The Educated Ape and Other Wonders of the Worlds

  He had been going about this all the wrong way. Fire should be fought with fire.

  ‘Oh yes, indeed,’ cried the garret-dweller, frightening both mouse and cockroach and the bed-bugs, too.

  ‘Sorry to frighten you, Darwin boy. We’ll have you down in a jiffy.’

  Lord Brentford looked towards the beautiful Leah. ‘How do we get him down?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t learned that bit.’

  ‘Reverse the invocation.’

  ‘Ah, indeed.’ His lordship called out words towards the ape upon the ceiling. The ape dropped a foot or two, then swung about in a lofty arc, travelled with speed the length of the room and buffeted into a wall.

  Lord Brentford chewed upon his bottom lip. ‘Sorry, pardon, Darwin,’ he said. ‘Let me have another go.

  Leah laid a hand upon his lordship’s arm. ‘Let me,’ said she. ‘You would not want to cause your servant harm.’

  ‘Quite so,’ puffed his lordship.

  Leah whispered words of magic and Darwin drifted gently down to rest upon the floor.

  In his office, Chief Inspector Case paced the floor, dressed today as a Chinese Mandarin. Mr Bell knew well enough that things generally boded ill when the chief inspector was in costume. That the chief inspector was a troubled man.

  ‘Sit down, please.’ Chief Inspector Case affected that mock-Chinese accent so popular with second-rate music hall mimics. ‘You likee cuppa tea?’

  ‘Me likee glass of Scotch,’ said Cameron Bell.

  Chief Inspector Case looked sternly upon the detective. Mr Bell observed that he had employed a wax crayon to render a travesty of a Chinese moustache beneath his nose.

  The look was not appealing. Mr Bell gazed sidelong glances at the chief inspector’s thumbnails and at a smudge upon his left ear.

  ‘It is lucky indeed that I was able to come here at such short notice,’ said Mr Bell, in a manner both chipper and confident. ‘A regrettable circumstance regarding your wife. But things will probably work out for the best.’

  ‘My wife!’ cried Chief Inspector Case. ‘She’s not here, is she?’

  ‘Happily not,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I perceive that she left the marital home some seven days ago.’

  Chief Inspector Case took to flustering at the papers piled upon his desk. ‘Damnable woman,’ he said. ‘I am glad to see the back of her.’

  ‘She was not worthy of you,’ said Mr Bell. ‘You, the pride of Scotland Yard arid everything.’

  ‘Don’t try to get around me, Bell.’ The foolish Chinese accent was no more. ‘I blame you. I don’t know why, but I do.’

  ‘I have never met your wife,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

  ‘I don’t mean my wife and you know it.’

  ‘If you mean the case, then I am happy to inform you that a breakthrough is imminent.’

  ‘A familiar phrase,’ said Chief Inspector Case, now leafing through the pages of his diary. ‘Oh yes, I knew that I recognised it. You have offered it to me at least once a week for the past four—’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Bell. ‘But this time I actually mean it.’

  ‘And that phrase, too. I am sorry, Bell, but it just won’t do.’

  ‘How would you like to solve the Crime of the Century?’ asked Cameron Bell.

  ‘I am certain I already have. At least twice.’

  Cameron Bell recalled these occasions. ‘I remember that I provided invaluable assistance upon both occasions,’ said he, ‘and let you take the credit.’

  ‘And all but bankrupted Scotland Yard into the bargain.’

  ‘I incurred heavy expenses.

  Chief Inspector Case made grumblings.

  ‘It is now September,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Only four months remain of this century. Now would be the time to solve the greatest case of all and place yourself into the annals of history.’

  ‘How much will it cost?’ asked the chief inspector. ‘And more to the point, what case? What is this Crime of the Century that has been committed and of which I know nothing?’

  ‘It is a crime that has yet to be committed.’

  ‘Well, this is new,’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘Have you taken to travelling through time, then?’ And he laughed.

  Cameron Bell did not. ‘As a matter of interest,’ he said, of a sudden, ‘I understand that you have been investigating the matter of the Martian spaceship that crashed into Lord Brentford’s Bananary. Any breakthroughs in that case?’

  ‘We know the name of the spaceship’s owner,’ said the chief inspector, with pride.

  ‘We?’ asked Cameron Bell.

  ‘That ne’er-do-well Septimus Grey is assisting me. Although I haven’t seen him for weeks, the ungrateful blighter.’

  ‘The name of the spaceship’s owner?’ asked Cameron Bell.

  ‘Miss Violet Wond,’ said Chief Inspector Case. The name rang no bells at all with the great detective. ‘And you have apprehended this anarchist?’ he asked. ‘An arrest is pending,’ said the chief inspector. ‘We’ll have her any day now.’

  ‘Well, good luck with that. But in the meanwhile you must turn your attention to the Crime of the Century.’

  ‘The one that has yet to be committed?’

  ‘It will be committed next week,’ said Mr Bell. ‘And next week you will solve it. I can see the papers now.

  And he could.

  CELEBRATED CHIEF INSPECTOR SOLVES

  CRIME OF THE CENTURY

  ‘I just reasoned it out,’ says

  the era’s most-noted detective.

  ‘And,’ continued Cameron Bell, ‘I would expect also to read words to the effect:

  CHIEF INSPECTOR CASE TO RECEIVE

  KNIGHTHOOD IN THE NEW YEAR’S

  HONOURS LIST

  A NATION APPLAUDS

  ‘Tell me more,’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘I am liking what I’ve heard so far.’

  ‘The Crown Jewels will be stolen,’ said Cameron Bell.

  ‘The Crown Jewels?’ cried the chief inspector. ‘And this you know for a fact?’

  ‘I do,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I have given the matter considerable thought and I am absolutely certain it will occur.’

  ‘Incredible,’ said the chief inspector. ‘And I will solve the case?’

  ‘It will certainly look that way,’ said Cameron Bell.

  Chief Inspector Case smiled broadly and pictured himself being knighted by Her Majesty the Queen. ‘And there was me about to cut your wages,’ he said.

  ‘I was hoping for a rise, as it happens.’

  ‘And you shall have one. As long as I take all the credit for solving the case and bringing the criminal to justice.’

  ‘I promise you that,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Shall we shake upon it?’

  He extended his hand and the chief inspector shook it.

  The deal was done and could not be undone.

  ‘I have things to do now,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I will call by in a couple of days and tell you what is on the go.’

  Chief Inspector Case rubbed his hands together.

  Cameron Bell turned to take his leave.

  ‘Oh, just one thing,’ the chief inspector called. ‘As you know that this Crime of the Century will definitely occur —do you also know the name of the criminal mastermind who will be responsible for it?’

  ‘He is known as the Masked Shadow,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

  ‘Sounds like quite a character,’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘Yes,’ agreed Cameron Bell. ‘Character would most certainly be the word.’

  37

  he Masked Shadow’s Manifesto came as something of a body blow to the God-fearing citizens of the Empire’s capital. They were growing used to a London without crime and talk was only of the Grand Exposition and the Wonders of the Worlds that would be seen therein.

  That this monstrous criminal should spring out from nowhere with no history but claiming many sinister qualifications was indeed an outrage. Something must be done. This creature must be stopped.

  Copies of the
Manifesto had been posted up all over London — posted even onto the walls of St Paul’s Cathedral and Scotland Yard itself Shameful, it was. Quite shameful!

  Cameron Bell perused the one that had been posted onto a post-box at the corner of his street.

  ‘Quite a character,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘And a most unpleasant character at that.’

  The Yellow Press were having a field day. An anonymous source, who signed himself only as SWORD OF TRUTH, had dispatched to their offices a number of stories regarding the Masked Shadow. Shocking stories, these, of his evil exploits upon Mars, and suggesting that he was responsible for many unsolved crimes, including — and this was hinted most strongly — that he was Jack the Ripper.

  ‘Appalling fellow,’ said Chief Inspector Case, wearing tweeds today and with ne’er a hint of Red Indian war paint or the tribal markings of a Watusi chief. ‘Glad we’re ahead of the game on this one, Bell.’

  ‘Well ahead,’ said Cameron Bell, seated in the chief inspector’s chair and tasting the chief inspector’s five—year— old malt whisky.

  ‘And you are convinced that he will strike soon?’ The chief inspector paced a bit, pounding his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

  ‘Upon Friday the thirteenth,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘he will strike for the Crown Jewels. I would wager my reputation upon this.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘Well, we will be waiting for him. I will have the Tower of London surrounded by an impenetrable ring of bobbies. I’ll have an airship stationed overhead with one of those new death-ray jobbies mounted upon it. A squadron of the Queen’s Own—’

  ‘Have to stop you there,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘With such martial forces in evidence, no criminal would come within five miles of the Tower of London.’

  ‘Then we will have foiled the blighter,’ said Chief Inspector Case.

  ‘If you will remember,’ said Cameron Bell, refilling his glass, ‘our intention was to capture the Masked Shadow in order that you gain your knighthood.’

  ‘Ah, yes, indeed.’ The chief inspector took to stroking his chin.

  ‘It will be,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘what Mr Churchill, I believe, refers to as “an undercover operation” — just you, me and a single constable.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ cried the chief inspector. ‘I have no fear for myself, naturally, for I am a fearless fellow. But you are not a young man, Mr Bell.’

  ‘I am a young man,’ said Cameron Bell.

  ‘Quite so,’ said the chief inspector. ‘But this fellow appears to be some fiend in human form.’

  ‘He certainly appears so,’ Cameron Bell agreed.

  ‘So, just the two of us and one constable?’

  ‘And make him a small one,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘And young. And no one but me is to carry a firearm.’

  ‘What?’ cried Chief Inspector Case.

  ‘I don’t want there to be any accidents. Now you put the word around Scotland Yard that the crime will occur on the thirteenth of September and that we need a volunteer. I will meet you on that night at eight o’clock. And do bring the keys to the Jewel Room.’

  ‘And what are you going to be doing in the meanwhile, Mr Bell?’

  ‘I am going to be investing some of the fifty guineas that you are now about to pay me.

  ‘Investing?’ said Chief Inspector Case.

  ‘Investing,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Just trust me, do.’

  ‘Trust me,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘You will not come to harm.’

  Darwin the monkey butler stood in Lord Brentford’s converted study and shook in his bright white spats. He was coming to dread these little sessions.

  ‘Nothing to knock you about this time,’ said his lordship. ‘In fact, this one should appeal to your sense of fun.’

  If I am turned into a clown, thought Darwin, I shall kill Lord Brentford and run away with the circus.

  ‘Just stand there,’ his lordship said, ‘while I call out the business.’

  Lord Brentford stepped away from his ape and took his place beside Leah. Darwin saw the Venusian lady put out her hand towards that of his lordship and grip it tenderly. That at least made Darwin happy, for he was a monkey who thought a lot about love.

  He had led a solitary existence, had Darwin. He had no recollection of his mother or family. He had awoken, as it were, in a cage at Tilbury Docks, and was taken from there to an auction house and sold to a sideshow proprietor. He travelled for a while with the famous Wombwell’s Menagerie before deciding to strike out on his own. He escaped one night from his cage and made his way to London, there to be captured by Lambeth Borough’s Monkey Catcher in Residence and sold at yet another auction. But this time to Lord Brentford.

  But throughout all this toing and froing he had never known love of his own. He had never met a lady ape with whom he could raise a family. He had been tricked by the evil Pandora, Lavinia Dharkstorrm’s familiar, and politely rejected by Queen Victoria’s monkey maid, Emily. Although he did have thoughts to pursue that comely creature …

  But Darwin was a simian who still searched for love.

  ‘Wake up, boy,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘Falling asleep on your feet, by the looks of you.’

  Darwin arose from his reverie to face the world with dread.

  Lord Brentford chanted words of Venusian and waved his free hand about in a fanatical fashion.

  Darwin considered the study door and wondered if he should make a break for it now.

  ‘And … so!’ cried Lord Brentford, raising his hand in the air.

  Darwin the monkey felt very queer indeed. He felt giddy and strangely not-all-there. He lifted a hand to clutch at his head, then gaped in horror at his hand.

  And through it!

  His hand was vanishing right in front of his eyes. ‘It is working,’ called Lord Brentford. ‘He is fading away. And Darwin was. He was fading. And then gone. Just gone.

  ‘Are you there, boy? Can you hear me?’

  Darwin was there somewhere. Was he here? The now-unseeable monkey butler stamped his feet on the floor. He was still here, still in the converted study, but he was utterly transparent.

  He was the Invisible Ape.

  ‘Invisible, or so they says,’ the newsboy said to Mr Cameron Bell. ‘They says the Masked Shadow can turn himself invisible. He is in league with the Devil, so they says.’

  The great detective paid for a paper and bore it away to a coffee house to peruse it at his ease.

  The Masked Shadow was quite the talk of the town, it so appeared. Mr Bell overheard heated conversation regarding this mysterious fellow all around the coffee house.

  ‘They say he’s the very last living Martian out for revenge on the human race,’ said someone.

  ‘I heard he was the victim of a dreadful medical experiment and that he has an elbow instead of a face.’

  Cameron Bell raised his eyebrow to that one and ordered a coffee.

  ‘They say that he’s a werewolf,’ said an ancient lady of Eastern European extraction. ‘The thirteenth is the night of the full moon, you know — he’ll strike upon the thirteenth, mark my words.’

  Cameron Bell just nodded his head to that one. The Masked Shadow was certainly making his presence felt in London. Given that none but a few had known about his existence prior to this day, news of him and his depredations were spreading in the manner of a plague.

  The thought of a plague distracted Cameron Bell. It had now been weeks since the Thames had turned blood-red and most folk had now forgotten it. But if that really was one of the Seven End Times Plagues, the next one would shortly be on the way.

  Although the day was mild and the coffee shop electrically heated, a cold and icy shiver crept the length of Cameron’s spine.

  It was quite cold, being invisible. A draught from the door crack seemed to blow right through the unviewable ape.

  Lord Brentford clapped his hands in glee. ‘That really is most wonderful,’ he said.

  ‘I know you have promised before,’
said Leah, ‘but I would ask that you promise again that you will never demonstrate the magic I am teaching you unless your life, or the life of someone that you love, depends upon it.’

  ‘You have my most solemn vow,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘I got a bit over-joyous there, but believe you me, I take all this stuff most seriously. Know what would happen to you if it came out you’d been teaching me. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Care very much about you, as it happens.

  And then Lord Brentford screamed.

  It was a piercing scream. Almost feminine, it sounded.

  The scream of a man who had, perhaps, been head-butted hard in his private parts by a quite unseen attacker.

  ‘You scoundrel!’ cried his lordship, knees bent, eyes crossed and face grown rather red. ‘You’ll get a thrashing for that, you saucy fellow.’

  SAUCY FELLOW WILL TAKE

  A DARE FROM GENTLEMEN

  Cameron Bell was reading the small advertisements upon the rear of his newspaper.

  MISS CAINE’S ACADEMY

  FOR THE TRAINING OF

  PONY-GIRLS

  Cameron Bell ran a finger down the page.

  ILLUSIONS UNLIMITED

  SUPPLIERS OF FIRST-RATE

  MAGICAL ACCOUTREMENTS

  FOR THE MUSIC HALL

  ‘That is the one I am looking for,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

  38

  arwin was not severely chastened by Lord Brentford. The nobleman’s humour had not deserted him, and although it is always easy to affect a detached attitude to the problems of others, it takes a man of character to accept a blow to the testes and still keep a smile on his face.

  ‘Come out, you scoundrel, or I’ll fetch my gun,’ Lord Brentford shouted, in a manner that was possibly ironic.