Cobb quickly stood up to follow him but accidentally spilt the drink of one of the locals that was walking past his bench. Fortunately he was more drunk than Cobb so when he swung his empty tankard at Cobb’s head, he ducked it easily. ‘Whoah, easy there big fella,’ said Cobb holding up his hands. ‘No need to get upset, it was an accident. I’ll buy you another drink.’ The man swung a couple more times but Cobb blocked them easily.
Cobb had a lot of experience of dealing with drunks, first as a policeman … then as a drunk. He knew how to talk to aggressive drunks by calming them and not talking down to them, make them believe you are listening to them. Usually you can defuse the situation by just making them believe you’re listening to what they say and you agree with them ‘But Hey Fella … the rules say that the bar closes at ten-thirty and what can we do about it?’
But tonight was different, he had to speak to the clown to find out what was going on and he didn’t have time to deal with some drunken idiot. ‘You’re beginning to annoy me,’ said Cobb. ‘Take it easy or I’ll have to hurt you.’
The lout ignored him and dropping the tankard, pulled out a knife. Cobb backed up to the table and picked up the thick, wooden cheese board. First rule of self-defence against an armed opponent, neutralise the weapon. As the drunk swung the knife at him, Cobb swung the cheese board down and the knife stuck deeply into it with a loud THUNK. Cobb twisted the board, wrenching the knife from his hand.
Second rule of self-defence, neutralise the man holding the weapon. Raising the cheese board up, he brought it crashing down on the man’s head. As his opponent crumpled to the floor, Cobb looked up to see the man in the cloak and the red and white outfit disappearing out the back entrance of the tent.
Cobb shouted, ‘OY, STOP! I WANT A WORD WITH YOU!’ then he stepped over his assailant and followed him. The crowd parted to let him through but by the time he had got outside the tent, the clown had disappeared. The tent backed onto an open field and there was nowhere the man could have run to in the time it took Cobb to follow him out, but he was nowhere to be seen. He must have vanished like before, thought Cobb. I guess I’d better do the same, if the man I hit wakes up or his friends want to make something of it, then I’d best not be here.
He concentrated until he felt the tingle and he pushed. Next thing he knew he was standing on a gas lit, cobbled street he recognised as being just around the corner from the Ferret and Furlong. He was back in his own world. ‘Time I went home,’ he said to himself.
***
Cobb sat in the closed carriage reading a newspaper, down the street from Mr. Wilkes’ house. He’d been there since 9 o’clock that morning and it was now half past ten. Occasionally he got out and walked up and down the street and into the shop on the corner. He’d hired the cab for the day, as he wanted to be ready if Mrs. Wilkes took a cab anywhere.
He was doing the crossword and was just trying to figure out an eight-letter word for a memorial, when the cabby rapped sharply on the roof. Cobb looked up and saw Mrs. Wilkes walking down her front stairs.
Cobb quickly filled in the word ‘MONUMENT’ and put the paper in his pocket. (A paper is always useful on a stakeout, it gives you something to do with your hands and it’s something to hide behind.) He watched Laura Wilkes walk down the street and hail a passing cab. Just as he figured, if she was going off for an illicit meeting with her lover, he thought it unlikely that she would use her own carriage and reveal her private business to her servants.
As her cab set off down the street, Cobb banged on the roof of his and the driver flicked the whip at the horse and the cab pulled away after Mrs. Wilkes. They clattered along the cobbled streets of Londum, Cobb’s cab invisible amongst all the others that were also plying their business through the busy streets.
They made their way into the centre of Londum and headed for the hotel district. Eventually they pulled up at the Savoy Grill. Cobb’s cabbie pulled up down the street where they could see hers. She dismounted, paid the cabbie and then went into the Grill. Cobb hopped down and told the cabbie he wouldn’t need him anymore. He figured that she was meeting someone for an early lunch, but if they then took one of the rooms they could be there all afternoon, so there was no sense in keeping the cabbie waiting around unnecessarily, so he paid him off and let him go.
If she was going to have lunch then he thought he’d follow her in and do the same. He sauntered up the street to give her time to find a table and then he entered the restaurant himself.
The Maitre D’ looked at Cobb strangely and smoothly told him, without looking into the restaurant, ‘I’m sorry sir we don’t have any vacant tables.’
Cobb called on his old fallback, ‘I’m Inspector Cobb of Caledonia Yard, I’m working undercover and I’m tailing a suspect. They entered here a short while ago and I need to keep them under observation.’ Okay it was a lie but only a partial one, he had been a police inspector once and he was now tailing someone, so it wasn’t completely false.
As usual, he found that if you state this confidently and then just stare at them, they never even think to ask for identification. Besides, if he had been asked, Cobb would repeat that he was undercover so therefore didn’t carry any ID.
‘Certainly,’ said the Maitre D’, ‘sorry for the misunderstanding sir, please follow me.’ He picked up a menu and led Cobb into the restaurant. ‘And where would sir like to sit?’
Cobb spotted Laura Wilkes and picked out a table that gave a good view of her. ‘That one in the corner will do fine, thanks.’
The Maitre D’ led him over to the table and gave him the menu. Cobb read the menu and picked out some lunch while he surreptitiously watched Mrs. Wilkes.
As he was on expenses, he took his time selecting from the menu before he ordered the dressed crab starter, a salmon fillet and potatoes lyonnaise, with a lemon cheesecake to follow. To go with that he also ordered a half bottle of Chardonnay, to wash it down. Waving the waiter over he gave his order then asked for an aperitif to drink, while he waited for his food.
As he sipped at his drink he saw a young man enter the restaurant and join Mrs. Wilkes at her table. He was young, early twenties he would guess, good-looking and smartly dressed. She stood up to greet him and kissed him on the cheek. They settled down at the table and began perusing the menu. When they had decided what to eat they gave their order and sipped at their drinks, which it appears Mrs. Wilkes had already ordered.
She must know him well if she knows what he will be drinking, thought Cobb. Gods, she likes ‘em young. There must be at least twenty years between them, he reckoned.
He pretended to read his paper while he watched them and waited for his food. Eventually his starter arrived and he tucked into it.
Soon their food arrived as well and the two of them enjoyed their meal with Cobb keeping an eye on them.
Cobb noticed something, the two of them were constantly chattering away, more like friends than lovers. And he made no move to touch her, whereas she put her hand on his arm frequently, touched his face a couple of times. It was discreet but she couldn’t keep her hands off him. When he spilt a drop of sauce on his lapel, she wet a napkin and wiped it off for him. Most peculiar, thought Cobb.
Eventually Cobb finished his meal. He ordered coffee and asked for the bill. That way he could take his time over the coffee but he had the bill ready, so he could pay it and leave at a moment’s notice.
He waited until they ordered their bill and then promptly paid his and left the restaurant. He decided to wait for them in the hotel lobby next door. From there he could see if they stopped to order a room or whether they left the building completely. Ten minutes or so later Mrs. Wilkes and her young man came out together and went to the street. Cobb watched them as they spoke for a few minutes and then she hugged the young man and kissed him on the cheek once more.
She hailed a cab and climbed aboard, waving to him as it drove off. As for the young man, he waved her off and then turning on his heel, walked off down the road
. Cobb decided to follow him, as he figured that unless Laura Wilkes was going to see another young man, this was the one he had to find out about.
Cobb followed him for about ten minutes until he entered a decent but inexpensive hotel. Cobb walked past it down to the end of the road and then turned around and came back, to give the young man time to get his key and go up to his room.
Cobb walked into the hotel lobby and spoke to the man behind the counter. ‘Good afternoon, I was wondering if you could help me?’
‘I’m the Day Manager sir, how can I help?’
‘Well, I just saw a young man come in here and I thought I recognised him, the son of a friend of mine. I wonder if you could tell me if it was him.’
Cobb was hoping that the manager would blurt out the name and say, ‘Oh, you must mean Mr. So-and-so, that’s the name of the young man who was just here,’ but this one was too canny for that. Instead he said, ‘Well, you tell me the name of your friend’s son and I tell you if that’s him.’
Bugger, thought Cobb. ‘Okay, I’ll level with you. I’m a private detective and I’m following that young man in connection with a case I’m working on. It’s very important that I find out who he is.’
The day manager just looked at him calmly and said, ‘Private detective, eh? Sounds interesting. Is it a lucrative business being a private detective?’
‘Well … sometimes,’ said Cobb, not sure where this conversation was going.
‘You see, being a Day Manager isn’t that well paid, in fact sometimes I find it hard to make ends meet.’
‘Really,’ replied Cobb, who understood what was going on now. ‘Well, you must let me make a donation to the Day Manager’s welfare fund.’ He slid a ten-shilling note across the desk.
The manager looked at the note but didn’t touch it. ‘Yes, sometimes I don’t know how I’m going to survive the week, it’s all quite worrying.’
‘Well, let me see if I can go some way to putting your mind at ease.’ Cobb slid another ten-shilling note across the desk.
‘Well, that is reassuring I must admit. And I’m sure that you’re full of all warm, charitable feelings now sir,’ the day manager said as he slipped the notes into his pocket.
‘Yes, and the name of the young man?’
‘Ellis, Simon Ellis. Been here two weeks and pays cash. Came up from the East Coast. That’s all I know.’
‘Thanks. That’s all I need. I’ll be going now, if you should come by any other information you think you might be useful, I’ll drop back next week. I’m sure the charity will need another donation by then.’
‘May the Gods bless your charitable heart, sir.’
Cobb left the hotel. Simon Ellis eh? Oh well, at least he had a name now.
***
Mr. Frazzles unpacked his equipment from the back of the cart. His box full of Magick tricks, his box of makeup and his props, the largest and most impressive of which was a cannon. The children loved that cannon, it always raised a squeal of delight from them when it fired, followed by rapturous applause. It always brought the house down.
Mr. Frazzles was one of the more ‘upmarket’ clowns for hire. Not for him just jumping about pulling faces and spilling water down the front of his trousers, followed by a pie in his own face. No, not for Mr. Frazzles, he was an entertainer, a professional artiste, whose target audience just happened to be small children. Therefore he gave them high art, namely, Magick tricks, juggling, balloon animals, the uni-cycle, everything an “eight to twelve years old, teenagers extra” could wish for. And he certainly delivered on his promise. Magick, fun, mystery, excitement, laughs and a big explosion at the end!
Mr. Frazzles was one of Londum’s top children’s entertainers and the Gods help anyone who tried to muscle in on his patch. He had already had to deal with one or two interlopers, replacing a bucket of water with one of white vinegar here, adding Plaster of Paris to a custard pie mix there… well, these hijackers had to be taught a lesson, didn’t they? Trying to steal business from him, the very idea! And then there was this business lately of clowns dying in mysterious accidents, or possibly not accidents. Although they were none of his doing, it all added to the mystique and would enforce the message of not venturing onto his patch.
The hall in which he was performing for the party today had a few caretakers on the staff and they helped him move his costume and makeup into the changing rooms and then set his props out on the stage. He saw that everything was in place and he checked the fuse and the explosive charge in the cannon.
At the appropriate time at the end of the act, he would perform his biggest trick, “Catch The Cannonball!” He would flick a switch on the side of the cannon; a small battery concealed in the carriage would send an electrical charge to the fuse, igniting it. This would give him time to cross the stage and stand in the direct line of fire before the fuse ignited the gunpowder. The cannon would fire and produce a big bang, a flash and a cloud of smoke from the muzzle, and he would fall back pretending to be shot. At which point he would pull on several party poppers sewn into his jacket and it would appear that his insides were flying out of his chest at great speed. This always got a roar of approval from the bloodthirsty little tykes.
And then, he would leap to his feet, produce a collapsible rubber ball that when released, expanded to the size of a cannonball, and show it to the audience. Then he would throw sweets into the audience as the curtain came down. And to deafening applause he would go back to the dressing room, have a drink, take his makeup and costume off, collect his money and then leave. Never failed.
Once he was sure everything was in place and primed to go, he went to his dressing room for a quick nap before the performance, in an hour’s time.
While he was sleeping and dreaming of filling the cannon with grapeshot and firing it into the crowd to kill all the little blighters, someone entered the hall amidst all the hustle and bustle of everyone arriving for the children’s party and setting out the food and made their way to the stage. Unseen behind the curtain they made a few adjustments to the size of the gunpowder charge and the contents of the barrel. Then they made their escape, as unnoticed as was their entrance.
An hour later, bright as a button and firing on all cylinders after that quick nap, Mr. Frazzles sprang onto the stage from behind the curtain. He had actually slept a little longer than he had expected to and in the rush to make his entrance on time, he had forgone the usual second check of the cannon. It was the last mistake he ever made.
The show went down a storm. He had thrilled the birthday boy, silenced a couple of hecklers with the soda-siphon without offending their parents, and he even had the parents and staff applauding and cheering. He really was on top of his form today. Shame it would be his last performance but at least if he had to go out after a performance, this was the one he should go out on.
Now for the finale. He had enjoyed the reception he had received and in appreciation he was determined to give them the biggest, bestest, noisiest finish he possibly could. (Little did he know …)
With a bow to his audience he went to the cannon and with a flourish he flicked the switch. He went to the ‘X’ that he had chalked on the stage earlier and with a wave to his audience, he faced the cannon, bravely.
The act all went according to plan, the only trouble was … it wasn’t his plan.
On cue, the battery supplied the electrical charge, which ignited the fuse and a few seconds later the fuse ignited the gunpowder. The several extra pounds of gunpowder in the cannon, produced a big bang, a flash and a cloud of smoke from the muzzle, as expected. It also produced several small round cannon balls, which ploughed through Mr. Frazzles chest and … in a change to the expected result, caused his insides to fly out of his back instead of his chest, at great speed. The cannonballs then went on to hit a supporting column and the side of the hall collapsed in a shower of bricks, glass and dust. It literally brought the house down.
While the parents were shocked and panicked, the chil
dren went wild. They had never seen anything so exciting in their entire lives and clapped and cheered and roared their heads off, demanding more.
It was Mr. Frazzles ultimate performance, in all senses of the word, and one for which he would be remembered for generations, by those children at least.
***
Cobb was sitting in the Regency Hotel restaurant, having another fine lunch. He had followed Mrs. Wilkes again and she had led him to the restaurant where once again she had met her young beau and they were also dining.
Cobb was really enjoying this case. He’d never been able to dine in these sorts of places on his police salary, except on special occasions. Needless to say, his private detective income never stretched to lunch at the Regency. But now, he was on expenses from a rich client and well, he wasn’t cheating the customer, if the man’s rich wife went to a fine restaurant, then he had to go there too.
Today he was having the chicken breast in white wine sauce followed by the apple crumble and custard, and a half bottle of Sauvignon Blanc to aid the digestion. It’s a tough job, thought Cobb, but somebody has to do it.
He wondered how long it would take to actually catch them going off to a hotel to do more than just eat lunch together. Experience told him that it would happen sooner or later. He had seen it a few times on the divorce cases he had worked on. Although the wives (or indeed husbands) he had followed may have started off with the best intentions of just being friends, eventually they succumbed to Human nature and ended up in bed with their consorts, making “The Beast with Two Backs”. But Cobb hoped that that didn’t happen too soon, he liked Mr. Wilkes and would hate to have to report to him that his wife was being unfaithful. Besides, he was really enjoying these lunches; he hadn’t eaten so well in a long time.
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