3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers

by Wilkie Martin

  ‘Lead me to it.’

  As we walked the short distance we talked, and I was comfortable, as if I’d known her for years; I was amazed she was smiling and laughing at my witticisms, some of which were, even to my ears, incredibly naff.

  The Bar Nun had been done out to resemble a sort of Hollywood idea of a nunnery. The walls had the look of ancient, rough-hewn stone, the floor tiles appeared medieval, and there were rows of polished wooden refectory tables set along the walls, with dark wooden benches to sit on. Two months previously, it had been an expensive and spectacularly unsuccessful shoe shop, but now it smelt of cooking, beer and paint. Some of the tables were walled off by wooden partitions, like little cells, and offered privacy. I thought we’d choose one of them, but first we headed to the bar, where a pretty young woman wearing a skimpy black habit smiled at us.

  ‘Hello, sir, madam,’ she said. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘What would you like?’ I asked Daphne, patting the comforting wad in my breast pocket.

  She paused for a moment. ‘I rather fancy a cocktail.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ I said, as if accustomed to ordering them, and turned to the barmaid. ‘Do you do cocktails, miss? Or should I say, sister?’

  The girl grimaced. ‘Yes, we do the normal ones plus a few specialities of the house.’ She pointed to a list on a blackboard above the bar and, while we examined it, served an elderly couple, the only other customers, who wanted milky coffees.

  ‘I think,’ said Daphne, when the barmaid turned back to us, ‘I’ll have a Godchild.’

  ‘Excellent choice,’ I said, craning to see what the barmaid put in it: a measure of brandy, something creamy from a rectangular bottle and a small mountain of ice.

  The barmaid, placing it on a coaster, looked at me expectantly.

  ‘Right,’ I said, with the easy confidence of an ignoramus, ‘I rather fancy one of your house specialities. Give me an Ecstasy of Saint Theresa, please. Shaken not stirred.’

  ‘Are you sure, sir?’ asked the barmaid.

  I nodded and she busied herself with a worrying number of bottles and a shaker. ‘Here you are,’ she said at last, handing me a glass filled with a clear, innocuous-looking fluid with floating ice, a sliver of lime, and salt crystals round the rim.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Cheers!’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Daphne, sipping her drink and smiling.

  I took a gulp of mine and instantly regretted it, for it was, quite simply, the nastiest liquid that had ever passed my lips, which was saying something. I shuddered, my tongue went numb and my throat burned, despite the chill of the ice.

  ‘Water! Pleathe!’ I said, shocked that I couldn’t help but lisp, and found the barmaid had already placed a pint glass of iced water in front of me. Grabbing it, I swilled it down.

  ‘Most customers need water after one of those,’ she said with a merry laugh, quite inappropriate for a nun.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, thinking she might have given me prior warning. ‘Do people drink this for pleasure?’

  ‘No, sir. Mostly we have to force them.’

  Daphne was reading the menu. ‘We’d better get something to eat or we’ll end up squiffy. I’ll have Chicken Madras. Andy?’

  ‘I do like a curry, but since I’m having one for supper, I’ll … umm … have a chilli.’ I hoped it would be a really spicy one, something that would neutralise the taste of the cocktail. I wished I’d just stuck to lager, which was usually safe.

  After ordering, we sat in one of the small cells, towards the back. As a drinker more used to the Feathers and its veneer of filth that nearly masked the squalor beneath, I was delighted to find the table was clean and not at all sticky.

  ‘What a morning!’ said Daphne with a shiver. ‘I’m so glad you were there. I don’t know what might have happened otherwise.’

  I smiled and shrugged. ‘I’m glad I was there, too.’

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t very nice when we first met,’ she said. ‘I had you down as a waster.’

  I stared at my drink for a long moment. ‘I’m … umm … afraid you’re not far from the truth. I’ve tried to kid myself I’m not, but when it comes down to it, I live on Hobbes’s charity and the only reason I’ve got any money for lunch is because Mrs Goodfellow, his housekeeper, is so kind.’

  ‘I thought you were a reporter?’

  ‘Not any more. I did work for the Bugle, but I was fired. Since then, I’ve sort of pretended I’ve gone freelance, but I haven’t actually written anything, except stuff about Hobbes, which I can’t do anything with, because … because he hates publicity. I’m a bit useless really.’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘you’re not. The way you went for Denny showed what’s inside.’

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything else to do.’

  ‘Precisely! You followed your instincts and did the right thing. You should trust yourself more often.’

  ‘I don’t know when to. I’ve let myself and others down too often.’

  She reached out and put her hand on mine. ‘Give yourself a break.’

  I nodded. Her hand was warm and soft and smooth and, despite my sore knuckles, I liked its touch. The barmaid placed our cutlery and meals in front of us.

  To my eyes, it looked like a terrible curry, a thin, watery, yellow sauce poured over rubbery lumps of boiled out chicken with overcooked rice. Perhaps Mrs Goodfellow had spoiled me, but Daphne ate it without a murmur of complaint. My chilli con carne was edible, if a little bland, and distracted me sufficiently that I took another glug of my cocktail. If anything, it was even nastier second time around. I stared at it, like at a mad dog that I had to get past.

  ‘You’re really not enjoying that are you?’ said Daphne, finishing her Godchild. ‘Why not just give up on it and try something else?’

  ‘Yeth,’ I croaked, wondering why I hadn’t thought of such a simple solution. ‘Would you like another drink?’

  ‘I’ll just have a coffee: black, no sugar, please. I’ll nip to the ladies while you’re getting them.’

  I went up to the bar, aware of a man striding briskly past. I was heading back, trying not to spill any coffee, taking sips off the top of my lager, when another man entered. As he walked past, I recognised him as Colonel Squire. I sat back at our table, pleased the lager was diluting the cocktail’s lingering aftertaste.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Gerry,’ said Colonel Squire, presumably to the first man, who was out of sight, although I could just about hear him. ‘Shall I get the drinks in?’

  ‘Good to see you, Toby,’ said the first man. ‘Make mine a whisky and soda.’

  There was something hard and arrogant in his voice and yet it was oddly familiar. I flicked through my memory and, slightly to my surprise, found a match. It was Sir Gerald Payne, I was almost certain.

  Colonel Squire, a tall, neat man in a grey business suit, was carrying two glasses back to his table when Daphne returned. As she sat, I put my finger to my lips and leant over to where I could hear. She looked puzzled, but did as I wanted.

  ‘Bottoms up, Gerry,’ said Colonel Squire.

  ‘Cheers, Toby,’ said Sir Gerald. ‘How goes the hunt for your gold?’

  ‘Not at all well. I keep getting on to old Sharples, but he’s hopeless, and the police don’t seem to be making any progress whatsoever.’

  ‘What about that big ugly devil who stopped the first attempt?’

  ‘Hobbes? He seems to be a great one for being the action hero, but he doesn’t seem to be much good as a detective.’

  How little he knew, I thought.

  Sir Gerald laughed. ‘Well, he can’t be any worse than the police around us. We’ve been lumbered with a matching pair of complete idiots. Anyway, if the worst comes to the worst, you’ll get your money back.’

  ‘To an extent, but the price of gold has risen and Sharples says I’ll only get the market rate at the time of the robbery. I stand to lose thousands.’

  ‘Just as well yo
u can afford it,’ said Sir Gerald with a laugh.

  ‘That’s not the point. I intend to make sure I don’t lose out at all and I hold Sharples personally responsible. One way or another, I’m going to make him pay. I entrusted him with my gold, he was in charge of security, and he failed. Therefore, he owes me. And it’s not just the value of the gold, because some of the coins were quite rare and worth a great deal more than their weight.

  ‘Well, that’s enough of my woes. How are things with you, Gerry?’

  ‘They are going very well. It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good and the rise in the gold price has meant it is economical to reopen the mine. It’s back in production, we’ve dug up some top-class ore, and have smelted our first ingots. It’s the first Payne gold for over one hundred years.’

  ‘Lucky for you,’ said Colonel Squire. ‘Not many chaps get to inherit their own goldmine.’

  ‘True, but there are not many chaps get to inherit thousands of acres of prime Cotswold farmland as you did.’

  ‘One must count one’s blessings I suppose. If my gold isn’t recovered, and I’m not hopeful, then at least I’ll get plenty of cash, even if it’s not nearly as much as it ought to be.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Sir Gerald, ‘if you still mean to keep your own gold reserve, I could sell you some ingots from the mine. I know it’s not much recompense for those rare coins, but I could mark them with your family crest, and I’m sure I could arrange a most generous discount, since we won’t have to go through any brokers.’

  ‘That’s very decent of you.’

  ‘Not at all. After all, I partly blame myself for your loss. It was I who persuaded you to put it in Grossman’s Bank. I just thought it would be safer there than in your cellar. It had a good reputation.’

  ‘Not your fault at all,’ said Colonel Squire. ‘It was sensible advice and you can’t be blamed if the country’s going to the dogs. All these robberies in town! We should hang a few more ruffians. That would make them think twice about robbing. And maybe we should start hanging a few bankers as well. Old Sharples should be the first.’

  Rage burst up in me and I might have said something had Daphne not been there.

  ‘I tell you what I’ll do, Toby,’ said Sir Gerald, lowering his voice to a whisper, ‘I’ll get my man to have a word with Sharples and ensure he gives you what you deserve. He can be most persuasive.’

  ‘Thank you, an excellent suggestion. That’ll give the old bloodsucker something to think about. Show him what looking after your customer is all about, eh?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But,’ said Colonel Squire, ‘first reassure me that he won’t go too far and that there will be no way I might be held responsible. People round here respect me as a magistrate and I wouldn’t want things to become embarrassing.’

  ‘Don’t worry. He knows what he’s doing. Besides, even should he happen to go too far, he has no links to you. You’d still be in the clear.’

  ‘What if he’s caught?’

  ‘I doubt,’ said Sir Gerald, ‘that any officer round here could arrest him.’

  ‘What about Hobbes?’

  ‘I’d bet my man against him any day and, even if by some freak chance I’m wrong, then he’s loyal and knows to say the right thing. He’s been in the family for more years than I care to remember and would do nothing that might cause me trouble. He is an extremely useful chap to have around and I’ll make sure he gives Sharples a damn good … talking to.’ Sir Gerald laughed.

  I didn’t mean to, but I gasped. It just slipped out, because, from what I’d seen, talking wasn’t Denny’s speciality and I feared for the old vampire’s well-being.

  ‘I think someone might be listening,’ said Sir Gerald quietly.

  I heard him stand up, heard his footsteps approaching and, knowing he’d recognise Daphne, fearing he’d do something, I was paralysed for an instant. Then, before he could see us, inspiration struck. I threw my arms around her, drew her towards me and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips, amazed how easily she participated. I maintained my grip, aware Sir Gerald was looking at us, aware he could not see our faces, so long as we stayed in the clinch.

  With a disapproving snort he walked away, but, although my ploy had worked brilliantly and the danger had passed, I didn’t pull away from her, or she from me. The kiss lingered for what might have been several minutes and only ended when, in manoeuvring for breath, I knocked over the remains of my lager.

  She was looking at me with a strange expression. I was euphoric, for being kissed by a lovely woman was a rare experience. There had been Violet, of course, but she’d turned out to be a werecat and Daphne was the real thing. Despite barely knowing her, I felt I could be anything: her friend, her lover, her protector. I could even get a job and make something of myself.

  ‘Well,’ she said, smiling, ‘that was unexpected.’ She sipped her coffee.

  I nodded, realising I was in an awkward situation. The kiss had been wonderful, but I was wondering whether I needed to tell her my reasons. Although I took a breath and opened my mouth to speak, I asked myself why I should spoil the moment. Deciding to say nothing was, in all honesty, the right decision. The only trouble was that I couldn’t think of anything to say instead, so for a moment I must have looked like an idiot, or worse.

  ‘I’ll get you another drink,’ said Daphne.

  ‘No,’ I said, keeping my voice low, ‘I’m fine.’

  Admittedly my fears of Sir Gerald attacking her in there were probably exaggerated, for the bar had filled up considerably and I was almost certain Colonel Squire would not sanction violence, especially in front of witnesses. He had far too much to lose. Still, I thought it prudent to get out as soon as possible.

  She shrugged. ‘Well, I ought to be getting back to work soon. It’s my first proper week and already I don’t know what they must be thinking of me, so … I can’t afford to go back late and reeking of alcohol.’ She finished her coffee.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  As we left, I held her hand and whispered in her ear. ‘I’m sorry if I was acting a little strangely, but Sir Gerald Payne was sitting behind us and talking about the gold robbery with Colonel Squire. Did you hear any of it?’

  She shook her head and I told her what I’d heard.

  ‘It might,’ she said, looking serious, ‘have become unpleasant, if he’d recognised me.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you back to the museum,’ I said, as we left the bar, ‘but then I really must warn Sid. He’s a nice old va … chap and I wouldn’t want him to get hurt.’

  ‘You must,’ she said, ‘but, please, be careful when you’re out. Denny Barker is a really dangerous man and he won’t be happy that you’ve bested him twice. Next time he sees you, there’s no knowing what he might do.’ She squeezed my hand very gently, for which I was grateful.

  I tried to look nonchalant and hoped Hobbes would be around next time I met Denny, although I hadn’t much liked Sir Gerald’s confidence in his man. Besides, there was always the possibility that I’d be on my own, probably down some dark alley, when next I bumped into him. I almost wished I’d finished my cocktail, for after one of those, anything would be bearable.

  The weather hadn’t turned any warmer and few people were out and about. There being no sign of Denny or Sir Gerald, I started to relax. We were just passing the end of Blackdog Street when I heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Hi, Andy,’ said Kathy, enormous in her red Puffa jacket, smiling as she approached, ‘Where are you going to take me this afternoon?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Umm …’

  ‘Who’s this?’ asked Kathy.

  ‘Oh … Right, I should introduce you. Kathy, this is Daphne. Daphne … this is … umm … Kathy.’

  Daphne nodded. Kathy did not. I squirmed.

  ‘I’m glad you two have met,’ I said, with a feeble smile. ‘Kathy is staying with us at the moment and I’ve been showing her around.’
>
  ‘I see,’ said Daphne.

  ‘Daphne works at the museum,’ I said.

  ‘So, shouldn’t she be at work?’ asked Kathy.

  ‘Yes, I probably should,’ said Daphne. ‘I’ll see you around, Andy. Nice to have met you … Kathy.’

  ‘Ditto.’

  ‘Take care,’ I said.

  As Daphne turned away, Kathy, heavy with scent, enveloped me in a massive, suffocating bear hug, which was about as welcome as it would have been from a real bear and I was just as powerless. I couldn’t understand why she was doing it. She really wasn’t my type, if she was anybody’s, and her sudden show of affection was as puzzling as it was alarming. Still, part of me felt sorry for her, even though I wished she hadn’t just turned up, or, in fact, come into our lives at all.

  ‘Have you seen Daddy?’ she asked on releasing me.

  ‘I did before lunch. He’d lost Rupert.’

  ‘I knew he should have slammed that punk in jail. He kept me awake all night.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘And I’m sorry I was a little sharp this morning. I was tired and cold and the coffee hadn’t kicked in. I’m not at my best without a strong black one in me.’

  ‘That’s alright. I’m not at my best when I’m tired either. Still … umm … I don’t throw mugs.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t hit you, did I?’

  ‘Not with the mug … but you might have done.’

  ‘Might have wins no prizes. I wouldn’t have a cow about it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Smiling, she hugged me again. I tried not to breathe in the scent fumes, which wasn’t too difficult as she was squeezing so tightly. All I could do was hope I wouldn’t be crushed like an empty beer can and that Daphne couldn’t see this unseemly behaviour. When at last she let me go I stepped out of reach.

  ‘Right,’ she said, ‘since my daddy is nowhere to be found, I’m relying on you to show me a good time. How about it, Big Boy?’

  ‘What?’ I said, caught off guard. ‘I … umm … don’t know what to suggest.’