‘A regrettable circumstance,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Had the spell in question achieved the desired effect - that of creating a temporary cloak of invisibility - I would no doubt be kneeling now before a grateful monarch to receive yet another knighthood. Have sympathy for my disappointment also in this matter, please.’
Mr McMurdo huffed and puffed some more. ‘You wrought this calamity upon me, Rune.’
‘You volunteered,’ said the Perfect Master, as he perfectly mastered his G & T towards his mouth. ‘How anxious you were to volunteer, I recall.’
‘Out of my loyalty to King and country.’
‘Really?’ said Mr Rune. ‘And yet I also recall that I overheard you speaking to one of your minions, in confidence of course, words to the effect that “my first pleasure as the Invisible Man will be to kick the bum of that pompous buffoon Hugo Rune”.’
‘I did no such thing . . . I—’ And Mr McMurdo huffed and puffed some more.
And certain thoughts entered my head regarding the spell that Mr Rune had seemingly cast with such ‘unexpected’ results. But I dismissed these thoughts from my mind and asked Mr McMurdo whether, having now explained to me the noble motivations of those who toiled away in the Ministry of Serendipity, he might now care to avail Mr Rune and I of the facts in the case concerning the missing scientist, Professor James Stigmata Campbell. As time was now passing by at a goodly rate and he had seemed anxious that the case be solved by this very evening. Which was why Mr Rune and I were here.
‘Quite,’ said Mr McMurdo, as Hugo Rune sought, with little success, to disguise another beaming grin. ‘The facts in the case are these. We have a number of deep-cover operatives in Germany, brave chaps all who risk their lives to supply us with information regarding the Nazis’ scope of operations and current areas of scientific research. There is a fine line between science and magic, as is evidenced by the enemy’s present endeavours.’
I supped at my drink and Mr Rune did likewise.
And Mr McMurdo continued with the telling of his tale.
‘Particle physics,’ he said. ‘Which is to say the study of forces and matter upon an atomic and subatomic level. It is a study of the very fabric of existence. We know that Nazi scientists are engaged in this and we have scientists of our own similarly engaged. Professor Campbell is the leading light in this field of research.’
‘Might I ask,’ I asked, ‘precisely what Professor Campbell was engaged in?’
‘The nature of his experiments is top secret. I cannot divulge that information to you.’
‘You might divulge the theory behind them,’ Mr Rune suggested, ‘without compromising security.’
‘Then it is this way. Many theories exist regarding how the universe was brought into being. Some believe that the universe has always existed; it might expand and contract, it might do all manner of things, but essentially it has always been here. Others subscribe to the belief that everything that we understand to be the universe began with a Big Bang, and that our universe is now expanding from this point of cosmic detonation. And a third faction retains the earliest belief of Mankind - that it was God who created the universe. I can only say that I have every reason to believe that Professor Campbell uncovered the truth.’
‘Golly gosh,’ I said. ‘So which one is it?’
‘That I cannot say.’
Hugo Rune took out his pocket watch and perused its face. ‘Lunchtime is upon us,’ said he. ‘I require only Professor Campbell’s address. I assume that he conducted his research and experimentation within his own home.’
‘That is correct.’ Mr McMurdo plucked a tiny stylus from an inner pocket of his immaculate suit, took up a paper napkin and wrote an address upon it. ‘You told me on the telephone that the case was as good as solved,’ he said to Mr Rune, as the guru’s guru approached him and took the napkin from his delicate hand. ‘Be so good as to honour your word upon this occasion.’
‘Your servant, sir,’ said Hugo Rune. And he clicked his heels together in a martial manner and twirled his stout stick upon his fingers. ‘Be seeing you.’
And he led me from the room.
11
We took our luncheon at The Ritz.
‘Taking tea there is so passé,’ Mr Rune informed me, ‘but they do a passable lunchtime nosebag.’
I was entranced by the décor, the frescoed domes of ceilings, the chandeliers and marble columns, the gilded furniture and all over Louis XVI-ness all around and about. And as I took it all in, each wondrous detail and facet, I knew in my heart of hearts that this was the life. And that this place definitely had the edge on the Wife’s Legs Café in Brentford.
The head waiter seemed genuinely pleased to see Mr Rune and wrung him warmly by the hand, this causing me to conclude that either (a) Mr Rune had not dined here before, or (b) that he had and his restaurant bills were presently being covered by the Ministry of Serendipity. It proved, indeed, to be the latter.
‘Your favourite table, monsieur,’ said the head waiter, guiding Mr Rune towards it. ‘Neither too near to the band nor the Gents, but less than a stone’s throw from the kitchen.’
‘Splendid, splendid, splendid,’ said Himself, settling into his favourite chair and gesturing for me to seat myself.
I surveyed the line of various knives and forks before me with some trepidation. I do know how to handle myself in the company of High Society. But there were an awful lot of knives and forks.
Mr Rune ordered a bottle of something exquisite and expensive, without the need of consulting the wine list, and we sat and awaited its arrival.
‘What does this fork do?’ I asked, out of idle conversation.
‘That’s a seven-pronged soufflé dipper. I trust that you will shortly be bringing it into play. Shall we dip ourselves into the menus?’
I replaced my seven-pronged soufflé dipper and rubbed my palms together.
‘Why do you hate Mr McMurdo so?’ I asked as I rubbed.
‘I do not hate him, particularly,’ Mr Rune replied. ‘It is what he represents that I hold in contempt. He is a bureaucrat and a bully. He’d see me at a rope’s end if he had half a chance.’
I nodded as the light of understanding dawned. ‘Which is why you saw to it that he accidentally became reduced in size.’
‘I am a Magus,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘I will not prostitute the High Arts to serve some self-seeking, jumped-up little—’
‘Would monsieur care to sample the wine?’ A wine waiter, clad in the distinctive livery of the establishment - powdered purple periwig, pink pinafore and pantaloons, peg-heeled pumps and pristine puttees - prettily proffered us plonk.
‘Splash it in,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘and I’ll run it round my gums.’
The wine was clearly to his liking, as the Magus gestured for his glass to be filled at the hurry-up. The wine waiter left the bottle on the table and I had to pour my own.
‘So what is it all about?’ I asked of Hugo Rune.
‘Love, and the pursuit of happiness,’ he replied. ‘Drink up, Rizla - this 1787 Château d’Yquem Sauternes is exceptionally fine.’
I supped at the wine and found it pleasing. But then I would have found most things pleasing, and indeed did so. Which was mostly down to the quantity of gin I had consumed in Mr McMurdo’s office.
‘I was thinking more about the particle physics business,’ I said. ‘I do not really see how it can help the war effort.’
‘Have you ever heard of the atomic bomb?’ asked Hugo Rune.
‘Well, of course I have. It is why we are here, is it not? The Germans getting the bomb before the Allies. And destroying America and winning the war.’
‘It is all to do with splitting the atom.’
‘And this is what Professor Campbell has done, is it?’
‘No,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘I think not. I think his researches took him into a different sphere altogether. But that cannot be confirmed until after luncheon, when we visit his house.’
‘So we will be taking a
light luncheon then, will we?’ I made an encouraging face.
Hugo Rune just shook his head. ‘An army marches on its stomach,’ he replied. ‘Hugo Rune strolls sedately upon a full tum.’
We ordered and then consumed some of the most marvellous food I have ever tasted. I recall each course we had and each delicious mouthful.
FIRST COURSES
Gamut of Wrap-Rascal, in scallywag double-de-clutch
Veritable bi-polar launderette (Liberty horse)
Soup of the day. Flying Dutchman pyjamas
Grilled Velocity
ENTRÉES
Paget’s Disease in trumped-up-charges. Cockle
One-up-jump-up-long-shot-kick-de-bucket (choice of vegetables)
Three of spades, five and dime. Fly past
Haddock rock lollipop jamboree
DESSERTS
Off your trolley
As far as I can remember, although French was never my first language.
We were into the Palaeocene niceties from the trolley when I broached once more the topic of particle physics.
‘How do you think the universe began?’ I asked Hugo Rune.
‘I have my personal convictions,’ replied the guru’s guru. ‘I expect them to be confirmed this very afternoon.’
‘And are you really expecting to find the missing scientist today?’
‘I am expecting to solve the case today, yes.’
‘I do not think that is the answer to my question. Would you be so kind as to pass that plate of Rosary Ink-Blot?’
‘Absolutely not.’ And Mr Rune drew the plate closer to himself. ‘But let me tell you this, Rizla, as it will save time later and might give you an insight into the case. I know precisely what field of endeavour Professor Campbell is working upon, because it was I who suggested it to him.’
And I now made groaning noises. Although not so loud as to draw unwanted attention to myself from the other diners. ‘I really should have guessed something of the sort. You always have a tendency towards inside knowledge, in regard to each case that we get involved in.’
‘Whatever are you suggesting, Rizla?’ And Hugo Rune reached over and snaffled away the last of my Paddock of Gonfalon.
‘Well, the reason that I rarely, if ever, am able to help you with your cases is that you always have some secret information regarding them that you neglect to mention.’
‘Outrageous,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘But there is perhaps an element of truth to it. Do you want that last piece of Dry Dock?’
‘Yes, I do,’ I said, and I snatched up same and rammed it into my mouth.
‘You greedy boy. But listen. I will give you a fair chance to solve this case. You know as much as I. The professor vanished from his cellar laboratory. The door was locked from the inside, his clothes were found strewn on the floor. He was to deliver an important paper to the Fellows of the Royal Society tonight, one that is clearly important to the War Effort. This much we know, do you agree?’
I nodded. But did not speak with my mouth full, because to have done so would have been rude.
‘Then let me tell you what I know and you do not. Regarding Professor Campbell’s line of research. The one that I suggested to him. In words of one or more syllables, the professor was searching for the God Particle.’
As I had swallowed, I now said, ‘The what?’ in a voice laced with surprise.
‘It is, in its way, a simple matter,’ said Mr Rune. ‘Although scientists always seek to overcomplicate, in order to make themselves seem clever and important. If God created the universe, Rizla, then what did he create it from?’
‘That is a question well beyond my mental means to answer,’ I replied.
‘But not mine. Because the answer is simplicity itself. If in the beginning there was God, then there was nothing but God. Because if in the beginning there was God and something else, then you really don’t need God at all because you have the beginnings of a universe in the something else. Are you following me here?’
‘I am,’ I said. ‘So far.’
‘Then bear with me on this, then. If in the beginning there was only God and God created the universe, He created it out of material that was available to Himself. And the only material that was available to Him was Him. God created the universe out of Himself.’
‘Assuming that you believe in the existence of God,’ I said.
‘Precisely,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘But even if you do not, if God did create the universe, it follows that there must be some scientific way of checking whether He did or not.’
‘And hence you had Professor Campbell seek the God Particle.’
‘Precisely once more. If, as the old line goes, “God is everywhere”, He is everywhere, because He is everything. He is inside everything. Inside on a subatomic level. The Particle within the particle within the particle. Now what do you think of that?’
‘I do not believe in God,’ I said, ‘so personally I do not think that Professor Campbell found this God Particle.’
‘So why did he vanish on the eve of reading his paper?’
‘Aha,’ I said. ‘Because he ran away rather than confess that he had failed in his quest.’
‘As an argument, that is not without its merits. But you are incorrect. However, we shall see what we shall see. Brandy and cigars now, do you think?’
I felt somewhat woolly at the edges. ‘I fear that I will fall asleep if we do,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I should take a little nap while you go on without me. You clearly have the case solved in your own mind, and I do not really think you will need me around.’
‘On the contrary, my dear Rizla. I wouldn’t want you to miss all the excitement.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘there is going to be some excitement, is there? So far it has mostly been eating and drinking and talking.’
‘Rizla,’ said Hugo Rune, in an admonitory fashion, ‘you had an exciting ride down in a lift to a secret subterranean Ministry, where you met one of the most powerful men in the world, who, I might add, has been reduced to doll-like proportions through the application of High Magick. And you are presently dining in one of the world’s top eateries. And yet you complain that the case so far lacks for excitement?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I suppose I have just got used to having my life put in danger every time I go out on a case with you.’
And then I heard a terrible sound.
‘And what is that terrible sound?’ I enquired.
‘That is the air-raid siren,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘which means that we are under attack from the skies. Does that suit you well for excitement?’
12
The Underground stations served as air-raid shelters during the Second World War. They were never intended to, but so many people flocked into them that the authorities simply turned a blind eye.
Down we went on the escalator into the bowels of Piccadilly. I had something of a shake going on. I fancied a bit of excitement, truly, but not getting blown up by a bomb.
‘How long do air raids generally last?’ I asked Hugo Rune as we descended on the escalator.
‘That depends very much on whether they are real air raids or not,’ he said.
‘You mean sometimes they are false alarms?’
‘I mean no such thing. Sometimes the Ministry of Serendipity wants the streets cleared for reasons of its own.’
‘What kind of reasons might these be?’
Mr Rune did tappings at his nose and pointed to a poster that read WALLS HAVE EARS.
That phrase rang a terrible bell, from my recent experiences in enemy-occupied Brentford. But I asked Mr Rune what it meant.
‘Spies,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘Fifth Columnists. Quizlings and beings of that nature, generally.’
‘There are German spies here?’ I whispered back and then did glancings all around.
Hugo Rune nodded and whispered some more. ‘Regarding air raids. When the air-raid siren sounds, all non-London-serving military personnel, essential services, ARP, Home Guard, p
olice, ambulance services, firefighters and so on, must adjourn to the shelters at once. This is the law. Martial law. Anyone caught on the streets can be shot as a looter.’
‘That is never true,’ I said.
‘Oh yes it is,’ the Perfect Master whispered. ‘There is much that history does not record about this war. The Fire Service Secret Priority List, for instance.’ And he went on in whispered words to explain just what that was. ‘When the bombs start to drop and the calls come in to the fire stations, the gallant lads are expected to respond to these calls in order of priority - hospitals, Government buildings, food supply depots and suchlike. Now recall that the streets are deserted and there is no one to watch in which direction the appliances travel. The Secret Priority List in the station house does not list the Government-approved priority targets for fire extinguishing. On the contrary, it lists pubs, jewellery shops, furriers, high-class tailors and sweet shops. You may draw your own conclusions as to why.’
‘That is the most cynical thing I have ever heard you say,’ I said to Hugo Rune. ‘Those firemen are heroes. I have been told that my own father was a fireman here in London during the Blitz.’ And that made me think about my father. About meeting him. Because he was here, somewhere in London, right here and now. Alive.
Hugo Rune could tell what I was thinking and he mouthed ‘no’ towards me. ‘You must understand this, Rizla,’ he went on, ‘war brings out the best in people, the noble virtues. But it also brings out the worst. And the fear that the next minute may be your last does not always engender a charitable disposition.’
‘I am disgusted by your words,’ I said. ‘And also,’ and I fanned at my nose, ‘by this pong. The London populace that shelters here from the bombings is of a somewhat unwashed persuasion, I am thinking.’