by Evelyn James
“I can certainly ask my men,” Park-Coombs nodded thoughtfully. “If memory serves me right, the majority of those we arrested were on the ground floor.”
“It is not a perfect solution,” Clara confessed. “Leong’s murderer might have slipped out of the building when they realised the situation was hopeless. But I am hoping they were caught unawares, and by that I mean I hope Bobby was caught unawares and didn’t have time to flit away.”
Park-Coombs’ smile faded.
“What is the likelihood that Chang will wait for you to find all this out before he goes after Bobby?”
Clara sighed.
“I don’t think Chang is a man with much patience left. I am impressed he was willing to wait for me to find evidence the police were not responsible. He could easily have snapped.”
“And I am very grateful for all you have done Clara,” Park-Coombs leaned forward, his face solemn. “I hated not being able to investigate the deaths of Leong and Freddie. I hated the thought that someone on my side had shot them in cold blood. You have taken a weight off my mind.”
“You are most welcome, Inspector,” Clara promised him. “Now, I really must be off. I have a man to see about a tortoise.”
Park-Coombs raised an eyebrow.
“Dare I ask?”
“Well, for once I am unravelling a mystery where no one has been murdered,” Clara chuckled. “That makes for a change.”
The inspector clicked his tongue, amused.
“Take care in the snow, then.”
“I will,” Clara promised.
~~~*~~~
They met with Mr Cobb at the petting zoo before heading off to catch a bus and making their way to the Malorys’ home. Mr Cobb was carrying in his hands a large wooden box with holes cut into its sides.
“Melanie,” he informed Clara and Tommy. “So we can give Bramble the scent.”
Bramble was ecstatic to be going on another adventure so soon after the last and could hardly contain himself on the bus. Melanie the tortoise seemed equally invigorated by the outing and kept scratching at her box. Mr Cobb retrieved some chopped carrot from his pocket and shoved it through one of the holes.
Clara was amused by the odd looks they were receiving from the passengers nearest to them. One gentleman, in particular, seemed very curious about the box in Mr Cobb’s hands.
They left the bus a short walk from the Malorys’ house and it was necessary to stomp through the heavy snow. The lane where the Malorys lived was infrequently used by traffic and no one had attempted to clear it. Aside from a few footprints where some brave soul had wandered down the lane, the snow was pristine. Clara had worn her walking boots and the thickest stockings she had, still she soon found her ankles wet and freezing cold, the snow so deep in spots that it would splatter over the top of her shoes.
Bramble was not doing much better. Though at first he had revelled in pouncing in the snow, making his progress in joyful hops, he was soon thick with ice. His legs and belly were dotted with ball-shaped clumps, while his feet were so iced up, he appeared to be wearing snowballs on them. He was soon made miserable by his predicament and Tommy picked him up and nestled him in his coat, ignoring the wetness as the snow melted.
The poodle was not terribly fond of being carried and only condescended to be held for the time it took for him to forget about his icy baubles. Then he would wriggle and squirm and insist on being placed on the ground again. He would bounce along for a while, until once more dragged down by his snowshoes and with a whimper would look pleadingly at Tommy. Yet again he was placed inside Tommy’s coat to warm up and, yet again, once he had lost some of his ice, he would want to go down on the ground.
This process was repeated four or five times before they reached the Malorys’ home and Tommy was quite sodden by the end, but he did not begrudge the dog his efforts and would have gladly continued for as long as was necessary. Fortunately, the path to the Malorys’ front door had been cleared and Bramble was able to walk normally along it.
Clara rang the bell and Edgar answered so swiftly, she guessed he must have been waiting by the door.
“Thank goodness you are here,” he declared. “I can’t bear this any longer. I must know where Jeremiah is today!”
Clara was not keen on such a demand, it placed pressure on her, but she did not say anything.
“Could we warm ourselves in your kitchen before we begin?” She asked. “Your lane is deep in snow.”
Malory suddenly noticed that his guests were shivering and were wet almost to their knees. He also noticed Bramble.
“Hello old chap,” he held out his hand to the poodle and Bramble greeted him like a long-lost friend. “So, you are the one who is going to resolve my tortoise trouble?”
“We are hoping so,” Tommy said, shivering slightly.
“And this is Mr Cobb, who has been kindly helping me to teach Bramble to sniff out tortoises,” Clara motioned to the petting zoo owner.
“I would shake hands, but I have this box…” Mr Cobb said apologetically.
“Nice to meet you,” Malory responded. “Now, let’s get you warmed up. What is in the box, anyway?”
Mr Cobb opened Melanie’s box once they were in the kitchen. He had perched the container on the cook’s big oak table and Mr Malory looked inside keenly.
“Why, she looks a double for Jeremiah,” he said. “And how many tortoises did you say you had at your zoo?”
“Twelve,” Mr Cobb said proudly. “A number have come to me when their owners have passed on. I am gaining a reputation as an expert on the matter.”
Melanie was munching on some greens provided by the curious Mr Malory. He stroked her shell gently.
“I am so worried about Jeremiah,” he said. “I have these nightmares about what has become of him. It is terrible, terrible.”
“Hopefully this afternoon will resolve the matter,” Tommy said cheerfully.
Bramble, meanwhile, was snuffling around the pantry, having discovered mouse droppings in a corner.
Once warmed through, if not actually dry, they began their search operation. Bramble was placed on a long length of rope, so he could not simply disappear, and then Mr Cobb held Melanie before him.
“Take a good sniff,” he instructed the dog.
Bramble wagged his tail keenly and smelt the tortoise.
“Now go find Jeremiah!” Mr Cobb commanded.
Bramble gave a yip and bounced off, Tommy in tow. Clara only now began to consider how vastly different this full house search was from the scent games they had played in Mr Cobb’s tortoise shed. She was beginning to doubt Bramble’s capabilities, but almost at once he demonstrated he knew what he was searching for.
He came to the linen cupboard just outside the kitchen and sniffed hard at the door, tail vibrating rather than wagging in his keenness. He lifted one paw and looked like a very small, curly coated pointer, then he was on the move again.
“He picked up that Jeremiah was once in there,” Malory observed unnecessarily. “Remarkable!”
Bramble headed down the hallway with his nose to the floor. He ignored the front sitting room and Malory’s study, then he came to the staircase and hesitated. He plopped back into a sit, then raised up on his hind legs and scented the air.
“What is wrong?” Malory asked, worried, but before anyone could answer Bramble had come to a decision and was hopping up the staircase.
They arrived on the landing and Mr Cobb had an anxious look on his face.
“A tortoise could not have climbed those stairs,” he whispered to Clara. “At least not one the size Mr Malory says Jeremiah was.”
Clara had thought the same and was starting to think Bramble had lost the scent and was now tracking something else – a mouse, most likely. Though they had insisted on searching the house top to bottom, Clara had always felt it was more logical that Jeremiah was concealed somewhere on the ground floor.
Bramble stood on the landing, one paw raised, his head going from one
side to the other. Then he gave another yip and dragged Tommy forward. He was keen now, as if he saw the end in sight and was thinking of his rubber ball which was concealed in Tommy’s pocket. He stopped before a closed door and dropped his front paws and head, resting his nose along the tiny gap beneath the door and sniffing hard. Then he began to scratch at the carpet furiously.
“Hang on, hang on!” Tommy quickly stopped the dog before any damage was done.
“That was Bramble’s signal when he was searching out tortoises before,” Clara said, frowning. “Mr Malory, what room lies behind this door?”
“My wife’s private sitting room,” Malory looked uneasy. “I have searched in there, I swear.”
Malory shuffled his feet.
“My wife does not like her private things disturbed and I never go in the sitting room unless asked. I slipped in to search early one morning while she was asleep, but I found nothing.”
“Maybe he smelt something else,” Tommy suggested. “You know he can be a rascal for hunting things out.”
Bramble was unamused. He had done his job, and no one had thrown him his ball. He wrestled in Tommy’s grasp and jumped back to the door where he began to scrabble at the gap again.
“He is determined,” Mr Cobb frowned. “Maybe…”
At that moment a robust middle-aged woman of sizeable proportions opened the door and scowled at everyone outside. Tommy had not been prepared, and when Bramble bolted inside the room, his only choice was to let go of the lead or end up running into Mrs Malory – and that did not seem a good idea.
“What is all this fuss?” Mrs Malory asked, her eyes turning fiercely on her husband.
“My dear, we were…” Malory tried to come up with a plausible lie that did not reveal the absent tortoise who was meant to be a secret to his wife. “We were…”
Bramble had gambolled over to Mrs Malory’s sewing box and was now barking furiously and scratching at its side.
“Can I retrieve my dog?” Tommy asked unhappily, worried about what Bramble was going to do.
It was too late; in his eagerness, Bramble had grabbed the handle of the box and yanked at it. Suddenly the sewing box fell on its side, but instead of a bundle of cloth, or needles and thread tumbling out, what rolled onto the carpet was an oval-shaped object.
“It’s the tortoise!” Mr Cobb gasped, and all eyes fell on the creature which had retracted itself into its shell.
Bramble was bouncing around with justified pride and his annoyed yip was a reminder that he had been promised a ball for his efforts and it was not forthcoming.
Mrs Malory looked at Bramble, at the tortoise, and then at the people outside her door.
“Would someone mind telling me what is going on?” She roared.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
There was an awkward pause and then Edgar Malory cleared his throat.
“My dear, you appear to have a tortoise in your sewing box.”
“I know,” his wife replied with a look that could have sunk a warship. “I put him there. I found the poor creature trapped in a box in the old linen cupboard. He was very hungry and thirsty. Poor fellow was a bit weak on his legs, so I have been carrying him around in my sewing box while he recovers. Could someone retrieve that dog?”
Tommy ducked past Mrs Malory and discreetly threw Bramble his ball, then hustled him out of the room.
“It appears Jeremiah is a Red-Footed Tortoise,” Mr Cobb was peering as best he could at the creature from the doorway. “You were correct, Mr Malory, when you said he looked just like Melanie, for they are the same species, and they do not hibernate.”
“Oh,” said Mr Malory.
His wife tutted at him.
“I surmised you had put him there. I was going to tell you, eventually, that I had him. But I have been so busy with organising for Christmas and you were always rushing here and there. I have hardly seen you these last few days.”
“That was because I was looking for the tortoise,” Malory wailed partly out of despondency, partly from frustration.
“If you are going to acquire a tortoise, you ought to spend some time researching their needs,” his wife continued to berate him. “Poor beast could have died, as it is, he is going to need a lot of gentle attention to help him recover.”
Mr Cobb had allowed his eyes to wander from Jeremiah to a small table near the tortoise.
“My word, you have my pamphlet!” He cried in delight.
Mrs Malory turned and looked at the small booklet, then a smile graced her face.
“You are Mr Cobb? Your guide to tortoise keeping has been indispensable in helping me restore this little fellow.”
Mr Cobb stood up straighter, delighted with the praise.
“I have a few more questions, could you spare me the time to answer them?” Mrs Malory continued.
“Of course! Anything to help a reptile in need!”
Mrs Malory allowed Mr Cobb to enter her private sitting room, then pointedly shut the door. Edgar looked morose, realising how foolish he had been. He could barely meet Clara’s eyes.
“I think a cup of tea would be in order,” she gently nudged him. “All’s well that ends well, after all.”
They ended up in Mr Malory’s study to drink tea. Edgar slowly recovered his dignity and was able to see the funny side of recent events.
“I was keeping it all a secret from my wife,” he said. “I never mentioned Jeremiah for that reason. Had I thought for a moment… I thought I had searched everywhere, and I had looked through her sitting room, twice.”
“I take it you and Mrs Malory are rather like ships that pass in the night,” Tommy observed delicately.
“We have always led very busy lives. We are united by our love for animals, though, it must be said sometimes we barely talk for weeks. I have all my work and my wife has her charitable causes. We might seem an odd pair, but it is really only because we are so devoted to our passions,” Edgar hesitated. “Also, I have been avoiding my wife these last few days, for fear I might let slip about Jeremiah. I have been so distressed by it all and I was worried a kindly word from her might have caused me to spill the beans. I knew she would not be impressed with my failings.”
“Well, at least we know Jeremiah is safe,” Clara reassured him. “That worry is off your mind.”
Edgar gave another small nod.
“Thank you for all your help, I hope you don’t feel it was too much of a wild goose chase.”
“Never,” Clara promised.
“My wife is normally a lot more friendly,” Edgar insisted. “She just doesn’t like her privacy being invaded.”
“I suppose you will have to buy her another Christmas present, now,” Tommy said.
Edgar went a little pale, then took a deep breath.
“Suppose I shall,” suddenly he brightened. “Perhaps I shall build a lovely house and pen for Jeremiah to use in the garden in the summer.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Clara smiled.
~~~*~~~
Tommy and Clara departed without Mr Cobb, who was discussing the possibility of producing an expanded addition of his guide to tortoise keeping with Mrs Malory. There was talk of having it professionally published, for the benefit of all the tortoises in England who were being mistreated due to ignorance. They had been deep in conversation when Clara had knocked at Mrs Malory’s door and explained she and Tommy were leaving. It looked like they would be that way for some time. Fortunately, Mrs Malory had extended an olive branch to her husband and had invited him to join them. As she said, no better way to know what to write about, then to ask someone who was ignorant of tortoise keeping. If Mr Malory was offended by this blunt statement, he did not show it.
Tommy and Clara traipsed through the snow, Bramble repeating his pouncing performance, followed by refusing to move. Tommy had just picked him up for the third time when he noticed the thoughtful frown on Clara’s face.
“What is the matter?” He asked.
Clara hefte
d her shoulders.
“I was thinking about the Malorys, how they were so wrapped up in their individual lives that they could exist in the same house and rarely speak,” she said. “How… sad that is.”
“That isn’t why you were frowning,” Tommy said, insightfully. “What else were you thinking?”
This time Clara sighed.
“I was thinking about myself and John. How we lead such busy lives and sometimes go for days without speaking. We are no different to the Malorys.”
“Don’t be silly,” Tommy nudged her arm and Clara stumbled in the snow, casting a scowl his way. “If you two were in the same house, you would be speaking all the time. It is only because you live separately.”
“Do you think?” Clara asked.
“Yes, I do,” Tommy smiled at his younger sister gently. “When you and Captain O’Harris are together, it is like me and Annie, just right. You mustn’t think so hard over everything. Anyway, I don’t think the Malorys are unhappy in their arrangement, actually, I think they care quite deeply about each other. The sort of caring that means you can go a few days without speaking and still be the best of friends.”
Clara was not totally convinced, but she appreciated Tommy’s efforts.
“When I get home, I shall ring John. This tortoise mystery will make a good story to tell the men at his home on Christmas Eve.”
“That it shall,” Tommy agreed.
They arrived at the bus stop; after waiting for some considerable time, they concluded that the buses had once again been confined to the depot. There was no choice but to walk home.
“We are going to be very late,” Tommy glanced at his watch. “I think we ought to stop at the Post Office and telephone Annie to let her know.”
Clara rarely thought about the time, usually too busy rushing about on her work. She just accepted that on a relatively frequent basis she would be upbraided by Annie for being late for whatever meal it was she had missed. She did not take the matter to heart. Tommy was slightly more concerned about annoying or worrying Annie. Understandable, considering he was her future husband and preferred an easy life. Therefore, they diverted their course and headed to the Post Office, Clara griping that their detour would actually make them even later.
