Two Crafty Criminals!

by Philip Pullman

  Then they heard the constable’s footsteps coming back at the double. He ran in, panting, saluted again, and said, “Nothing there, sir. Just pigeons.”

  There was a sigh of disappointment from everyone, but Benny was watching Mr. Horspath. He saw him gulp and flick his eyes around swiftly before recovering himself.

  “Obviously the rogue managed to move his ill-gotten booty away,” Mr. Horspath said. “You only have to interrogate him, Inspector.”

  “I never done no such thing, you soapy serpent!” shouted Dick.

  Benny took a deep breath and muttered to Thunderbolt, “Here goes.”

  Then he stepped forward.

  Everyone’s eyes turned to him, including the heavy-lidded ones belonging to the Prince of Wales. Benny felt the thrill of stardom.

  “I know where it is,” he said.

  There was a gasp from everyone, and the biggest one of all came from Mr. Horspath.

  “Oh, good evening, Your Royal Highness, sir,” Benny went on politely, because out of the corner of his eye he saw his father and mother gazing at him horrified, and thought he’d better be on his best behavior.

  “And who are you?” said the Prince.

  “Benny Kaminsky, Your Royal Highness. I’m a detective,” Benny explained. “And yesterday I was doing some detecting and I happened to detect Mr. Whittle going up to his pigeon loft. I was in disguise, so he probly don’t know it was me.”

  Everyone looked at Mr. Whittle, and then back to Benny.

  “Anyway, when I was there I detected that the Gas-Fitters’ Hall silver was there, just like Mr. Horspath said. I saw it behind the sacks of birdseed.”

  Mr. Whittle’s eyes had narrowed. As for Mr. Horspath, he had gone very pale. But he nodded and said, “I thought so. The boy’s right. Oh, yes.”

  And the policeman said, “It weren’t there a minute ago, sir. I looked everywhere.”

  “No,” said Benny, “ ’cause me and Thunderbolt moved it.”

  Everyone gasped. Thunderbolt stepped forward and bowed very low to the Prince of Wales.

  “This is Thunderbolt Dobney, Your Royal Highness,” said Benny. “Me and him went up there last night and moved all the silver away to a place of safety, ’cause we reckoned that someone was trying to put the blame on someone else. We reckoned that they was trying to put the blame on Mr. Whittle, and we knew that Mr. Whittle wouldn’t nick the silver, ’cause that’s ridiculous.”

  “Thank you very much, Benny,” said Mr. Whittle.

  “So where is it?” said Inspector Gorman. “What’d you do with it?”

  Benny fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled scrap of paper.

  “It’s in the left-luggage office at Waterloo Station,” he said. “Here’s the ticket.”

  “Cor!” said the twins at the same moment, in deep admiration.

  The inspector took the ticket and gave it to the sergeant.

  “Take a couple of men and nip round there quick,” he said. “It’s only five minutes away.”

  The sergeant and two constables hurried away. The inspector turned back to Benny, looking fierce.

  “Do you know that you have committed a grave offense?” he thundered. “You oughter come and told the police immediately, instead of concealing the evidence! You could be severely punished for this!”

  “Yeah, but if we done that,” said Thunderbolt, “well, if we done that, you’d never have found out who done the burglary.”

  “And how are we going to find that out anyway?”

  “It’s obvious,” said Benny. “The only person what knew the silver was there was the one as put it there in the first place. Mr. Horspath, of course!”

  Mr. Horspath gave a ghastly grin, and then a merry laugh.

  “Ha-ha!” he said. “Jolly good yarn, Benny! Amusing, isn’t it, sir?” he said to the Prince of Wales. “I knew it was there because I saw that rotter Smith taking it up there, as I told you before, Inspector,” he added.

  “We thought you’d say that,” said Benny. “So we got someone else to come along. Your Royal Highness, may I present the famous escaped prisoner Sid the Swede?”

  The Arab Chieftain stepped forward, lifting the robe to avoid falling over again. He took off the headdress, and there was Sid the Swede.

  “Benny told me as I’d probably get off if I told the truth,” he said shakily. “I hope he’s right, Your Majesty.”

  The Prince of Wales raised his eyebrows.

  “We’ll see about that,” said Inspector Gorman. “Well, Sid? What’s your part in this affair?”

  “Well, sir,” said Sid, twisting his fingers together, “about a fortnight ago, sir, that gentleman come to me with a hoffer.”

  He pointed to Mr. Horspath.

  “With a what?” said the Prince.

  “With a hoffer of hemployment, sir. He had a little job for me. He give me a few shillings and he hasked me to purchase a sack for him, sir.”

  “Ha-ha-ha!” laughed Mr. Horspath. “Jolly good joke! Ha-ha!”

  “Why didn’t he buy it hisself?” said the Inspector.

  “I think he didn’t want it generally known as he was in the market for sacks, Your Honor. Anyway, I took the money, and then I fell into temptation, sir.”

  “Temptation?” said the Prince.

  “I’m afraid so, sir. Snake-Eyes—I mean, Mr. Melmott—was hoffering some very generous hodds in a sporting matter, and I laid it all on young D—I mean on the ’orse of my choice, sir. So once I’d done that, I had no money left and no sack neither, sir. So you see the dilemma what I was in, Your Royal ’Ighness.”

  “Very tricky indeed,” said the Prince. “So what did you do?”

  “I done what any man would have done in the circumstances, Your Royal ’Ighness. I raided a washing line.”

  “Yes, yer did, didn’t yer!” came a voice from the crowd, and the people nearby turned to look at the stout and purple form of Mrs. Liza Pearson. When she realized that everyone was looking at her, including the Prince of Wales, she became even purpler, and curtseyed. “Begging your pardon, Your Royal Highness, but I saw this sneaking, sniveling scoundrel making off with my washing. I couldn’t give chase at the time, being up to me elbows in suds, but I caught ’im later round the Dog and Duck and gave ’im in charge. They oughter sent ’im down for ten year at least!”

  “What did he steal?” said the Prince.

  “He stole a pillowcase, Your Royal Highness!” she said, quivering with indignation.

  “Yes, I did, sir, I admit it,” said Sid the Swede, nodding rapidly. “And I give it to ’im instead of the sack as he wanted me to get.”

  He pointed to Mr. Horspath, who laughed heartily.

  “Oh, this is rich!” Mr. Horspath said. “What a yarn, sir! Ha-ha-ha!”

  “Yes, indeed,” said the Prince of Wales. “I’m enjoying it immensely. And I think I can hear your men coming back, Inspector. I wonder what they’ve found.”

  And everyone turned to the ballroom doors. No great star of the theatre or the music hall had ever had a more dramatic entrance than the sergeant and the two constables. They came puffing in, carrying a great big canvas sack marked JOBSON’S HORSE NUTS, and put it down with a clank.

  “But you see,” cried Mr. Horspath, “that’s a sack! An ordinary sack!”

  “Well, of course it is,” said Benny. “We couldn’t leave it in the left-luggage office in just a pillowcase, could we?”

  “Open it up, Sergeant,” said the Inspector.

  The sergeant stopped mopping his brow and untied the length of hairy string around the neck of the sack. Benny knew what was in it, of course, so he couldn’t resist looking at the effect it was all having on the guests. He’d never seen such wide eyes in his life—hundreds of them, all peering at the sack. It was marvelous.

  “Here it is, Inspector!” said the sergeant, and pulled out a dirty white bag, and from the bag took a gleaming silver gasworker’s wrench on an ebony plinth.

  “The silver!” cried
the Worshipful Master. “The Jabez Calcutt Memorial Trophy!”

  “My pillowcase!” cried Mrs. Liza Pearson.

  More and more silver was coming out of the pillowcase: great big dishes, cups, goblets, trays, saltcellars. It gleamed and shone and glittered, and the only person who wasn’t delighted was Mr. Horspath.

  He was looking ghastly pale. A fearful sweat stood out on his forehead, and his wavy hair hung in limp strands over his ears. But he still had enough presence of mind to laugh.

  “Ha-ha! Jolly good jape! I hope you’re going to put that young rascal away for a long time, Inspector. Slandering my reputation is a serious matter. I shall be consulting my lawyers in the morning.”

  The Prince of Wales was never happy for long without a cigar in his hand, and having put his last one down more than twenty minutes ago, he was impatient for another. As he lifted it to his lips, Mr. Horspath darted to his side, matchbox in hand, and struck a light for him.

  “Here you are, sir! Allow me!” he said.

  And as soon as he’d lit the cigar, Benny darted to him and snatched the matchbox away.

  “What are you doing?” said Mr. Horspath. “Look at him, Inspector! A common little sneak thief! He can’t leave anything alone!”

  But Benny wasn’t listening. He was intent on fishing a twist of paper out of his pocket, and taking out a match, and comparing the length of it with Mr. Horspath’s.

  “That’s it!” he cried in triumph. “We got him! This is the final proof!”

  And he danced around like a mad thing.

  The Prince of Wales puffed at his cigar and said, “When you’ve finished dancing, would you mind explaining, young man?”

  “We found this dead Lucifer under the window in the alley where he got in! And it’s a Swedish one, and they’re longer’n English matches! And he’s been to Sweden, and the one he’s just lit the cigar with is the same! It’s him, and we proved it!”

  And that was too much for Mr. Horspath. Seeing himself finally trapped, he gave a wild cry and rushed for the thinnest part of the crowd, meaning to escape.

  But unluckily for him, the thinnest part of the crowd was where Henry the Eighth was standing, and as Mr. Horspath tried to dodge past, the famous king reached out a mighty hand and grabbed him. Mr. Horspath wriggled like a maggot, he squealed like a pig, but he was caught.

  “Where d’you think you’re going?” said Henry the Eighth, and the twins cried, “Orlando!”

  “Yus, it’s me,” said Orlando. “Here you are, Inspector, take your prisoner.”

  The policemen put some handcuffs on Mr. Horspath, who snarled villainously.

  “Well, this seems to have ended very happily,” said the Prince of Wales. “May I congratulate the young detectives?”

  He shook hands with Benny and Thunderbolt.

  “Er—” said Sid the Swede. “I was just wondering, you know—”

  “Yeah, what about Sid?” said Benny. “He come here at the risk of more imprisonment so’s he could help catch Mr. Horspath, didn’t he? So you oughter let him go!”

  “Ah, but he broke out of prison,” said the inspector. “So did young Dick here. That’s a serious matter on its own.”

  And Orlando stepped forward in his Henry the Eighth costume and bowed to the Prince.

  “I have a confession to make,” he said. “It was me what helped ’em break out. My name is Orlando, Your Royal Highness, perfessional strong man. I climbed up a ladder and I got hold of the bars like that—and I wrenched ’em like that—and I heaved and I twisted like that—till there was room for ’em to get out. So part of the blame is mine, Your Royal Highness. And if there’s handcuffs what can hold me, I shall be honored to put my hands in ’em.”

  Angela looked at Zerlina, and Zerlina looked at Angela.

  “Well,” said Angela, “really …”

  “It was our idea all the time,” said Zerlina.

  “And we nicked the ladder out of Charlie Ladysmith’s yard …”

  “And we woke Orlando up by throwing stones at him.”

  “Oh, I’m used to that,” said Orlando, in case anyone thought the twins had been cruel. “You seen the act, Your Royal Highness? The best bit is where they bounce cannonballs off me head. I’ll send you a ticket. I reckon I oughter pay me debt to society now. But,” he said dramatically, “before I go inside, I got an announcement to make.”

  He took off the Henry the Eighth hat and beard and looked properly like Orlando again, and then he said:

  “Some time ago I fell in love with a young lady. I done everything I could to please her, like crushing rocks and eating yards of anchor chain, but I never had the nerve to do what I really wanted to do and propose to her. And seeing as she’s here tonight, I’d like to do it here and now afore I lose me nerve.”

  And he got to one knee and held out his hands to Miss Honoria Whittle.

  “Honoria, will you be my wife?” he said. “Will you share the rough-and-ready life of a perfessional strong man?”

  “Oh, Orlando! Of course I will!”

  And the band, who’d been following everything, played a loud chord of C Major as the two of them embraced.

  Thunderbolt was amazed.

  “So he’s the one with the love phoby!” he said. “Miss Whittle said she knew someone else with one—just like Dick!”

  And that reminded everyone of Dick, who stood there still under police guard, together with Sid the Swede, who’d been re-arrested.

  Then Benny had an inspiration.

  “Excuse me, Your Royal Highness,” he said. “Seeing as we’ve detected the real burglar, and seeing as we couldn’t’ve done it without Sid the Swede, and seeing as Dick was only inside for clocking Mr. Horspath one on the razzo when he made up to Daisy behind the potted palm, what about a Royal Pardon?”

  The Prince of Wales considered it, puffing at his cigar and eyeing Benny thoughtfully.

  “Properly speaking, you ought to apply to Her Majesty the Queen,” he said. “But in the circumstances, I am sure she would agree to your request. Release them, Inspector.”

  And the police unlocked the handcuffs. Sid the Swede slunk away to avoid Mrs. Pearson, and Dick stood blinking with embarrassment in the center of a cheering circle of friends and neighbors clapping him on the back and shaking his hand.

  Then someone said, “Go on, Dick! Ask her!”

  And someone else yelled, “Here she is! Go it, Dick!”

  And there was Daisy, looking bashful. Everyone was looking on and grinning, including the policemen, because some of them had made a quiet bet with Snake-Eyes Melmott too. The only one who didn’t know what it was all about was the Prince of Wales, but Angela plucked his sleeve and whispered to him, and he smiled.

  And Dick stood there, getting redder and redder. He looked down at the floor; he looked up at the ceiling.

  He opened his mouth—he closed it again.

  He looked around for escape, just as Mr. Horspath had done.

  “Oh, no,” whispered Thunderbolt. “He’s not gonna do it …”

  Then the Prince of Wales bent and whispered something to Zerlina, who scampered around and plucked at the sleeve of the bandleader and whispered something to him; and the bandleader said something to the band; and they raised their instruments, took a deep breath, and began to play.

  And everyone recognized the tune, and laughed and joined in:

  Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!

  I’m half crazy, all for the love of you;

  It won’t be a stylish marriage—

  I can’t afford a carriage;

  But you’ll look sweet, upon the seat

  Of a bicycle built for two!

  And the loudest singing of all came from Dick, and by the time the song was over, somehow he had proposed, and somehow she had accepted, and they stood there, blushing like two tomatoes and looking very happy.

  “Well, my congratulations to the happy couples,” said the Prince of Wales.

  And he shook hands w
ith Dick, and with Daisy and Miss Whittle, who both curtseyed. And then he held out his hand to Orlando.

  “Ah,” said Orlando. “Now, I’d like to shake your hand, sir, but I daren’t. You see, this hand of mine can crush rocks.”

  “You crush rocks with your hand?” said the Prince. “I bet you can’t.”

  “Did I hear you say ‘bet,’ Your Royal Highness?” said a rich and fruity voice. “May I offer my services?”

  “Snake-Eyes Melmott!” said Angela.

  The famous bookmaker had appeared as if by magic, with his little black book in hand.

  “I can offer odds in the matter of rock-crushing to any lady or gentleman present,” he said, and within a minute he was doing a brisk trade. The Prince of Wales bet ten guineas that Orlando couldn’t, and Mr. Whittle bet ten guineas that he could, and dozens of other bets were entered in the little black book. Angela and Zerlina were watching closely. It turned out that more people thought that Orlando couldn’t than thought he could, so if he could, Snake-Eyes Melmott would win. And since he hardly ever lost, that would have been the way to bet—if the gang had any money to bet with.

  “I wish he’d paid out on the other bet first,” said Thunderbolt. “Then I could’ve put all me winnings on Orlando and won a fortune.”

  When all the bets were laid, a space was cleared in the center of the dance floor, and a servant came in with a silver tray covered in a snowy white napkin, in the middle of which was a rock the size of an orange.

  “Right,” said Orlando. “Now, you better all stand back a bit, on account of flying chips of rock.”

  Miss Whittle kissed him for luck, and he rolled up his sleeves to reveal the biggest muscles anyone had ever seen. He took the rock in his right hand, weighing it carefully. From the band came a low roll on the snare drum.

  Orlando raised the rock high. The drumbeat got louder.

  He gritted his teeth. The veins stood out on his head. He began to squeeze. The muscles in his arm bulged even bigger. The drumbeat got louder still.

  And then the rock began to crumble. A trail of powder fell to the floor, and suddenly there was nothing in Orlando’s hand but bits of gravel and sand. There was a crash from the cymbals, an even louder chord of C Major from the band, and everyone cheered and clapped, including the Prince of Wales.