Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

“He spent all yesterday evening doing his accounts,” said Mrs Bird darkly. “And when he’d finished he wanted to borrow the red ink! Besides,” she continued, “there was that business with the paper this morning, and he was asking Mr Brown a lot of very odd questions at breakfast.”

  Mr Brown worked in the City of London and every breakfast time before going to his office he studied a special newspaper which was all about stocks and shares. That very morning he’d discovered that one of the middle pages was missing. No one had owned up to taking it but at the time Mrs Bird had had her suspicions as to the culprit, and now she was certain.

  “That young bear’s up to something,” she exclaimed. “He had a bath of his own accord last night – that’s always a bad sign. And when he went out this morning he was all dressed up. I don’t like the look of things at all.”

  Mrs Bird attacked the corner of the dining-room with a feather duster in order to emphasise her words as she looked out of the window. But keen though her eyesight was it would have had to penetrate not only a good many buildings but quite a few other objects on the way as well to have caught even a glimpse of Paddington.

  For, apart from being a good many miles away, the object of her suspicions was also at that moment effectively hidden behind a seething mass of dark suits, bowler hats, briefcases, and rolled umbrellas.

  In fact, as he emerged from the depths of the underground and found himself being carried along the pavement like a cork in a millstream, Paddington decided he couldn’t remember ever having been in such a crowd before.

  Fortunately the tide soon divided itself into a number of smaller streams and after a good deal of struggling he eventually managed to force his way in the direction he wanted to go until at long last he found himself in a much narrower street, at the end of which stood a tall, important-looking building.

  After carefully consulting his map in order to make sure he was in the right place, Paddington took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

  He stood for a moment with wide-open eyes as he took in the scene all around him. Everywhere men were rushing hither and thither carrying briefcases or pieces of paper as they went about their business. If the pavement outside had been crowded, the inside of the building by comparison seemed like a gigantic ant heap, and Paddington was about to explore farther when a heavy hand descended on to his shoulder and held him in a vice-like grip. “’Ere,” said a gruff voice. “What are you a-doing of?”

  Paddington jumped and turned to see a man in a dark blue uniform and a silk hat staring down at him. “I suppose you know this is the Stock Exchange?” said the man sternly.

  “Oh, yes,” replied Paddington importantly. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to exchange one of my stocks.”

  “You’ve what?” The man looked at Paddington suspiciously. “Are you trying to pull my leg, bear?”

  “Oh, no,” said Paddington earnestly, as he undid his suitcase and withdrew his share. “I’ve come all the way from Windsor Gardens especially to do it.”

  “Oh dear,” said the man, his expression softening slightly. “I’m afraid I can’t help you then. Mind you,” he added, as he caught sight of the disappointed look on Paddington’s face, “if there’s anything else I can do I’ll be only too pleased. Us waiters is here to oblige.”

  At the sound of the man’s words Paddington brightened considerably. It had been a long journey all the way from Windsor Gardens in the crowded tube train and he was feeling hot and thirsty. Mr Brown had answered a lot of his questions about the Stock Exchange but he certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about there being free refreshments and it seemed a very good idea indeed.

  “I think I’d like a bun and a cup of cocoa, please,” he announced.

  To his surprise the helpful expression on the man’s face disappeared as if by magic and was replaced almost immediately by one he didn’t like the look of at all.

  “A bun!” exclaimed the man. “And a cup of cocoal I’ll have you know this is a place of business, not a cafe. Just because I’m called a waiter it doesn’t mean to say I’ve got nothing better to do than serve young bears with cocoa of a morning.”

  Paddington’s face dropped as he listened to the man explain that Stock Exchange waiters were quite different to any other kind and really had nothing at all to do with food and drink.

  “Anyway,” concluded the man, “I’m afraid you can’t come in and that’s that. The Stock Exchange is for members only. It’s like a club, you know – and a very h’exclusive one at that,” he added haughtily.

  “Perhaps I could join,” said Paddington hopefully, as he felt in his duffle coat pocket for a ten pence piece.

  “Join?” The waiter gave a hollow laugh. “You can’t join just like that you know. Why, bless me, there’s all sorts of things you have to do first. You’d have to ’ave your bona fides checked for a start.”

  “Have my bona fides checked!” exclaimed Paddington, looking most upset. “I don’t think I’ve got any.”

  “Well, you certainly can’t come in in that case,” said the waiter. “Bona fides,” he continued in a superior tone of voice, “is something you either ’as or you ’asn’t. They ’as to do with your forebears.”

  “My four bears?” repeated Paddington, looking even more puzzled. “I’ve only got one bear. There’s my Aunt Lucy in Peru. That’s where I come from – Darkest Peru. But I don’t think I’ve got four.”

  The waiter began to breathe rather heavily. He’d had some difficult customers to deal with during the years he’d spent on the Stock Exchange, but this was one of the worst he could remember.

  “That’s enough of that,” he said sternly. “I think you’d best be cutting along now. I’ve got work to do and it doesn’t h’include chatting with young bears trying to get theirselves free snacks of a morning.”

  Looking most upset at the way things were turning out, Paddington began unlocking his suitcase. “I only wanted to change my stocks,” he exclaimed. “It’s for the Portobello Oil Company and I don’t think it’s any good because…”

  “What’s that?” exclaimed the man. “Did I hear you say you’ve got a share what’s no good?” He reached down and examined the piece of paper in Paddington’s paw. “Where did you get this, bear?” he continued, as he guided Paddington across the floor in the direction of a door to one side of the hall.

  “I bought it in the Portobello Market,” explained Paddington, pleased that he was getting somewhere at last. “Only I don’t think it’s a very good one because the man didn’t turn up with my interest. So I thought I’d try and change it for another one instead.”

  “Just wait here, bear,” continued the man casually, as he ushered Paddington into a room full of deep leather armchairs. “I shan’t keep you a moment.”

  As the door clicked shut behind the waiter, Paddington looked all around the room, picked on the deepest and most comfortable-looking armchair, and settled himself inside it with a pleased expression on his face. From past experience he’d always found that if you went to the right people and kept on long enough things had a habit of turning out right in the end.

  All the same, as the minutes ticked by and no one came to see him, Paddington began to look slightly more worried and he was relieved when at long last footsteps approached from the outside and the door was flung open to reveal the waiter. To his surprise two other men in raincoats and trilby hats were standing there as well.

  “That’s ’im,” said the waiter, pointing at Paddington.

  The first of the two men entered the room and waved a card. “Police,” he said briefly. “I’m afraid we must take you along to the station…”

  “Take me to the station!” repeated Paddington, looking most surprised. “But I’ve only just got here.”

  The man gave him a nasty look. “Take you along to the police station,” he repeated heavily. “Where you will be remanded in custody while we make further inquiries.”

  Paddington jumped to his feet in alarm. “Rem
anded in custard!” he exclaimed. “I don’t think Mrs Bird will like that very much. It’ll make my fur all matted.”

  The two men in plain clothes exchanged glances. “Clever disguise,” said the second one, ignoring Paddington’s interruption. “I always pictured ‘Jim the Dandy’ as being much taller somehow.”

  ‘“Jim the Dandy’!” echoed Paddington.

  “Would have had me fooled,” agreed the first man, turning an equally deaf ear. “And I’ve been through the Rogues’ Gallery twice. Only shows you can’t always go by other people’s descriptions.”

  “Will there be a reward?” asked the waiter hopefully.

  “Shouldn’t be surprised,” replied the first man. “We’ve been on the lookout for this character for some time. One of the cleverest confidence tricksters seen in London for many a year. Dud shares – forgery – false passports – there’s a list as long as your arm.”

  “He’ll be in prison for a good long stretch, you mark my words,” agreed the second man.

  Paddington looked from one to the other of the three men. “In prison!” he exclaimed in alarm. “But I only wanted to exchange my stocks!”

  “Ha! Tell that to the judge,” replied the first man. “Selling dud shares is a serious offence.”

  “But I didn’t sell it,” cried Paddington, waving his piece of paper wildly in the air. “I bought it. It cost me one hundred pounds. All the notes had my special paw mark on and I wrote the numbers down on this share!”

  “What’s that?” One of the detectives took the piece of paper from Paddington’s paw and examined it with interest. “You wrote all the numbers down?” His voice broke off as Paddington suddenly shot past like a bullet out of a gun. “Hey! Stop!” he yelled.

  “Come back!” cried the other man.

  But before either of them had time to move, Paddington had disappeared through the door. He cast some anxious glances over his shoulder, took a hurried look at the main door where another waiter, attracted by the noise, stood barring his way, and then turned and headed towards the main body of the building.

  For the first time that morning Paddington felt pleased that the Stock Exchange was such a crowded place of business. He still wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about but from where he’d been standing he hadn’t liked the look of things at all. There were times when disappearing was much better than staying and trying to explain matters, and for someone who wanted to disappear in a hurry, the Stock Exchange would have been hard to beat.

  Mrs Brown stood at the front door of number thirty-two Windsor Gardens and looked anxiously at the two men on her step.

  “Paddington?” she repeated. “Did you say you want to see Paddington?”

  “That’s right, ma’am,” replied one of the men. He consulted a piece of paper in his hand. “This share’s got his name and address on it. And some kind of paw mark.”

  “I expect that’s to show it’s genuine,” said Mrs Brown doubtfully. “He usually does that. But it’s rather early. Couldn’t you come back later?”

  “We’re from Scotland Yard,” broke in the second man, waving a card in the air. “We’re rather anxious to see him about a certain matter that occurred yesterday.”

  “Scotland Yard!” Mrs Brown clutched at the door frame for support, but before she had time to go any deeper into the matter Mrs Bird came bustling up the hall.

  “What on earth’s going on?” she asked crossly. “I’m waiting to serve the breakfast. It’s bad enough not being able to find Paddington without…” Her voice broke off as she caught sight of the look on Mrs Brown’s face. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” she asked anxiously.

  “Bless you no, ma’am,” replied the second detective. “We only want to give him his notes back.”

  “Give him his notes back?” echoed Mrs Brown.

  “One hundred pounds,” said the first detective. “Thanks to him putting the numbers down we’ve recovered them all.”

  “And we’ve caught the criminal,” said the second man.

  “Wish there were more bears about like him,” added the first one. “There’ll be a reward of course, but we’d like to congratulate him personally if we may.”

  Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird exchanged glances. “You’d better come in,” said Mrs Brown weakly.

  Neither of them had the slightest idea what the two detectives were talking about, but as Mrs Bird led the way down the hall she nodded towards a door under the stairs.

  “You may find him in the coat cupboard,” she said. “Thinking back, I heard some bangs going on in there soon after you rang the bell.”

  “Blimey!” said one of the detectives as he bent down to open the door. “He’s worse than the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  “What!” exclaimed Paddington, looking most offended as he emerged from his hiding place under the stairs.”I’m worse than a scarlet pimple!”

  Mrs Bird paused at the kitchen door and gave a sigh. Judging from the look on Paddington’s face there were some complicated explanations to come. “I’ll put some more bacon and eggs on,” she said. “Trailing bears must be hungry work and I have a feeling this may all take rather a long time.”

  “Gosh!” said Jonathan later that morning when things were back to normal. “Fancy Paddington having breakfast with two real detectives. Trust him! I can’t wait to tell the chaps at school.”

  Mr Brown picked up his newspaper. “And I can’t wait to tell them at the office,” he said, dabbing at his moustache with a serviette. “I’m about an hour late already.”

  “You can’t go yet,” said Judy, as she entered the room. “You’ve all got to come and see your presents.”

  “Our presents!” exclaimed Mr Brown, as he followed Judy into the lounge. “Don’t tell me we’ve got some more. We’ve had one lot already.”

  “These are special ‘thank you’ ones, Mr Brown,” explained Paddington, as he watched the others unwrap their parcels. “I can pay for them now I’ve got my money back.”

  “I’ve got a lovely set of oil paints,” said Judy.

  “And I’ve got a super pair of skates,” added Jonathan, echoing her thanks.

  Mrs Brown held up a large square of embroidered linen. “What a lovely tablecloth!” she exclaimed. “How very nice.”

  “A pipe,” said Mr Brown opening a small cardboard box. “Just what I wanted. Couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

  Mrs Bird’s eyes looked suspiciously moist as she held up a pink bed jacket for the others to see. “My favourite colour,” she said. “How very kind of you to get things we all need, Paddington. You must have given it a lot of thought.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll have much money left over after you’ve paid for all this,” said Mr Brown, when all the excitement had died down, “but if you care to let me have it I might be able to get hold of one or two real shares for you.”

  Paddington thought for a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mr Brown, but all in all he felt he’d had quite enough of stocks and shares for a while. “I think perhaps I really will put the rest of it in the bank this time,” he announced at last.

  “Very wise,” said Mrs Bird approvingly. The Browns’ housekeeper was a great believer in banks, especially where bears were concerned.

  “Crikey, Dad – look!” exclaimed Jonathan suddenly. He pointed to a headline on the front page of Mr Brown’s newspaper, “BEARS HAVE A HEAVY DAY ON THE STOCK EXCHANGE! It looks as if there might be something in there about Paddington.”

  Mr Brown cleared his throat and then paused. He was about to launch forth into an explanation of the difference between Stock Exchange bears and ordinary ones, and that Stock Exchange bears were really only people who sold shares hoping their value would fall, when he caught his wife’s eye.

  “After all,” said Mrs Brown, “what’s in a name? Besides, it’ll look very nice as a heading for one of the chapters in Paddington’s scrapbook.”

  “Most impressive,” said Mrs Bird, “and very apt. In fact,” she a
dded, amid general agreement, “I don’t think even Paddington could have thought of a better heading if he’d written it himself.”

  MRS BROWN TURNED away from the hall mirror and made a face as the sound of hammering rent the morning air.

  “I suppose I mustn’t grumble,” she said. “Henry’s been making enough noise himself these past few weeks. But I do wish Mr Curry would hurry up and finish all his jobs. He does go on rather.”

  Mrs Bird jabbed at the surrounding air with a large hat pin. “I wouldn’t mind,” she said, “if they were his own ideas in the first place, but he must always go copying other people. He’s even talking now of putting a serving hatch in his kitchen wall!”

  Mrs Bird gave one of her ‘Mr Curry snorts’ as she put some finishing touches to her bonnet. The Browns’ neighbour, apart from having a reputation in the district for his meanness, also had a habit of copying other people, and living next door to him the Browns suffered more than most.

  During Paddington’s absence in Peru, Mr Brown had carried out quite a number of jobs in and around their house. Apart from decorating several of the rooms, he’d also laid a concrete path in the back garden and installed a serving hatch between their kitchen and the dining-room.

  Mr Curry had been hard put to keep up with all the activity in number thirty-two Windsor Gardens, but only the day before he’d announced in a loud voice his intention of carrying out the last two tasks himself in the near future, and that very morning he’d arrived in his back garden dressed in an old boiler suit in order to make preparations for the path.

  “I must say,” began Mrs Brown, “there are times when I find taking the family all the way across London just to visit the dentist a bit of a nuisance, but I shan’t be at all sorry today.” She gave a sigh as another burst of hammering echoed between the two buildings. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Paddington?” she called.

  Paddington hurried into the hall at the sound of his name. “No, thank you, Mrs Brown,” he exclaimed, when she repeated her question. Although he’d never actually been to a dentist he didn’t like the sound of them at all, especially after listening to some of Jonathan’s graphic descriptions of what went on.