Spy Dog Teacher's Pet

by Andrew Cope

  Looking at those fish is making me hungry! thought Lara. Or maybe it’s the smell of shepherd’s pie coming from the school canteen. Oh good, there’s the bell for lunch!

  By the end of the afternoon, Year Five had finished painting their plates. Lara thought Sophie’s was very impressive – the black outline of the flying horse against the red background of the plate looked almost as good as the one they’d seen on the Internet. She wasn’t so pleased with her own efforts. I definitely need more practice. My fish look more like three bananas!

  Lara and Sophie met the others in the playground at hometime.

  ‘My class went swimming today, Ma!’ said Star. ‘It was brilliant. I taught two non-swimmers to swim – doggie-paddle, of course!’

  I wonder what their parents will say when they hear their children were taught to swim by a puppy? thought Lara, smiling to herself.

  Gran was waiting by the gates and they all walked home together. They had just got to the front door when Ollie suddenly stopped and hit his forehead with his hand. ‘Duh! I’ve forgotten my school bag!’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Ollie, not again!’ groaned Sophie. Ollie could be very forgetful.

  Spud put his paw in the air in the way he’d learnt to do at school, to ask if he could speak. ‘Shall Star and I go back and get it?’ he asked. ‘I bet I know exactly where it is.’

  ‘OK, then,’ said Lara. ‘But come straight back, be careful crossing the roads – and don’t get into any mischief!’

  Meanwhile Mr Thompson had decided to stay and sort out the art cupboard. The next day was the school fete and he wanted the classroom to be super-tidy in case any parents looked in. He took everything out of the cupboard and began to pile it on the tables so he could get in and clean the shelves.

  All the children had gone home and all the teachers had followed, but Mr Thompson carried on happily organizing piles of different-coloured paper and card and finding new homes for scissors and crayons. Soon he was the only one left in the school.

  Apart, that is, from two men in white painters’ overalls who, at that moment, were strolling in through the front door. One was tall and one was short and they both had a nasty look in their eyes.

  10. Pups to the Rescue!

  Mr Thompson was just about to put a big roll of sugar paper back into the cupboard when he heard someone breathing heavily behind him. Before he had time to turn, a thick arm wrapped round his throat and held him in a tight headlock. Whoever it was didn’t seem very friendly.

  Then a voice growled in his ear. ‘Now, we don’t want any trouble, do we? So let’s do this nice and quietly, no shouting for help or anything like that, eh?’

  ‘N-n-no, OK,’ agreed Mr Thompson.

  The headlock loosened and Mr Thompson was suddenly bundled into the cupboard. The door slammed shut, the key turned and he found himself trapped inside in the dark.

  ‘Nice one, bruv,’ muttered Cliff. ‘Now he’ll never know what we look like!’

  ‘I’m not just a pretty face, you know,’ Dale replied, contorting his features in a smile that could never be described as pretty.

  ‘OK, teacher, listen up,’ said Cliff, raising his voice. ‘You know what we want – and we know you’ve got it.’

  Mr Thompson was mystified. ‘I haven’t got anything!’ he protested. ‘Well, there’s some poster paint in here and some paper and … glue and … I suppose some quite nice crayons.’

  ‘Don’t play games with us!’ snarled Cliff. ‘You know exactly what we mean. Now where have you put it?’

  ‘Think hard, teacher,’ added Dale. ‘Think very hard. We don’t want another “accident”, now, do we?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr Thompson, quite politely for a man who was locked in a hot, dark cupboard. ‘I really think you must have got the wrong person. I honestly haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, cut the cackle!’ snapped Cliff, getting really angry now. ‘Don’t make us do something we’d regret. I want a one-word answer and I want it now. Are you going to tell us where it is, YES or NO?’

  Mr Thompson was baffled. ‘Well … no,’ he replied, ‘because –’

  ‘That, teacher,’ interrupted Cliff in a voice like ice, ‘is the wrong answer.’

  Cliff looked at his brother and nodded slowly. Dale reached inside his jacket pocket …

  Meanwhile, Spud and Star had raced each other back to school and found Ollie’s school bag still hanging on his peg in the cloakroom.

  ‘He’d forget his own feet if they weren’t on the end of his legs,’ laughed Star.

  The pups were just leaving the building when they noticed two men in painters’ overalls going into Mr Thompson’s classroom.

  ‘That’s funny!’ said Star. ‘There isn’t any decorating being done in the school at the moment, is there?’

  ‘No,’ said Spud thoughtfully. He glanced at the road outside. ‘Look! It’s a blue car.’

  ‘And those two men –’ said Star.

  ‘… are the burglars, I bet!’ added Spud. ‘Yikes! Mum was right. There is something going on around here. Come on, sis, now’s our chance to catch some baddies!’

  The two pups raced down the corridor to the classroom. They arrived in time to see Mr Thompson being pushed into the cupboard by the two unpleasant-looking men.

  ‘Be careful, Spud,’ whispered Star. ‘We’ve got to play it cool. If we rush in now, we could end up in the cupboard too.’

  The pups flattened themselves against the wall outside the door and listened as Cliff and Dale questioned Mr Thompson. They could see things were looking nasty.

  ‘What shall we do?’ whispered Star. ‘We’re too small to overpower them.’

  They looked at each other in desperation. Then Spud had an idea.

  ‘The invisible string!’ he said. ‘There’s some in Ollie’s school bag!’ He rummaged in the bag and pulled it out. ‘Spy Pups to the rescue!’ he woofed.

  The two pups ran up to the men, wagging their tails and trying to look cute, pretending to be normal puppies. Of course the villains couldn’t see that the pups were holding invisible string in their mouths. They weren’t exactly friendly all the same.

  ‘Get out of here, mutt,’ said Cliff, aiming a kick at Star’s head. ‘What are dogs doing in a school anyway?’

  Star dodged neatly out of the way and ran round Cliff’s legs, still innocently wagging her tail. Spud moved in the opposite direction past Dale. Suddenly the two men felt something against their ankles.

  ‘Round and round, Spud! Round and round!’ woofed Star. The pups circled the men, wrapping the string round their legs and tying them together.

  ‘Aargh! What’s happening?’ Cliff tried to move, but pulled his brother along too. It was like a bizarre three-legged race. They both staggered and struggled to stand up straight.

  ‘Keep going!’ barked Star. ‘We’re doing well!’

  ‘Something’s got us,’ gasped Dale. ‘It’s stopping us from moving!’

  ‘But there’s nothing there!’ said Cliff. ‘Those dogs aren’t even touching us! I don’t like this at all!’

  The pups kept up their circling movements, crossing each other as they passed, until they finally ran out of string. By this time the villains were both terrified out of their wits. Hobbling and tripping their way from the classroom, they scrabbled at their legs in an attempt to escape from whatever it was that was forcing them together.

  The pups watched gleefully as, once they’d got outside, Dale made a sudden dash for the car, but pulled Cliff after him. Cliff toppled into Dale and both of them fell on the ground. Then neither of them could stand up. In the end Dale had to crawl along the gravel path with Cliff riding piggyback. Eventually the two villains managed to unravel themselves enough to get in their car. They drove away, their faces white with fear and their hands shaking.

  Star made a note of the car registration number while S
pud pushed a chair up to the cupboard door and, holding the key carefully in his mouth, managed to turn the lock. The door swung open and Mr Thompson staggered out, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

  ‘Wow! Thanks, pups!’ he said, giving them both a grateful pat. ‘I was beginning to wonder when those men were going to let me out.’

  Spud looked sideways at Star. ‘He doesn’t realize, does he? If it hadn’t been for us – and the professor’s string – he might never have got out of there … alive.’

  11. A Letter from ‘Daddy’

  ‘You were both absolutely brilliant,’ said Lara to the pups next day as they put the finishing touches to a batch of fairy cakes for the school fete. ‘The professor will be very proud of you. You followed Spy Dog procedure perfectly: assessing the situation, taking minimal risks and rescuing the hostage without any violence. Well done!’

  ‘Thanks, Ma!’ The pups glanced at each other and smiled. They both felt ten feet tall.

  ‘You were quite right to take the car’s registration number, Star,’ went on Lara, ‘and the excellent descriptions you both gave mean the police now have two clear suspects – both known criminals. They’re looking for them now.’

  ‘So, can we have a cherry as a reward?’ asked Spud. The pups were decorating the tops of the cakes with glacé cherries.

  ‘You can have a whole cake if you like,’ smiled Lara. ‘In fact I think I’ll have one too – just to make sure they’re all right …’

  ‘I still don’t understand it, though,’ added Lara after she’d finished her cake. ‘What do people like that want with Mr Thompson? It’s still a mystery.’

  A gleam came into Spud’s eye. ‘Maybe Mr Thompson is a man of mystery,’ he suggested. ‘Maybe he’s got an assumed identity and really he’s someone else entirely – a spy or a criminal or, or – a Mafia boss!’

  ‘No,’ laughed Lara. ‘I don’t believe that for a second!’

  I’ve caught enough baddies in my time, she thought. I know a goodie when I see one!

  Star shrugged. ‘Maybe they’ve just got the wrong person.’

  ‘That’s what Mr Thompson thinks. He’s hoping that they’ll realize their mistake now and leave him alone,’ said Lara.

  ‘Well, I don’t think they’ll come back in a hurry,’ said Spud.

  ‘No,’ agreed Lara. ‘Although we shouldn’t drop our guard just yet.’

  She tipped the rest of the fairy cakes into a plastic box and closed the lid. ‘Anyway, we’ve got something else to think about today, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yay! The school fete!’ woofed Spud. The pups had been looking forward to this for weeks.

  ‘The bouncy castle!’ said Star, jumping up and down as if she were already on it.

  ‘And the strawberries and cream!’ added Spud, licking his lips.

  ‘And the real fire engine with real fire-fighters!’ said Star.

  ‘And the barbecue!’ laughed Spud, ‘with sausages and burgers and steak and –’

  ‘OK, OK,’ laughed Lara. ‘Come on, we’d better take these cakes down to the school – the fete will be starting soon.’

  Fifteen miles away in the city, Dale was eating his usual breakfast of a Mars bar between two pieces of toast. ‘I’m never going back there, Cliff, no way! That place is jinxed!’ he said through a mouthful of chocolate and crumbs.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Cliff wasn’t listening. He was reading a letter.

  ‘I mean, what was all that with our legs yesterday? We don’t know, do we? It was like something from a horror film. I tell you, it’s too weird. I’ve had it with this game. I’m stopping right now.’

  ‘No, you’re not, Dale,’ said Cliff, looking up calmly, ‘and I’ll tell you why … because this letter is from H in prison and he’s given us a lead. Looks like we may have to share the money with him after all, but, hey – we’ll still end up with more than ten million smackeroonies each!’

  Hugh Higsley-Hogbottom’s prison sentence was short to begin with and he’d behaved so well that it was now going to be even shorter. He was polite, helpful and pleasant to everyone. He admitted that he’d ‘made a silly mistake’ over his taxes, but he seemed so respectable in every other way that all the prison officers agreed they’d never met a more unlikely criminal. They wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that H was the mastermind behind a string of international crimes.

  So, when H asked one of the officers if he could write a letter to his two children, the officer was happy to provide him with writing paper. He glanced over the note, of course – that was his job – but it never crossed his mind that it could be written in code or that H had been single all his life and wouldn’t know a child if it came up and bit him. The prison officer even put H’s letter in the postbox himself.

  Now Cliff read that letter aloud.

  Dear boys,

  I hope you’re being good while Daddy is away? I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be back next week, a little earlier than planned.

  I know you were disappointed that we had to cancel our trip to Switzerland, but I promise we’ll go as soon as I come back and we’ll all have a lovely time.

  ‘Geneva’s in Switzerland,’ explained Cliff. ‘He means we’ll go to see that geezer in Geneva – to flog the goods and get the money.’

  Mummy tells me you have both been trying very hard at school and asking the teacher lots of questions. That’s great, but don’t make yourself too much of a nuisance. Teachers don’t always know all the answers.

  ‘See what he’s doing there, Dale? He’s telling us the teacher doesn’t know where it is!’

  I was very sorry to hear that you’ve lost your lovely toy horse, the one we got in London before I went away. I know how very precious he is to you.

  ‘Now we know what he means by that, don’t we?’ said Cliff.

  I hope he didn’t find his way into the box of things that Mummy gives to charity. Wouldn’t it be awful if he got sent to the school fete and was accidentally sold?

  But I don’t expect that will happen! If you both look very carefully I’m sure you’ll find him and then you can bring him with us when we all go off on holiday to Switzerland.

  See you next week.

  Lots of love,

  Daddy

  ‘Why’s he calling himself Daddy all of a sudden?’ asked Dale.

  ‘Never mind about that, you idiot! The school is having a fete today. H is telling us he thinks it might be there. He’s telling us to go and find it before someone else does!’

  ‘If you say so, bruv,’ said Dale slowly, still looking confused. ‘But isn’t it a bit risky? Someone may have seen us last time we went.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Cliff. ‘I’ve got a plan!’

  12. It’s Fete!

  Everyone in the Cook family was involved in the fete in some way. Mrs Cook was in charge of the bookstall; Mr Cook was helping with the barbecue; Lara was down as a first-aider and Gran had volunteered herself and Ben for the bric-a-brac stall (or ‘junk stall’ as Mr Cook described it). Star put her name down for the welly tossing – her job was to run and fetch the boots after they’d been thrown – and Sophie had made a big board with pictures of all the teachers when they were babies – anyone who could guess all the teachers from their baby photos would get a prize.

  Ollie and Spud had offered to organize a ‘Guess the Number of Sweets in the Jar’ competition, but when they were trying to assemble it at home, neither of them could resist eating the sweets and so they kept losing count. In the end, they decided to do a ‘Guess the Name of the Teddy’ competition instead*.

  The school playground was transformed with stalls and activities filling every available space and spilling out over the field. Coloured bunting was draped over the buildings, and balloons were tied to the trees. The summery sound of a steel band drifted through the air and, as
all the volunteers set about their tasks, the atmosphere was happy and friendly.

  Just as the fete was about to begin, Mr Thompson arrived at Gran’s bric-a-brac stall. He was carrying a large cardboard box with a one-eared gnome peeping out of the top.

  ‘I found this lot in my garden shed,’ he explained. ‘The people who used to live in my house must have left it behind and I certainly don’t want any of it! I’m afraid it’s probably just a load of old rubbish, though.’

  ‘Step this way,’ laughed Gran. ‘We’ll sell it, whatever it is!’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Mr Thompson, giving the box to Ben. ‘Right, then, I’m off to the “Soak the Teacher” stall – apparently people are willing to pay to chuck wet sponges at my head!’

  ‘Good luck!’ laughed Ben.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mr Thompson with a smile. ‘At least it’s a nice warm day!’

  Ben began to unpack Mr Thompson’s box while Gran wrote prices on stickers and stuck them on each item. Apart from the gnome there was an old-fashioned kettle; a big yellow vase; a pair of garden shears; a mug with ‘I Disco’ on it; a hot-water bottle; a bag of compost and, wrapped in some newspaper at the bottom of the box, an old plate with a rather striking black border and a picture of a flying horse in the middle.

  ‘Ooh, that’s rather nice, isn’t it?’ said Gran, as Ben held up the plate. ‘I think we could charge a bit more for that – maybe a fiver? What do you think?’

  Ben looked at the plate more closely. It was very unusual. He thought it might be the sort of thing his mum might like – and she had a birthday coming up soon.

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ he said, wishing he had more money on him. ‘But wait a minute, Gran, I’ve just got to go and ask Dad something.’