chance," Bruno sweated, undoing another button. "The clock's ticking."

"And he's a turkey whose goose is cooked, Denise."

"A self-basting one, by all appearances, Susie."

"I promise you my patience will run out before the air does," Bruno choked.

"We're nervous doing business with representatives who hide behind sunglasses," I frowned. "Would you mind removing your shades again?"

"I was about to," Bruno snorted, revealing his bulging, bloodshot eyes. "I intend closely inspecting the merchandise."

"Thank you," I smiled. "Excuse me a moment while I open my bag."

"No tricks - I'm watching you," Bruno panted.

"Trust us," Susie grinned. "We wouldn't have it any other way, with a man so hot under his collar."

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Just bloody hurry up."

"Would a drink of water help with your high anxiety attack?" I asked. "Dehydration can cause all sorts of alarming symptoms."

"You'll want reviving if you don't get a move on," Bruno wheezed. "Hand over your ill-gotten gains."

"Any chance of some compensation in return for all the effort we've expended on your account?" Susie enquired.

"No!"

"That's pretty steep, Denise."

"Almost perpendicular, Susie."

"You're in danger of being laid out horizontal," Bruno boiled.

"You heard the man, Denise - this is the moment when things had better come to his head, and not ours."

"Okay, Susie, you take the left - I'll take the right," I muttered, handing her one of the lasers.

"Hey, they really are pens," Bruno croaked, bending over for a closer look. "Can you write with them, as well?"

"Yes - you press this button on the little gems," I indicated.

"And emerald ink bursts forth," Susie whooped.

"Whaaaaaaaaa!" Our dual beams beat Bruno to the blink. "Who turned on the illuminations!"

"We did, when you thought you'd hit the jackpot," Susie hooted, ducking under Bruno's flailing arms.

"Hellzapoppin', Susie - he's self-combusting. Let's put him out."

"What's happening to me?" Bruno wailed, as we turned his crimson face a bright green. "I'm seeing flashing lights."

"Mercy, Denise - don't look - the man's having a seizure."

"It's a catastrophic, claustrophobic lack of oxygen, Susie. He's grown too big for his environment, like the dinosaurs."

"Aaaaaaahhhh, I need fresh air," Bruno gurgled.

"With that excess of beef, it'll be the bends he's suffering from, too, Denise."

"Oh, I feel faint," Bruno panicked.

"Quick, sir - place your head between your legs," I recommended.

"Uuuuuuuuuhhhhh!"

"He's taking your advice, Denise, and keeling over. Now's our chance for kneeing under."

"Aaaaaarrrrggghhh!"

"No muscles there, Susie," I reported, as the man mountain crumbled and tumbled over his trunk.

"Whoops! That's what comes of not stowing your luggage safely in the rack, Denise."

Craaaaaaacccckkkk!

"Oooops! Misfortune piles upon misfortune," I cheered, as our adversary's bullet bonce scored a direct hit on the wash basin.

"Lights out, Denise - the rocky Rocky won't beat the count."

"Mr Bruno should have paid more heed to the Book of Samuel, Susie."

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Someone else will have to administer the smelling salts and the lesson for today, Denise. Let's go - this place ain't big enough for the five of us."

"Don't leave me here with the mad bully," Hector pleaded from his refuge by the toilet. "He'll be so hacked off, I'm scared of what he might pull on next."

"Mr Bruno's immobilised for the moment, and reinforcements are on the way," I promised. "When they get here, tell them you're the boy who single-handedly saved the train manager from a rampaging monster."

"Ta-ra, Hector," Susie waved, as we prepared to step outside. "The railway owes a debt of gratitude to a wounded hero - make the most of your triumph."

"But ..."

"This is the chance of a lifetime," I exhorted. "The enemy is at your feet - seize the moment, and show Ronan what you're really made of."

"I bloody well will - and mum!" Hector stood up and planted his Kicker boot on the unconscious Bruno's head. "I deserve all the glory that's going after what the beast did to me."

Rappity-rappity-rap!

"Open the door, Denise, and we'll be off and running."

"Sorry, we weren't aware you'd formed a queue," I greeted the first passenger in the line. "It took a little longer to wash our hands of the whole affair than we imagined."

"Wait a minute," the man demanded. "What's happening in there?"

"Nothing that will more than slightly inconvenience you," Susie assured, pushing her way past. "Only three laid-out laddies sharing the lavatory."

"Disgusting behaviour - I shall report their activities to the train manager."

"You've come to the right place, and not before time," Susie reproved. "He's fallen from his throne, waiting to hear your complaints."

"What do you ..."

"Sorry," I interrupted, "we can't stop - a friend's just appeared from out of somewhere."

"Hi, Ronan," Susie called, setting off to meet the new arrival. "Are you looking for Hector?"

"Yes, he's been ages going to wash his hands," Ronan fretted. "I hope he's not the one causing the congestion."

"Quite the contrary, Hector's the hero of the hour who's relieved it faster than a Vick's Vapour Rub," Susie smiled.

"What?" Ronan goggled.

"The little Trojan limped to the rescue by putting his ear on the line and resolving a tense hostage situation," I explained.

"He can't have!" Ronan double-goggled.

"But he did - totally redeeming himself in our eyes. Off you go to record his valiant feat for posterity," I urged. "The scene calls for a man with logbook and camera. And remember - believe everything Hector says."

"But how ..."

"We'll leave the tidying up of any loose ends to the Society secretary," Susie grinned. "We have a station to catch."

"And quickly," I added. "Bye, Ronan - happy rails!"

"Don't take any dud Archbishops of Canterbury," Susie whooped.

"We timed it to perfection," I rejoiced, as we scampered away down the carriage. "The train's pulling into Lancston."

"Then let's be first onto the platform, Jeffrey."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Bruno may have lacked the hair of a Samson, Susie, but we left the muscle-bound brute helpless in the khazi," I smiled, as we strolled along the high street.

"You know what, Jeffrey - I wouldn't be surprised if that dodgy bugger wasn't a Frenchman, after all."

"You can't argue with a double negative, Susie."

"Or his garlic breath - which we were too polite to mention."

"One of our many admirable qualities," I allowed.

"And we're only a stone's throw from the establishment of a man who fully appreciates them," Susie smirked. "Perhaps Uncle Frank is relaxing there, polishing his coffins, after cremating the squire."

"It would save a lot of bother if we got a ride home with him."

"Or, failing that, we could drop in on Stephanie for a chat while we wait for a parent to pick us up."

"Oh, but what if she persuades Denise to model another one of her outfits? I'll have a new incarnation to explain to mum."

"However glamorous it is, we'll think of something - we always do."

"It must be all the fish we eat, Susie."

"Now you mention it, Jeffrey, I've worked up quite an appetite again."

"Then let's follow our noses to the nearest chippy."

"Where we'll order jumbo cods for the Dinky Doo Avengers. Speaking of which, are you disappointed Ronan neglected to ask for their autographs?"

"No, Susie - we should never put anything in writing."

"Yes, that's another lesson we've learned on our travels - a document trail can only lead to troubles."

"Successfully surmounted, Susie - what a pair we make."

"You've said it, Jeffrey. We played a blinder today."

"We deserve gold medals for improvisation, alone, Susie," I beamed, as we linked arms to duet our way into town.

"There'll never be anyone else,
But you for me.
Never ever be,
Just couldn't be,
Anyone else but you."

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

"Sometimes, Jeffrey, I wonder at the sheer improbability of our adventures."

"So do I, Susie - and the total impossibility of the Universe and everything in it."

"Then you'd better have another piece of cod, Jeffrey."

"Thank you, Susie - I will."