Jack nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’m up for it,’ he said. ‘But I want breakfast.’
‘Do you have money to pay for breakfast?’
Jack patted his pockets and then shook his head.
‘Perhaps there’ll be something to eat at the crime scene,’ said Eddie. ‘A bit of boiled egg, or something.’
Now, there is a knack to driving a car. Any car. Even one that is powered by a clockwork motor. There is steering to be done and gears to be changed and this involves clutch-work, and, if reversing, looking into mirrors and judging distances. There are all manner of complications and knacks involved. And skills, there are definitely skills. In fact, the remove between theory and practice is a pretty large remove, when it comes to driving a car.
Let us take, for example, the deceptively simple matter of starting up a car. This is not something that should be attempted in a lighthearted and devil-may-care manner. It’s not just a matter of turning a key and putting your foot down somewhere and brrrrrming the engine.
Well, it sort of is.
But then again, it isn’t.
Jack considered that it probably was. And, it has to be said, when Eddie led him into Bill’s garage and Jack switched on the light and beheld the car, Jack was heard to remark that it would be ‘a-piece-ofthe-proverbial’ to ‘burn that baby’.
‘This phraseology is odd to my ears,’ said Eddie. ‘Does it mean that you are actually conversant with the whys and wherefores requisite to the safe locomotion of this vehicle?’
Jack rubbed his hands together and grinned broadly.
‘That’s not really an answer,’ said Eddie.
‘I know clockwork,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve worked on cars like this.’
‘Yes, but driven them?’
‘I’m sure I said yes to you last night.’
‘You may have,’ said Eddie. ‘But we were both pretty out-of-it. I definitely recall you mentioning that there was some “unpleasantness” involved.’
‘We’ll have to wind it up first,’ said Jack.
‘This much I know.’
‘Then we get in and I drive.’
‘It all sounds so simple when you put it that way.’
‘There’s one thing,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t have a driving licence. I’m too young to drive.’
‘I don’t think we should let a small detail like that stand in the way of the disaster that immediately awaits us as soon as you get behind the wheel, should we?’
‘You’re a most articulate little bear,’ said Jack.
‘Don’t patronise me,’ said Eddie. ‘I warned you about that, didn’t I?’
‘You did,’ said Jack. ‘So should I wind?’
‘Please wind,’ said Eddie.
The car was an Anders Faircloud: pressed tin in the metallic blue of a butterfly’s wing. It was long and low and highly finned at the tail, the way that every good car should be (apart from the short stumpy sports ones that go like poop off a scoop and generally come to grief on late night motorways with a celebrity (though rarely a Preadolescent Poetic Personality) in the driving seat). It had pressed tin wheels with breezy wide hubs and big rubber tyres. It was a blinder of an automobile and its all-over glory gave Jack a moment’s pause for thought.
‘Eddie,’ said Jack.
‘Jack?’ said Eddie.
‘Eddie,’ said Jack. ‘This is a superb automobile.’
‘Bill’s pride and joy,’ said Eddie.
‘So herein lies a mystery. Why would Bill Winkie not take his car when he went off to wherever he went off to?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Eddie asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Jack. ‘I was just wondering why he would have gone off and left his precious car behind.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Eddie. ‘Perhaps he didn’t take the car because it is such a noticeable car. Perhaps he has gone off somewhere to be incognito. Perhaps he’s working on the case, incognito. Is that enough perhapses for you?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Jack.
‘Wind the car up,’ said Eddie. ‘Let’s go to the crime scene.’
‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s do that.’
Well, there is a knack to driving a car.
And Jack didn’t have it.
No doubt he’d get it, given time, like he would getting drunk. But these things do take time, even the getting drunk thing. He was okay on the winding-up part of the procedure, though. There was no doubt about that.
‘No!’ howled Eddie as Jack backed out of the garage at speed, before the garage door was actually raised.
‘Stop!’ screamed Eddie, as Jack performed a remarkable handbrake turn in the middle of the traffic that moved (quite swiftly) in the street beyond.
‘We’re all gonna die!’ bellowed Eddie as Jack tore forward on the wrong side of that street.
‘I’m getting the knack of this,’ said Jack, gronching the gears and clinging to the steering wheel. ‘These things take time. I have the measure of it now.’
‘No you don’t!’ Eddie ducked down in his seat. Even lower than he already was.
‘Piece of the proverbial.’ Jack spun the steering wheel, which at least took him onto the right side of the road. ‘Does this car have a music system fitted? One of those music bow wheel-pin contraptions?’
‘Forget the music.’ Eddie covered his face.
‘Easy-peasy.’ Jack put his foot down somewhere. It was the brake; the car did a bit of a spin; Jack took his foot off the brake. ‘What about that?’ he said.
‘You don’t even know where we’re going.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, the wrong way.’
‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ Jack spun the wheel again. The Anders Faircloud moved from the on-going lane back into the other-going lane, causing much distress amongst the other-going-laners.
‘Got it now,’ said Jack. ‘Out of the way, fellas!’ And he honked the horn.
‘Well, you do know where the horn is.’
‘Do you know what?’
‘What?’ said Eddie.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Jack, ‘this is great. Do you know that? Great! I’m driving a car. Do you know how great this is for me? This is …’
‘Great?’ said Eddie.
‘As great as,’ said Jack. ‘As wonderful as, in fact. Marvellous. Incredible. I’m enjoying this so much.’
Jack took a sudden right turn, cutting across oncoming traffic and causing much sudden braking from it and much shunting of one car into another.
‘And why did you do that?’ Eddie asked from beneath the pressed tin dashboard.
‘I don’t know. Because I could, I suppose. Where would you like me to drive to?’
‘I’d like you to stop. In fact I’d love you to stop.’
‘Well, I’m not going to. So where would you like us to go?’
‘Okay.’ Eddie climbed out of his seat and peeped over the dashboard. ‘Turn left at the next road and … Jack, do you feel all right?’
‘I feel incredible,’ said Jack, ‘full of power, do you know what I mean?’
‘It’s the lotion.’ Eddie covered his face as Jack put his foot down again. ‘Bill’s lotion, the stuff you were apparently supposed to rub on, rather than drink. I’d never actually seen him doing the actual rubbing in. I sleep late as a rule. I think it’s pumped you up rather and … Oh my …’
Jack went ‘Weeeeeeeeee,’ and then he went ‘Oooooooooooh!’ and then he went ‘Oh!’ and ‘Damn.’ And then he said, ‘We’ve stopped.’
‘The clockwork’s run down,’ said Eddie. ‘You put it under – how shall we put this? – certain strain.’
‘What a rush,’ said Jack, sitting back in the driving seat. ‘Did I love that? Or did I not? I loved it. I did. It was wonderful. It was …’
And then Jack passed from consciousness once more.
‘I think this is going to be a very emotional sort of a relationship,’ said Eddie, to no one other than himself. ‘But let’s look
on the bright side. By sheer chance, or coincidence, or a force greater than ourselves, which guides our paths and moulds our destinies, we have stopped right outside Nursery Towers, the home of the late and lamented Humpty Dumpty.’
6
Humpty Dumpty.
Did he fall, or was he pushed, or was it that he jumped?
Or was it, in fact, none of the above?
There has always been controversy surrounding Humpty Dumpty’s famous plunge from the wall. Historical details are sketchy at best. Eyewitness accounts conflict. And even the exact location of the original wall remains uncertain.*
Conspiracy theories abound. One hinges on the matter of Humpty’s real identity. According to some, he was a failed Toy City TV stuntman called Terry Horsey, who reinvented himself by taking on the exotic, foreign-sounding name of Humpty Dumpty and performing a real-life stunt, without the aid of a crash mat.
This theory has been dubbed the ‘Did He Fall (on purpose)? Theory’.
It does not, however, stand up to close scrutiny, as extensive searches through the Toy City TV archives have failed to turn up a single piece of footage, from any TV show, that involved a thirty-seven-stone stunt man.
The ‘Was He Pushed? Theory’ stands upon even shakier ground (ha ha). It incorporates a number of co-related sub-theories, listed below:
Sub-theory 1: He was pushed by: (a) a jealous lover; (b) a miffed business associate; (c) a rival, either in love, or in business; or (d) an assassin hired by any of the above.
But he survived the fall.
Sub-theory 2: He did not survive the fall. In this theory, he actually died and was replaced by a lookalike.
Sub-theory 3: He did survive the fall, but was replaced by a lookalike anyway and went into seclusion somewhere.
Exactly where, and indeed why, is not explained.
The ‘Did He Jump? Theory’, currently enjoying a renaissance in Toy City’s popular press, puts forward the failed suicide hypothesis. It hints at depression brought on by Humpty’s obvious eating disorder and draws support from an interview he once gave on The Tuffet, a popular Toy City TV chat show hosted by the ever-youthful Miss Muffet, on which Humpty spoke at length about his weight problem.
Critics of this particular theory state that Humpty’s appearance on the show was nothing more than a cynical marketing exercise to promote his latest book, The H Plan Diet.
Yet another theory has it that there was more than one Humpty Dumpty, but no wall involved: one Humpty fell from the side of a grassy knoll and another from the window of a book depository.
This is known as ‘The Particularly Stupid Theory’.
Here endeth the theories.
For now.
There was a lot of manipulation involved. And that’s not easy when you don’t have opposing thumbs. Or even fingers. All you have to work with are paws, and crude paws to boot. (Or to paw.) Eddie dug around in the glove compartment. When he’d finally wormed out the hypodermic, it was the Devil-bear’s own job for him to grip it and aim it and actually inject its contents into Jack.
The result was somewhat immediate.
‘Are we there?’ asked Jack, opening his eyes.
‘We’re here,’ said Eddie, tossing the hypo out of the car and grinning painfully. ‘Nice driving.’
‘Piece of cake. So what now?’
‘Okay. Well, we have to get in there. There might be a policeman on guard, so we … whisper, whisper, whisper.’
‘We’ll what?’
‘You’ll … whisper, whisper, whisper.’
‘Why are you doing all this whisper, whisper, whispering?’
Eddie sighed. ‘Did you understand any of it?’ he asked.
‘Yes, all,’ said Jack.
‘Then do it.’
‘Fair enough.’
Nursery Towers was big. Which is to say, big. It was a major complex on the lower western slope of Knob Hill. Only the very rich lived here. Nursery Towers rose up and up and spread all around and about.
‘There’s money here,’ said Jack, peering up. ‘Big money.’
‘Please try and keep your mind on the job.’
Jack swung open the driver’s door and removed himself from the vehicle; Eddie followed him. ‘Don’t forget your fedora,’ said Eddie.
Jack retrieved the hat from the rear seat, stuck it onto his head and closed the car door. Then he did much adjusting of his trenchcoat, straightening the belt and turning up the collar. ‘How do I look?’ he asked Eddie. ‘Pretty darn smart, eh?’
Eddie sighed and nodded. ‘What is it about trenchcoats,’ he asked, ‘that bring out the vanity in a man?’
‘Search me.’ Jack did shoulder-swaggerings and turned down the brim of his hat. ‘But do I look the business, or what?’
‘As handsome as. Now, you do remember everything I whispered to you?’
‘Of course. I’m Bill Winkie, private eye and—’
‘Save it ’til it’s needed; follow me.’
‘Ah no,’ said Jack. ‘I’m the detective, you’re the detective’s bear, you follow me.’
‘Sweet as,’ said Eddie, scowling as he said it. ‘So which way do we go?’
‘Right up the front steps and in through the big front door.’
‘Wrong,’ said the bear. ‘Around the back and in by the tradesmen’s entrance.’
‘Oh, come on now.’
‘Just do it the way I told you, please.’
‘Well, as you ask so nicely. Then let’s go.’
And so they went.
The tradesmen’s entrance was in an alleyway. This was litter-strewn and unappealing. Jack turned up his nose.
‘Knock at the door,’ said Eddie, ‘and do your stuff. Make me proud of you, eh?’
‘Leave it to Bill,’ said Jack, a-knocking at the door.
There was a bit of a wait. And then a bit more. Then there was a longer wait and then a longer one still.
‘I don’t much care for this waiting,’ said Jack.
‘It’s second nature to me,’ said Eddie. ‘When I’m not getting drunk, or being thrown around, I’m generally waiting for something or other.’
They waited some more and then Jack knocked again.
This time there was no wait at all; the tradesmen’s entrance door croaked open.
Jack was taken somewhat aback. ‘It croaked,’ he whispered to Eddie, ‘rather than creaked. Why did it do that?’
‘Who’s on the knock at this fine tower block?’ asked a very strange voice indeed.
Jack looked in and then Jack stepped back. Smartly, and right onto Eddie.
‘Ow!’ howled Eddie. ‘Get off me.’
‘Big frog!’ howled Jack, getting off Eddie.
‘Yes?’ said the big frog. ‘Bright as fizziness. What is the nature of your business?’
Jack chewed upon his upper lip. The big frog was a very big frog indeed, easily equal to himself in height, standing erect upon its long rear legs and all decked out in a rather spiffing tailcoat and wing-collared shirt, replete with a dashing spotty bow-tie. The big frog appeared to be made out of rubber.
‘I am the concierge,’ said the big frog. ‘And you are a gormster, I perceive. Hurry up and take your leave.’
‘Winkie,’ said Jack. ‘Bill Winkie, private eye. Here upon the business of Mr Anders.’
‘Mr Anders, maker of toys, greatly beloved of girls and boys?’
‘Do you know of another Mr Anders?’
The big frog licked his lips with an over-long flycatcher of a tongue. ‘Naturally I know several,’ it said, taking in a deep breath. ‘Panders Anders, the pale poom runner, right royal rascal and son of a gunner. Ackabar Anders, the starlight meanderer, profligate poltroon, feckless philanderer. And of course, Anthony Anders the third, tall as a trouser and beaked as a bird.’
‘What is all this?’ Jack muttered in Eddie’s direction. ‘He speaks in rhyme.’
‘Rhymey Frog,’ said Eddie. ‘Haven’t you ever met a rhymey frog before?’
&
nbsp; Jack shook his head. The rhymey frog prepared to slam shut the door.
‘Ah, no,’ said Jack, putting his foot in it. ‘Very important business. Mr Anders, and all that. Kindly let us in.’
‘Us?’ said the frog. ‘There’s only one of you I see. Or do you wear a crown and use the royal “We”?’
‘There’s me and my bear,’ said Jack, waving a hand towards Eddie.
‘Hi,’ said Eddie, waggling a paw. ‘Pleased to meet you, I am sure.’
‘I shall need from you a letter of introduction. To admit your entrance without any further interruption.’
‘That didn’t scan too well, did it?’ said Jack.
‘It’s all in the enunciation,’ replied the frog in a haughty tone. ‘But to the crude, uncultured ear, even champagne sounds like beer.’
‘My apologies,’ said Jack. ‘Now please let us in or I will be forced to shoot you dead.’
‘No,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s not what we agreed.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Show him the money,’ said Eddie.
‘Money?’ the frog said. ‘Coin of gold? It’s often used to bribe, I’m told.’
‘Then you were told correctly.’ Jack held out the few meagre coins that Eddie had given to him. The rhymey frog blinked bulbous and disdainful eyes at them.
‘I know it’s not much,’ said Jack. ‘But consider it a token down-payment. I have come to collect certain sums owing to Mr Anders. I am to collect them from the penthouse apartment of the late Humpty Dumpty. I am instructed by Mr Anders to furnish you with a percentage of these certain sums, to accommodate you for any inconvenience caused.’
‘Well remembered,’ whispered Eddie.
‘Well …’ said the frog, thoughtfully.
‘Or I could come back later,’ said Jack. ‘Perhaps when you’ve gone off shift and the night porter is on.’
‘Welcome, friend,’ said the frog, swinging wide the door and snatching the coins from Jack’s outstretched hand.
The big frog took the stairs in leaps and bounds. Jack and Eddie took the lift.
‘Rhymey frog!’ said Jack. ‘What is that all about?’