The Mouse That Roared

by Leonard Wibberley

  And the bride and bridegroom had hardly set out for Paris in a plane provided by the French Government, which had now been re-formed, following the settling of the matter of taxi-drivers’ overtime, when Dr. Kokintz addressed himself solemnly to his canary.

  “Dickey,” he said, “this little country is the natural product of one of nature’s greatest upheavals.” The canary chirped with what Dr. Kokintz took to be bright intelligence.

  “Yes, Dickey,” he continued, “these mountains around which form the walls of Grand Fenwick, were caused by the thrusting up of the earth’s crust during the cooling period, billions of years ago. And what happened once, may happen again. Do you know what would be the result if there were an earthquake here, or some pressure below the earth or on the other side of the world were to cause a major fault to appear in these mountains? I will tell you what would happen. The Q-bomb would explode. And all our efforts to secure the world from destruction would be cancelled out.”

  He left the canary then and went down the spiral staircase that led deep into the rock below the castle to the dungeon where the Q-bomb was kept. The guards had received instructions, from Gloriana to admit him to the dungeon, but no one else, and so stepped aside and opened the great door which creaked and groaned as it was thrust back. On a solid slab of stone in the centre of the gloomy cell, cushioned on a pile of straw, lay the lead box which contained the bomb. Dr. Kokintz waited until the door had closed behind him and then walked slowly over to it. A lantern which he had brought with him threw a pool of light around his feet. He stopped and put the lantern down. Then he wiped his glasses, his hands trembling a little, and reached out for the bomb. Perhaps it was because he had forgotten the weight of it, perhaps it was because the light of the lantern was so poor that he misjudged the distance. Perhaps it was just nervousness on his part. Whatever the reason, the bomb slipped from his hands, trembled for a minute on the bed of straw, and then, as he watched it, paralysed with horror, fell with a thump to the stone floor of the dungeon. Nothing happened.

  Dr. Kokintz, his face frozen with surprise, looked at it for some seconds. Then he picked it up, still cautious. He took a clasp knife from his pocket, and after working for a while, took one panel off the side of the bomb and peered inside.

  “So,” he said musingly, “a dud. That hairpin of Mrs. Reiner’s, my landlady, which I used for a spring, was of poor quality, and so we are all safe. It is a pity that neither she nor anyone else will ever know about it.” He put the panel back, picked up his lantern, and left the dungeon.

  As he passed the guards at the door one of them asked, “Is the bomb still in good condition, Doctor?”

  “In excellent condition,” Dr. Kokintz assured him. “It is a better bomb than ever.”