Captured by Cannibals …
In which Dockerty Grimes risks his very life
to save his Dancing Damsels !!
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;
The
Gruman Jet skimmed the tree-tops as Ace pilot, Private Investigator and
Entertainer, Dockerty Grimes, steered the air-craft to its destination. Sweet Sharee, Co-pilot and one of the
Dancing Damsels, asked him if he knew where he was … “Our agent sure gets us
some jobs in out of the way places,” she remarked.
Dockerty
called back to Romantic Rosie, the navigator, … “Can you see the Amazon River
down there?” he asked anxiously.
Rosie
looked out of the widow … “I see it !” she cried. “And just around the next
mountain should be a clearing where we can land,” she added, studying her map
and then turning it the right way up.
“Good
!” exclaimed Dockerty, “If all goes well we should be able to trek back through
the jungle to the Bongo-bongo tribe’s VAWIH Feast Day celebrations. Raymondo said we would get $10 each … and a
lovely bunch of coconuts.”
“ That reminds me” said Sharee , “I’d
better check my costume and see if he’s
given me the right one. For our last job he mixed things up and gave me a hula
costume belonging to someone called Lovely Louisa. It … er … didn’t fit too well ...”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“What
does VAWIH stand for ?” asked Rosie as
they trudged their way through the dense undergrowth,
“And
do you really think it was a good idea to change into our hula costumes back in
the plane ?”
“VAWIH
is probably the name of their god,” said Dockerty who was more theologically
minded than his Dancing Damsels.
“And
there may be no changing rooms in the Bongo-bongo village.” added Sharee.
They
pressed on.
“Are
you sure we are going in the right direction ?” queried Rosie.
“I’ll
tell you what I’ll do …” said Dockerty , “I’ll climb that hill over there
,” (he pointed to the 5,000 feet high
mountain ) and I’ll survey the situation.”
“Oh, Dockerty,” said Sharee, “You are
so wise.”
“And
brave,” added Rosie.
So
off he went, whilst the Dancing Damsels waited … and practiced their routine.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It
was an hour later that a python dropped from the tree-top behind Rosie and
coiled tightly around her.
Thinking,
at first, that Dockerty had returned and was up to his old tricks, she cooed , “Eeeee
! I like it !”
But
then seeing the serpent’s head leering at her she screamed. “Sharee !!! Do
something !!”
“Help
!” screamed Sharee.
The
python squeezed tighter …………………….
Suddenly,
as Rosie began to turn blue, a poison arrow struck the beast in its head. It
released its hold and fell lifeless to the ground. From the bushes came fifty muscular, armed warriors of the Bongo-bongo tribe. Their black
bodies shone in the twilight.
“Eeeee
! I like it,” said Sharee.
The
Dancing Damsels were taken to the tribal encampment .
And Dockerty returned to find them missing !
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Being
something of a tracker , ( as well as jet-pilot, Private Investigator and
Entertainer ) he followed the footprints and broken twigs to the village. There it was he peered through the bushes ,
appalled at the sight that met his eyes.
A
huge cooking pot was having a fire lit beneath it. Rosie and Sharee were tied to poles … evidently intended to be
the evening’s dessert ! The Bongo-bongo tribe were cannibals !
Now
it dawned on him . VAWIH was not the name of their god. It stood for Visitors Always Welcome In Hotpot ! And the Feast Day
that Raymondo had arranged for them to be guest artists … was a cannibal supper
!!
What
could he do ?
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty
raced back to the jet plane … found his ukulele … and then back to the cannibal
village.
He
recalled that his mother had told him, ‘Music soothes the savage breast’
Or was it ‘savage beast’ ?
No
matter … he would strum and sing ….
Already
the Dancing Damsels were being untied,
ready to be lifted into the boiling
stew.
“Yakkee Hula Hicky Doola, … Yakkee
Hula Hicky Doola …
Wacky, wacky Willy
Boola … Yodelayee …”
Dockerty’s melodious voice echoed through the
night sky.
Sheree
and Rosie could not help themselves at the sound of that romantic music. They
swayed and wobbled , bounced and wiggled. The natives stood back. Never had
they seen such grace and beauty.
“Ungar,
Ungar !” they cried.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It
was with tears streaming down their cheeks the warriors of the Bongo-bongo
tribe bade farewell to this entertaining trio.
Dockerty
settled into the cockpit of the Gruman Jet. “Let’s go, ladies, and see what
else our booking agent has lined up for us,” he said.
“Oh,
Dockerty,” they chorused in unison, “You are so wonderful …”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Calling Doctor Grimes ….
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The call went out for Doctor Grimes,
(Such came at unexpected
times,)
“Emergency ! Emergency !
Please hurry, Doctor, to Ward three.”
He left his creamy apple pie
and down the stairs he then did fly –
Perhaps someone’s about to die !
There in the ward is Matron Rose
with dimpled chin and shiny nose,
and sweet Sheree, the naughty nurse,
who cried, “The patient’s
getting worse,
but Doctor Grimes we trust in you …
there is none else can pull her through !
A brain transplant is needed now –
to your great skill we humbly bow !
Take out the old, put in the new,
her cranium you must unscrew.”
Doc. Grimes looked at the patient there
the sight was more than he
could bear.
Those crumby hands and frizzy hair !
“Scalpel ! Knife !” he ordered quick,
“I’ll have that brain out in a tick.”
He sliced and dug with all his skill …
Sheree fainted, Rose felt ill.
Alas ! no matter where he scanned
the search went not as he had planned …
Beneath that mop of frizzy hair
no brain was found when he looked there …..
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Jay D. Grimes
… 
and the Old
Spruce Pine Tree !
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
When Jay D.
Grimes rode into Cassowary Bend he little dreamed that he would be the target
for a ruthless killer.
……………………………………………………………………………………………
There were two oddities
connected with this small western township.
One was the name … Cassowary
Bend. Most of the folk had never seen
such a bird. There were some old timers who recalled the visit of Simpson’s
Hair Restorer Wagon sixty years previous … he sold every coloured bottle of
water you could think of and claimed it would grow hair on your toe-nails. And
he displayed a real (?) piece of Egyptian papyri with weird, unreadable
squiggles on it … and a genuine feather from Geronimo’s head-dress … and a bird
that looked like a plucked rooster, except it was all purple and blue as if
Simpson had painted it. He said it was a Cassowary … and some folk believed
him.
And that’s how the town
received its name.
The other strange thing was the
old spruce pine tree that grew in the main street. Not the centre of the
street, but to the side, just outside Seb. Jenkin’s saloon.
Seb. had even called his saloon ‘The Old Spruce Pine Saloon’. After all, that old tree was like a bit of
free advertising.
Nobody knew how it got there.
Maybe a bird a-flying by had dropped a seed during the winter season when the
unmade road was turned to mud. Who knows ?
But there it stood. Some of the inhabitants of Cassowary Bend
regarded it as a hazard. The way it swayed and creaked when the wind blew harsh
and cold down that main street.
“We ought to chop it down !” suggested some of the Town
Council. But Seb. Jenkins opposed the move,
even took up a petition among his patrons. The old spruce pine, that grew on the street just outside his
swinging doors, stayed.
………………………………………………………..
When Jay D. Grimes arrived in
Cassowary Bend that ominous day he
tethered his horse, on the
opposite side of the street. The hitching posts outside the Old Spruce Pine
Saloon were already taken.
Aged in his late twenties,
clean cut but covered in dust from the long ride, he asked if a room was
available where he might ‘scrub up’ and rest.
“ Five Dollars a night, Mister.
That includes the bath. Guns have to be checked in here behind the counter.
This is a peaceful town.” Seb. Jenkins paused and then asked, “What did ya say
your name was Mister ?”
“Grimes, … Jay D. Grimes.”
One of the poker playing
patrons looked up. He remembered that name. Grimes !! Why, it was some fifteen
years ago Sheriff Grimes had gunned down his father in a botched bank
robbery. Folk said it was a fair fight.
‘Not so, in my books!’ thought Webster Fennell …‘so this is the son of the man
who killed my Pa !” He automatically reached for his gun before he realised
that it had been checked in and his holster was empty.
But he would bide his time.
Hatch his plan. Besides, Jay D. Grimes
didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t
expecting any trouble. But in a day or two he would have a bullet in his back.
……………………………………
It was an hour or so later that
Jay D. was leading his horse to the stable.
Outside the General Store a buckboard had arrived and a rather pretty
young lady was ready to clamber down. Her long raven-coloured hair and dark
skin indicated that she might be part Indian.
“Come on, squaw,” said a
raucous voice, “ let me help you down.”
It was obvious to Jay D. that
this young lady did not want the clammy hands of this town drunk to help her
down.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” he called,
crossing the street, “I notice you left the brake off on your buckboard when
you pulled up.”
She ignored the drunken fool
and turned her attention to this newcomer.
“Why, thank you sir,” she said
pleasantly, “I wonder if you would mind helping me down …”
Jay D. was only too pleased to do so.
The drunkard slunk away.
“That man stares at me every
time I come into town,” she said, “He scares me.”
“Well, Ma’am,” said Jay D ., “I
can understand him starin’ at ya … if you don’t mind me saying so you’re the
purtiest sight I’ve seen for many a day.”
He eyed the drunk lingering a
few doors away.
“Maybe,” he added, “I ought to
stick around a while longer … if that’s O.K. with you. By the way, my name is Grimes … Jay D.
Grimes.”
She glanced up the street. “I
think I’d appreciate your company, Mr. Grimes,” she said. “My name is Angel
McCallum.”
“Angel ?”
“My father was the first
missionary to our tribe …and my mother was one of his first converts. These
days he pastors the Baptist chapel that you probably noticed on your way into
town.” She pointed to the white-washed wooden building thirty yards away. “You … er … might like to come along next
Sunday to the service. It commences at 10 o’clock.”
Jay D. smiled. “You are quite a
little missionary yourself !” he said. “But I don’t know if I’d be able to
follow what to do …”
She cut in. “ You just come along , Mr Grimes. I’ll sit with you and show you
what to do.”
They entered the General Store
together. He carried and loaded her
buckboard with the supplies she purchased. Before he waved her farewell, she
explained, “And oh ! incidentally Mr Grimes, my horse, does not need the brake
put on …when I say ‘Stop’, she stops.
And when I say ‘Away’, she moves.”
She gave him a winsome smile as
she drove off … down past the old spruce pine tree.
And Jay D. Grimes felt warm inside.
……………………………………..
Sunday came. It was cold and blustery and the wind ripped
down Cassowary Bend’s main street in a fury. A few rumbles of thunder echoed in
the nearby hills.
“Off to church, are ya ?” said
Seb. Jenkins. “Won’t do ya any harm. Be needin’ your guns ?”
Jay D. Grimes shook his head. “You can hang on to ‘em a bit longer,” he said.
“It’s good to be in a peaceful town for a change.”
But just outside those swinging
doors Web. Fennell waited, a murderous glint in his eye and a Colt 45. in his
hand.
Jay D. had only taken a few
steps on the boardwalk, toward the church, when the voice spoke.
“O.K. Grimes … turn around. You
think you are going to meet Miss Angel.
Ha ! You are about to meet the angels !”
An unarmed Jay D. turned and
saw the gun pointed at him …
………………………………………………..
Further up the street, outside
the church, Angel had started to dismount from her buckboard. Rough hands
grabbed her waist. She turned to see the drunken fool.
“Get away from me” she screamed.
It was the word, ‘Away !’ that triggered the next
remarkable series of events.
The brake had not been applied.
Thunder clapped overhead. And
horse and buckboard took off in a frantic gallop down the main street.
The horse cleared the old
spruce pine tree by inches. The
buckboard did not.
There was a splintering crash
as the old tree toppled toward the saloon.
As it smashed its way through the verandah , Jay D. launched himself out
of harms way only to be caught by a small branch. But Web. Fennell received the
full impact. He was dead.
Angel ran along to where Jay D.
lay and helped him to his feet.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Takes more than an old spruce
pine tree to finish me off,” he replied. “But your horse...”
“Don’t worry about her,” said Angel.
“We’ll saddle up after church and go find her. But you’re not getting out of
going to church that easy….”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Jay
D. Grimes … and the
Comanche Attack !!
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“How many of them do you think there are ?” asked Dolores Martin.
Jay D. Grimes looked grim.
“At least twenty I’d say
…” he replied. “And I’ll be honest with you … I know a little about these
Comanches … at sun-up tomorrow morning
they’ll attack. I doubt if we even have
enough ammunition to hold ‘em off. Even if we did, they’d send a few flaming arrows onto the roof of this cabin to
burn us out .”
He looked around the single room … only a front door and window.
No guns or ammunition hidden away . An
old saddle hung on the back wall.
Half-a-dozen prospecting dishes … a barrel of flour … some jars of
molasses … three tin mugs … a mixture
of pots and pans … half a dozen small logs … a couple of rugs on a wooden bed.
Even a pillow that some passer-by had left behind.
The cabin belonged to old
man Benson who was strangely absent when they had arrived. Maybe he was in the hills prospecting. Or maybe the Indians had already killed
him. And now Jay D. Grimes and Dolores
Martin looked as if the same fate was about to befall them ….
When Jay D. Grimes had sailed from England’s shore in June 1833, ( Note 5) some eight months previous, he never dreamed
that he would find himself in a log cabin with an attractive, slim, blonde,
twenty-five-year-old lady … not to mention surrounded by hostile
Indians.
After a few months in
New York he had replied to an advertisement for a doctor at Twin Forks,
Texas. (Note 6) Twin Forks, according to the advertisement, was a growing
town, peaceful, prosperous due to recently discovered gold nearby, but badly in
need of a doctor who could double as a dentist and undertaker as the need
arose. Jay D. had applied and been accepted.
It necessitated a train
journey to Lynch Springs which was as far as the railway tracks had been laid …
and then a three or four day horse ride. The advertisement did not mention that
the latter lay through Comanche territory !
So Jay.D. set out.
At Lynch Springs he purchased two horses, a rifle and some
ammunition, warm bedding and other supplies for the journey. The second horse would act as a pack animal.
“Where’d ya say you was a-goin’ ?” asked the store keeper.
“Twin Forks,” replied Jay D. “They say it’s a growing town. You
wouldn’t have a map of some kind to help me find it, would you ? I have some pretty vague directions here but
a map would b helpful.”
The store keeper was as helpful as could be expected. He drew a
map … a few mountains and rivers here and there with an arrow roughly sketched
to show Jay D. where he needed to change direction.
“There was a couple o’ families
headin’ that way in wagons. Jest left yesterday. You might catch up to
‘em. But let me warn ya, son , those
arrows on the map’ll remind ya of the Comanche land you’ll be passin’ through. Keep your eyes skinned … or your
head will be.”
Early next morning Jay D. rode out of Lynch Springs.
……………………………………………………..
It was nearly sunset when Jay D. Grimes heard the sound of
gunfire. Then he saw the smoke.
Half-a-dozen Comanche's had attacked
the wagon train, one of which was already a-fire.
From beneath the second one a young lady crouched whilst an older
man emptied his rifle at the Indians.
Then, from his vantage point on the crest of the hill, Grimes saw the
arrow find its mark. The man gave a cry and toppled forward. Three Indians moved
in and grabbed the defenceless lass.(Note 4)
Three other Indians enjoyed themselves by looting the wagon. ( Note 3)
Grimes thundered down the hill, firing his rifle … watching two
Indians fall.
Those with the woman
released her and ran for their muskets. (Note 2) Again, Grime’s rifle found its
mark. Twice.
The remaining two Comanche's fled.
She was hysterical. Grimes raised his water flask to her lips.
“You’re safe now, lass,” he said as calmly as he could. “Drink
this.”
“Thank-you …” she whimpered. She looked around and gave a cry.
“Father !”
But he was dead. And so were the rest of the party.
“I think,” said Grimes, “we’d better get out of here before those
Indians return with the rest of the tribe.”
Between sobs the girl asked if they might bury the dead first.
Already birds of prey were beginning to circle overhead.
“Honey...” said Grimes, “I wish we had the time. But I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll have
a funeral pyre.”
He loaded the bodies into the wagon and set it ablaze.
Together, Grimes and Dolores, for that was her name, headed west.
It was late afternoon when they reached the One-Way Outpost. Just
a lonely, single room log cabin used by
a gold prospector and still a day’s journey from Fork Springs.
“We’d better stay the night …” Grimes said, “There’s a bed over
there you can use. Rug up … it gets mighty chilly at night.”
But any hope of sleep was shattered by the arrival of a dozen
Comanche's. They retreated … but not
far enough for his liking. Whether they were from the raiding party previously
encountered or a band of Indians who
happened to pass that way , he knew not. Jay D. found it necessary to fire at
them as they advanced toward the cabin.
What he did know was that
chances of getting out of that cabin alive were slim.
“How many of them do you think there are ?” asked Dolores Martin.
Jay D. Grimes looked grim.
“At least twenty I’d say
…” he replied. “And I’ll be honest with you … I know a little about these
Comanches … at sun-up tomorrow morning
they’ll attack. I doubt if we even have
enough ammunition to hold ‘em off. Even if we did, they’d send a few flaming arrows onto the roof of this cabin to
burn us out .”
He looked around the single room … only a front door and window.
No guns or ammunition hidden away . An
old saddle hung on the back wall.
Half-a-dozen prospecting dishes … a barrel of flour … some jars of
molasses … three tin mugs … a mixture
of pots and pans … half a dozen small logs … a couple of rugs on a wooden bed.
Even a pillow that some passer-by had left behind.
A pillow ! Grimes’ mind ticked over.
“Let’s see what’s inside that pillow,” he said.
Dolores thought he was mad !!!
………………………………………..
It was dark by the time Grimes had devised his plan.
“Honey” he said, “I have an idea. It just might get us out of here
alive.”
“Anything you say.”
“It’s dangerous … but it just may work. Ready to give it a go ?”
………………………………………………………….
In the bushes Running Deer gazed through the darkness at the
cabin.
He did not know how many white men were inside it. But when the
sun came up Chief
Flying Eagle would arrive with another fifty braves. And they
would attack … and they would burn that cabin to the ground.
It was around midnight that Running Deer, and those with him, saw
the cabin door open. A faint light glowed in the darkness. Someone … or
something … came forth. It drew itself up to full height … eight feet ... maybe
nine feet … tall. Draped in white from
hair to toe. Strange markings on the white face covered with feathers ! The
lantern held by an outstretched ghostly white arm … one of four arms visible !
… gave this creature a frightening aspect. A curious roaring sound echoed toward
the Indians. ( Note 1 & 7 )
One of the braves fired an arrow. It struck the monster on its
body but simply fell to the ground. The ghostly creature kept on advancing.
Panic !!
The Comanches ran for their horses.
“Have they gone?” asked Grimes.
“Sure have !” replied Dolores.
She dismounted from where she had balanced on his shoulders. “I’ll
be glad to get this flour and molasses out of my hair and off my skin,” she
said. “But Jay D., you are a genius ! It worked !” She plucked some feathers
from her face.
“You can put those back in
the pillow,” Grimes joked, and then added seriously, “But let’s not hang around
here. The Good Lord’s been good to us. Let’s hightail it out o’ here, pardner
!”
They discarded the molasses-smeared blankets they had stitched
together to cover their bodies. And Grimes removed the prospecting dishes from
under his shirt. One of them bore the dent of a useless arrow.
Dolores, too, divested herself of the pots and pans that had hung
around her neck, lest an arrow had been aimed higher.
“We’ll clean up at the next river we get to,” said Grimes.
And together they rode into the coming sunrise.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
NOTE 1
Comanche religion stressed visionary experiences, which an individual deliberately sought out in isolated situations of privation. Animal spirits were believed to favor particular individuals and to render aid to them; protective spirits were also believed to dwell in rocks and thunder.
<http://www.angelfire.com/realm/shades/nativeamericans/comanche.htm>
…………………………………………………
NOTE 2
If a Comanche did carry a firearm, it was usually a shotgun or musket. They disliked the rifle because of its weight, and its greater accuracy was useless from horseback.
Comanche … War paint was black and usually consisted of two broad black stripes across the forehead and lower face. Their war hoop was a collective rah-rah-rah...almost like a high school cheer. After the sudden attack, a rapid retreat began using separate routes and dividing into ever-smaller groups as necessary to thwart pursuit.
NOTE
3.
Returning war parties often wore some of their stolen booty: stovepipe hats, womens corsets, etc., giving them an almost circus-like appearance. The effect would have been comic, if they were not so dangerous.
NOTE
4
Male prisoners were almost always killed at the scene, but women and children were taken back to the village. Women were usually raped, enslaved, and kept for ransom or sale as slaves.
http://www.tolatsga.org/ComancheOne.html
…………………………………………………………………………………….
NOTE 5
The Comanches
In his 1839 Travels in the Great Western
Prairies (reprinted by R. G. Thwaites in his Early Western Travels, 1748-1846),
Thomas J. Farnham said that the Comanches’ "incomparable horsemanship,
their terrible charge, the unequalled rapidity with which they load and
discharge their fire-arms, and their insatiable hatred make the enmity of these
Indians more dreadful than that of any other tribe …” .
NOTE 6
Numbering
perhaps 20,000 to 30,000, the Comanches became the most formidable fighting
force in the South Plains and a dark and dreaded menace for New Mexico, western Texas and northern Chihuahua.
NOTE 7
"Comanche religion," said Wallace and Hoebel, "was exceedingly
simple, highly vital, and based on no more than casual attempts to explain
satisfactorily the mysterious operations of nature…" The Comanches seem to
have believed in a supreme deity—their creator and teacher. ……
They
believed that the mythical Thunderbird produced
thunder and lightening, terrifying forces which erupted from the
powerful storms which sweep the Southern Plains.
http://www.desertusa.com/ind1/ind_new/ind19.html
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Dockerty Grimes …
and the Jolly Roger !!
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty Grimes scanned the bundle of old papers before him.
Perhaps that should read ‘olde !’
For they dated back to the early Sixteenth century … a
manuscript left by an early ancestor
and preserved all these years by Dockerty’s great-great grandfather.
When the telephone call had come from Fife and Maxwell , Lawyers,
that Dockerty Grimes IV had died , and
that Dockerty Grimes , Private Investigator, had been his sole inheritor, it
was a quick trip to the home of this departed relative and the beginning of a fascinating search.
For these papers recorded the adventure of Dockerty Grimes I … a
spy in the employ of Queen Elizabeth.
The pages, however, were out of order and un-numbered.
Dockerty began to read the
top sheet…….
……………………………………………………….
“Fortunately the sea was calmer than usual.
The gang-plank was steady. My hands had not been tied. I was able to keep my
balance. But I could see three hungry sharks circling 20 feet below me. And the
cut-throat crew of the Carnavon were waiting to see me fall. Their
language was dreadful. Then one of the buccaneers advanced toward me with his
cutlass .. I knew he was going to make me jump. Death seemed imminent unless the Good Lord had a miracle up His
sleeve. And He did ….
………………………………………………..
Dockerty scanned the papers
for the next page. Then decided to get them all into the correct order and
settle back to discover how this Dockerty Grimes had lived to tell the tale.
………………………………………………..
I was summoned to the office of the British
Admiralty and asked to undertake a dangerous mission. Spanish pirates were
causing havoc to our ships. The plan … a daring one indeed … was for me to
either stow away aboard the Carnavon or maybe get myself press-ganged
onto its crew … and take with myself a certain invention devised by our team of
alchemists. This marvellous piece of equipment was both a chronometer and a
compass that would tell me exactly when and where to set fire to the pirate’s vessel. At a certain time and place … 45
latitude, 33 longitude … at three bells … I was to place the fire and jump
overboard where a British man-o-war would have a long-boat awaiting me under
cover of darkness.
It all sounded very good on paper and I
subsequently mixed with the crew in a tavern at Panama and was able to join
them as a mid-shipman.
We sailed two days later under Captain
Manuel de Santos, a villain if everI met one, I set about discovering a
suitable place to set my fire near the ship’s powder house. But the time had
not yet come to do so. And before that time came my plot was discovered by a
one-eyed cut-throat named Portello.
I was given a number of lashes and then,
when able to walk ,,, I never thought I would walk again … I was made to walk the plank.”
………………………
Dockerty went on to re-read the account that he had
first read.
…………………………
“Fortunately the sea was calmer than usual.
The gang-plank was steady. My hands had not been tied. I was able to keep my
balance. But I could see three hungry sharks circling 20 feet below me. And the
cut-throat crew of the Carnavon were waiting to see me fall. Their language was
dreadful. Then one of the buccaneers advanced toward me with his cutlass .. I
knew he was going to make me jump.
Death seemed imminent unless the Good Lord had a miracle up His sleeve.
And He did ….
It was at that time a British man-o-war ,
Her Majesty’s Boadicea, had
appeared on the other side of the Carnavon and fired a shot that brought
down the main mast. It was indeed a lucky shot. The cannon ball smashed the
bottom of the Carnavon’s mast and the whole thing toppled with a resounding
crash.
Three things happened.
One, the fellow who was advancing toward me
lost his footing and plunged into the briny.
Secondly, I fell onto the gangplank and
hung on for my dear life.
And thirdly … miracle of miracles … one of
the Carnavon’s longboats was dislodged from its place and fell into the
water almost below me. I could see the sharks making an end of the pirate who
had threatened me with his cutlass but the sight of that longboat and the
confusion that reigned among the crew of the Carnavon seemed
Providential. Besides, the Boadicea was still firing and staying where I
was did not seem the wisest place to be. So I plunged into the water below and,
almost as soon as I surfaced, there was the long boat into which I clambered
.
Before the day was over I had been able to
row to the Boadicea where I had trouble convincing Admiral Drew of my
credentials. But when one of his crew vouched for my identity all was well.
I thanked my God for His hand of
deliverance …… ”
…………………………………
Dockerty lay down the
manuscript and mused, as often he did. “And I guess,” he thought, “ I should be
thankful, too, for the times that Unseen Hand has delivered me from times of
peril.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty Grimes … Crocodile bait ! …….
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I
guess the setting could have been described as romantic … the moonlight, the
canoe gliding across the river, the gentle splash of the oars….
But
the gun pointing at me ruined that illusion. Not to mention the crocodiles
sliding off the far shore as they anticipated their supper. Which was me! Dockerty Grimes.
It’s what us private investigators call an occupational hazard.
( Being at the end of a gun, that is , not having a name like Dockerty !)
Behind
me sat one of those ugly mobsters who looked as if he’d stepped out of a Dick
Tracy comic book. Do you remember Mr
Gruesome? Even if you don’t, you get
the picture.
His
arms held on to my shoulders, tho’ I don’t know why. Any thought of jumping
overboard into those hungry-looking jaws did not appeal to me.
But
neither did being blasted into Eternity by mobster Number Two who sat a few feet
in front of me with his automatic ominously pointed in my direction.
The
events that had led to this situation didn’t seem to matter at this moment.
What concerned me was what the future held. It didn’t look too bright.
“Stop
rowing, Grimes !” Number Two sounded like a sergeant major I used to know.
I
did.
“Well,”
he continued, “how do you want it? Between the eyes? Or would you rather take
your chances in the water?”
I
looked at the distant riverbank. Too far, I thought. Better to die quickly in
the canoe and then be crunched into mincemeat.
“Get
on with it, Pete” came Gruesome’s voice behind me. “We haven’t got all night.”
Number
Two needed no prodding. Execution
time had arrived.
“O.K.
Grimes, on your feet !” he said sharply, waving his gun at me. After all, I surmised, he didn’t want the
bullet to go right through me and hit his companion-in-crime.
He
was standing now. “ Come on,” he barked again, “ I said ‘Stand up’ !”
……………………………………………………….
Then
Fate took one of those unexpected twists.
Just as his finger began to tighten on the trigger the canoe received a
violent jolt. A long grey snout had thudded in to the side of the canoe.
Number
Two sought to regain his balance but to no avail. With arms flailing and face contorted he plunged into the deadly
water. The gun exploded as he fell,
shattering the stillness of that moonlit night. A bullet missed me by inches
and caught Gruesome between the eyes.
I tossed him overboard.
“Thank-you,
Mr Crocodile,” I said , “here’s your dessert. You deserve it …”
And picking up the oars I rowed gently homeward through the romantic moonlight.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty Grimes and the Iron Elephant
******************************************
“
I want you to have it,” said Great-aunt Matilda, and then, in almost a whisper,
“It’s a family heirloom, you know.”
Dockerty
Grimes took a second look at the centre piece that reared itself up on the oak
dining table.
It
was an elephant … made of cast iron. It seemed to be in full flight, so to
speak , … standing on it’s hind legs, mouth open , trunk upraised as if
trumpeting to the call of Tarzan whenever he needed rescuing from a fate worse
than death.
Attached
to a foot-plate that added considerably to its weight, the elephant stood about
two feet high and just as long.
“Now
don’t argue,” Aunt Matilda continued. “It has been part of our family for about
four … or is it five … generations. And
Dockerty ( he just hated it when she called him that !) when you get old, real
old, I mean , make sure you find one of
your relatives to pass it on to. They say …” Aunt Matilda paused for effect and
lowered her voice once more, … “that it
brings the owner good luck.”
Dockerty
Grimes was too kind to hurt her feelings.
Besides,
she had already rummaged through the garage and given him a filing cabinet,
albeit dented in a couple of places, and a hat-stand.
Just what he needed for his new office !
As a Private Investigator he pictured himself entering that office each
morning, greeting the blonde receptionist with a wry smile and tossing his hat
across the room so it would land on the hat-stand peg. That’s what Humphrey Bogart would have done,
he mused.
Trouble
was, he didn’t wear a hat … no-one seemed to do so these days … and he
certainly didn’t have a blonde secretary !
There
was Dora, the landlady who did a spot of cleaning for him. But any resemblance
between her and a femme fatale had long since disappeared.
He
took another look at the monstrosity on the table-top.
A
cast-iron elephant !
This
was ridiculous. What in the world was he going to do with it ?
But there was Matilda with her winsome smile
that would melt the meanest heart … and her pleading eyes … and Dockerty Grimes
just knew that he had to take it.
Even
lifting it from the table and carrying it to his borrowed truck was a feat of
endurance. It was heavy !
But after slithering it beside the filing
cabinet and the hat-stand, and hearing his Great-aunt tell him to ‘drive
carefully’, ( as Great-aunts always do )
Dockerty Grimes kissed her fare-well and drove back to his office.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The
office was not exactly state-of-the art.
There
were a couple of chairs where clients could seat themselves if the time ever
came for an interview and a rather flimsy table that he had also found in a
second-hand store. He had covered it
with some imitation leather to hide the
scratches and stains.
And
then there was his chair … most definitely not his favourite piece of
furniture !
Besides
having a spring that poked where it shouldn’t, it had arms that oft-times
caught on your coat pocket when you stood up. Twice before he had risen quickly
from that chair only to hear a ripping sound and found his pocket in tatters.
Good old Dora had stitched things up for him.
But
he must get rid of that chair, he told himself, and get one of those that had
arms that came out of the back-rest and
curved down to the seat without endangering his pockets.
Now
there was the elephant. That cast-iron elephant. At the moment it sat on his table acting as a paperweight. Not that the sheaf of papers beneath it were
important but it would impress any client that he was working on
half-a-dozen cases.
The same could be said of the filing cabinet
now installed near the window. Truth to tell, it only contained today’s lunch
box and a bottle of flavoured mineral water. None of that ‘hard stuff’ for
Dockerty Grimes. His father had told him that God had given us a clear mind and
only fools befog it. It was good advice.
Why
… if he had been drunk that night in Ryman’s Alley, Theo the Thug would have
escaped scot free. Some might have called it a lucky shot, maybe it was, but
Dockerty’s mind had been clear and his bullet had brought down that wanted
criminal.
The
table also contained a telephone and the customary writing materials.
He
surveyed his office.
“Not bad,” he told himself. “All I need now
is a spot of sign-writing on the door … DOCKERTY GRIMES : PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. No … make that DOC. GRIMES … it sounds more professional. As if I
had a diploma or two.”
He
lay back in his uncomfortable chair, arms behind his head, took another look at
the elephant, and shook his head .
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It
was nearly two months later that he found an unexpected visitor in his office.
The
big fellow was already sitting in Dockerty’s chair when the Private
Investigator entered.
What
the first impression had been he was never sure. Either the red and green check
sportscoat the fellow was wearing . Or the ugly looking gun he was pointing in
Dockerty’s direction.
“Sit
down, Mr Grimes !” came the intruder’s command in a tone of voice that expected
immediate obedience.
Dockerty
obeyed. It flashed through his mind
that these chairs he'd provided for clients were about as
uncomfortable as his. A rather silly thing to think of at a time like this.
The
intruder looked as if he meant business.
Deadly business.
He
spoke. “Grimes, before I blow your head off I want you to know why. I’ll tell
you. That person you shot in Ryman’s Alley was my brother. And you murdered him
in cold blood.”
Dockerty
opened his mouth to speak …to say it wasn’t murder but self-defence … but the
crazed look in the gun-man’s eyes meant that it was useless trying to reason
with him.
“Can
I give you a spot of advice?” Dockerty asked calmly.
“What
!! You want to give me advice ? “
“That … er … sports coat you
are wearing in a dead give-away. I mean that bright check pattern. When you
walk out of here people will remember it. Now if you were to wear grey or black
you would just melt into the crowd un-noticed. But a check sports coat ? Come
on, now … do you expect to walk out of here into the street and have no-one
remember seeing you ?”
(That’s
it, Dockerty , play for time ! )
“Listen
Grimes …. My car is parked in the back lane. Nobody saw me come in. And I’m going out the back door and no-one
, but no-one , is going to see me leave. Now say your prayers …”
The
gun … just a couple of yards away … was pointed at Dockerty’s chest.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty
stood. “I’ve never wanted to die sitting down, in bed maybe, but not sitting
down,” he said.
The
Intruder likewise quickly rose to his feet.
There
was a sound of tearing cloth. His pocket was caught in the arm of the
chair. He looked to see what had
happened. The gun tilted away from it’s intended victim.
Dockerty
lashed out with his foot and kicked the table. It caught the gun-man in the
chest and sent him sprawling. The chair tipped over. The gun exploded
harmlessly.
The cast-iron elephant toppled from the table
and landed on the intruder’s skull.
Dockerty winced at the sound.
Dora
came running into the office at the sound of the crash.
“Mr
Grimes,” she began , “Are you alri…..” Her voice trailed off at the sight of
the body.
“You
know, Dora my dear,” said Dockerty , “ When I took on this job I thought I’d be
breaking a criminal’s cast-iron alibi …
instead of which I seem to have broken a criminal’s skull with a cast-iron
elephant…”
“Oh,
Mr Grimes, you are funny …”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
When Dockerty Grimes Prayed …
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty Grimes prayed. It was as if he were encased in an iron
tomb … buried alive!
The truth wasn’t far different.
He was locked in a car boot, hands and feet securely tied, and
being driven to some burial place … his ! … somewhere out of town.
It had all begun just 20 minutes ago although he wasn’t sure how
long he’d lapsed into unconsciousness.
He’d been waylaid by two thugs as he left his office to have a bite at
Joe’s hamburger joint. They’d coshed
him with the butt of a revolver, tied his hands behind his back and dumped him
in the boot of their car. That’s if it was their car.
Maybe it was stolen. It was certainly not the latest model. He wasn’t sure what make, but there was
something about this car that led him to guess it was about fifteen to twenty
years old …
Dockerty judged that they were passing through a fair sized city.
There was a lot of stopping and starting … traffic lights, maybe, or the
theatre crowds looking for a parking space. It must be nearly 8:00 p.m. he
surmised.
The identity of the two men? He didn’t know. But he had plenty of
enemies in the criminal world, friends of those he’d ‘put away’ … one way or another.
So he prayed. He was aware of the fact that he didn’t do it often
enough, in spite of his upbringing by godly parents. But if ever he needed a
miracle it was now.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The car stopped again and the red glow of the tail-light
illuminated the boot.
Wires ! That’s why he knew it was an earlier model. Wires running across the inside of the boot, just like in his old car.
Dockerty twisted onto his side… groped for the wires and tugged. One red glow disappeared. Then the other
tail-light … he hooked a foot around the wire and kicked. It was out !
Now pray some more …..
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::;
A police siren. The car stopped. A voice … “Your licence please
driver. Do you know you tail light’s are not working ?”
Dockerty kicked hard against the top of the boot.
“What’s that noise?” Dockerty heard the traffic constable ask.
“Would you mind stepping from the car and opening the boot, please.”
Kick some more, Dockerty !
Hopes are raised.
But then … a shot.
A voice. “Let’s get out of
here…” and the car sped off again.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They were probably on a freeway now. There was no stopping for at
least twenty minutes. Then …
“Pull over driver!” The command was like music to Dockerty’s ears.
Except the car in which he was imprisoned did not pull over. If
anything, it increased in speed.
Now the mad chase commenced.
Eventually, loud explosions … the police had placed strips of
jagged metal across the road to destroy the tyres. The car screeched to a halt.
“Throw down your weapons and step out of the car !”
Instead of which there was a burst of gunfire … followed by a
deathly silence.
Dockerty kicked again.
A voice … “Get that boot open and see what’s making that noise.”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Back at the police station it was explained that Constable Burns,
although wounded, had been able to get back to his car and radio headquarters
concerning the criminals’ vehicle.
“You certainly had a close
call,” Inspector Drew said to Dockerty. “It was lucky for you those crims.
stole a car that had faulty tail-lights.”
“Maybe” came the reply to the puzzled Inspector, “my parents had
something to do with it … ”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The Mysterious
Case of the Missing Coin ….
A problem for
Dockerty Grimes ! 
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
NOTES *1 … “B3. Souvenir Good Luck Coin, nickel, circa 1960s” < http://www.luckymojo.com/goodluckcoins.html>
“ … Buffalo Nickels are also
regarded as good luck pieces by some people and seem to engender a sense of
nostalgia for others.” (http://www.usmint.gov/mint_programs/nickel/index.
NOTE *2 (< http://www.kn.sbc.com/wired/fil/pages/listnickelna.html
> )
NOTE *3 … “ Also scarce is the
famous 1937D ‘three legged variety. This was struck with a faulty die …” (
Ditto above.)
NOTE *4 … Workers who breathed
large amounts of nickel developed chronic bronchitis and lung and nasal sinus
cancers.
< http://www.atsdr.cdc.gov/tfacts15.html>
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty Grimes and
the Body in the Bath …
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Blackie
Nelson’s dead.”
The
unexpected voice from the already open doorway made Dockerty Grimes look up
from behind his table.
Detective Inspector Drew was standing there.
“What,”
said the Private Investigator choosing his words slowly, “does that have to do
with me ?”
“Come
off it Grimes … your name was found in his diary… he had an appointment to see
you … yesterday.”
“Oh
… You know about that …”
“And
we also suspect that he was connected with the robbery at Grand Union Bank a
week ago. He and his partner got away with $50,000 … but you wouldn’t know
about that, would you ?”
By
now Drew had entered the office and stood leaning on the cluttered table.
“Sit
down, Inspector,” said Grimes, “It’s true … he came to see me yesterday. I
could smell him when he was coming up the stairs. I doubt if he’d bathed for a
week. Seems as if he found out that his accomplice in the robbery … and
Inspector, it wasn’t me …was planning a double-cross.”
Drew cut in. “I didn’t think it was you, Doc. You’re a good man, even though
you get in the way of legitimate police work at times.” There was a faint smile
as he spoke.
Dockerty
Grimes continued, “It seems Blackie was concerned, not only that his partner
was about to skip town, but take the $50 grand with him. And on top of that,
they’d had some kind of row and he seemed to fear for his life. I think he was
going to tell me who his accomplice was and then changed his mind when he got
here.”
“That’s
all you can tell me ?”
“That’s
all I know. Honest, Inspector.” Dockerty Grimes paused and added, “Was he
shot?”
“No.”
“Stabbed?”
“No”
“Poisoned?”
“Not
as far as we can tell.”
“Did
some one whack him with an iron bar …or something like that ?”
“No.
He was found dead in a bath-tub … sideways.”
“What
do you mean… sideways ?”
“Just
that … his head against the wall, his legs hanging over the side. It was as if
he’d slipped on the bath-mat and fallen backwards.”
“So
you’re saying it was an accident ?”
“I
haven’t finished. You see, the bathroom door was bolted on the inside. There’s
no other way in. The window has been stuck ever since it was painted fifty
years ago … or when-ever. I don’t see how it could be anything else but an
accident.”
“But
you’re not convinced.”
“Of
course I’m not convinced … all the more so after what you just told me”
Dockerty
Grimes rose from his chair. “Where did all this happen, Inspector? ”
“About
three hours ago we found the body at the Six Star Hotel … it’s a seedy
two-storey place about half an hour away … want to come with me and take a look
?”
In
reply Dockerty simply reached for his coat…
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The
Six Star Hotel was an old run-down
place that didn’t do a roaring trade.
Receptionist/owner
… and everything else about the place was Joe Dawkins. Sometimes his wife,
Sharyne, did a spot of cleaning around the place. Dawkins was a talkative
fellow in his late sixties.
“Nothin’
like this has ever happened here before,” he told Grimes and Drew. “You don’t
think he was up to no good, do ya ?”
“We
know he was up to no good … but that doesn’t solve our problem, ” Drew replied.
“My friend and I are going to take another look at that bathroom.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Grimes
and Drew were led along the passage by Dawkins. On one side was a storeroom,
the stairs leading to the first floor,
the bathroom and a laundry. On the other side were three guest rooms.
“Any
other guests?” asked Grimes.
“We’ve
investigated that,” said Drew. “There was a fellow booked in a week ago who
left early this morning. Name of
Stinneppo or something like that. I can never remember these foreign names.”
“Schinello,” Dawkins corrected. “Seemed
a nice enough guy. I told the Inspector how he arrived with a pretty hefty
suitcase. And left with it early this morning, about an hour before we found
the body.”
Grimes and Drew exchanged glances.
“Sounds suspicious to me,” Grimes said.
“Me
too… but there’s no evidence a murder has been committed.”
Grimes
was informed that there was also a married couple and a travelling salesman in
upstairs rooms.
But Drew had interviewed them and found
nothing worthy of investigation.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The
bathroom door was splintered where Constable Burns had forced his way in. The
bolt was not large but it was obvious that no-one had entered the bathroom
except the victim ( for this was murder !), nor was there any way the
bolt could have been manipulated from the outside.
There
was a keyhole, and whilst the door had not been locked , the key was in the
lock on the inside.
“I
read somewhere about a murderer using rat-tail pliers from the outside to turn
the key on the inside,” said Grimes.
“We
thought of that ... the key is rusty and there is no evidence it was grabbed by
pliers … or even turned. Even if it had been, there is still the bolt to
explain.”
Grimes
surveyed the scene.
The
empty bath. The bath mat if such it could be called … a rather grimy towel with
a few cigarette burns on it. The window, stuck tight with dried paint. A none
too clean sink, with chipped enamel, with a small cupboard beneath it.
“Was
that where the bath-mat was when you entered the room,” he asked.
”Nothing’s been touched. Constable Burns swears the mat was up against the bath
just like it is now. I know what you are thinking Grimes. We thought of it too.
If Nelson had slipped on the bathmat and fallen backwards , the mat would be
further out in the room. Not so. It was
just as you see it,” Drew added.
“Who
found the body ?”
“Mrs.
Dawkins. About 9 0’clock this morning. She heard Nelson go into the bathroom
about an hour earlier … and when she came to do the cleaning was surprised to
find the door still locked. She called out, she tells us, but no answer.
Thought perhaps he was dozing … came back half an hour later. Same thing. Calls
out. Bangs on door. Gets worried and tells her husband. He tries to get a
response. Nothing. They ring Constable Burns and he decides they’d better break
down the door. There’s Nelson dead as they come, sideways in the bath.”
“Naked?”
“As
the day he was born. As if he’d stepped out of the bath and slipped on that
mat. Except he didn’t slip on the mat. Just keeled over backwards…”
“A matter of losing his balance … an
accident ?”
“Sure looks like it … but I don’t like it.
And by the look on your face, neither do you .”
Grimes nodded. “There is something that doesn’t add up, especially the fact
that Nelson came to see me yesterday in fear of his life and the disappearance
of ‘What’s his-Name’.”
“Schinello”
chimed in Dawkins.
“Check
the hotel register. Did he pay by credit card? Probably didn’t if he had
something to hide. He was probably using a false name. Give us a description of
him …”
Dawkins
did so, adding that there was a distinctive scar over the right eyebrow.
Drew
had come alive. “We’d better find him in case he’s our man … and he’s skipping
the country.”
Dawkins
offered information that the local airport was a couple of hours away. He’d
seen Schinello catch a bus in that direction.
Drew barked out an order. “Ring the airport …
give them his description and have the local police stop him… and examine the
contents of his suitcase whilst they are at it.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Sir,”
… it was Constable Burns who spoke,
“I’ve been in touch with the station and they say a ‘Sparky’ Spinelli is wanted
for bank robberies in a couple of States. The scar over the eye confirms it.”
Grime’s
face lit up. “That’s it !” he said. “And I think I know how the murder was
committed !”
Drew
gave him a puzzled look.
But
even before the police had swooped on Spinelli as he was about to board the
plane and found all the evidence they needed, Grimes had explained how the
crime had taken place.
“It
was when you mentioned his nick-name … Sparky ! That could mean that he was in
to electronics.
He
tells Nelson that morning that he ought to have a bath, and rightly so !
… they don’t want to attract attention with him smelling like a skunk when they
fly out together, At least that’s what
he probably told him, knowing full well he intended to fly out alone. So,
whilst Blackie is in the bath, Spinelli plugs a cord in the laundry power-point
next to the bathroom, maybe connects it to a transformer to increase the
voltage, runs the cord with bare wires under the bathroom door until it reaches
the bath-mat. Nelson gets out of the bath … water splashes on the wires and
‘poof !’ ... he’s dead before he hits his head on the back of the bath.
Spinelli turns the current off, withdraws the cord ... packs it in his suitcase
with the $50, 000 and checks out.”
Drew smiled … “I think you’re a bit of a bright spark yourself,” he said …
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty Grimes and the Dancing Damsels !!
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty stared at the video with amazement. Here was a Chinese lass, dressed head to toe
in a Chinese robe with only her pretty little face showing. Suddenly her head
falls from off her shoulders, she catches it at arms length, places it back in
it’s original position … and smiles.
“What a good trick,” thought Dockerty “I could do that ! And I’d
make more money than I do as a Private Investigator.”
……………………………………….
He pulled out his old Chinese magician’s costume … practiced a few
times and was ready to display his talent to any waiting audience.
“But what I need is a couple of gorgeous dames prancing around the
stage to distract the crowds in attendance … all top magicians have to have
beautiful female assistants.”
Rambunctious Rosie and Seductive Sharyne were only too willing to
help. Dockerty taught them the necessary dance routine, with some difficulty ,…
and then went to see an agent.
“I’ve gotta justa the jobba for you,” said Ray, puffing on his
cigar, “Sign here !”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The Nullarbor Badminton Club ( also known as N.B.C. ) awaited the
Chinese magician and his Dancing Damsels.
Dockerty wasn’t using his ordinary name.
The girls suggested “Wun
Bung Lung” had a more Oriental sound to it.
Actually the crowd was growing restless as they waited. Mishaps along the way had involved Dockerty
taking a wrong turning as they passed Ayers Rock … and running oner a dead
bandicoot dislodged the luggage from off the roof rack containing the costumes
of the Dancing Damsels
This necessitated, on arrival, hastily cutting down some spinefex
to make grass skirts for their routine.
Compere of the evening was Spriggo , the local pub owner and bar-man, who had to close his premises that evening due to these new
commitments. He was also the local
bookie and Presbyterian minister.
“Ladieeees and Gentlemen !” he announced with aplomb.
The crowd went wild .
“ Ungar ! Ungar !” they
cried, waving their boomerangs.
“I now give you “… he paused for effect and to dodge a cauliflower
that had been thrown by Boozo Sam. “I now give you …that famous Chinese
magician, …Wun Bung Lung and the Dancing Damsels !”
“Ungar ! Ungar”
First came the orchestral overture ... three didgeridoos playing Tchaikovsky’s piano Concerto in A flat … by
Rachmaninoff. (The reason two
composers are named was because the third didgeridoo player had brought the
wrong sheet music … he was playing Rachmaninoff whilst the other two played
Tchaikovsky.)
The Dancing Damsels appeared amidst shouts of “Ungar ! Ungar !”
Backstage of this
dilapitated community hall Dockerty smiled. He
took this to mean “More ! More !”
Later he was told it meant “When does the Pub. open again ?”
Meanwhile Rambunctious Rosie and Seductive Sharyne swayed and
shimmied, wriggled and wobbled. Their new costume meant that they now had to
pretend to be hula dancers … instead of ballerinas like Dockerty had taught
them.
As the music reached a cacophonous crescendo the two Dancers both leapt
in the air and crashed to the floor doing the splits. There was no serious
damage except three broken floorboards.
Outside the local Baptist women’s group had continued their
boycott of this evening of edifying
entertainment. Banners read “Close
the Show !” and “Toss ‘em out of Town” except one held by a doddery, frizzy haired old lady that said “
Is this Sunday ? Is there any supper here tonight ?”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Inside the hall excitement increased. So far only one member of the audience had been ejected for
mounting the stage and chasing the hula dancers with a lawn-mower.
But nine had remained … waving their boomerangs and shouting their
familiar war-cry, “Ungar ! Ungar !”
“And now, Ladieees and Gentlemen … I have great pleasure in
presenting …” Spriggo
ducked an over-ripe tomato.
”Get on with it !” said a voice from the rear.
“I have great pleasure in bringing to you,( dramatic pause
!) for your entertainment …”
“Get off !” ( dramatic pause ruined !)
“Put your hands together for
Wun … Bung … Lung !”
Dockerty made his dramatic
appearance amid cries of “Ungar ! “ He
was dressed in a full length cloak was also wearing a Chinese hat. It was the
hat he once hid a rabbit under to be miraculously produced at the psychological
moment … until the rabbit disgraced itself before he had a chance to produce
it.
The Dancing Damsels stood each side of the stage and gestured
appropriately toward their mentor.
“I wouldee likee to performee for youee,” Dockerty announced in his best Mandarin
accent, “… the Illusion of the
Disembodied Head”
Suddenly his head fell from his shoulders. That part of the trick
worked. But catching it didn’t. The head hit the floor and rolled across the
stage. Seductive Sharyne, by this time back into her hula routine suddenly felt
something squash underfoot. Thinking it
was the aforesaid cauliflower, she picked it up, found herself looking into
Dockerty’s
eyes … gave a girlish scream … and tossed the head into the
air.
Thankfully, Rambunctious Rosie caught it. She pressed it to her heart.
“Poor Dockerty,” she whispered.
“Please put me back on my shoulders,” the magician pleaded.
Gracefully, holding the head aloft like a heroine in a
Shakespearian drama, Rosie skipped daintily across the stage and gently
re-placed it.
“Ungar ! Ungar” cried the three patrons still remaining.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Is there a dressing room where we can get changed before we leave
?”
Spriggo pointed to the back door. “Out there you’ll find an old
telephone box … make sure you shut the door properly or the light will stay
on.”
With some difficulty the two Dancing Damsels led Dockerty across the paddock to
the dressing room.
Once they were all
squeezed inside, Seductive Sharyne spoke.
“Dockerty,” she said, “are you
alright ? Why are you walking so awkwardly ?”
“It’s Rosie’s fault,” Dockerty explained, “ she put my head on …
back to front .”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The Crazed Gunman of Cobblestock Gorge !
AUTHOR’S NOTE.
(1) There is a
Cobblestock Gorge somewhere in Victoria .
About 40 …or was it 50 … years ago Pastor Frank Wakeling took his
Baptist young people for a Saturday
evening barbeque with your’s truly as guest speaker. We drove for endless
miles. Reaching our destination a huge pile of logs was assembled , sausages
and steak were readied to be burnt to cinders … but, like good Baptists ,
nobody had any matches !
Donald to the rescue ! My car … an
Isis … contained a cigarette lighter ... one of those built in things in the
dash-board that you pushed in and it glowed red hot. Apply some rolled up paper to this and whoosh ! we had the
means of lighting the bon-fire.
Something I was later to regret.
No matter where I stood an
hour later … after the repast was o’er and the couples were rugged up on this
blizzardly cold night as the wind whistled down Cobblestock Gorge … no matter
where I stood that wind blew the smoke in my direction. As I wrestled my was
through the ‘sermon’ I wheezed and coughed and choked and was quite sure no-one was listening to me. They just wanted to go home ! Me too !
(2) An evenings entertainment
at Diamond Valley Baptist Church which featured Hula dancers (!) also triggered off unforgettable thoughts
for the fictitious drama that follows. Especially the dancer who had trouble
with half her costume and failed to appear for their second performance.
(3) There also comes some inspiration from Northcote Baptist
church and it’s attendees … tho’ it must be pointed out that any resemblance to
persons living , dead , or half dead (!) is purely coincidental.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
And now … our hero, Dockerty Grimes, faces certain death …twice in the space of
five minutes
…from the crazed gunman at Cobblestock Gorge !
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It all began when Mrs.
Hackenbust heard her hair-dresser say that the Narnargoon Birdwatching Club (
also known as NBC ) needed entertainers for their annual Christmas get-together at Cobblestock Gorge.
The hair dresser mentioned it
to Mrs Driftlebaum who informed her cousin who rang her neighbour who was
related to Travel agent, Raymondo.
The fact that the message had
been somewhat didstorted and it was an Entertainers agent that was
needed did not perturb Raymondo.
“ I’ve gotta just da item you
wanta . Fiftee Dollars for da three of dem each . Dere called Dockerty Grimes and his Dancin’ Dames. Just
back froma record breakin’ tour of da Nullarbor. Brought da house down.”
So it was arranged.
And on Christmas Eve Dockerty
Grimes , private Investigator extraordinary cum entertainer incredible, arrived
with Wriggly Rosie and Wobbly Shareen (
names have been changed to protect these innocent maidens ) who now able to
perform their Hula routine with gusto and wild abandon.
The tent had been erected to
save the audience from the biting South wind. And a hasty stage had been built.
The crowd, all nine of them,
were glad to find respite from the night air and they crowded into the tent to
await this unforgettable night.
It should be pointed out that
the fact that there were only nine present was because Bird watching was not
very big in Narnargoon. But some had brought relatives with them to swell the
numbers.
There was Berbie, the gentle
giant , and his friend Gorgo who was running around shaking hands with
everybody.
Behind him sat the Robersteins,
prim and proper; only their decorum refraining them from crying out “Ungar !”
which they though meant , “Start the show.”
And in the back row Loobie was
chatting up a Narnargoon birdwatcher. Little did she know that he was a crazed
killer, out for vengeance on Dockerty Grimes. Even as she waffled on his hand
groped for the revolver … was he wondering who to silence first ?
But then, to a vast round of
applause the Dancing Dames appeared and swung into a Hula interpretation
of While Shepherd Watched their
Flocks by night. After all, it was
Christmas.
All went well until the needle stuck on the accompanying record
somewhere between the Angel coming down and being seated on the ground.
But the Second item made up for
it.
Now Dockerty Grimes made a
surprise appearance from the rear of the stage. Dressed in a similar hula
costume to his Dancing Dames … halved coconut shells and a grass skirt, not
forgetting a blonde wig , … the trio whirled
and twirled to the strains of Ave
Maria. Raymondo had put the wrong record in their suitcase …
Then drama !!! From the rear of
the tent came a voice …
“Dockerty Grimes … you’re a dead man !”
The crazed gunman was standing
there, just twenty feet away, pointing his revolver at the Private
investigator’s heart.
He fired !
Dockerty grasped his chest and
was catapulted off the back of the stage.
……………………..
The crowd screamed and rushed
for the only exit. All except one frizzy haired old lady who said “Has someone
said the Benediction ? Where do we go to eat ?” And she started to wander in the opposite direction to the
fleeing Narargoon bird-watchers.
Wriggly Rosie and Wobbly Shareen joined them. If Dockerty was dead
, as it seemed, they knew that their career was at an end. Without his guidance
and training and repartee and musical arrangements … they realised they were
nothing.
They, too, fled !
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty lay on the ground
between the back of the stage and the rear wall of the tent. He looked at the
blood on his hand. It was from his
shoulder !! The bullet had hit the coconut shell leaving a white scar upon it, and then ricocheted past his shoulder grazing it , then continued it’s thwarted
mission upwards, through the tent roof
and on it’s heavenward journey.
He was amazed that he was still
alive.
Tough things , coconut shells !
But then that voice for the
second time. He looked up. Standing on the stage above him was the crazed
gunman. Again it seemed that death was imminent.
“Why,” asked Dockerty, “who
are you ?”
“You testified at my brother’s
trial and provided the evidence that he smuggled dope into this country. We had
half-a-million bucks coming our way ‘till you stuck your nose into our affairs.
So die, Dockerty Grimes. Die
!”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dockerty closed his eyes … and
only opened them when he heard something fall at his side.
An incredible sight met his
eyes.
The gunman stood there with his
hands upraised … and he had dropped his gun. It bounced off the stage and
landed within arm’s reach of his intended victim.
Why ? Had he been converted
miraculously and was about to be ‘slain
in the Spirit’ ? Hardly! Though stranger things have happened in the
world of the spiritual.
Or, more likely, Dockerty
reasoned, somebody had stuck a gun in his back
…
That’s what the crazed gunman
thought too. He even felt it prodding
against his spine.
And both he and Dockerty would
have continued to believe that until the third voice spoke .. “Is this the way
to the supper room ?” Mrs. Frizzy
Hair’s walking stick continued to press
against the gunman’s back.
He turned in horror, realising
his mistake. But too late.
Now Dockerty had the
revolver. And the crowd of Narnargoon
birdwatchers returned to see the private investigator leading away his
prisoner.
“ We’ll get a handsome reward
for this night’s work,” Dockerty told his smiling Damsels. “The Police poster
says $5000 for his arrest.”
“And don’t forget the Five
Dollars each Raymondo promised us ,” said Wobbly Shareen …
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Blast Off with Buck Grimes and
his two gorgeous crew members ….
Terror on Planet Zombo !!
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Ace Astronaut, Buck Grimes, brought his Mark 2. F I. Triple 6. NBC
Space ship to a perfect two-and-a-half point landing on the Planet Zombo.
The very name of the planet struck fear into the hearts of the
most intrepid.
Zombo ! Planet of the living dead !
“Keep your eyes peeled for trouble,” Buck warned his crew.
Rollicking Rosie, the Navigator, grabbed her Laser gun.
Sweet Sharee pulled a bazooka from her hip pocket. Although how it
squeezed into her shiny, skin-tight space-suit Buck never discovered. “We are ready for whatever we encounter,”
she said through gritted teeth.
The third member of the crew … the frizzy haired Normo, … was
cook. Rumour had it she had been assigned to this mission to get her away from
NASA headquarters where half the scientists were suffering food poisoning.
……………………………………..
The exploration of this weird planet had not progressed for long
when the trio found themselves surrounded by some of the inhabitants of Planet Zombo.
Repulsive they were to see, with sunken eyes, bony fingers and
gaunt skeletal bodies … the living dead advanced on Buck, Rosie and Sharee.
(This is one of
the Zombies, not Sharee …)
The Earthlings hurled all they had at the advancing horde. Lasers,
hand-grenades, bullets, missiles, atom bombs,
…all to no avail. The Living Dead could not be stopped.
The Zombies roughly grabbed Rosie and Sharee.
“Eeee ! I like it ,” said Rosie.
………………………………………..
Back to the Mark 2. F I. Triple 6. NBC Space Ship the crew were
led.
The door opened. There stood Normo … “I’ve just cooked supper for
you,” she said to Buck. “And I think there is enough for the friends you have
with you.”
The Zombies stopped in their tracks. For this figure in the
doorway resembled their great Queen.
(This is Normo … not one of the Zombies.)
They bowed before her.
“Great goddess Normo !” they cried. “Ungar ! Ungar !”
“Come and have something to eat,” was her vague reply.
As Buck, Rosie and Sharee were hustled into a side chamber, the
inhabitants of the Planet Zombo gathered around the bowls of red liquid Normo
had prepared.
“Ah !” they cried, “Blood !!”
And bony hands scooped mouthfuls of this concoction between
toothless gums.
……………………………………………….
It was an hour later that Buck, Rosie and Sharee investigated the
silence.
There lay the Zombies … their heads had exploded and disappeared.
“I guess,” said Normo, “I put too much bi-carbonate in the
raspberry jelly.”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Presenting ……
The Mysterious
Case of the Miracle Murder …
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
By … Donald Prout
And now ! …… curl up with a
cup of coffee and a chocolate Teddy Bear and enjoy ….
(Music please … dum …de .
dum-dum !!)
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Miracle Murder ? ( by D.P. )
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Father Fisdock was not popular. And he knew
it.
Ever since he arrived at St. Cuthbert’s
parish he had seen the congregation decline in numbers.
The first brewing of the forthcoming
trouble was when he heard rumours that the church officers were not happy with
his theology. “Old Fuddy-duddies,” he
murmured under his breath. What did
they know about theology anyway? Hadn’t
he graduated from Oxford? Did they
have half-a-dozen letters after their names?
And then there had been that ‘run-in’ with Mrs. Hopkins. She bounced the
hymns along as if she were playing in a rock band! He had tried to tell her to play slower but to no avail. She
was the organist, she had informed him, and had been for long before he
came to the parish. Probably long before he was born, he thought.
Tom, the gardener, had also felt the sting
of the Father Fisdock’s acid tongue
when he apparently tramped some mud into the vicarage hallway. He was a
happy-go-lucky kind of young fellow who no longer frequented the church
services as he once did since the arrival of the new vicar.
“I was on m’ way to see Ethel,” he later
explained to Detective Inspector Drew, “she’s the ‘ouse-keeper, you know , …
and she always gives me a bite of lunch in the kitchen. Kind, she is. Not like old Fisdock !
Snap yer ‘ed off, he would, given ‘alf a chance. Anyway, I no sooner sits wiv Ethel to enjoy
m’ pie and in ‘e comes with a red face … yellin’ ‘is head off about mud on the
carpet. I tried to say ‘Sorry, Guv. I don’t think it was me who did it ..’ But
he was threatenin’ to sack me …” Tom paused.
“But I didn’t kill him” he added, “… honest I didn’t.”
Ethel was quick to agree. “Sergeant,” she
said.
“Inspector,” Drew corrected.
Ethel went on blissfully … “Father Stuart
wouldn’t have caused such a fuss. He was here before old Fisdock came. Nice man
he was. But you’ve never heard such to-do. All over a little bit of mud. I
could have cleaned it up in two minutes.
I don’t mind telling you, Sergeant, I’ve had second thoughts about
whether to stay on in this here job since Father Fisdock arrived.”
“How
long, exactly, has he been in this parish?” Drew had asked.
“Mmmm … I suppose it would be about four
months now, wouldn’t it Tom?”
Tom had agreed.
Ethel went on…being interviewed by the
police would be something she could tell her friends and neighbours about for
years to come. “I can’t say I’m sorry
he’s dead,” she continued. “Though having been stabbed and shot like that was
an awful way to go. How awful. I wonder
who …”
Drew had cut in. “That will be all
for now, Ethel. Thank you for your time. We may need to talk to you both again
later.”
…………………………………………………………………………
Fisdock strolled back to the Vicarage. He was not a happy man. Morning prayer was
over and the attendance had been disheartening as usual. And sometime this week the Bishop was
calling in to see how things were going.
Anyway, he mused, it’s a couple of hours
before our morning service , time to catch up on a spot of T.V. … and maybe a
read of the Sunday paper.
The front door of the vicarage opened on to
a lengthy hallway. The first door on the left led into his study. It was a large, spacious room containing his
desk and swivel chair, a well-filled book-case, a cupboard for hanging up those
clerical garments he loved to wear, a bed – if such it could be called – (he
had purchased two large sheets of foam rubber, laid one on top of the other and
covered them with a couple of rugs). It was here he would have an afternoon
siesta. There were a number of spare
chairs situated around the wall ready for an unexpected visit of any
parishioners who may need counselling … or for a group of irate church
officers! A small table bore the T.V.
set. Facing it was a new lounge chair.
The windows were barred to stop village louts breaking in as they had been
known to do some years previous. At his
insistence a sink had been installed in one corner of the room. Here he would boil the electric jug for a
hot drink, or make himself a snack at his leisure. The small cupboard beneath the sink contained whatever was
needful for a morning or afternoon snack.
Opposite Fisdok’s study, across the
hallway, was the lounge room. Here the youth group had once gathered every
Friday night. But that was in his
predecessor’s day. That had all changed now. Indeed, since Fisdock complained
about the noise of their band was making when it practiced, and when he told
them he was only going to use the band on occasions anyway, ( instead of every
Sunday evening, ) the youth group had
slowly disintegrated.
………………………………………………………………
Fisdock confronted Ethel in the kitchen. It was the room next to his study. He had entered the vicarage
unheard. The front door was seldom
locked during the day.
“ Old Johnson said he was coming sometime
this afternoon,” he informed her. “ If he comes while I’m in my study, call me
on the inter-com. Now I have some
business to attend to,” he added, “Don’t disturb me for an hour! ” And with
that he strode back into his study slamming the door harder than was necessary.
‘Disturbing’
the Vicar meant contacting him on that intercom he had insisted be
installed. Ethel could contact him from
the kitchen, usually to tell him she was about to bring in his evening meal.
“Business
to attend to! Humph!” said Tom. “ Probably going to watch Telly!”
“Needs
a wife to knock him into shape,” said Ethel. “That’s if he can find any-one who
will have him.”
“I
hear,” Tom said,” that old Charlie Stebbin’s daughter has eyes for our new
Vicar.”
“No!”
exclaimed Ethel. “Not our Wilma! I can’t believe it!”
“It’s
true as I sits ‘ere,” Tom replied. “And
Charlie Stebbin’s isn’t too pleased ‘bout it.”
Charlie Stebbins, the Church treasurer, had
smarted under Fisdock’s new requirements ... besides his Wilma’s infatuation
for the fellow! Father Stuart had never
incurred such expenses. That T.V. set Fisdock had insisted upon ! Said it kept him abreast of current events.
Not to mention the table it sat upon.
And the foam rubber bedding … and the toaster … and electric jug. Fisdock made sure the accounts had been
passed on to him. What with the church offerings declining and Fisdock’s
expenses escalating, not to mention the thought of having him as a son-in-law,
the Treasurer was not a happy man.
………………………………
Morning worship went off much the same as
ever. There were the usual elderly
parishioners who wondered what Fisdock’s sermon was all about. “ You would of
thought he thought he was feeding giraffes instead of sheep,” was how Ethel
later described it. How the vicar loved
to “ show off his learning” by quoting
a few Hebrew words, not to mention those English ones with half-a-dozen
syllables. And there was always those “ findings of modern scholarship” that
cast doubt upon the reliability of the Scriptures.
He knew that would be the reason for
Johnson’s visit later that day. Last
week he’d seen the Secretary’s face turn red when the sermon had denied the
miracle of the Lord walking on the water.
Anyway, he closed the service with a
Benediction and hastily made his way back to the vicarage. There he dined on Ethel’s
well-prepared dinner, then disappeared into the study … and locked the door.
………………………….
Ethel later explained to Detective
Inspector Drew the singularity of the events that followed.
“I was upstairs making the beds and doing a
bit of dusting … and suddenly the Television came on with a roar. You know how
it is when the volume is too loud. Anyway … it was only for a minute and he
turned it down. Then, let me see, it
was about an hour or so later when I smells something burning. I goes downstairs and there’s Mr. Johnson at
the front door. The first thing he says to me is ‘What’s that smell?’ I
tell you I could smell it too and it was worrying. He says, ‘Is something
burning?’ He looked quite
agitated. So we stand outside the
study door. That’s where the smell is
strongest, you see. And we knock. And no one answers. We knocked again, very
loudly this time, and we called out, ‘Are you alright, Father?’ And we get a bit more worried. Then Mr Johnson tries the doorknob and it
turned al-right but the door wouldn’t open. He pushed it but it just wouldn’t
open. He looked kind of surprised. I
explained to him that Father Fisdock had had a bolt fastened on the other
side.”
“Mr Johnson says to me, ‘I’ll go around
and look in the window.’ So he does. And I waits at the door of the study. Well, …” Ethel paused to get her breath, or
maybe for effect. “ Mr. Johnson … he
came back in such a state … said Father Fisdock was slumped over his desk with
a knife in his back. Have you ever heard the like? A knife, mind you. Turned
out to be one of mine … out of the kitchen. Gave me quite a turn, it did.”
……………………………
Ted Johnson had given the door of the study
a mighty kick and it had burst open to the sound of splintering wood.
“ Stay here,” he had said to Ethel.
He had entered the room cautiously … after
all, he knew the windows were barred and the door had been bolted on the inside. Whoever had plunged that
knife into the Vicar may still be in the room.
In the kitchen he found the toaster turned on. Dense smoke issued from
the burned bread.
“Burnt toast” he called to Ethel to explain
the smell. “I’ll open the windows…. let some air in.” He noted that they had been securely locked.
Two rugs lay in a tangled pile on the bed,
a pillow was on the floor. The T.V. was turned on but the volume was low. The cupboard only contained a couple of
clerical garments. Nor was anyone
hiding in the smaller cupboard below the sink.
“I think I’d better ring the police,” he
said. “And Ethel … you pop into the
kitchen and make a cup of tea … for both of us!”
She suggested that Mr Johnson might
use the upstairs phone … she had watched enough television to know that things
at a murder scene were better left untouched.
“Finger prints and all that kind of thing,”she explained, “And I’ll open
the front door to let the air blow this smell away.” She did so and made her
way to the kitchen as Ted Johnson hurried upstairs to ring Detective Inspector
Drew.
It was about five minutes later Ethel heard
a voice echo along the passage.
“’Ullo … any one ‘ere? ‘Ullo !’ It was Tom.
“What’s that smell?” he asked.
Johnson was coming down the stairs. “Burnt
toast,” he said.
“Burnt toast?,” Tom echoed. “Not our Ethel
surely. She’s the bestest cook in these ‘ere parts.”
They explained to him the bizarre
circumstances surrounding the murder. “We’re waiting for the police to arrive,”
Ethel added. “Come and have a cup of tea with us.”
………………………………………………………………………………
If it
seemed bizarre thus far, it grew more so when the coroner examined the body.
“He’s been
shot in the chest,” was the surprising information.
“Shot in
the chest!!” Drew was incredulous. “What about the knife in the back?”
“That
probably took place an hour or so after his death…”
“ But
that’s crazy!”
“I’m only telling you what the evidence suggests.
And I’ve been in this game nigh on twenty years.”
“So you’re trying to tell me that he’d been dead at
least an hour before they found the body ?”
“That’s right!”
“ Then who turned on the toaster ... and why?”
“ I’m just the coroner, not the detective …”
Drew shook his head as if to clear his brain.
And when the next day’s information came to light,
he’d be shaking it twice as furiously !!
…………………………………………………..
It was Monday morning whilst puzzling over the events of the previous day that Drew heard the next mind-boggling news.
“One of the mattresses was stolen last
night from old Fisdock’s study. Someone broke into the vicarage , we don’t know
how, and whizzed it.” Constable Burns paused before delivering the punch-line.
“We … er … found it among some bushes about half a mile away. When I say ‘we
found it’ I mean we … er … found it chopped up into small pieces.”
Drew looked at him blankly. “Say that again,”
he said quietly, “I’m sure I’m sure I misunderstood you.”
“No sir, it’s true. One of the mattresses
was snatched last night but we’ve found it … all chopped up!”
……………………………………………………………………
“ Let me get this straight… Fisdock is
murdered about three in the afternoon by a gun shot. To the chest. Am I right so far?”
Constable Burns nodded.
“Then an hour later he is stabbed in the
back and the toaster is turned on. The door and windows are both locked on the
inside. Ted Johnson and Ethel smell the
burning toast. Ted eventually kicks in the door and finds Fisdock dead … he’s
already looked through a window and seen Fisdock slumped over his desk with a
knife in his back. Correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“ So he enters the room … turns off the toaster … opens the windows,
which , incidentally have bars on them, … searches the room and cannot find
anybody. That’s not a joke, Burns … I mean he didn’t find any living
body.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“And all this time Ethel was at the door of
the study so nobody could have come out of the room. It’s not making any
sense. I suppose Ethel was telling the
truth?”
“I don’t see why she’d have any reason not
to, sir.”
“Then whilst she is making tea for Johnson … who is upstairs ringing us … the gardener fellow appears … what’s his name ? …Tom, that’s it … and starts calling out at the front door. Both Johnson coming down the stairs and Ethel coming out of the kitchen see him there and bring him in for a cup of tea.”
“That seems to be how the story goes, sir. The front door was open to let the smoke out but I don’t know that sheds any light on the matter. But Tom was there, Ethel says, knocking and calling out when she came out of the kitchen. And Johnson saw him there as he was coming back down the stairs.”
“But then you tell me a mattress, or what was left of it, was found half a mile away.”
“ Cut up into little pieces, sir. Must have taken who-ever did it quite a while.”
“Burns … I want those pieces gathered up as much as humanly possible … and weighed!”
“Weighed?”
“Weighed!”
………………………………………………………………….
The result was as Drew expected. There was a noticeable difference between the two mattresses. The uncut mattress was heavier.
……………………………………………………………………….
“ I want to talk to Ted Johnson again. Bring him here to the station. It may make him a little uneasy and we’ll get a confession out of him.”
“A confession? From Ted Johnson?”
“We may have to bluff a bit but I think it will work. Bring him in, Burns.”
………………………………………………………….
“Mr. Johnson … thank you for coming. Please sit down. There are just one or two more questions we’d like to ask.”
The beads of sweat on the church secretary’s brow did not go un-noticed.
“We’ve been told you went to see Father Fisdock mid- afternoon on the day of his murder. What exactly was that about?” the Inspector continued.
“He … he’d been saying some things in his … er … sermons that upset most of the members of the congregation. Denying the Bible was true and all that.”
“So you made an appointment to see him. What happened?”
“Well … he let me into his study … and we talked for twenty minutes or so … and I left. He was still alive when I left. I think he was going to have one of his afternoon naps.”
“Did you see anyone when you left?”
“Tom was in the garden … not that he should be working like that on a Sunday. Was it he who saw me?”
Drew ignored the question.
“Thank-you Mr. Johnson. You may go.”
…………………………………………….
“You’re the gardener, I believe?”
“That’s right. Been workin’ there for …ooo … must be five years now.”
“On the day of the murder did you attend morning service?”
The question obviously took Tom by surprise. “Er … no. I don’t go for all that stuff that Fisdock spouts about. Now, Father Stuart was another ..”
“Quite so,” interrupted Drew. “What you did
was enter the vicarage and hack a large piece of foam rubber out of the bottom
mattress … and leave a muddy footprint in the hallway. …
The piece you cut out was large enough to conceal yourself in after you
stabbed Father Fisdock later that day. It was a perfect hiding place. There was
the bed, as usual, up against the wall with the top mattress in place … who
would suspect there was a person … a murderer … hiding underneath? And before you hid there you turned on the
toaster so Ethel would come and get help. You didn’t want to lie there all
crouched up for hours did you? Oh yes,
you’d bolted the door from the inside and waited for someone to smash the door
down … then whilst Ted Johnson was upstairs and Ethel was in the kitchen you
made your way out of the study to the front door and yelled out as if you’d
just arrived. That night you stole the bottom mattress …and chopped it up into
small pieces so we wouldn’t realise it had been your hiding place.”
“I didn’t kill him” blurted Tom.” I
didn’t !”
“No, you didn’t, but you didn’t know that. He was slumped over his desk and you thought he was asleep. But Johnson had shot him an hour earlier.”
……………………………………………………………
“It was obvious,” Drew later explained to the court. “Johnson was upset by the mess Fisdock was making of the church … not to mention the threat of having him fired as Secretary. It was his life. So he visited the vicarage. Fisdock knew he was coming and let him into the study . They had made an appointment for three o’clock that afternoon. Johnson walks over to the Television and turns it on, finds a music channel and ups the volume. “Fisdock had probably said to him, ‘What are you doing ?’ which would have been his last words. The sound of the shot was drowned out by the noise.
Then Johnson turns down the volume , remember , Ethel said it came on really loud only briefly , cleaned up the blood as best he could, laid Fisdock over the desk as if he was sleeping. And let him-self out. Of course , this meant the study door was unlocked.
Later, Tom, who was also planning to murder Fisdock , was surprised to find the door unlocked , found Fisdock asleep across his desk , or so he thought, stabbed him in the back with a knife he’d taken from the kitchen whilst Ethel had been at morning worship, bolted the door on the inside, turned on the toaster and hid himself in the previously prepared lower mattress.
Why didn’t he just leave the way he had come? Because he saw someone outside ? Or maybe because he was just seeing if he could get away with an impossible murder in a locked room ? I don’t know.
No wonder Johnson “ looked surprised” when he found the study door bolted on the inside. It hadn’t been that way when he left. Nor could the vicar have done it because Johnson knew he had shot Fisdock. He realised somebody else must have been inside or else … and this panicked him … maybe Fisdock hadn’t really been dead after all. He ran around to the window to check out what he could. Imagine his surprise to see the knife in Fisdock’s back.
Fisdock was dead alright. Johnson shot him and Tom stabbed the body an hour later.
It was a certainly a crazy case.”
…………………………………………….
The congregation at St. Cuthbert’s gathered to sit at the feet of Bishop McLaughlin. Father Fisdock was well dead and buried by now and the Bishop came to pay his condolences and preach at the morning service.
“My text,” he pronounced in the manner that Bishops do,” is found in John’s gospel, chapter 20 and the nineteenth verse. ‘ The same day when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled … came Jesus and stood in their midst.”
“Oh, no!” whispered Ethel to Mr Stebbins, “Not another locked room mystery ...”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Invisible Assassin….
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“I guess it was over forty years ago.” Old Tim Glover
paused and stroked his tangled beard. “Yep… 1827 it was. I’d only been Sheriff
of Graylands for a year when the
Invisible Assassin struck.” He shook his head. “ Never ferget it … no sir ! If
it hadn’t been fer that Texas Ranger feller we’d still be a-wonderin’ how he
got out of that there cell.”
Al
Webster knew he had a scoop. Not many readers of the Cheyenne Chronicle would
have heard of this!
“You
sayin’ someone escaped from the cell in your jail.”
“Sure
seemed that way. Cell door was locked. I had the only key. On top of which the
Invisible Assassin had done gone stabbed Black-Jack Thompson to death inside
that cell jest a minute or two ‘fore I arrived.”
“It
sure sounds like a story my readers will find interesting,” Al said.
“Well
settle back, son,” the old man advised, “an’ I’ll start at the beginning.”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“ Graylands was just a one-street town in those days. A couple of saloons, a bank … I remember old Wu-tong had a laundry there near the blacksmith’s … what was his name? I ferget. No matter. There was a general store. And the jail-house …that’s where I was a-living. Don’t quite know how I got to be sheriff. I guess no-one else wanted the job. Anyway, it gave me a roof over my head. Most folks lived on ranches scattered around the town.
Did I tell you about Gray ? Charles Gray … he’d been one of the first to
arrive in this area. Bought thousands of acres way out east of here, he
did. That’s where our town took its
name. Graylands. Yep… he was a mighty powerful feller. Had about twenty
ranch-hands workin’ for him. And that
Redskin. Running Cloud. Never did like
him. He had a kind o’ furtive look about him. I guess you could describe him as
a kind o’ bodyguard. Every time Gray
came into town that Redskin was a-taggin’ along behind.
Oh .. yes.. Gray had a niece staying
with him too. Pretty little thing. Probably in her late teens. Maybe twenty. I
didn’t know at the time. No sign of a
wife tho’. People said she’d died in childbirth. The niece came out from St.
Louis to look after the ranch-house. Kept it spic-an’-span. Altho’, come to
think of it, there was an older woman … I never got to know her name … she
probably did some of the cookin’.
The other fellow I need to tell you
about is Black-Jack Thompson. A real bad egg. Considered himself a ladies’
man … tho’ there weren’t too many
ladies around here in those days. Always seemed to have plenty of money to
gamble with. No body knew where it came from tho’ a few folk surmised he was
responsible for more than one bank hold-up in some nearby towns. They were
right. Eventually the law caught up with him right here in Graylands and he was
put into my jail. Only supposed to be there overnight. Then they was a-goin’ to
take him across to Windy Gulch for a ‘fair’ trial. They had a court house over
there.
Well … that was the night the Invisible
Assassin struck.
You need to know that the jail only had
two rooms … there was my office, if that’s what you could call it. I usually bunked down on a couch in the
corner. Went to Madame Rosie’s for my tucker … and my weekly bath. Then there
was the cell.
It
was separated from my office by a door which I usually kept closed ‘cos some of
the inhabitants got a bit rowdy at times.
No back door.
I guess it was about an hour after
sundown when I heard something clatter from behind the door. I remember getting
up from my desk to take a look-in and see what Black-Jack was up to. He was
lying on the floor. …blood spurtin’ from his neck. His legs were still
a-twitchin’ I remember. And there was
this knife … bloodstained … lyin’ on the other side of the cell …
Anyways , I hurried back to the office
and got the key. The cell door was locked. Believe me! … and by the time I got
it open and reached Black-Jack he was
gone. Dead, that is.
There was nobody else in the cell …
nowhere they could hide. The only furniture was a couple of planks for a bed
and a pillow to go with it. The walls were made of stone. Solid they were. And
the one little window … about ten feet up … was well and truly barred. I tell
you, nobody could have gotten in or out of that cell without me seein’ them.
And I wasn’t asleep.”
……………………………………………………………………
Mike
Kirby was a Texas Ranger. Tall, of muscular build, in his early thirties. He
arrived early the next day to escort the prisoner to Windy Gulch. Instead of
which he found himself involved in this bizarre mystery.
He
examined the cell. He examined the body. There was certainly a deep stab wound
in Black-Jack’s throat which had caused his death. And there was blood on the
knife. It was still lying several feet
away from the body …
…………………………………….
“Suicide ? Kirby didn’t buy it. Neither did I. Black-Jack wasn’t the kind of feller to take his own life. Besides …the knife seemed to be too far away from the body. If he’d stuck himself, you’d think the knife would still be in his throat. Wouldn’t you ?
There was something’ just not right about the whole scene.
Kirby asked me about the window. It was simply too high for anyone to stab Black-Jack in the throat. There was nothing in the cell for Black-jack to be standing on to get him level with that window. And if some-one from outside had thrown the knife through the window … how come it got Black-Jack in the throat and then landed on the other side of the cell?
If we’d had some of those new-fangled systems they use in the big cities for checking fingerprints and blood types an’ all that, we might have gotten the whole puzzle solved a lot sooner. But the Texas Ranger was no fool. He spent the morning talking to folk in the saloons, and Madame Rosie, … finding out who had been in town that night … and examining the alley-way outside the cell-window. I liked the man. He didn’t talk much, but he knew his job.
Fer some reason I wasn’t surprised when he told me that he’d like me to come along with him to the Gray ranch.”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It was a leisurely ride of nearly an hour. Good pasture
land. Cattle lowing on grassy plains.
But the cloudy sky seemed to indicate the storm was about to break. It
was … in more ways than one !
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“We arrived at Gray’s ranch ‘bout mid-afternoon. Running Cloud was on the porch. His greeting was far from friendly.
‘White men come in peace?’ he asked.
‘Why shouldn’t it be in peace?’ Kirby replied calmly.
‘White men always bring trouble,’ said the Redskin.
The door opened behind him and Charles Gray appeared.
‘Welcome to my humble abode, gentlemen, … good to see you sheriff. And who is this?’ He pointed to Kirby.
I explained that it was the Texas Ranger who had come to escort Black-Jack Thompson to Windy Gulch. And added that we had some questions about Black-Jack we would like to discuss with him.
‘ Well, …I’m afraid I didn’t know the fellow very well ... met him once or twice in the saloon …’
His words were interrupted by a loud squeal somewhere at the side of the ranch-house. ‘It’s only a pig,’ Gray explained, ‘We’re killing it for a party tonight. My niece’s twenty-first birthday, you know. Perhaps you would both care to stay? It is not very often we have such distinguished company as a Texas Ranger. Besides, another night in jail won’t do … what did you say his name was? …oh, yes, … won’t do Black-Jack any harm.’
Before I could reply Kirby had thanked Gray for the offer and agreed to stay. I was surprised but said nothing. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Running Cloud’s disapproving glare. It made me feel kinda nervous. Not to mention those storm clouds a-gatherin’ overhead.”
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“I must confess the dinner was delicious. Even tho’ I spilled gravy down my shirt. I guess I wasn’t used to this high livin’. But Kirby was. He kept the folk who were present with stories of his exploits and even caused a laugh or two with some of his witticisms.
The ranch foreman was there plus a couple of neighbouring ranchers and their wives.
Bonnie, Gray’s niece, was quite charming. A real lady. Even in the flickering light of the oil lamp by the foot of the stairs I could see that Kirby thought so too.
“And tell us, Mr Kirby,’ she said in that sweet voice of hers, ‘what is it that brings you to our fair town?’
‘I’ve come to escort Black-Jack Thompson back to Windy Gulch for trial. He’s suspected of having taken part in a bank hold-up.’
Her smile disappeared. ‘Black … Jack .. Thompson, you say?’
‘You know him?’ asked a surprised Kirby. It was pretty obvious the name had meant something to her.
‘My niece has seen him around town once or twice,’ Gray cut in. ‘She doesn’t really know him.’
‘That’s correct,’ Bonnie stammered. ‘I .. er …only saw him once or twice.’
‘You say he was suspected of a bank robbery,’ Gray continued. ‘It’s a good thing we have Texas Rangers hunting these fellows down. Good riddance to them I say !’
‘Yes … he is certainly an unpleasant fellow,’ Kirby added. ‘Is there anything you can tell me about him, Mr Gray?’
Gray looked cautious. ‘Er … he was a rough kind of fellow. Not the kind I’d like to meet in a back alley on a dark night.’ He chuckled and looked around the table for his guests’ approval. They chuckled too.
‘I remember that time you bawled him out…’ one of the fellow ranchers began to say.
‘I’m sure our friends wouldn’t be interested in that,” cut in the host. ‘Tell me, Kirby, what led you to join the Texas Rangers ?’
And as Kirby held forth with some more anecdotes of his adventurous life, the folk at the table sat engrossed.
Especially Bonnie. Her eyes never left Kirby’s sun-tanned face …”
…………………………………..
“ It was late when we started our ride back to Graylands. Kirby surprised me by reining his horse to a stop just out of sight of Gray’s ranch.
‘We’ll wait here until that neighbour of his comes this way.’ He explained. ‘He had a pretty interesting story to tell before Gray cut him off.’
It wasn’t long before we were rewarded.
“Hey, Watson, it’s me, Sheriff Glover.’ Kirby had asked me to call because they knew my voice. ‘Don’t be frightened, Watson. My Texas Ranger friend has a question he’d like to ask ya.’
Watson Cooke and his wife came into view. Their initial shock, and maybe fear, at having heard a voice in the darkness had soon dispelled.
Kirby gave them a reassuring smile. I tell you, Bonnie would have loved it. ‘Nice to meet you tonight.’ he began. ‘You were saying back at the house about Gray bawlin’ Black-Jack Thompson out. Do you remember why exactly?’
‘Sure do ! It was in front of Ma Rosie’s place just a few days back. Seems Black-Jack had been makin’ some unwelcome advances toward Bonnie.’ Watson paused. ‘ Poor girl …she was a-scared to come into town to get supplies any more. If it hadn’t been for Gray’s foreman bein’ around last time I don’t know what would-a happened to her. She’s a good kid, that Bonnie. Ain’t that so, Emily ?’
Mrs. Cooke was quick to agree and add her testimony concerning Black-Jack Thompson.
‘He even accosted me once.’ she told us. ‘ I was comin’ out of the store and there he was at the buckboard, holdin’ the reins of my horse. I’m afraid I can’t repeat the things he said to me, but it wasn’t very pleasant.’
‘I think,’ said the Texas Ranger deliberately, ‘we’ll go back to Gray’s ranchhouse and pay him another visit. I’ve got the motive and the means by which the whole thing was executed… Good night ma’am, goodnight Mr. Cooke.’
And we galloped back to where we had just dined as the storm began to crash in the darkened sky.
……………………………..
‘Charles Gray, I arrest you for the murder of Black-Jack Thompson.’ Kirby’s voice was kinda chilling as he spoke.
‘This is an outrage’ Gray began. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘I’m afraid you do. You see, twice when we mentioned Black–Jack to you tonight, you spoke of him in the past tense. But we hadn’t told you he was dead.’
‘I haven’t been off this range for days … you can ask Bonnie.’ Gray gestured to his niece who had just come from her room upstairs. She stood by the lamp, the light giving her hair a golden radiance.
‘That may well be,’ Kirby said, ‘but you sent Running Cloud to kill him.’
Then another voice spoke from behind us.
‘White man always bring trouble. Running Cloud solve problem.’ His arrow was poised at Kirby’s back.
Thunder echoed above the ranch-house.
‘If you kill me,’ Kirby said, ‘you’ll have Sheriff Glover to deal with.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Gray taking a small revolver from inside his waistcoat. He looked at Running Cloud. ‘I’ve never asked you to kill a Texas Ranger before, have I, but I’m asking you now. Kill him !’
But before the arrow was loosed, the Redskin having savoured the moment a few seconds too long, the oil lamp smashed to the ground. The room was plunged into darkness. We heard an arrow thud into the wall. ‘Thanks, Bonnie,’ I heard Kirby say through gritted teeth as he rolled across the floor.
Gray made the mistake of firing blindly. It gave away his position in the room. One shot from Kirby and he crumpled to the floor.
Then Running Cloud was suddenly illumined, standing in the doorway, by a flash of lightning. I got him with my first shot.
‘Are you alright, Bonnie?’ Kirby called. Funny, I thought to myself later that he didn’t ask about my health! A faint ‘Yes’ came from across the room. ‘I’ll get a lamp from my bedroom,’ she whispered.
Some ranch-hands gathered from the bunkhouse. Good fellers. I knew most of them personally. So it was my job to explain to them what had happened.
‘We’ll be back in the morning to collect these two,’ said Kirby pointing to the bodies. ‘In the meantime we’ll take Bonnie back to Ma Rosie’s for the night … she won’t want to stay here.’
We fetched a wagon so we’d be sheltered from the rain and the three of us headed back to town.
‘So explain to me,’ I said as we trundled along, “ how you knew Gray was guilty and how the Invisible Assassin got out of the cell after he stabbed Black-Jack.’
Kirby smiled. ‘To start with the wound in Black-Jack’s neck was made, not by the knife we found, but by an arrow. Running Cloud mounted a ladder outside the cell window …I found the marks in the alleyway where a ladder had rested, … and shot his victim through the bars. But the arrow had some pretty strong string, or rope, or something tied to it so he could retrieve it. Then he tossed the knife in through the window … and you heard it clatter when it landed. If it had fallen closer to the victim it might have looked more like suicide. But he had no control over where it landed.’
‘But there was blood on it.’ I reminded him.
‘Pig’s blood’ Kirby explained. ‘He had a little jar of it in his pouch so it would be fresh and wet when he dipped the knife in it before tossing it into the cell.’
He put his arm around Bonnie. ‘Are you O.K.’ he asked tenderly.
‘I’ll be alright,’ she replied and nestled closer. I could see that things really would be all right !
……………………………………….
“That’s a mighty interesting story, Mr.Glover. I sure
thank’s ya for tellin’ it to me. My
readers are in for a real treat.” Gratitude beamed all over Al Webster’s face.
“ Is there any more to tell ?” he asked , pencil poised.
“Well, Bonnie inherited the ranch. And Kirby eventually
decided to leave the Rangers and become her leading ranch-hand … and husband.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::