'Oooh ouch,' went Eddie. 'Steady on. Help me up. I'm all in a mess down here.'
Jack helped Eddie up and positioned him back on the seat. 'Talk about something else,' he said. 'Talk about the case.'
'But it's pertinent to the case. I know a place where we might get some information regarding the suspect. Tarts wear feathered hats, don't they?'
Jack nodded in the manner of one who had some knowledge of these matters.
'Yes, well, they do,' said Eddie. 'And tarts are to be found in bawdy houses. And I know of only one bawdy house in this city. And I know of it most intimately.'
Jack shook his head once more. 'And you are a patron of this establishment?' he asked.
'A regular patron, as it happens.'
Jack stared down at Eddie. He stared down hard and he stared down in particular towards a certain area of Eddie Bear's anatomy. 'But you're a teddy bear,' he said. 'You haven't got a w—‘
'I have, you know,' said Eddie. 'It's just that I keep it tucked away •when it's not in use.'
'I don't believe you,' said Jack. 'Teddies don't have—
'You want me to show it to you?'
Actually Jack did. 'No, I certainly don't,' said he.
'Bears are noted for their sexual prowess.' Eddie puffed out his plump little chest.
'I think you'll find that's rabbits,' said Jack. 'But I really must insist that you change the subject. This is becoming most distasteful.'
'It's nature,' said Eddie. 'It's as natural as.'
'Nothing in this city is natural. But tell me about this bawdy house.'
'Ah,' said Eddie. 'Now you're interested.'
'Only if it's pertinent to the case.'
'Yeah, right.'
'Eddie,' said Jack. 'This murderer, this serial killer of yours. He—'
'She,' said Eddie.
'He, or she. They won't stop at two, will they? They'll go on killing?'
Eddie made with the very grave noddings. 'It's more than probable,' he said.
'Then don't you think that we should, perhaps, be trying to work out who's likely to be murdered next? Then we could warn them. And lie in wait for the murderer, or something.'
'You're getting the hang of this detective game, Jack. Drive on; we'll go to the bawdy house.'
Jack threw up his hands and then Jack drove on.
The streets became less colourful and soon Jack was driving along grim and narrow roads that were positively grey.
'It's horrible here,' he said. 'This is a really horrible district. What a foul place. What a really foul place.'
'I was brought up here,' said Eddie.
'Well, I'm sure it has its good points.'
'It doesn't,' said Eddie. 'Park here.'
'Are we there?’ Jack asked.
'Of course we're not. But no one ever parks their car outside a bawdy house. They park a couple of streets away and approach on foot. Normally wearing some kind of disguise.'
'I'm wearing a disguise,' said Jack.
'You certainly are, Jack. Oh, and don't forget to lock the car. Then there'll be the vague chance that it will still be here when we get back.'
Jack and Eddie left the car and Jack locked up the doors.
'Follow me,' said Eddie.
And Jack did so.
A little ways behind, and altogether unobserved, another car drew silently to a halt. It was long and low and expensive-looking. The driver's door of this car opened and a lady's leg appeared. It was a long and slender leg, tightly sheathed in black rubber. At the end of this leg was a dainty foot, shod with a wonderful shoe. Its highly raised heel was a delicate chromium spiral. Its toe was a dagger of steel.
The exterior of the bawdy house was nothing to speak of.
The interior, however, was quite another matter. It was one of those grand salon jobbies, but this was where any similarity between it and the house of Oh Boy! ended.
The ceiling was a gentle dome, richly figured with plaster reliefs of amorous cupids and garlanded satyrs. The walls were made gay with pastoral paintings of frolicsome centaurs and dainty Arcadians. These were engaged in the most intimate pursuits, but had been wrought with such charm and whimsy as might bring an appreciative smile to the face of the most worthy cleric.
Pale silkwood caryatids rose between these paintings. They had been lovingly carved and bore delicate features and robes, which seemed all but diaphanous. They held, in their outstretched hands, crystal candelabra which lit the salon to a nicety.
The furnishings were rich, but of a richness which is restrained, tutored, composed. The colours of the fabrics were of the subtlest shades: dainty pinks and tender violets. Billowy cushions were cast here and there, creating an atmosphere of comfort and informality. And all around and about were elegant vases from which the most gorgeous blooms breathed their precious fragrances.
'Oh my,' said Jack as his feet all but sank into a carpet woven with a thousand blushing roses. 'Oh my, oh my.'
'You approve?' asked Eddie.
'Well, I think it's incredible.' And it was incredible. It was overwhelming in its beauty. Jack was overwhelmed. And he was nervous too. For after all, he was a virgin. And •wonderful and marvellous as this place was, it was a bawdy house. An actual bawdy house. Where there would be actual women who had actual sex on a professional basis. Which was actually somewhat daunting.
Actually.
'You wait until you see the bedrooms,' said Eddie, rubbing his paws together.
'Eddie,' said Jack. 'Just one thing. We are here on business, aren't we?'
'Of course,' said Eddie.
'Because if there's one thing I do know about ladies who work in bawdy houses, it is that you have to pay them. With real money. And we don't have any money.'
'Do I spy an expression of relief on your face?' Eddie asked.
'You do not,' said Jack. 'I'm just saying, that's all.'
'I have an account here.' Eddie grinned from ear to furry ear.
Jack didn't grin, but now another thought entered his head. 'Eddie?' said Jack.
‘Jack?' said Eddie.
'Eddie, when you, you know, do it.'
'Yes,' said Eddie. It was a low, deep, growly kind of yes.
'Do you do it with a dolly?'
Eddie's button eyes virtually popped from his head. 'A dolly?' he said in the voice of outrage. 'A dolly? Do I look like some kind of pervert who'd do it inter-species? I do it with another bear! Female, of course. Dolly! That's gross!'
'I'm sorry,' said Jack. 'Oh look, who's this?'
'It's Mother,' said Eddie.
'Your mother? But...'
'Mother Goose,' said Eddie. 'Or Madame Goose, as she prefers to be called.'
Madame Goose was indeed a goose, and a very large goose was she. Jack could see that she wasn't a clockwork goose, rather, some great soft toy of a thing, fully feathered and most convincing. She was a profusion of petticoats and a gathering of gingham, with glittering rings on the tips of her wings. And she walked with a quack and a waddle and a quack and a flurry of eiderdown (which hopefully didn't infringe any copyrights).
She came a-waddling across the rose-pelted carpet, the light from the crystal candelabra twinkling on her gorgeous gingham.
'Eddie,' said Madame Goose, bending low and pecking kisses at the bear's cheek. 'It's been too long. Have you come to settle your account?'
'I've come to introduce a close friend of mine,' said Eddie. 'This is Lord Schmuck.'
Jack narrowed his eyes at Eddie.
Madame Goose curtseyed low, her petticoats spreading over the carpet like the petals of some exotic bloom, or a pink gingham jellyfish, dropped from a height. Or something else entirely.
'Always a pleasure to meet with members of the aristocracy,' she said. 'You'll find that we can satisfy your every wish here.'