The Prodigal Sister by David Field

Author:David Field [Field, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2018-06-04T18:30:00+00:00

Jack and Percy entered what looked like a massive jumble sale in the largest church hall imaginable, as the Lost Property Senior Clerk proudly explained to them how the various compartments within the network of shelves were labelled with the dates, stations of origin and type of train.

‘Take this one fer example, sirs,’ he invited them as he pointed proudly at a section close to the double entrance doors through which they had just passed. ‘That’s the 0735 from Bristol to London Paddington and each of the sections bears the date o’ the service, like that one there. It musta bin rainin’ in Bristol that mornin’, seein’ as ’ow there’s so many umbrellas in that cubby ’ole. Now, if yer just gives me the name o’ the service, an’ the date, we’ll see what we’ve got fer yer, shall we?’

Percy consulted his notebook and gave the Clerk the details. He led them proudly down between two lines of shelves, muttering to himself as he announced the various service sections they were passing. After what felt like a hundred yards further down, towards the back of the room, he stopped at a vertical line labelled ‘Cheltenham to Paddington’, then selected ‘9.15pm’ from the descending line and rummaged through a pile of boxes until he turned with a triumphant smile and handed them a medium sized cardboard box.

‘There yer go, gents. If it’s something bulky, like a ‘brolly or summat, there’ll be a piece o’ paper in there, tellin’ yer which number it’s stored under in a separate section at the end there. But as yer can see, it were a quiet night, wi’ just somebody’s ’at an’ a bag full o’ cachous or summat like that. The paper bag belongs ter the company, an’ it’s only what yer finds inside that’s “lost property”.’

Percy smiled and reached in the box for the deerstalker hat, which he handed to Jack. ‘Anybody we know?’

Jack looked inside the rim of the hat and smiled. ‘It was lost by someone called “G. Ormonde”, according to this carefully sewn-in name label.’

‘I think we might know someone of that name,’ Percy said, grinning. ‘At least it puts him on the train, but of even more direct significance are what this good man called “cachous”. Look at these and be pleasantly surprised.’ He reached into the paper bag and extracted three ivory jacket buttons, two of which still had material attached to them, suggesting that they had been torn from the garment on which they had originally been sewn.

‘So?’ Jack asked.

Percy tapped his nose to indicate that the matter was not for discussion in the presence of a lost property clerk, then turned to their guide through this Aladdin’s cave. ‘Thank you, Mr Jenkins, you’ve been most helpful, and of considerable assistance to Scotland Yard in its investigation of a most foul murder.’

‘Glad to ’ave bin of ’elp, gents,’ Jenkins replied as he proudly puffed out his chest. ‘Would it be in order fer me ter tell the missus?’

‘Indeed it would,’ Percy replied, ‘and thank you again for your invaluable assistance.

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