“Thanks, Mrs. Singh, you’re a marvel. Stay for a drink?”
She politely declined, as she had to babysit two of her grandchildren, then stared in a medically curious way at Brown-Horrocks and departed.
“At last!” announced Jack. “Some closure. I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered. I’ve been blown up, decontaminated, rolled along the top of a room, my Allegro’s been written off, and I was almost vaporized by an insane chiropodist. And tomorrow I’ve got to hunt a giant chicken running loose in Reading. Well, cheers.”
“Cheers, sir.”
“Do you think Officer Kandlestyk-Maeker would enjoy the zoo?” asked Brown-Horrocks, who obviously had other things on his mind. “They’ve got a baby giraffe, you know.”
44. The End of the story
BR AK-IN AT PRINT RS
Th polic w r call d last night to th print rs of R ading’s pr mi r gossip sh t, Th Gadfly, wh r it was discov r d a gang of typ thi v s had mad off with th ir ntir stock of ’s. Polic w r initially baffld by th th ft until n ws of a similar th ft involving th whol sal purloinm nt of th l tt rs A, B, C, and D was r port d from Byflt. “I think,” said DCI Palatino, “that I can s a patt rn b ginning to m rg.” Archibald Fatquack, ditor of Th Gadfly, would not l t th th ft halt publication of his v n rabl organ and d clar d, “It’s busin ss as usual!”
—From Th Gadfly, S pt mb r 1, 1995
It was a cloud, clearless night and the stars brinkled twightly in the heavens. As Jack and Mary motored closer to his hother’s mouse, they could see that the mull foon had risen behind the beanstalk and now presented the leaves and pipening rods in sharp silhouette. Attached to the top of the stalk was a steady red light, a safety precaution fitted by the Civil Aviation Authority that afternoon. The crowds had departed from the streets nearby, and litter and soft-drink cans lay scattered about the road. After the busy day, everyone was at home relaxing.
Everyone, that is, except Dr. Quatt, who had not been at St. Cerebellum’s or her home when Ashley and Gretel called. Jack had issued a warrant for her arrest and posted uniformed officers at both places. No one had reported a chicken loose in Reading either—of any size.
“Thanks for dropping me off,” said Jack as they drove slowly up the road towards his mother’s. “Madeleine said she’d be up at Mum’s and I should meet her there. Hello, what’s this?”
Ahead of them two police cars blocked the street, and two officers in vests held automatic weapons.
“Yes, sir?” inquired one of the policemen in a businesslike tone when Jack got out and walked towards them.
“Detective Inspector Spratt, NCD.”
He held up his ID card, and the officer stood to attention respectfully.
“Thank you, sir. And may I say on a personal note how impressed I was by the way you cracked the Humpty case. Once had a verruca myself. Nasty little blighters. Do you always wear blue overalls, sir?”
“It was a decontamination sort of thing. What’s going on?”
The officer leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Jellyman on a personal social call, sir. Private viewing of the beanstalk and an audience with the owner.”
This was surprising and also a great honor—owing to his tight schedule, the Jellyman rarely did “drop-ins” these days.
“She’s my mother, and my family is up there. Can I go in?”
“One moment,” said the officer, and he relayed the request through his walkie-talkie.
“Good evening,” said Jack to the second officer. “Tell me, how long has that white van been there?”
The officer looked at where it was parked less than fifty yards away.
“Don’t know, sir. Why?”
“No reason.”
Mary switched off the BMW’s engine, and the city was suddenly still and quiet. Not a dog barked, not a car horn sounded. Everyone was indoors. Jack looked at his watch. Five past ten. People would be settling down to catch the edited highlights of the visit on the news. He looked about. At the various parts of the street, other armed police stood on duty, and outside his mother’s garden gate was a white Daimler limousine. Mary joined Jack and handed her own ID to the officer. He looked at Jack for his approval, and he nodded.
They waited for a couple of minutes until the walkie-talkie crackled into life.
“Tell them to come on over.”
The officer escorted them towards the garden gate, where Friedland Chymes was waiting to meet them. Since he was heading up Jellyman security, it was understandable. Unwelcome, but understandable. He was stony-faced but remained professional.
“Good result, Jack,” he managed to growl, the feeling that he should have been the one to figure it out all too obvious. “Sergeant, you’ll have to wait here. Family only. Baines will take you to the front door.”
Jack was handed over to a man wearing an earpiece and a bulge where a gun would be in a shoulder holster. The man asked to see his card.
“Why has your ID card shrunk?”
“Thirty minutes in an autoclave.”
“I see,” he replied, as though that sort of thing happened every day. “Thank you, Inspector. Follow me.”
Jack accompanied him up the path as the officer named Baines with the gun and the earpiece reeled off instructions parrot fashion.
“Only speak when you are spoken to. Do not attempt to shake hands. Bow your head when you are presented. Do not interrupt when he is talking. Do not touch him. Do not sneeze in his presence. Do not discuss politics, and always refer to him as ‘Your Eminence.’”
He rapped on the front door, and it opened a crack to reveal another officer with a large mustache who looked at Jack and then ushered him in. As soon as he stepped into the front hall, Jack noticed that the grandfather clock had stopped. He glanced across and was puzzled to see that the pendulum had halted midswing. Stranger still, his mother’s hyperactive cats were all sitting quietly in a row by the door, like skittles. He didn’t have time to think about it any further, as he was ushered into the familiar surroundings of his mother’s front room.
His whole family was there. Madeleine was standing at the back holding Stevie, and the rest of the children were either sitting or standing next to their grandmother. Incredibly, Pandora was wearing a dress, and more incredibly, Ben had combed his hair. Megan was standing in front of them all, facing the large leather armchair that used to be Jack’s father’s. Sitting in that chair, suffused by a soft glow that seemed to emanate not from his white suit but through it, was the Jellyman.