The Armchair Detective The Early Years (Special Editions)

by Ian Shimwell

  TRENCH: (Says slightly annoyed:) Whatever for?

  DEBSY: Ever heard the phrase: ‘working undercover’?

  TRENCH: But that’s ridiculous.

  DEBSY: Maybe so, but I intend to give it a try.

  TRENCH: As a packing girl, I suppose?

  DEBSY: A Distribution Technician, if you don’t mind. And while I’m working undercover, I may uncover our little mystery.

  TRENCH: But we don’t even know if there is a mystery to solve yet.

  DEBSY: Exactly. And this, Trench is one sure way to find out.

  TRENCH: I don’t know who’s worse: me, you or… or…

  DEBSY: Or your old friend?

  TRENCH: Hadn’t you better go, or won’t you be late – again – or something?

  DEBSY: Yes, must dash. Aren’t you going to wish me luck?

  TRENCH: Oh, go away – and beware of the coffee!

  (Comical, then thoughtful music ends this scene.)

  TRENCH: Honestly, Old Tom, have you heard anything so crazy? I mean, I don’t know what she hopes to achieve working at Gilcrest Gadgets. Although actually, Debsy might be more suited to being a packing girl than a serious journalist.

  OLD TOM: Now now, Trench.

  TRENCH: Yes, sorry – that was uncalled for.

  OLD TOM: Just calm down and drink your tea before it gets warm.

  TRENCH: Good idea.

  (We hear TRENCH take a sigh as he sips his cold tea.)

  TRENCH: (Says quietly to himself:) And I was complaining about hot coffee… (Then says normally:) It’s just that my new colleague absolutely infuriates me.

  OLD TOM: And, young Trench, shall I tell you why this Debsy annoys you so?

  TRENCH: Please do.

  OLD TOM: Because Debsy’s idea to infiltrate the gadget factory is a damned good one. She thought of it before you did – is that what’s really bothering you?

  TRENCH: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.

  OLD TOM: Here, I’ll tell you what will cheer you up, Trenchy – I have some new crumbly biscuits, you’ll love them.

  TRENCH: Hmm, I like the sound of them.

  OLD TOM: Now, where did I put them? I might have left them underneath my armchair.

  (OLD TOM rummages about for a bit.)

  OLD TOM: There not… ah yes, here they are. It says on the packet that they will crumble in your mouth. Here, have one.

  TRENCH: Thanks.

  (We hear TRENCH take a biscuit and begin munching.)

  TRENCH: Wait a minute, this biscuit isn’t crumbly at all – it’s soft.

  OLD TOM: Do you think I should take them back?

  TRENCH: Let’s have a look at the packet.

  (OLD TOM passes TRENCH the packet of biscuits.)

  TRENCH: It’s no wonder they’re soft. These biscuits are more than two years out of date.

  OLD TOM: I know, perfect. Shame about losing their crumbliness though.

  TRENCH: I give up. Now, what do you think about events at Gilcrest Gadgets? Do you think there’s even a mystery to solve?

  OLD TOM: First we have to discover what the mystery is before we can solve it.

  TRENCH: But, do you really suspect foul play of any sort?

  OLD TOM: I’m not sure yet – but there are inconsistences.

  TRENCH: Such as?

  OLD TOM: The company severs connection with your paper; Gilcrest Senior retires, leaving his son in charge. The shares inexplicably double in price. You said Gilcrest shied away from any publicity, but still invited you to his factory – why?

  TRENCH: And you’d think a gadget company would always welcome good publicity, wouldn’t you?

  OLD TOM: And is there a reason they only seem to employ girls for packing?

  TRENCH: Other than sexism? Maybe Debsy will find out after all.

  OLD TOM: And, reading in-between the lines, maybe Gilcrest has a new business partner he’s keeping suspiciously quiet about.

  TRENCH: Yes, but he may have been simply using the collective ‘we’ on behalf of the company though.

  OLD TOM: Possibly…

  TRENCH: So, what next?

  OLD TOM: Keep a close eye on Debsy – she may well find out more than she bargained for. And much could be learnt from a visit to Gilcrest Senior…

  TRENCH: Right, I’ll get moving then. Old Tom, you are suddenly smiling – why?

  OLD TOM: Oh sorry, I’ve just thought. You, here having tea and biscuits. The searching questions delving into a possible mystery…

  TRENCH: Yes..?

  OLD TOM: Well, young Trench, it is just like old times, isn’t it?

  (Mystery music indicates the end of Act One.)

  Act Two

  (We can hear someone typing away very fast in the Stokeham Herald offices.)

  TRENCH: So, Debsy, how did your first day at work go?

  (DEBSY seems to ignore TRENCH as she continues to, furiously, type away.)

  TRENCH: Hey, slow down girl – I am actually trying to speak to you.

  DEBSY: (Who’s slightly out of breath.) Oh yeah, sorry – getting carried away. My first day at Gilcrest Gadgets…

  TRENCH: Yes, is doing a real job for a change, tiring you out?

  DEBSY: Hey, watch it Trenny – I can do angry, you know?

  TRENCH: All right, all right – how did it go then?

  DEBSY: I didn’t find anything interesting out, if that’s what you mean. I was just packing smaller boxes inside bigger boxes for most of the afternoon but I did make a new friend during a smoking break.

  TRENCH: I didn’t know you smoked.

  DEBSY: I don’t, but I figured there was more chance of catching some useful gossip by getting in with the smoking click.

  TRENCH: Good thinking dear Debsy, and..?

  DEBSY: Well, I don’t like it. I mean, I couldn’t stop coughing at first.

  TRENCH: I was meaning your new friend. Who is she?

  DEBSY: Kathy – how did you know she’s a she? Tell you what, don’t answer that.

  TRENCH: I won’t. Where does she work – on your packing line?

  (DEBSY suddenly starts typing again, as the office door opens and EDITOR LAW enters.)

  TRENCH: Editor Law.

  EDITOR LAW: Good morning, and may I say how nice it is to come to work early… ish and find you both not only in but working hard, well at least one of you is.

  (DEBSY continues typing without pausing for breath.)

  EDITOR LAW: Fascinating, she’s that busy she won’t even stop for a second. You could learn from that, Trench.

  TRENCH: And where have we been until now, sir?

  EDITOR LAW: Oh, this and that – you know how it is.

  TRENCH: I do. Did we win?

  EDITOR LAW: No, the lucky blighter won with a flukey shot on the last hole… oops. I’ll be in my office, if you need me.

  (TRENCH laughs slightly as EDITOR LAW leaves the office. DEBSY is still typing away.)

  TRENCH: Right, you can stop now, Debsy – he’s gone.

  DEBSY: (Who continues typing.) No, I can’t. It’s all right for you, I have to fit in a full day’s work in an hour then it’s back to toiling away at the factory. I still have to finish my articles on problem neighbours and foreign grifters – a couple who… Eh, I hope Editor Law doesn’t pop his head back in this afternoon.

  TRENCH: He doesn’t usually. Where are you supposed to be now then?

  DEBSY: (She finally stops typing.) Oh, I have a dentist’s appointment.

  TRENCH: A dental appointment on only your second day? Scandalous. I don’t know how you get away with it.

  DEBSY: Mr Gilcrest is obviously a very understanding and enlightened employer.

  TRENCH: He’d better be – with people like you.

  DEBSY: Yes, well – talking about pushing your luck – I’d better go and make an appearance at our furtive factory. Do you fancy coming to see me this afternoon?

  TRENCH: I don’t think I’d get past security which seems very tight.

  DEBSY: Ah well, that’s where you’r
e wrong. The three o’clock smoking break is relegated to outside the factory so you can speak to me through the fence!

  TRENCH: I’ll look forward to it.

  DEBSY: Oh, and that reminds me, I’d better buy some cigarettes on the way… Can’t be cadging off Kathy again.

  (Light-hearted music changes the scene.)

  (There is a knock on the door.)

  EDITOR LAW: Damn, you’ve made me miss my putt.

  TRENCH: (Who shouts from behind the door.) Sorry.

  EDITOR LAW: I suppose you’d better come in now, anyway.

  (The door opens.)

  TRENCH: Sorry to disturb you, Editor Law and that you missed your putt because of me. Nice gadget by the way, is it a..?

  EDITOR LAW: Yes, Trench – I bought it from Gilcrest years ago.

  TRENCH: Gilcrest himself – Gilcrest senior, did you know him?

  EDITOR LAW: You know very well that I know him. What actually is it you want? As you can see, I’m very busy.

  TRENCH: Err, yes. Well it’s to do with Mr Gilcrest senior. I do know you were old golfing buddies, which was probably a contributing reason he sponsored this paper for so long.

  EDITOR LAW: Yes, well I did let him win occasionally of course.

  TRENCH: I bet you did.

  EDITOR LAW: Will you stop dilly-dallying and cut to the chase, Trench?

  TRENCH: Yes, sir. You must know old Gilcrest’s address. Can I have it?

  EDITOR LAW: As much as I hate missing out on my golfing time, we can live without their sponsorship – I don’t want you going around mithering…

  TRENCH: It’s not about that. I think there is a story about the way the factory is now being run…

  EDITOR LAW: Would you take any notice of me if I told you to forget this so-called story? No I thought not, you usually take no notice whatsoever, anyway.

  (EDITOR LAW opens the drawer and hands the address to TRENCH.)

  EDITOR LAW: If I hear you’ve been bothering my old friend…

  TRENCH: Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. Thanks for the address – I won’t let you down. Did I just say that?

  EDITOR LAW: Yes, Trench, I’m very much afraid you did.

  (Mysterious music closes this scene.)

  GILCREST SENIOR: Come in, sit down err, Trench. Now what’s all this about?

  (GILCREST SENIOR and TRENCH both sit down in the living room.)

  TRENCH: Right, Gilcrest err, Senior…

  GILCREST SENIOR: Please, Gilcrest will be fine.

  TRENCH: My boss, Editor Law said it was all right if…

  GILCREST SENIOR: You know old Jonny boy? How’s he swinging these days?

  TRENCH: Fair to middly. He’s back in the hot seat at the Herald.

  GILCREST SENIOR: I used to beat him all the time at golf, you know. I would have to let him win the odd game, though – or he’d go off in one of his mammoth sulks.

  TRENCH: (Who tries to suppress his amusement.) Really?

  GILCREST SENIOR: All right, Trench – if you’re here about the sponsorship, I’m afraid you are swinging from the wrong fairway. Apart from insisting my son at least spoke to the Herald which he agreed, I suspect, just to keep me quiet, I have no influence at the factory any longer.

  TRENCH: No, no – all I’m trying to investigate is events at Gilcrest Gadgets since your retirement.

  GILCREST SENIOR: In what respect? Do you think there are grounds for concern? I know I do, but the wife has firmly told me to leave the boy alone.

  TRENCH: There’s a few things that don’t really add up. Why have the shares recently doubled in price? Your son seems shy about all publicity, not just stopping the sponsorship of the Herald. He only employs girls on the packing line and there’s rumour of a business partner he’s being very secretive about.

  GILCREST SENIOR: I wouldn’t worry about the packing girls, if I was you – that’s one tradition that hasn’t changed from my day. Without being sexist, girls make the best workers – and they’re easier on the eye!

  TRENCH: Quite, but I’d keep that one to myself. (Then says quietly to himself:) But nearly everything else has changed at the factory – why not the packing girls?

  GILCREST SENIOR: I would put the rest down to Marconi – a shifty Anglo-Italian. I don’t like him one bit.

  TRENCH: Who’s Marconi?

  GILCREST SENIOR: My son’s new business partner, of course. I know the shares are doing well, but that doesn’t change my instincts. You know, Marconi even had the gall to ban me from my own factory. Can you believe the nerve of the fellow?

  TRENCH: But, I suppose, it isn’t your factory any more.

  GILCREST SENIOR: Now, that’s what the wife says – even though I built the damned place from nothing to eventually using up to four packing lines that are still going strong today.

  TRENCH: Thank-you, though, Gilcrest. Your information will help my story.

  GILCREST SENIOR: Strike me down with a golf ball!

  TRENCH: Pardon?

  GILCREST SENIOR: I am forgetting my manners. I haven’t offered you a drink. Coffee?

  TRENCH: A hot one – yes, please.

  GILCREST SENIOR: I’ll introduce you to a birthday present from the factory that my son did see fit to give me.

  TRENCH: Not the automaton that makes and brings us the coffee?

  GILCREST SENIOR: Yes, how did you know? I’ll fetch it straight away.

  TRENCH: Wonderful.

  (Humourous yet thoughtful music changes the scene.)

  TRENCH: You know it’s only five-to-three, Debsy?

  DEBSY: I know. I thought I’d better sneak off early to give us a chance to chat before the rest come out.

  TRENCH: I don’t know, talking through a wire fence reminds me of school when we used to sneak out to meet girls from the girl’s school next door…

  DEBSY: Trench, I don’t think we’ve time to reminisce down behind bike-shed lane.

  TRENCH: Sorry – yes, you’re right.

  DEBSY: OK, so what have you been up to?

  TRENCH: I visited Gilcrest Senior and discovered that your new boss, Gilcrest does have a partner, business that is. Have you seen him?

  DEBSY: I don’t think so.

  TRENCH: He’s probably Italian looking.

  DEBSY: Yes, I did walk past someone coming from Gilcrest’s office who could have been this Marconi. Well, he did look Italian.

  TRENCH: That must have been him then.

  DEBSY: And, what’s his crime – selling cornettos to the gadget market?

  TRENCH: We don’t know yet, do we?

  DEBSY: So, there is officially a ‘we’ then?

  TRENCH: Enough about we, I mean me, what have you found out? Do you know where exactly your new buddy works yet?

  DEBSY: Funnily enough…

  TRENCH: I don’t mean to be rude but I’d shut up and stick a cigarette in your mouth right now, this could be her.

  DEBSY: Oops, right.

  KATHY: Hello Debsy – is this your boyfriend?

  DEBSY: Oh err, yes. We can’t keep away from each other, can we darling?

  TRENCH: Yes, as you can see we are truly inseparable.

  KATHY: And do you have a name? I’m Kathy.

  TRENCH: Trench, at your service.

  KATHY: Here, Debsy – you’re struggling with your cigs. Let me.

  (KATHY hands DEBSY a cigarette and lights it for her.)

  DEBSY: (Says reluctantly:) Oh, thanks.

  (DEBSY takes a few puffs and coughs outrageously.)

  KATHY: Nasty cough!

  TRENCH: I know, I’d give up if I was her – but will she listen?

  KATHY: You should really quit.

  DEBSY: Believe me, I’ve tried.

  TRENCH: I suppose it’s lucky security can’t see me from here.

  KATHY: I suppose it is. Debsy, you do actually smoke, don’t you?

  DEBSY: Yes, of course. Just have a bad chest, that’s all.

  TRENCH: And where do you work, Kathy? Debsy has told me so much about you.
r />   KATHY: Has she really? I work in the factory, just like your Debsy.

  (There is a brief audible silence.)

  DEBSY: Break time’s over, I’m afraid. (And says rather too cheerfully:) And I haven’t had chance to finish my cigarette. Catch you later, lover.

  (DEBSY blows TRENCH a kiss.)

  TRENCH: Bye sweetheart. Bye, Kathy.

  KATHY: Yes, I’ll be seeing you, Trench.

  (Music evoking suspicion ends this scene.)

  (We can hear the usual background noises in a pub.)

  DEBSY: So, this is our ‘official’ date then, lover boy?

  TRENCH: For appearance sake – yes, Debsy. In the unlikely event of bumping into Kathy, it adds more meat to our story.

  DEBSY: Have I ever told you, Trenny, that you are one of the great romantics of all time?

  TRENCH: What are you complaining about woman? You’ve got a free drink out of it.

  DEBSY: And they said romance was dead… Nice pub though.

  (TRENCH takes a large sip of his pint.)

  TRENCH: Now, did you find out whereabouts Kathy works in the factory?

  DEBSY: I tried, Trench, I tried. She was the only packing girl I couldn’t account for. Heaven knows where she disappears to – must be a damned good hiding place though.

  TRENCH: How many packing lines are there, as a matter of interest?

  DEBSY: Four – and Kathy wasn’t working on any of them.

  TRENCH: And did you see anymore of Marconi?

  DEBSY: I’m afraid not. According to the other girls, I was lucky to see him even once. Gilcrest said ‘good evening’ though.

  TRENCH: How intimate.

  DEBSY: Now, don’t knock politeness – it’s better than the ‘move out of the way’ I usually get out of you.

  TRENCH: If you like it that much, why don’t you work there permanently?

  DEBSY: Because it’s too much like hard work. What will you be up to tomorrow morning while I’m slaving away?

  TRENCH: I’ll be at my desk, of course.

  DEBSY: After..?

  TRENCH: All right, after having a chat with my old friend.

  DEBSY: You have a lot of chats with this old friend, don’t you?

  TRENCH: Sometimes – when we’ve something to talk about.

  DEBSY: Who is he?

  TRENCH: Just an old man.

  DEBSY: What’s his name?

  TRENCH: Nosey, aren’t we?

  DEBSY: You know I am, well?

  TRENCH: If you must know, he is called Old Tom. Now, don’t laugh.