Grabber
Page 4
“Come ’ere, you!” Ron the robber said, and he launched himself, fists flying, at Crumbe.
Biff. Bash. Clobber. Clout. The punches flew this way and that. Ron, being older and slower than his rival, took the last one hard in the tummy. Oof. He staggered backwards and splashed into the bears.
Douglas Crumbe wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth. He notched his tie straight and slicked his hair. He grimaced at his beaten foe. “Fool,” he sneered, and took out another cigar. But before he could light it, Grabber was there, right in front of his face.
“You again?” said Crumbe.
Grabber hurred and reached into his swag bag for something.
“A lollipop?” laughed Crumbe.
Hrrr, went Grabber, and struck it soundly on the horrid man’s forehead, right between his shifty eyes.
Douglas Crumbe softened like a digestive biscuit dunked into a cup of very hot tea.
Then, suddenly, a siren was sounding outside on the drive and the shadow of a blue light was flashing at the window.
“The rozzers!” cried Ron, trying to struggle to his feet. “We’re cooked! Run f’rit, Grabber!”
Too late. Sergeant Beale and Inspector Bumble were already in the room, quickly followed by Liz and Lucy.
“Ronald Badfellow,” Inspector Bumble said. “I’m arresting you on multiple counts of robbing.”
Sergeant Beale snapped a pair of handcuffs onto Ron.
“I only did it for the bear!” he cried.
The two policemen bundled him downstairs.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Liz said in dragontongue to the fleeing Grabber. One look from her violet eyes was enough to mesmerise him, mid-flight.
“Cor,” said Lucy as he fell into her hands. “He really looks like a robber, Mum.”
“Hmm,” went Liz. “Well, it’s nothing to be proud of. That vest is coming off and he is coming home with us…”
Epilogue
As it happened, Grabber’s vest stayed on. Liz finally came around to Lucy’s suggestion that the hooped sock actually suited him. Even so, she warned, he would need to stay in Guinevere’s care for a while and be taught that robbing, even for a ‘good’ cause, was bad.
“It wasn’t his fault, though,” Lucy said. “If Ron hadn’t named him Grabber he wouldn’t be like this. Will we have to rename him?”
“No,” said Liz. “But we will have to re-educate him. Then, in time, he can go back to Ron.”
Lucy’s mouth fell open.
“I think that’s where he’d be happiest, don’t you?” Liz smiled at the young dragon, who was sitting on the kitchen table with Gruffen and Gauge.
“What will happen to Ron?” asked Lucy. “Will he have to go to prison?”
“He’s appearing in court today,” said Liz, just as the doorbell rang. “That might be the police now. Inspector Bumble said he’d call round and give us any news.”
Sure enough, when Lucy opened the door, there were the two figures of Bumble and Beale. She took them through to the kitchen, where Liz offered them some cake and a cup of tea.
“So,” she said. “What happened to Ron?”
“Wrist slapped,” the Inspector said. “No prison sentence, but the judge has given him six months’ community service.”
“What does that mean?” asked Lucy.
“Do you know that old factory beside Scrubbley Common?” said Sergeant Beale.
“The one with all its windows smashed?” said Lucy.
Beale nodded. “Mr Badfellow has to glaze them all.”
“Very fitting,” said Liz. “What about Douglas Crumbe?”
Inspector Bumble swallowed a mouthful of cake. “We’ve charged him with attempted fraud. He’ll go to prison. He’s the real crook.”
“And what’s going to happen to the bears?” said Lucy. She’d been dying to ask this from the word go.
Annoyingly, she had to wait another ten seconds while the Inspector washed his cake down with a swig of tea. “The bears are a genuine collection,” he said. “They were all purchased by Alaistair Crumbe, Douglas Crumbe’s father, and passed on to his very ungrateful son. Some of them are worth a mint. Nice payday for that rascal if they had gone up in smoke.”
“Yes, but where’s Humphrey?” Lucy said with a huff.
“Ronald Badfellow has identified a bear he claims belongs to him,” said Sergeant Beale.
“Will he get him back?” asked Liz.
The two policemen looked at one another. Sergeant Beale took out his notes and said, “Alaistair Crumbe kept records of his purchases. We’re investigating the man he bought Humphrey from. The man has a criminal record. If he confesses to stealing Humphrey, he’ll be returned to Ronald Badfellow.”
“Yes!” said Lucy, tightening her fists.
“By the way,” the Inspector said, reaching into his pocket for a photograph. “You had a dragon stolen, did you not?” He glanced around, but Grabber had flown across to the worktop and was hiding behind Sergeant Beale, fearing he might be arrested.
“Did it look anything like this?” He put the photo down.
Lucy caught her breath. The picture was of Grabber, hovering in a beam of light.
“It was taken by a video camera at Crumbe’s house.”
“Goodness, how odd,” said Liz. “Well, even if it was one of ours we’d never identify it, would we? It’s in disguise!”
Sergeant Beale coughed. “Well, perhaps I could take a few details of what your stolen dragon looked like anyway, Mrs Pennykettle?” He reached into his jacket for his pencil, but it wasn’t there. “Oh,” he said, patting his pockets. “I seem to have mislaid my pencil.”
“Never mind,” said Inspector Bumble. “Something tells me we won’t find this dragon. Would I be right, Mrs Pennykettle?” He smiled thinly at Liz. She smiled broadly back. The inspector tipped his hat. “Good day, madam. Thank you for the tea.”
“Good day,” said Liz.
Lucy escorted the policemen to the door.
When she came back into the kitchen, Liz was frowning hard at Grabber. “Open your bag,” Liz said to him.
Hrrr? went Grabber, trying to sound innocent.
“Open it,” Liz said. Her green eyes flashed.
Grabber gulped and spilled the contents of the bag onto the table.
“Hey, that’s one of my hair clips!” cried Lucy. “And my favourite bookmark! And the pebble from my room! He’s pinched them!”
“And Sergeant Beale’s pencil, by the look of it,” Liz said, as a stubby one dropped at Grabber’s feet.
Grabber gulped apologetically and picked it up. As he did so, Liz gave a little start.
“What’s the matter?” asked Lucy.
Liz covered her heart. “Oh, the strangest feeling,” she said. “A dragon with a pencil.”
“So?” said Lucy.
Liz shook her head. “Nothing. Just a feeling.” She refocused on Grabber. “Well, young dragon. We have got to stop your robbing ways. I think you’re going to have to spend quite a lot of time in the Dragons’ Den with—”
Liz broke off suddenly hearing a loud hooter, an even louder clang, and an even louder holler of pain from outside.
They rushed out to find Henry Bacon sitting on his back door step, holding a hand to his head. There was an egg-shaped bump on it.
“Henry? What happened?” asked Liz.
“Bacon’s patent alarm system,” he grimaced, pointing to the frying pan dangling on a piece of string above his head. “Set off by an intruder. Delayed reaction from the frying pan. Clonked me instead of the villain.”
Lucy was about to burst out laughing, when she saw something looking at her from across the garden. Something with big round frightened eyes, hiding underneath Mr Bacon’s garden bench. “Hhh! Could it have been…that?” she said. She looked at her mother, then pointed to the bench.
Liz walked to the bench and dragged the ‘something’ out.
It was a young tabby cat. Around its neck was a paper collar. On the colla
r was some writing. It said, “My name is Bingo. Please give me a home.”
“Bingo?” said Liz.
And the cat looked up at her – and purred.
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