The Educated Ape and Other Wonders of the Worlds

  Leah laid a calming hand upon Lord Brentford’s head. It was more, it appeared, than simply a calming hand, for the pain of his pummelled private parts fled the noble lord.

  ‘Why, thank you, m’dear,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘Wish I’d known that particular piece of magic when I was playing rugger back at Winchester. Used to get biffed in the three-piece-suite most every game.

  Leah said, ‘I feel we should restore your ape to sight.’

  His lordship made grumbling mumbling sounds, but these were sounds of assent.

  ‘It is known as the Glamour,’ said Leah, ‘whereby that which is seen can go unseen. But never for too long, for fear that they be lost to us for ever.

  ‘Humpty-tumpty,’ said Lord Brentford. ‘Don’t want that for Darwin. Very fond of the little fellow.’

  Which probably spared Lord Brentford a biting to the bottom.

  Darwin, who had been quite enjoying himself pulling unseen faces at his master and pondering upon whether his dung might be invisible, should he produce some and then hurl it, came to sudden order when Lord Brentford said, ‘Stand before me, Darwin, if you want to reappear.

  Leah aided his lordship with the words to reverse the spell and Darwin wavily appeared from nowhere.

  ‘Fetch us up cocktails, you little blighter,’ said Lord Brentford, ‘and we’ll say no more about it. Go on, now.’

  Darwin made off to the kitchen, ooh-ooh-ooh-ing in ape.

  Cameron Bell made off to ILLUSIONS UNLIMITED, a workshop housed beneath an archway near London Bridge Station. A small and weaselly man replied to his knockings and ushered him into the very weirdest of rooms. Within the span of bricked archway were to be found things of a magical nature.

  But not Venusian magic, this, rather stage illusions born from the cunning of man.

  Things that might best be described as if sung as a music hall song.

  There were dragons that were made of papier-mâché

  That could breathe and move their little eyes about.

  A contraption that would make you laugh

  In which to saw your wife in half.

  A box that was much bigger on the inside than the out.

  There were hats from which to pull a bunny rabbit

  And a rabbit that could turn into a cow.

  A clockwork Turk that would impress

  By beating you each time at chess

  But nobody could really tell you how.

  There were oriental wonders in the corner,

  A rope trick that had come from Indi-ah.

  There were cups and balls and cards and rings

  And many many magic things

  Everything to please your heart’s desire.

  (As long as you paid in guineas. And in cash.)

  The small and weaselly fellow announced himself to be Caracticus Crawford, creator of wonders and owner of a whippet.

  Cameron Bell had once owned a wiener dog, but it had taken to chasing hansom cabs and an irate driver had shot it.

  Mr Crawford smiled upon Cameron Bell. ‘Something for the ladies?’ he asked.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Cameron Bell.

  ‘Some little card trick, perhaps, to impress the ladies of your social circle? Or perhaps a comedic boil fashioned from gutta-percha that can be affixed to your nose to alarm the ladies at supper? Or perhaps an India-rubber cushion which mimics flatulence when sat upon by a lady? Or—’

  Cameron Bell raised his hands. ‘I want you to create for me an illusion,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, you wish perhaps to compress a lady into a Gladstone bag. Or perhaps something involving a very fat lady who becomes two slim ladies when literally torn in half by a special machine which—’

  Cameron Bell stared hard at the weaselly man and observed his shirt cuffs and trouser-buttons.

  ‘Yours was not a happy marriage, then,’ he said.

  The weaselly man’s eyes grew wide. ‘You are a mentalist,’ said he. ‘Your act is one of mind-reading.’

  ‘No,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I need you to create for me a certain illusion. It is most important that it works perfectly. You might say it is a matter of life and death.’

  ‘I have a guillotine effect that appears to remove a lady’s head from her body—’

  ‘I will show you the plan that I have drawn up,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

  Over cocktails, in the Garden Room — a room which presently lacked for certain essentials, in Darwin’s opinion, now that all the potted banana trees had been removed from it — Lord Brentford sat in a wicker chair.

  Next to him sat Leah, upright, elegant, mysterious and thoroughly enticing, and the two were studying a plan that was spread before them upon an occasional table.

  ‘The hall of the Grand Exposition,’ said Lord Brentford, with no small pride in his voice. ‘Three times the size of the Crystal Palace. A single large hall, as you see, that extends the length of the Mall, with a hall at either end, extending at right angles from the main hall. The concert hall in the centre of the main building, and to either side of that, displays of the Arts and Commerce of the British Empire. I recently received a letter from the eminent chemist Ernest Rutherford — he has apparently created an invention of staggering implications and has asked my permission to display it.’

  Leah raised a golden eyebrow.

  ‘It will be a surprise, my dear,’ said his lordship. ‘And here—’ and he pointed ‘—in the very centre of this hall, you can place your magical sphere of absolute nothingness. I cannot position it any further away from the Jovian food hall, but believe me, that is as far away as it is possible to get from it.’

  Darwin viewed the plans. He had overheard the name of Mr Ernest Rutherford being mentioned, and also that he wished to exhibit something with staggering implications. To Darwin it could mean nothing other than the time-ship that his elder self had flown from the future and into the Bananary.

  Eventually, said Darwin to himself, I feel certain that everything will become clear.

  ‘I feel,’ said Lord Brentford, ‘that if everything goes according to plan, if the building is constructed on time and all correctly assembled within, this should be the greatest exhibition that any of the worlds has ever known. Thousands come daily just to view the construction. When it is opened, I am confident that millions will attend.’

  Leah nodded her beautiful head, her long, slim fingers toying with her cocktail glass. ‘Might I ask a question?’ she enquired.

  ‘Ask anything, my dear, ask anything.’

  ‘As you are of course aware, I was present at your al fresco luncheon when Queen Victoria gave the venture her approval. I now know that even before this time you had foundries working upon the cast-iron frameworks of the building—’

  ‘Had to get ahead,’ said Lord Brentford, ‘otherwise it would not be ready on time.’

  ‘I recall well,’ said Leah, ‘that you told Her Majesty that the Crown would not be expected to pay a penny towards this enterprise.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lord Brentford.

  ‘Then might I ask,’ said Leah, ‘just where the money is coming from to finance this enormous venture?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lord Brentford once more.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Caracticus Crawford. ‘An illusion such as that will not come cheap.’

  ‘A labourer is worthy of his hire,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I believe the colonials have a phrase — “If peanuts are the remuneration, then one can only expect to gain the employment of simians,” or something similar.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Mr Crawford. ‘An illusion of this magnitude will cost you fifty guineas.’

  ‘Forty,’ said Mr Bell.

  ‘Forty-five,’ said Mr Crawford.

  ‘Pounds then, not guineas.’

  Palms were spat upon and then smacked hard together. ‘It must be ready and crated by next Thursday evening,’ said Cameron Bell.

  ‘Next Thursday evening? Only a week away? That is an outrageous demand!’

  ‘Shall we say
guineas, then, instead of pounds?’ Palms once more received spit and were slapped together. Mr Bell smiled and went upon his way.

  Days went on their way and time passed by. Days passed into a week and then were gone. Chief Inspector Case was quite excited.

  ‘You see this, Bell,’ he said with glee and opened up his shirt.

  Cameron Bell had been standing at the window of the chief inspector’s office, viewing London going about its business. Several airships slowly crossed the sky, huge sections of cast iron slung beneath them, bound for the Mall and the halls of the Grand Exposition.

  ‘That building is coming on a storm,’ said Mr Bell, and, turning, added, ‘Oh my dear dead mother.’

  Chief Inspector Case was stripped to the waist but appeared to be sporting the breast-plate of a Roman legionnaire.

  ‘Dare I guess that you have recently discovered yourself to be the reincarnation of Nero?’ said Mr Bell.

  ‘Not one bit of it.’ Chief Inspector Case did tappings at his breast-plate. ‘The very latest thing in Metropolitan Police issue, this is. It is called a bullet—proof vest.’

  ‘Ha,’ said Cameron Bell, drawing out his ray gun. ‘Shall we put it to the test?’

  ‘For the love of God, no!’ cried Chief Inspector Case. ‘It is only for emergencies.

  ‘And what if it fails in emergencies for lack of adequate testing?’

  ‘Shall we test it on a constable?’

  Cameron Bell shrugged shoulders. ‘If you do the shooting. Answering to the charge of murder is something I would only wish to do in the event of having shot an officer of a higher rank.’

  ‘Let us call in Williams,’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘It is he who will be accompanying us to the Tower of London tomorrow night.’

  ‘Williams being the knock-kneed constable with the rounded shoulders and the advanced acne?’

  ‘He’s very willing,’ said Chief Inspector Case.

  ‘Then why not call him in.’

  Williams was duly summonsed and matters explained to him.

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Williams. ‘Do I appear such a fool?’

  ‘I will fire from right across the room,’ said Chief Inspector Case.

  ‘And probably shoot me in the head,’ said Constable Williams. ‘Why not prop the bullet-proof vest upon your chair and we’ll all take pot-shots at it?’

  ‘Do you have a gun, then, Williams?’ asked Cameron Bell.

  ‘The chief inspector said—’ The lad paused as the chief inspector shook his head. ‘Yes, I do have a gun,’ said Williams in a guilty tone.

  Cameron Bell sighed sadly. The term ‘friendly fire’ had recently passed into common usage. It sent large shivers up the spine of Mr Bell.

  Chief Inspector Case de-bullet-proof-vested himself and placed the protective garment upright on his chair. He stepped back and winked at Cameron Bell. ‘Let us draw out our pistols like those cow chaps of America,’ he said. ‘Go for your gun.

  Cameron Bell drew out his ray gun.

  Williams unsheathed something that resembled a miniature cannon.

  Chief Inspector Case brought forth his old service revolver.

  And the three men drew down fire on the bullet-proof vest.

  The ambulance arrived quite soon with the bell on its roof ringing loudly. The blood-stained Williams was stretchered away in the very nick of time.

  ‘Worked better than might have been reasonably expected,’ said Chief Inspector Case, tapping at the scarcely dented bullet-proof vest on his chair. ‘Shame about the ricochet, though. Poor Williams.’

  ‘All in a good cause,’ said Cameron Bell, trying very hard not to smirk.

  39

  n Thursday the twelfth of September at eight o’clock in the evening, Mr Cameron Bell parted with forty-five guineas.

  He was very sad to see those guineas go, but understood that it was all in a good cause. For if one sought to match wits with the Masked Shadow, a veritable demon in human form for whom no godless atrocity went unindulged in, it was better to do it with a trick or two up one’s sleeve.

  Mr Bell was loaned the use of a horse and cart by Mr Crawford, which he returned first thing the next morning. The horse looked chipper, for it had had a sleep. Mr Bell looked much the worse for wear, however, for he had been hard at work all night.

  ‘You constructed it all by yourself!‘ said Mr Crawford as he shook the hand of Mr Bell.

  ‘Of necessity,’ said that man. ‘I trust one day our paths will cross again.’

  ‘I am presently engaged in creating a cannon that can hurl a lady at least halfway across Lake Windermere,’ said Mr Crawford.

  ‘The best of luck with that,’ said Cameron Bell.

  Mr Bell returned to his garret and got his head down for a nap. At six he rose, packed certain items into his Gladstone bag, armed himself with his ray gun and sword-stick and, dressed in his finest hunting tweeds, set out for Scotland Yard.

  Chief Inspector Case was having a very bad day. His estranged wife had paid him a visit at his office and berated him in a voice so loud as to be heard by his superiors. Be they even three floors up above.

  She had cursed the chief inspector for his thoughtlessness and failure to show her affection. Criticised his manhood and extolled that of Señor David Voice, the London-tram-conductor-turned-architect, with whom she was presently enjoying ‘love unsullied’. She concluded her diatribe with the hope that her soon-to-be-ex-husband would encounter the Masked Shadow at the earliest eventuality and that said Masked Shadow would thrust a weapon of considerable magnitude into an area of the chief inspector’s lower regions where ‘shineth not the sun’. She had then flung things of his all around his office.

  And with that said and done, she had left with a slam of the door.

  Mr Bell passed the indignant woman on the stairs and came immediately to the conclusion that, should her present liaison with the dashing Señor Voice come to a bitter end, he would not be offering the turbulent woman his shoulder to cry upon.

  ‘It will serve her right,’ said Chief Inspector Case to Cameron Bell, upon his arrival at the most dishevelled office.

  ‘I shall make sure we are divorced before I accept my knighthood. Let’s see how she likes that!’

  ‘Bravo,’ said Mr Cameron Bell. ‘Are you all prepared for tonight?’

  The chief inspector tapped at his chest, evoking a dull metallic clang. ‘And I have my trusty service revolver, a pair of handcuffs, some sandwiches and a Thermos flask of tea.’

  ‘Most thorough,’ said Cameron Bell, who had not quite given up hope that he would be the only one armed. ‘And the keys to the Jewel Room, so we might get in?’

  ‘Well, bother me,’ said the chief inspector. ‘I knew I’d forgotten something.’ And then he patted his trouser pocket. ‘Only joking,’ he said. ‘I have a full set of keys.’

  ‘You are the very acme of wit,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘And you have another constable, to replace the one you shot the other day?’

  ‘I have it down in the accident book that he shot himself,’ said the chief inspector. ‘I took the liberty of forging your signature as a witness.’

  ‘Very thorough,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Then let us gather your latest constable and head for the Tower of London.’

  The Tower of London squatted four-square with its feet dug into the capital. No more solid and beastly a building ever stood by the side of the River Thames. The wing-clipped ravens muttered ‘nevermore’ as ravens will always do when given half a chance. The ghost of Anne Boleyn walked the Bloody Tower with her head tucked underneath her arm. Beef-eating guardians sat in their wardrooms smoking cigarettes and discussing the legs of music hall girls. The full moon rose high in a starry sky and cast deep shadows about the ancient structure.

  A hansom dropped the three bold enforcers of the nation’s law before the big imposing doors to the sinister building.

  ‘I don’t like it here,’ said Constable Reekie. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we came back
in the morning.’

  Cameron Bell shook a head behatted by a tweed deerstalker. ‘Tonight must be the night,’ said he. ‘Please be alert and let’s not shoot each other.’

  After a degree of key confusion, the chief inspector unlocked a big imposing door and the three men slipped into darkness.

  ‘Best lock it again,’ said Cameron Bell.

  The chief inspector eventually found the key once more.

  They crept across the courtyards and down stone lanes, at last to arrive at the Jewel House.

  ‘You will stand outside the door to the Jewel House, ‘Cameron Bell told the trembling Constable Reekie. ‘Chief Inspector Case and I will lock ourselves inside and lie in hiding.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Constable Reekie. ‘The Masked Shadow will most certainly carry me off to his cave of horror and perform hideous deeds upon my young and tender person.’

  ‘Whose idea was it for you to join the police force?’ asked Chief Inspector Case of the babbling boy.

  ‘My mother’s,’ said Constable Reekie. ‘She told me that nice girls like a man in uniform.’

  ‘Happily not only nice girls,’ said the chief inspector, recalling happier times when he was still young and still in a smart uniform. ‘Go and find somewhere to hide, lad — we’ll call you if we need you.

  ‘Would that be after you have the handcuffs on him?’

  ‘Just go and hide,’ said Chief Inspector Case.

  The constable scuttled away with speed while Chief Inspector Case located the key to the Jewel Room door.

  Moonlight fell in silvered shafts through windows high above, touching upon most wonderful jewels and ornaments of gold.

  Chief Inspector Case lit up his bull’s—eye lantern and flashed it about at jewel-bedecked crowns, orbs and other precious things.

  ‘Do you know what?’ said he, a-making a thoughtful face. ‘Perhaps the two of us should just steal all the jewels and abscond to the Americees to live the life of Riley.’

  ‘Let us start filling our pockets,’ said Cameron Bell.