by Ian Fleming
They both nodded.
“O.K., then,” said Joe the Monster breezily. “Come on, Soapy, and let’s get our chow. Looking at the fine breakfast you’ve dished up for these kids is making me hungry.” He turned at the door, “Ta-ta, kiddies, and be good until Uncle Joe comes and fetches you.” He walked out followed by Soapy Sam who locked the door behind them.
Well, the china on the old tin tray was pretty chipped and not all that clean. But, by this time, Jeremy and Jemima were ravenous and they cheerfully squatted down on the hard concrete floor and set to.
A French breakfast is very different from an English one. To begin with, French bread, instead of being in loaves, comes in long thin shapes about the length and width of a policeman’s billy club, and it’s mostly crust, but very delicious crust. The big slab of French butter tasted much more like farm butter than most of the stuff we get in England, and the strawberry jam was very sirupy, like all French jams, but full of big, fat, whole strawberries. The coffee with milk, which the French call “café au lait,” was, if you happen to like coffee, better than the wishy-washy stuff you often get in England. So after a bit of rather cautious experimenting, Jeremy and Jemima set to with a will, and in between mouthfuls, cautiously whispered their thoughts and fears about Joe the Monster’s plans and, with the help of the snatches of conversation that Jeremy had heard in the car, they came to the following conclusion which, since it’s more or less right, I will pass on to you.
They guessed that they were going to be used by Joe the Monster and his gang to rob Monsieur Bon-Bon. They were to be the “innocent pair of monkeys” who would be “shoved in just before closing,” while, presumably, the gang waited round the corner with perhaps one of them apparently examining the sweets in the shop window, but really watching the twins through it. Jeremy had been given a five-thousand-franc note to buy a four-thousand-franc box of chocolates, and Monsieur Bon-Bon would have to go to the till to change it. (“Keys of the safe in the till.”) As soon as Monsieur Bon-Bon opened the till, the gangsters would dash in and knock him on the head and seize the keys, which were presumably the keys of the safe where he kept his money.
“But,” whispered Jeremy, “I simply can’t understand about this business of ‘Soapy using the jelly.’ What can that mean? There might be jellies in a sweet shop, I suppose. Do you think they are going to gag Monsieur Bon-Bon with his own jellies so that he can’t shout for help?”
They both giggled at the idea, but it was Jemima who got the right answer.
“You remember yesterday when we blew up Joe the Monster’s stores in that huge cave? Well, Daddy said that some of the cases were full of stuff called gelignite, and he said it was the stuff that gangsters use to blow open safes with. Mightn’t ‘jelly’ be kind of gangster slang for gelignite?”
“You’ve got it,” whispered Jeremy. “By jove, you’ve got it. That’s just what they’re going to do. They’ll get the keys out of Monsieur Bon-Bon’s till and those keys probably open Monsieur Bon-Bon’s safe. Now, for heaven’s sake, what are we going to do about it?”
At this moment, they heard a key in the lock and Soapy Sam came in to take away the tray and lead them off to wash their hands in an old bathroom at the back of the huge, deserted warehouse. Then they were back in their cell again and the door was locked on them and they squatted together in the farthest corner away from the door and went on with their urgent whispering.
“When we go up to the counter to buy the chocolates,” said Jeremy, “we’ve somehow got to warn Monsieur Bon-Bon that there are gangsters outside, but we don’t know half-a-dozen words of French between us. How can we possibly tell him?”
“Could we just make faces and point our fingers at him like guns and shout ‘bang’?” said Jemima helpfully.
“He’d think we were just being rude,” said Jeremy. “We’ve got to write him some sort of a note.”
“But we haven’t got any pens or pencils or even paper.”
“We’ve got the paper,” said Jeremy triumphantly, and he produced the big five-thousand-franc note and spread it out between them. “Now if we could just write in big letters ‘GANGSTERS’ across the note I am sure it’s a word Monsieur Bon-Bon will understand. But what can we possibly use for ink?” He looked accusingly at Jemima. “It’s a shame you’re not a bit older and then you’d have a lipstick. In adventure stories, girls are always using lipsticks to write notes with.”
“It’s not my fault,” whispered Jemima, fiercely. “Anyway I hate the stuff. I once tried Mummy’s and I ended up looking as if I’d smeared my face with raspberry jam. Mummy was very angry with me, at least she pretended to be, but I think she was really only trying to stop laughing.”
“Well, come on,” whispered Jeremy urgently, “it must be getting near the time. I’ve got absolutely nothing in my pockets except a handkerchief and some bits of string and my pocketknife. What’ve you got?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing except my handkerchief,” said Jemima despairingly. “But isn’t there anything you can do with you knife?
It’s full of gadgets and things.”
“By golly,” exclaimed Jeremy, “of course we can use the sharp tip of the corkscrew and punch holes in the bank note to spell out the word ‘gangsters’ in big letters. Come on, let’s get going quickly. You come and sit between me and the door in case anyone looks through the keyhole,” and he fished out his pocketknife, opened the corkscrew and set to work with the five-thousand-franc note in front of him on the concrete floor.
They both examined his handiwork and agreed that anyone who handled the note would feel the holes and look at it very suspiciously and almost certainly hold it up to the light to see if the note were so badly damaged that it wasn’t worth five thousand francs.
Jeremy had only just stowed the note and his knife away in his pocket when the door opened and Joe the Monster came in followed by Man-Mountain Fink.
“Come on, duckies, time to go,” he said jovially. “Now, just one little formality before we set off. I’m sure you kiddies,” he looked suspiciously from one to the other, “I’m sure you kiddies haven’t been up to any tricks, but, just in case, I’d like to see what’s in your pockets.”
(Jeremy gave a sigh of relief. Thank heavens they hadn’t found a pencil and paper somewhere, or been able to do any of the other tricks they had thought out.)
He innocently emptied his pockets of his pocketknife and handkerchief and showed the five-thousand-franc note, well folded up. Jemima just showed her handkerchief.
After they had been made to pull out the linings of their pockets to show that nothing was hidden, Joe the Monster said, “All right, kiddies, let’s go. Remember what you’ve got to do—you just walk into the shop and ask for a box of chocolates for four thousand francs, right?” And they trooped out, with Man-Mountain Fink taking up the rear to prevent any attempt to escape.
They piled into the black tourer and were soon roaring off through the streets to where, in the distance, the Eiffel Tower, which is a gigantic tower made of iron right in the middle of Paris, stood up like a huge needle in the sky.
Jeremy kept an eye on the clocks on churches and shops, and he saw that the minutes were hurrying on toward twelve o’clock when, as Joe the Monster had said, Monsieur Bon-Bon closed his shop for the morning. And, sure enough, as they passed a gleaming shop window with the huge words “BON-BON” inscribed above it in gold, and turned down the next side street and stopped, Jeremy heard some distant clock begin the first chimes of twelve.
The door of the car was thrown open, and they were hustled out on to the pavement. “Run! Run!” said Joe the Monster, furiously. “We’re late and he’ll be shutting up his shop. Now don’t forget, do exactly what I told you and you’ll come to no trouble. If not,” and he lifted a big hairy fist as Jeremy and Jemima sped off round the corner.
Sure enough, the doors of Monsieur Bon-Bon’s brilliantly lit shop were just closing as they dashed up, and they had no chance to examine th
e row upon row of delicious candies and chocolates temptingly arrayed in the long window.
A great wave of delicious chocolate smell hit them as they edged in past the closing door, and there was a charming little old man in an old-fashioned suit with an apron round his fat tummy and a long white beard and whiskers, almost like Father Christmas.
He beamed down at the two children and let the door stand open.
“Qu’est-ce que vous désirez?” And from the lift of his eyebrows, the children guessed he was saying, “What do you desire?” Jeremy, panting from the run, managed to stammer out, “A box of chocolate, please, for four thousand francs.”
“Aie!” exclaimed Monsieur Bon-Bon. “quatre mille francs—zat ees a very beeg box of chocolates,” and he moved over to the counter on which there was an endless array of beautiful boxes tied with huge colored ribbons.
He picked out one, “You like zees one? She is mixed-up chocolates.”
Jeremy and Jemima stifled a desire to giggle at his funny English, but it wasn’t difficult to stifle the giggle for they knew the danger wasn’t over yet and that the terrifying part of the adventure was still to come.
“Oh, yes, please,” said Jeremy quickly, and, at the same time, over Monsieur Bon-Bon’s shoulder, he saw the sly face of Soapy Sam gazing in through the window past all the luscious array of candies and chocolates.
Monsieur Bon-Bon, who was used to the indecision of children and the time they took to make up their minds, looked rather surprised, but he walked behind the counter to wrap up the box and Jeremy followed him and held out with, I admit, a rather trembling hand, the five-thousand-franc note, while Jemima stood beside him biting her knuckles and almost jumping up and down with excitement.
Monsieur Bon-Bon took the note and, as the children had expected, he at once opened it up and felt the holes in it. He looked at them suspiciously, and seeing the urgency and excitement on their faces and somehow smelling a rat, he lifted the note up to the light and softly spelled out the letters one by one. “Gangsters,” whispered Jeremy. “Gangsters outside,” and he jerked his head toward the door.
Monsieur Bon-Bon was suddenly transformed from a delightful old Father Christmas into a man of action. Without a word, he ran, surprisingly quickly for an old man, across the shop to the door and bolted and barred it, then he pressed down quickly on a big lever beside the door and the steel shutters of the shop rattled down outside, but not before the children had caught a last glimpse of Soapy Sam’s face, now contorted into a furious snarl.
Then Monsieur Bon-Bon darted back behind the counter and picked up the telephone, excitedly shouting a lot of French down it amongst which Jeremy and Jemima heard the word “police” used several times. Then Monsieur Bon-Bon put the receiver back on the hook and came round and stood looking down at the children for a minute or two.
Then he said, “And now, mes enfants, tell me what zees is all about, yes?”
But as Jeremy began to stammer out his story, from outside in the street came the familiar warning blare of CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG’S tremendous klaxon—“GA-GOO-GA, GA-GOO-GA, GA-GOO-GA,” and then a splintering crash of glass and metal and the sound of shouts and people running.
Now, what had happened was this.
CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG had broken all records in her dash from Calais to Paris, and then, almost seeming to take charge of the steering wheel herself, had finished the trip with a hair-raising sprint through the crowded streets, ignoring traffic lights, police whistles, and the angry shouts of other motorists as if she knew there were only minutes to spare.
Commander Pott clung grimly to the wheel and Mimsie spent most of the time with her hands over her eyes, as if, at any moment, they would crash.
But then the little radar scanner on the hood held steady along one particular stretch of street, and CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG slowed down all by herself as if she were sniffing about looking for something. And, sure enough, as they passed a big candy shop with the words “BON-BON” in gold upon it, a low black car dashed suddenly out of a side street and Commander Pott and Mimsie just had time to recognize it as the gangsters’ car, when CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG positively wrenched the wheel out of Commander Pott’s hands and tore straight, like a charging bull, across the street—straight at the black tourer.
CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG hit the black tourer bang in its middle with a tremendous crash and tinkling of glass and knocked it right over on its side, spilling Joe the Monster, Soapy Sam, and Man-Mountain Fink out onto the road. And, just at that moment, as the gangsters scrambled to their feet to make a run for it, French motorcycle patrols, with sirens screaming, appeared from both ends of the street and tore down upon them.
Commander Pott jumped from the driver’s seat of the now motionless green car, and joined in the chase which now ensued, finally bringing Joe the Monster to the ground with a flying tackle like you see in football.
And then, with the three gangsters lined up and covered with the policemen’s revolvers, the door of the candy shop opened and the little man looking rather like Father Christmas came running up followed by Jeremy and Jemima.
Well, you can imagine the scenes of happiness and excitement that followed as the twins were reunited with their parents. But then there had to be a lot of confabulation with the police after a French Black Maria had driven up and taken the shouting and cursing gangsters away.
But at last everything had been explained in a mixture of English and French, and many compliments were piled on the shy heads of Jeremy and Jemima for the gallant part they had played in bringing about the capture of the gangsters.
Then a police tow truck appeared and hauled the remains of the gangsters’ car away and the police promised to have
CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG’s broken front bumper and bent-in radiator nose put right as quickly as possible. And Monsieur Bon-Bon and the Pott family watched sympathetically as the great green car was hauled carefully off to a nearby garage, where Commander Pott later visited her to see that she was being properly looked after and that she hadn’t suffered any internal damage as a result of her brave ramming of the black tourer.
But she seemed quite happy being attended to by a host of admiring French mechanics, and Commander Pott returned cheerfully to Monsieur Bon-Bon’s house over his shop where he had insisted that the whole Pott family should first of all have an enormous lunch and be shown some of the sights of Paris, and then spend the night before going off the next day.
Madame Bon-Bon was just as nice as Monsieur Bon-Bon and there were two rumbustious children about the same age as the twins, called Jacques and Jacqueline, and everyone, talking a mixture of bad French and bad English, got on tremendously well together.
The French police paid several visits during the rest of the day and took everybody’s statements in writing, and announced that the Pott family, for their collective efforts in catching the gangsters, would be rewarded no less than one hundred thousand francs, which is about eight hundred pounds, and Madame Bon-Bon added her own reward, which was to reveal the closely guarded secret of the Bon-Bon family on how to make Bon-Bon “Fooj,” which was the way she pronounced fudge. (And at the end of this adventure I will pass on to you the recipe, which you will find very easy to make and absolutely delicious.)
The next morning, after another of those wonderful French breakfasts, Commander Pott went round to the garage and, sure enough, CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG, although still wearing a slightly battered look, was in splendid order and came booming round to the Bon-Bon shop where the whole Bon-Bon family insisted on being shown every detail of her. Then Monsieur Bon-Bon beckoned Jeremy and Jemima back into the shop and told them to hold out their arms, and piled box after box of wonderful candies and chocolates into them until the twins could hardly stand upright. And since the piles of boxes rose higher than their faces, they could hardly see their way to the door and had to be helped as they staggered out to pack their scrumptious presents into the back of CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG.
And then CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG went motoring docilely off down the street with quite a different expression on her face from the furious snarl she had worn in that same street the day before.
They got out onto the open road for Calais and for either the car ferry or the “Air Bridge” to England (they hadn’t yet made up their minds which way to go) and Commander Pott said, over his shoulder, to Jeremy and Jemima, “Well, I think that’s quite enough adventure for the time being. It’s high time we all went home to peace and quiet.”
And Mimsie said, very forcibly, “I entirely agree.”
But in the back, Jeremy and Jemima both gave a squawk of protest, “Oh, no,” they cried, more or less together. “More adventures! More!”
And at that, believe it or not, there came a whirring of machinery from somewhere deep down inside CHITTY-CHITTY-BANG-BANG. The front and back mudguards swiveled out into the wings, the radiator opened up and the whizzing propeller of the cooling fan slid out and with a tremendous “whoosh” the great green car soared up into the sky.
