3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers (25 page)

‘That’s the one,’ I said. ‘It’s a small world.’

Sid nodded. ‘Although we only spoke for a few minutes, he tried to persuade me to invest in his gold mine. I wasn’t interested. It seemed an unlikely proposition and one the bank should have no part of.’

‘Rupert mentioned that his father had just reopened it. It must be nice to have something like that and I suppose it explains why the Payne family evicted all their tenants from the land and why Sir Gerald didn’t want us around.’

‘He’d certainly want to protect his assets. The price of gold has risen quite substantially this year and looks like going higher, which I suppose is why he feels it worthwhile. I guess he found someone to invest.’

I finished my glass of water and yawned. ‘I’m sorry, but all of a sudden, I’m feeling terribly sleepy.’

‘You can use Bram’s room, young fellow,’ said Sid. ‘It’s all made up.’

Taking my bag, he escorted me upstairs and led me into a bedroom. ‘Here you go. You know where the batroom is. Just watch out for the cat. I’ll leave you to it. Sleep well.’ With a toothy smile, he left.

The bedroom was small, with old football posters on the wall; the bed was by the window. I had just enough energy for a trip to the batroom and to get into my pyjamas before losing control of my mouth, which went into a spasm of deep yawning. I crawled into bed, unfazed by the black satin sheets. They smelt clean and fresh and, having turned out the lamp on the bedside table, I fell asleep as soon as the blankets settled.

So far as I know, I slept through the night and awoke with a start to find the sun streaming into the room. I grasped for memories of dreams, finding them as fragile as the mist that had filled them, but all I could recall were vague, fractured images: Sid clinging to the wall outside, snatching at moths; Sid crawling across the ceiling in pursuit of spiders; Sid’s blood red eyes. Although I knew they were merely dreams, they were strangely disturbing. As I tried to bring back more images, the church clock struck nine times.

It seemed I had slept both well and long, and my stomach thought it high time to remind me of breakfast. I wasn’t certain Sid would provide one and was wondering whether I’d have to return to Blackdog Street. Yet, before anything, the batroom beckoned. I washed and shaved, checking, despite my better judgement, that there were no puncture marks in my neck. Satisfied, I dressed and went downstairs, finding Sid in the kitchen, reading the newspaper at the table. A mug of coffee steamed on the table in front of him.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘Excellent, young fellow. Now, would you care to break your fast here?’

‘That’s very kind.’

‘Nonsense. We’re old friends now. Blood brothers you might say.’

I wondered what he meant, but a more urgent matter was the question of what to eat. I decided on coffee, and toast and marmalade, finding, to my surprise, that the marmalade was every bit as good as Mrs Goodfellow’s. It was less of a surprise to learn she’d actually made it. Sid read his paper as I ate my fill and I was brushing the crumbs from my lips when he spoke again.

‘The gold price has gone up.’

‘I guess Sir Gerald will be pleased,’ I said.

Sid nodded. ‘But Colonel Squire won’t. The bank will make good what he lost in the robbery, if necessary, but only at the price of gold at the time. The colonel will no doubt be preparing another salvo of sarcasm about his theoretical losses even as we speak. Let’s hope Wilber does his stuff quickly.’

‘Let’s hope so. Of course, he lost something in the robbery as well. I guess it was valuable if he kept it in the vaults.’

‘You would think so,’ said Sid. ‘More coffee?’

‘No thanks. It’s perked me up considerably.’

‘Good,’ said Sid, ‘because you were looking a little pale.’

‘Was I? Well, I’m fine now.’ I laughed, thinking it fitting that I should be pale after a night in a vampire’s house. Though I felt absolutely safe, I couldn’t deny a slight, nagging unease. ‘Anyway, I should be getting out now and see what’s happening.’

‘Ask Wilber to keep me up to date with any developments.’

I nodded, thinking he would, assuming there were any to report. I hoped he wouldn’t be wasting too much time with Rupert. In my opinion, he ought to have been protecting Daphne, rather than helping the unpleasant youth spy on her.

Taking my leave, I stepped out into the morning sun, pulling my jacket close against a chill wind, trying to ensure there were as few chinks in my armour as was possible. Denied entry, it expended its fury by whipping up dust and fallen leaves, though there were no trees nearby. I decided not to walk straight back to Blackdog Street, but to make a loop past the museum and, although I pretended I was acting on a whim, deep down, I was hoping to bump into Daphne. I had a vague idea that I could give her a fulsome apology for the can of beans and had a feeble hope that she’d laugh, forgive me and agree to meet me sometime.

I was utterly amazed when that was precisely what did happen. She was walking towards me and agreed to stop and talk. We didn’t have long, since she didn’t want to be late, explaining that she’s just started working at the museum, but, importantly, she agreed to meet me at half-past twelve. Leaving her outside the museum, I walked the rest of the way home in a daze, wondering how to fill the next three hours until our rendezvous at the Black Dog Café.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Kathy as I walked in, shutting the door behind me. ‘What are you grinning at?’

‘I’m just feeling cheerful,’ I said. ‘It’s a beautiful day.’

‘Huh! It’s goddam freezing. This dump doesn’t have central heating.’

‘Put a jumper on.’

‘A what?’ She snapped shut the book she was holding.

‘A sweater.’

‘I’m wearing two sweaters.’

‘Well, how about a brisk walk? That’ll warm you up.’

‘How about I kick your butt? That’ll warm us both up.’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘Wha’d’ya mean?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘you’re not in a very good mood.’

She hurled the book. It struck me on the ear and smashed a glass vase on the rebound. Although I believed this proved my hypothesis, I didn’t hang around to make the point, for she was already reaching for a mug. Rubbing my ear, I fled towards the kitchen, where Mrs Goodfellow was kneeling on the table, scrubbing with a chunk of sandstone.

‘What’s up with her?’ I asked.

‘It’s lack of sleep, dear. Young Rupert woke in the night and needed the bathroom. He tripped twice on his way upstairs, banged his head on the bathroom door and then fell into the bath. He lay there moaning until I went in and pulled him out. Then he tumbled downstairs. After that, he thought it would be a good time to start a sing-song and wouldn’t be quiet.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Since I reckoned the old fellow needed his rest, I gave Rupert a tap on the chin to shut him up.’

‘Did it work?’

She nodded. ‘He slept as quiet as a corpse, but woke with a bit of a headache. I think that was from all the wine he’d put away.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Out for a walk with the old fellow and Dregs. The old fellow’s rib is still a bit sore.’

‘I’m not surprised, after catching Kathy like that. There’s a lot of her.’

‘Shut up!’ said Kathy who was at the kitchen door, glowering.

Mrs Goodfellow caught the mug an inch from my nose. ‘Calm down,’ she said, mildly.

‘Make me,’ said Kathy, walking into the kitchen, looking mean and dangerous.

‘If you want, dear.’

Moving with the speed of a striking falcon, she patted Kathy’s neck with an open hand. Kathy’s eyes opened in surprise and closed in unconsciousness and Mrs Goodfellow, catching her as she dropped, laid her on the table.

‘What have you done?’ I asked.

‘I’ve just relaxed her. She’ll sit up soon.’

‘But how?’

‘I could tell you, dear, but then I’d have to kill you.’

I laughed, assuming she was joking. ‘Umm … I’ll not be in for lunch today. I’m … umm … meeting someone.’

‘Oh yes? Anyone special?’

‘I’m not sure. I hope so, I think.’

‘Good for you, dear. You’ll be wanting some pocket money, I expect.’

‘Umm …’ I said, cursing myself for having once again forgotten my penniless state. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

She rummaged in the pocket of her pinafore, pulled out her purse and handed me a wad of notes. ‘Take this, dear.’

‘I couldn’t possibly,’ I said.

I didn’t feel good about myself, but I did take it.

Having gone upstairs and changed, I strolled into town, intending to mooch about and see what was going down on the street. I was, in fact, planning to waste time until lunch, but, after an hour or so, somewhat bored, and with money in my pocket, I thought I’d treat myself to a cappuccino and a doughnut at the Café Olé, a hot and happening new coffee shop on Vermin Street, or so the posters led me to believe. On entering, I stood in the doorway, disappointed by the cheap plastic tables and chairs, until the waiter, finishing his obviously-important phone call, showed me, the only customer, to a seat with its very own icy draught. After a brief glance at the menu he’d slapped onto the table in front of me, and a sharp intake of breath at the prices, I got up to leave.

Although I considered myself a man of the world, one well used to verbal abuse, I was shocked by the vileness and vitriol of the waiter’s language as I walked out. Trying to ignore him, I marched nonchalantly away, even when he burst out after me, launching barrel-loads of filthy words in my general direction. I couldn’t help but think the café’s future would be a short one, although, in fairness, Featherlight had successfully used a similar strategy at the Feathers.

He kept on coming and, losing my nerve, I fled ignominiously up Vermin Street towards The Shambles, seeking sanctuary in the church, which was almost empty. I ducked down into a pew just as he burst in, still swearing, and lay flat until I heard him leave. I stretched out, catching my breath, letting my heart rate drop. Someone else walked in and sat down a few rows away. Since I was comfortable and it would have been embarrassing to pop up suddenly like a piece of toast, I stayed put, contemplating the ornate carvings on the ceiling, wondering why some craftsman long ago had carved a cat pursuing a mouse.

‘Hello, boss,’ a deep, rough, male voice whispered. ‘No, I haven’t found him. He was in a pub in town yesterday, but no one I’ve spoken to has seen him since. The little guy in the pub told me he’d found the kid’s wallet down the back of a bench and had handed it in at the cop shop.’

My mild curiosity at eavesdropping a stranger’s conversation changed to serious interest.

‘Yes, boss, I have found where she lives and she’s got a job at the museum … No, as I said, no one seems to have seen him and I’ve already been everywhere I can think of. Sure, boss, I’ll keep looking. Should I do anything about her? … Yes, boss.’

I heard the pew creak as he stood up, the heaviness of his feet as he walked away, and sat up to see who it was. Unfortunately, a group of tourists had just come in and blocked most of my view and all I got was a glimpse of a large man with a bald head. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t work out why. It was frustrating.

I sat for a few minutes, trying to puzzle out what I’d just heard, convinced the man was the one Rupert had mentioned, the one that had made him nervous. After rummaging through the mess in my head, the name Denny came to mind and, I thought, it was just as well he hadn’t spotted me eavesdropping, for the vast acreage of his back had suggested massive strength.

What worried me most was the
her
he’d mentioned. Unless I was making a right hash of things, something I was admittedly perfectly capable of,
her
meant Daphne and I had a horrible feeling she was in danger. I’d learned from Hobbes that feelings, or instincts, came from the subconscious and should not be ignored since they were often more reliable than the intellect, especially when the intellect was mine. Sometimes I worried about my brain and wondered if it had a mind of its own.

I stood up, hurried out and looked around, but Denny had long gone. Making my way to the museum, I loitered outside, like a sentry guarding Buckingham Palace, hoping my mere presence might be some protection for her.

After a while, despite stamping my feet and rubbing my hands together, I was getting cold, as well as attracting puzzled glances from passers-by. Realising I was not the usual impecunious Andy, but Andy with a wad of cash in his pocket, I paid the entrance fee and went inside.

16

Having smoothed down my hair, I made a quick reconnaissance. There was no sign of Daphne and, since there were few visitors, none of whom looked a likely threat, I relaxed and took another look at the photo of Hobbes.

Without Kathy to entertain, I took the opportunity for an in-depth examination. I had no doubt it was him, the notion of seeing him in really old pictures no longer striking me as remarkable, but it was his companion who was the real puzzle. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn it was Featherlight. Several minutes of staring later, I wondered if I knew anything at all, for he did look uncannily like Featherlight, admittedly, minus a couple of chins and belly rolls and sporting a Clark Gable moustache, yet it had to be him. No one else could have looked like that, and, furthermore, he might almost have passed for Hobbes’s brother.