3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers (39 page)

I heard the second axeman scream and looked back to see him throw his weapon aside and run, his face cauliflower white, his eyes bulging like a rabbit’s.

As I turned back, Sir Gerald pulled a pistol from his pocket.

‘He’s got a gun, too!’ I shouted.

‘Oh do shut up!’ he said, pointing it at me and pulling the trigger.

A shot cracked, as I was flinging myself to the ground behind the beer kegs. Billy dived in beside me. Another shot showered us with brick dust and I looked up to see a crater in the wall above.

‘This is a bit of a mess,’ I said between shocked gasps.

‘We had a plan,’ said Billy, ‘and it was all going smoothly until you mucked it up. You weren’t supposed to be here.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, getting to my knees and peering out.

The other Hobbes was talking to Kathy, who was staring at him and nodding, while Denny lay groaning on the floor. Rupert, apparently in shock, had dropped the shotgun and looked like he was crying.

‘There are two Hobbeses. I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Billy. ‘Just keep your head down before you get it shot off.’

Although it was undoubtedly good advice, I felt a compulsion to keep watching.

‘Leave the girl alone,’ said Sir Gerald.

Hobbes turned to face him.

‘I told you to come alone,’ said Sir Gerald. ‘If you had, and you’d done what I asked, I’d have spared her.’

‘I very much doubt it, sir. You couldn’t afford to have her as a witness.’

‘Maybe I could,’ said Sir Gerald with a shrug. ‘I’m not a monster. Unfortunately, you’ve forced my hand and, alas, you will all have to die.’

‘What would be the point?’ said Hobbes, his voice calm and soothing. ‘It’s all over now. Too many people have seen what’s happened. Why don’t you just put the gun down, sir?’

‘Do you really imagine,’ said Sir Gerald with a harsh laugh, ‘that I’m going to give up just like that? I might be in a tight corner, but I’m still in the game.’

‘Please, give me the gun,’ said Hobbes, taking a step forward, holding out his hand. ‘You can’t possibly get away with it.’

Sir Gerald raised the gun.

Still Hobbes advanced, his voice quiet and calm: ‘Don’t be a fool, sir. Put the gun down. Put it down!’

‘I’ll put you down,’ said Sir Gerald.

‘I wouldn’t do that, Gerry,’ said Pinky marching forward, muddied but unbowed, aiming Rupert’s shotgun at Sir Gerald.

He turned towards her, his face shocked.

‘Today,’ said Pinky, her soft, pretty face frozen as hard as ice, ‘I get my revenge.’

She pulled the trigger. The retort echoing off the walls made me clutch my ears and duck. Ears ringing, I looked up, puzzled to see Sir Gerald still standing, and apparently unharmed. Frowning, she squeezed the trigger again but she was out of ammo.

‘Did you miss me, Pinky?’ said Sir Gerald, trying to look composed, though his voice quivered. ‘I suppose, when it came down to it, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You always were weak.’

He raised his pistol.

‘Stop!’ cried Hobbes.

But before he could intervene, Denny, back on his feet, fury in his eyes, massive fists bunched, clobbered him in the side of the head, making him cartwheel to the ground.

Sir Gerald, with a nasty grin, took aim at the defenceless Pinky, his finger tightening on the trigger. Before he could shoot, there was a blur of movement and Pinky was suddenly lying flat on the tarmac, beneath Sid. His face distorted by rage, Sir Gerald started to adjust his aim, only to find Sid was already back on his feet, diving forward, his arms stretching out his cloak into the semblance of wings. Sid engulfed him and the pistol dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Hobbes, already back up, blood smeared across his face, deflected a bone-breaking clout from Denny with his forearm, ducked beneath the follow up, a wild scything haymaker, and punched him once in the solar plexus. Denny, deflating like a punctured football, crumpled into a foetal position at Hobbes’s feet. It was, I thought, the only time I’d ever actually seen Hobbes hit anyone.

‘That’s enough, Sid,’ said Hobbes, glancing over his shoulder. ‘You can put him down.’

Sid, though shorter than Sir Gerald by a head, was holding Sir Gerald off the ground by the lapels of his jacket. Yet there was still fight in the man and, as soon as Sid released him, he made a dive for the pistol. Sid, shaking his head, stepped forward and stamped on his hand as it closed around the butt. Sir Gerald screamed and curled into a ball, cradling his mangled fingers as Hobbes ran across, grabbed the pistol and ejected the magazine.

‘Have you quite finished yet?’ asked the prostrate figure of the first Hobbes, ‘’cause I want to take this corset off. It’s chafing my nipples something rotten.’

‘Yes, you can get up now,’ said Hobbes, ‘and many thanks for your assistance.’

The first Hobbes, the one I’d thought had been shot, got to his knees, removing his hat and revealing himself as Featherlight.

‘Give me a hand up,’ he said to a bewildered, red-eyed Rupert, ‘or I’ll tear your bloody head off for shooting me.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Rupert extending a shaking hand. ‘I didn’t mean to. It just went off.’

‘Well, no harm done,’ said Featherlight, getting to his feet and taking off his coat, beneath which, in place of his habitual grubby vest, he was sporting an extremely tight and uncomfortable-looking whalebone corset. ‘Now, you can unlace me. This bloody thing is squeezing my bits into something awful.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ said Rupert. ‘I was pointing right in the middle of your back. You should be dead.’

‘You’d better thank Billy that I’m not and that you’re not on a murder charge,’ said Featherlight. ‘Now, let me loose, or I really will tear your head off.’

Pinky and Kathy, neither of them apparently hurt, but both looking shocked and confused, stood up. Hobbes gave Kathy a quick hug, before attending to Denny who was groaning where he lay, clutching his stomach and vomiting.

‘You’re a big man,’ said Hobbes, ‘but you’re in bad shape. For me it’s a full time job. Now behave yourself.’

Denny nodded feebly and threw up again.

Hobbes grinned at me. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that. Now is everyone alright?’

‘No,’ said Pinky, ‘I’m all covered in mud!’ She pointed an accusing finger at Sid. ‘He threw me into a ditch!’ She grinned. ‘Thank you. You saved my life.’

It turned out that the only ones with any serious hurts were Sir Gerald, whose fingers were sticking out in emetic directions, and Denny, whose capacious stomach was still emptying itself. Hobbes’s face, a bloody split beneath his eye, was already starting to bruise. It looked like it would be a good one.

‘Well, that’s a good result,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d better let the superintendent know what’s happened and I should call an ambulance for Sir Gerald.’ He reached into his pocket for his mobile.

I sidled up to Sid. ‘What did you do to that bloke with the axe? He looked absolutely terrified.’

‘Nothing much. All I did was look at him.’

‘That doesn’t sound too bad.’

‘It can be, if I do this!’

I wish he hadn’t. I had nightmares for weeks.

23

Hobbes rested his feet on the still recumbent Denny and talked to Kathy, holding her hand, while Sid, Pinky and Featherlight disappeared into the pub, leaving Billy and me to keep our eyes on Sir Gerald and Rupert.

‘How is it,’ I asked, ‘that Featherlight and Sir Gerald weren’t killed when they were shot? No one can miss at that range: not with a shotgun.’

‘There is,’ said Billy, ‘a perfectly simple explanation.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’d tampered with the cartridges.’

‘Why?’

‘Hobbesie had it all planned. One of my jobs was to take care of any firearms. I sneaked into the pub, found the shotgun and removed all the shot and most of the powder from the cartridges.’ He showed me a handful of small, grey balls from his pocket.

‘That was well done,’ I said.

‘It would have been,’ he continued, ‘if I’d realised Sir Gerald had a Walther PPK.’

‘A what?’

‘His pistol was a Walther PPK, the sort James Bond uses.’

‘Really? It was lucky he missed,’ I said, pointing towards the bullet crater in the wall.

‘Yes,’ said Billy, ‘that was close, but not as close as the other one.’

He pointed up at my armpit. Just below it, passing right through my jacket and shirt, was a small, neat hole and, although it hadn’t touched me, my legs turned to jelly.

‘You got lucky,’ said Billy, guiding me to a seat, ‘but you really shouldn’t have been involved. We had the situation under control. Featherlight was the distraction, Hobbes was to take down the villains, and I was to do the guns and the video.’

‘I thought I was helping,’ I said, ashamed.

‘By barging in and putting civilians in the firing line? It’s a good job one of them was Mr Sharples or that pink lady would have been killed. Do you have any idea why she tried to shoot Sir Gerald?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think she likes him.’

‘That explanation had, of course, never occurred to me. Are you feeling any better?’

I nodded and turned to see Hobbes approaching, a handkerchief in his hand, wiping a trickle of blood from his face.

‘Andy,’ he said, ‘your intervention was not at all helpful. You should have stayed in the car boot, safely out of harm’s way.’

‘I’m sorry. I just saw the gun and panicked … You knew I was in the boot?’

He nodded. ‘Oh well, no major harm was done.’ He glanced at Billy. ‘Did you get it all?’

‘Nearly all. I did miss a few moments when I was looking after Andy, and when Sir Gerald started shooting at us. Still, we should have recorded something on Trilbycam.’

‘What,’ I asked, ‘is Trilbycam?’

‘The camera in Featherlight’s hat to record the events automatically.’

‘That’s clever,’ I said, ‘but … umm … tell me, why your arms were outstretched?’

‘To ensure a good stereo recording. I’ve got a mike up each sleeve,’

‘So, you’re carrying a tape recorder?’

‘What century are you living in?’ said Billy, shaking his head. ‘Everything’s digital these days.’

‘So, you really did have it all planned,’ I said, crestfallen.

It didn’t take long for a police car and an ambulance to arrive. Hobbes, the side of his face swelling impressively, went across and explained the situation, pointing out Sir Gerald, who was sitting cross-legged on the tarmac, clutching his fingers and whimpering like a baby, Rupert, who was pale, sweating and incoherent, and, lying stretched out on the bench, the axeman Billy had nutted. The axeman was still out for the count and was, I suspected, going to wake up with a mighty headache. While the casualties were being loaded and driven away, Hobbes perched a dazed-looking Denny on a keg and gave him a stern talking to, a talking to incorporating far more than the standard quantity of finger wagging. By the end, had there been a world record for head hanging and looking contrite, then Denny would have won it by a mile.

‘Excellent,’ said Hobbes, looking pleased. ‘Now it’s time to break up our little gathering. I suppose I really should do some paperwork and afterwards I’ll go and retrieve the gold.’

‘You know where it is?’ I said.

‘Indeed I do. It’s hidden, but I know exactly where.’

‘How?’

‘Mr Barker is proving very cooperative.’

‘Can I come with you? I’ve always wanted to find treasure.’

‘We’ll see. Maybe, if you behave yourself and do as you’re told. It will require something of a journey. Now Billy, let’s get back to Sorenchester … and quickly.’

He walked away, depositing Denny in the police car and collecting Featherlight and Kathy.

‘Where’s your car?’ I asked Billy as he was leaving. ‘I didn’t see it.’

‘Over there,’ he pointed across the road, ‘behind the village church.’

Realising I’d completely forgotten about the dog, feeling suddenly ashamed, I asked: ‘Is Dregs in it?’

‘No, Hobbesie took him to guard that nice lady at the museum before we came here.’

‘Daphne?’ Shocked that I’d hardly given her a thought in all the excitement, my shame rose into the red.

‘Come along, Andy,’ said Sid as I stood, watching Billy cross the road, ‘we really must get Miss Pinkerton home, or she’ll catch her death of cold.’

She was shivering, despite being wrapped in Sid’s black cloak.

‘Good idea,’ I said, snapping out of it. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said indistinctly through the staccato clatter of teeth. ‘I was hoping to stay with Daphne, but that’s obviously out of the question. I suppose I should get a hotel for the night, but I don’t know what’s available.’

‘We can work something out,’ said Sid. ‘Let’s get a move on.’

As we hurried back to the car, leaving two constables to do whatever police constables do at crime scenes after the event, I put my arm round Pinky’s shoulder to keep her warm and, though it didn’t appear to do her much good, I rather enjoyed the softness of her body, despite her new scent of stagnant ditch mud.