Blotto, Twinks and the Dead Dowager Duchess by Simon Brett

Author:Simon Brett [Brett, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781934609927
Publisher: Windsor
Published: 2010-07-29T04:00:00+00:00

16

The Sky’s the Limit!

‘Where will they have taken it?’ Blotto asked despairingly. ‘Rodents! I’ll never be able to look Corky Froggett in the face again. It’ll be bad enough for him to be hanged for a murder he didn’t commit. A man with the sterling qualities of Corky’ll get over that, but he’ll never survive the loss of the Lag. He loves that car like a mother sheep loves her favourite yew tree.’

‘I think you mean ewe lamb, Blotto.’

‘Oh yes. All right, tickey-tockey. But where are we going to start looking for the Lag? We don’t have a clue where the thieving bad tomato has taken it.’

‘Oh, but we do.’

Blotto looked curiously at his sister, then was suddenly aware that behind her the sullen regulars of The Three Feathers were pouring out on to the street. The expressions on their oikish faces were far from philanthropic.

‘Tell me later, Twinks. I think right now we need to make ourselves as scarce as a lawyer’s conscience.’

His sister turned to take in the advancing mob, then instantly pushed two fingers into her dainty mouth and let out a whistle that would have shattered wineglasses (had there been any wineglasses in the vicinity of The Three Feathers, which, as their inquiries at the bar had proved, there weren’t).

The noise had the effect of stopping the vengeful mob in their tracks. Only for a second, but in that second a taxi had appeared beside Blotto and Twinks and they had bundled themselves into it.

‘Croydon Aerodrome,’ Twinks told the cabbie, ‘and drive like a cheetah on spikes!’

Blotto once again found himself lost in admiration for another of his sister’s skills. ‘How did you do it, Twinks? How did you know there’d be a cab there?’

‘Self-belief,’ Twinks replied. ‘It’s a trait I’ve inherited from our mother. Can you imagine any cabbie in London daring not to appear if the Mater whistled?’

Blotto was forced to admit that he couldn’t. There was a silence between them, then he said, ‘Not much fun being a Letter-Bearer for the League of the Crimson Hand, is it? Because as soon as you reach the point of uncaging the ferrets about something really important, you get coffinated.’

‘It does seem to be a hazard of the profession, yes.’

‘Mm. Incidentally, Twinks me old muffin . . . Why are we going to Croydon Aerodrome?’

‘Because I’ll lay a guinea to a groat that that’s where we’ll find your Lagonda.’

‘Toad-in-the-hole . . .’ murmured Blotto, impressed and excited. Then, after a silence, he asked, ‘What makes you think that, old greengage?’

‘Because of the clues that Davy ap Dafydd gave us.’

‘Oh yes. Right. Of course. What clues?’

‘The obvious ones,’ Twinks replied patiently. ‘He said he always met Gerhardt Sachs at Croydon Aerodrome.’

‘Yes, but he said it involved having small ads printed in the Daily Bugle. Surely you haven’t had time to do that since we’ve left the pub, have you?’ It seemed unlikely, but Blotto had long since learned not to underestimate his sister’s skills.

‘No, you prize cauliflower, of course I haven’t.

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