Harry's Mad by Dick King-Smith

Author:Dick King-Smith [King-Smith, Dick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241567562
Publisher: Penguin Random House Children's UK
Published: 2021-09-29T00:00:00+00:00

Madison stood revealed.

Bogey would never have been caught like this, he thought. Me and my big mouth! He opened it.

‘Who’s a naughty boy, then?’ he said in the squawky tones of an ordinary talking parrot.

The burglar did not find it necessary to reply to this question. Instead he opened the zip fastener of his grip, and after one quick practised look about the room, made straight for an old heavy sideboard in the drawers and cupboards of which Mrs Holdsworth kept all the silver.

Knives, spoons, and forks, cream-jugs and sauce-boats, candlesticks, coasters and salvers, and one especially handsome chased silver rose-bowl – Madison had seen them all when they were brought out for cleaning; and he knew that they were much the most valuable things in the house.

‘Stop thief!’ he said loudly.

The burglar turned from examining the hallmark on the rose-bowl.

‘Shut up, you stupid bird,’ he said, ‘or d’you want me to shut you up?’

Madison did not find it necessary to reply to this question.

Instead he fluttered up on to the sill of the open window, and took a deep breath.

‘HELP! BURGLARS! THIEVES! ROBBERS! FOOTPADS! CUTPURSES! FIRE! MURDER! POLICE! HELP!!!!’ shouted Madison at the top of his voice.

Behind him he heard a clatter as the burglar dropped the rose-bowl, and then felt hands grasp him. Into the blackness of the leather grip he went, ‘Zip’ went the fastener, ‘bump’ went his head against the window-sill as the burglar fled, and Madison, for once in his long life, was reduced to silence.

Dimly he was conscious of a car door slamming, of engine noise, of a bumpy stop/start journey in what sounded like heavy traffic. And later the grip was lifted out, and he felt himself carried up (he could hear stairs being climbed) and put down. The zip was unfastened.

By now Madison’s head had cleared, and after a moment he stuck it out.

He was in a small bed-sitting-room, its door shut, its window curtained. The burglar was sitting on the bed regarding him, frowning to himself and rubbing his chin in thought.

‘I ought to have knocked you on the head,’ he said.

Madison was tempted to say, ‘You did,’ but preserved silence.

‘Messed up my morning’s work properly, you have. Still, I can easily pop back another day – there’s some nice stuff there. And at least you ought to fetch a bob or two. Parrots are pricey birds, if I’m not mistaken, specially ones that have learned as many words as you seem to have. Which reminds me, don’t start any of that yelling again or you will cop it. Not that you can understand a thing I’m saying.’

He stood up and walked to a table with a telephone on it. He dialled a number. Madison listened carefully.

‘Mr Lock, please,’ said the burglar. ‘Mr Ware here.’

There was a pause.

‘Hello? That you, Johnny? Silver speaking – Silver Ware. Wonder if you could do me a favour? I’ve got a little item for sale, Johnny.

‘No, not my usual line, it’s a parrot, I just happened to pick up a parrot.

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