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  His head was lying on something uncomfortable, it was cutting into his neck. Slowly he edged his hand up the side of his head until he felt something metallic. What was it? A dustbin lid perhaps? That must be it. They must have beaten him with a dustbin lid and that accounted for the severe head pains. A fractured skull maybe? His body ached all over.

  All round his head, neck and shoulders felt damp. A warm liquid, it felt like his blood, covered the floor around his head.

  OOF! Something heavy landed on his chest. His eyes jerked open and he was staring into the eyes of a cat.

  He stared back at the cat. It was his cat, “Lucifer” What was his cat doing in the alley behind the Rat and Trumpet? Now that his eyes were fully open he looked around him. What was his kitchen clock doing hanging in the alley outside the Rat and Trumpet? Come to that, why did the alley have a roof?

  Cobb held his wet hand in front of his face and examined it. If it was covered in blood, then the blood must have been lying around for a long time, because all of the colour had drained out of it, it was clear.

  He groaned in pain and realisation as the truth about last night slowly began to creep into his mind. He had been in the Rat and Trumpet, he had been asking questions. But they were more of the kind … ‘Can I have another drink?’ … ‘Who are you calling drunk?’ and … ‘What do you mean you won’t serve me anymore??’

  After being unceremoniously ejected into the alley behind the Rat and Trumpet, he had staggered home only to pass out on the kitchen floor, with … he checked to make sure … yes … with his head resting in the cat’s water bowl. The contents of the bowl had spilled onto the floor and his body heat had warmed it to room temperature.

  What felt like a fractured skull was actually a God-awful hangover. Damn! That meant he was still alive.

  He brushed Lucifer off his chest. The cat hissed at him and slunk out of the kitchen. The cat wasn’t really named Lucifer. It was only Cobb’s name for him. It had been his wife’s cat. Cobb and the cat had always hated each other; he’d only tolerated it for the sake of his wife. There had always been a feud between the two of them which, since his wife’s death, had levelled off into an uneasy truce.

  Cobb dragged himself painfully into a standing position, staggered out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bathroom. He ran a basin full of cold water and plunged his face into it. When he could hold his breath no longer, he pulled his head out of the water and gasped lungfuls of air.

  He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Rufus Cobb, one time Metropolitan Police inspector, pride of Caledonia Yard, now private detective and drunk, not necessarily in that order. The face that stared back had seen better days. His eyes looked like two “Rissoles” in the snow. Still in his early forties, his brown, collar length hair was showing too many grey ones. They were even there in his moustache and sideburns. His eyes, when they were not bloodshot as they were now, were a blue-grey colour.

  Cob had one of those hangovers. You know the sort; the one’s where at first you’re afraid you’re going to die. Then later, you’re afraid that you’re not going to. He poured himself a glass of water and poured two packets of Dr. Livingstone’s Pain Relief Powder into it. He gulped it down greedily and rinsed the glass out. He staggered into the bedroom and managed to get his clothes off before collapsing on the bed. He slowly crawled under the bedclothes and laid his head on the pillow. Across the room Lucifer stared at him malevolently from the top of the chest of drawers.

  Sometime later Cobb had a dream. He was standing on a cricket pitch. He looked around him, it seemed that he was at Lourdes cricket ground in Londum but it was empty except for, he noticed, someone standing at the far wicket. It was a clown. Red nose, baggy trousers, big boots, all the trappings. The clown was standing there holding a cricket bat. Cobb looked down and realised that he was holding a wicker basket full of eggs. For no other reason than it seemed like a good idea, Cobb began to bowl the eggs to the clown. As each one sailed through the air towards him, the clown would swing the cricket bat and smash the egg. Then he would shout to Cobb, ‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, you know!’ Cobb bowled until the basket was empty. The clown threw the bat in the air and then ran off laughing. At that point Cobb woke up. This was not the first time he had dreamt that same dream but he had no idea what it meant.

  It was probably triggered by the newspaper stories recently. There had been several occurrences of clowns dying in unusual incidents, lately. A few of the tabloid papers were even beginning to suggest that there was some sort of plot against clowns in general. Cobb thought this theory was absurd. Only a fool would suggest that somebody was going around, murdering clowns!

  ***

  The biggest current attraction in Londum for residents and tourists alike was the Great Exposition in Hyde Park. It was a grand celebration of the best the British Empire had to offer. It showcased the countries around the globe, where the British had gone in and stolen the coun- … er, I mean … gone in and liberated the native populations from their oppressive regimes.

  Housed in a large glittering building of metal and glass like a huge conservatory, it was lit by one of the exhibits that was being displayed for the first time on a large scale, electric lights. The press dubbed this glorious structure the “Glass Palace”.

  But it didn’t just exhibit the Empire’s finest; Albion’s trade partners had come from all over the world to show off their country’s wares. From the inscrutable, oriental country of Canton came silks and spices, jade carvings and delicate, finely painted furniture and screens.

  Also on display was the opulence of the Maharajas of Albion’s Colony of Bharat, the diamonds, the elephant statues, the art, not to mention the foods that were fast becoming a staple of the English diet, curries, tikkas and poppadoms.

  There were skins from tigers and lions, ivory and gold, warrior head masks and spears from the mysterious “Dark Continent” Afreeka, into which the white man was only beginning to make inroads.

  From across the ocean there were displays from Amerigo’s finest gun manufacturers such as Winchester, Springfield and Samuel Bolt, inventor of the world famous Bolt 45 (which is where the expression “He’s shot his Bolt” comes from).

  The Great Exposition was open to the general public, rich and poor alike and they flocked to it in their thousands. In and around the Glass Palace swarmed the tourists, taking in the sights. Taking advantage of this captive audience were street vendors selling all manner of fast food, some even recognisable. There were street performers aplenty, jugglers, acrobats, stilt-walkers etc. all cashing in on the crowds drawn to the biggest attraction in the Empire.

  Across the other side of Hyde Park was Dingaling’s Circus. Fresh from their triumphant tour of the continent, where they had performed before the Crowned Heads of Europe. (Or so their signs claimed.) They had lion tamers, high-wire acts, acrobats, performing seals; they even had a real, live Werewolf who would transform in the ring and then perform tricks.

  (Werewolves were always a big draw as there were none in Albion ((well, not since the big outbreak in Surrey in ‘05 and the quarantine regulations had stopped that from happening again)). They were commonly only native to those obscure, mountainous countries of Europe, whose names usually ended in –stein or -ania.)

  And of course … they had clowns!

  ***

  Later that day as Cobb slept, four clowns squeezed into their tiny carriage behind a small steam engine, outside the marquee at Dingaling’s Circus. They were about to go into the main circus ring to re-enact their daily battle with water and custard pies for the entertainment of the paying public.

  As they saw the previous act coming out of the main marquee (Wallace and his Amazing Tap Dancing Horses!) Coco, the leader of the troupe, released the brake on the engine gears. This ignited the fuse leading to the sticks of dynamite wired underneath the steam engine.

  The resulting explosion was a technicolour delight as hot coals, pieces of engine, brig
htly coloured flags and bits of garish clown’s costumes and wigs (and clowns) shot in all directions. Unfortunately, the Amazing Horses were less than impressed by this visual extravaganza and panicked. In their frenzy, they managed to tap dance all over Wallace, before bolting across the park with the hapless Wallace in tow.

  ***

  Cobb got up later that afternoon. He saw that Lucifer the cat had left him a little present in one of his shoes (of the sort that they usually bury in the litter tray when they’ve finished). Cobb must have forgotten to feed him before he went out last night and he was making his displeasure known.

  After having a bath and something to eat, Cobb wandered into his office. When he had started out as a private detective, he had converted the front room of his house into an office where he could see his clients. It kept down his running costs as it avoided the expense of hiring a separate office.

  He sat there for a while in his shirtsleeves, reading the daily paper and sipping a cup of coffee when there was a knock at the front door. He wasn’t really in any mood to entertain visitors but he put the paper down and went to the door.

  Standing there was a small, weaselly character that Cobb knew well. His name was Willy Templeton, a small-time pickpocket and thief. Cobb had arrested him on a few occasions during his time on the force. Willy had an amazing ability to steal things. It was as if they were drawn to him by magnetism. He seemed to be able to walk through a room with his hands in his pockets and leave the other side with his pockets bulging. But apart from being an excellent thief, Willy was a harmless soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

  ‘Willy? What do you want?’ asked Cobb.

  ‘Afternoon Mr. Cobb. I wondered if I might have a word? Got a little problem.’

  ‘So tell the Samaritans, what’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘Well, it’s a kind of private detective, kind of problem. Sort of.’

  While Willy was talking, Cobb had been looking up and down the street and had spotted a young woman watching them, twisting her handkerchief nervously in her hands. ‘Who’s your lady friend?’ he asked Willy.

  ‘That’s my sister, that’s who I want to talk to you about, she’s in trouble and I thought you might be able to help.’

  Against his better judgement, Cobb relented and said, ‘Okay then, bring her in. But Willy … you keep your hands in your pockets and touch nothing.’

  ‘It’s not my fault Mr. Cobb, honest. It’s a medical condition I’ve got, you see. I’ve been studied by doctors and everything. The doctors say I’m a … what did they call it? A Calypsomatic, that’s what I am!’ said Willy, almost proudly.

  ‘What … you mean you play dance tunes automatically?’

  ‘No, it means that I can’t help stealing things.’

  ‘I think you mean a “Kleptomaniac”, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes Mr. Cobb, that’s it!’ He waved to his sister and she came across the street, to join them. Cobb ushered them into his office, he made sure he stayed behind Willy all the way so he could watch him.

  Cobb offered them two chairs that were in front of the desk then he sat down behind his desk, facing them. ‘Okay, go ahead, what’s this all about?’ he asked them.

  ‘This is my sister Mary, she’s a good law abiding girl is our Mary, never been in trouble with the police, never been “in the business” as it were. But she’s got in a bit of trouble with her landlord. Go on Mary, tell Mr. Cobb all about it,’ he urged.

  Mary sat there, still twisting her handkerchief. She was a slim, mousey creature but she had done better than Willy in the looks department when the family genes were being handed out. ‘Well Mr. Cobb, you see it’s like this, I work as a seamstress for a nice lady who owns a dress shop, Mrs. Miller. There’s just me and my little girl, the father’s not around anymore and it’s very hard to make a living when you’re an unmarried mother. But Mrs. Miller was very kind to me and gave me a job, she dotes on my little girl she does, as she doesn’t have any children of her own.

  ‘Anyway, accommodation is hard to find in Londum but I managed to find a place over on Cheapside. It’s expensive despite the name but I could just about afford it and have a little left over for food. Now Mrs. Miller is going to close the shop and retire to some place up north. She wants me to go along with her and be her housekeeper, she’s willing to have me and the child live with her. It would be a great opportunity for my little girl, a chance to get away from all this and have a new start.

  ‘The problem is with my landlord, Mr. Jarse. I kept my rent payments up to date but when I told him I would be leaving soon, he put the rent up and backdated it by several months. He says the rent went up in July but he’d been letting me off with it. But he says that now I’m going, I’ve got to pay that back rent. And he also says he’s been treating it as a loan so that now I have to pay him the interest on it as well.’

  ‘He’s a Loan Shark you see Mr. Cobb as well as owning property,’ chipped in Willy.

  ‘Yes, thank you Willy, I think I get the picture,’ said Cobb. ‘So how much does Mr. Jarse reckon that you owe him?’

  ‘He says I owe him fifty pounds,’ answered Mary, on the verge of tears now. ‘I can’t raise that sort of money. There’s no one I can borrow the money from. I can’t ask Mrs. Miller, I’m afraid that if she found out about the trouble I’m in, she wouldn’t want me to move away with her.’

  ‘Well, I sympathise of course but how exactly do you think I might be able to help?’ asked Cobb.

  Willy answered for Mary, ‘I was thinking that maybe you could have a word with Mr. Jarse. Persuade him to see reason. Use your influence. I’d pay you.’

  ‘Willy, I’m not muscle for hire. I’m not going to go round there and threaten him and as for influence, I’m afraid I don’t have any influence since I left the force. I don’t see what I can do. Besides, I’m sure you know some people who would be willing to have a strong word with Mr. Jarse, why come to me?’

  ‘Please Mr. Cobb; my sister has a chance to have a fresh start in life. The last thing I want to do is get her involved in something criminal. This has to be done all business like and legal. All you have to do is ask Mr. Jarse to forget about the interest. I can probably raise the back rent myself. Will you at least speak to him? If I went myself he’d just throw me out of the office. It’ll be different coming from you, he’ll listen to you.’

  Cobb was about to throw Willy out of his office, and then Mary gave a little sob and wiped her eyes. Cobb felt sorry for her and her child. He could appreciate the attraction of having a fresh start. She seemed a decent woman, despite who her brother was, and she deserved a break. ‘All right, tell me where I can find him and I’ll go round and have a word with him. But that’s it. If he says no, then there’s nothing I can do. Okay?’

  ‘Thank you Mr. Cobb, thank you, His name is Jarse and he has an office in Soho, Wendover Street. There’s a name plaque on the wall outside the building, you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll take a trip over there and speak to him but I make no promises.’

  ‘No, that’s fine. That’s all we want. Like I said, I’ll make it worth your while Mr. Cobb.’

  ‘Willy, do you really think I would take anything you’d have to offer? It’s almost certainly stolen.’

  ‘No Mr. Cobb, I mean I can pay you with information.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Cobb, intrigued.’

  ‘I know some men who are going to knock over a jewellers. Armed robbery in broad daylight. Interested?’

  ‘I might be, tell me more.’

  ‘The jewellers is Winkelhoff in Marcham Street.’

  Cobb said, ‘Is that his name or a description of his condition?’ Willy didn’t get the joke but Mary sniggered.

  Cobb shoved a pen and paper towards Willy, ‘Write down everything you know about it, I’ll see Jarse and then we’re even. Okay?’

  ‘Yes Mr. Cobb, thanks.’ He scribbled on the pad for a minute and then slid it back to Cobb.

  Cobb stood up
to show them out of the house, as they left his office he said, ‘Willy, could I have a moment, please?’

  Willy motioned to Mary to go on ahead. She let herself out of the front door and closed it behind her.

  Willy looked at Cobb, expectantly.

  Cobb held out his upturned hand.

  Willy reached into his pocket and removed an ornament, which he placed in Cobb’s open hand. ‘Sorry Mr. Cobb, force of habit, I didn’t mean anything, honest. This won’t stop you helping Mary will it?’

  ‘No … that’s all right Willy, I’ll still do it.’

  Cobb let Willy out and then looked at the ornament he was holding. Cobb had noticed it was missing when he had stood up to let them out. It was one of his wife’s and it sat on the mantelpiece behind where Cobb had been sitting. He would swear that Willy had never crossed the room or even taken his hands out of his pockets except to write down details of the robbery. The guy was incredible.

  ***

  Next day, Cobb slept in until mid-morning. After Willy and his sister had left, Cobb had spent a quiet night in with a bottle of brandy. At first he couldn’t remember what he was meant to be doing that day, after a night on the “Milk of Amnesia” his memory was a little fuzzy. Then it came back to him, he had an appointment.

  After dressing, Cobb fed Lucifer and then let himself out of the house. He decided to walk to his destination to clear his head, it wasn’t that far and he had plenty of time.

  Cobb walked along Baker Street and stopped outside 221B. This well-known establishment was visited from people all over Londum in their time of need. He had something to do today and he needed to call in here first to get what he required. He paused for a moment and stared across the street at a new shop then turned back to 221B.

  The sign outside the establishment read,

  Soames and Woodson

  Family Butchers

  Cobb didn’t like using this shop. One of the proprietors, Burlock Soames, was a frustrated amateur sleuth and because he knew that Cobb was a detective, always used to bore Cobb with his theories about the latest crimes he had read about in the papers. Cobb hated coming here but he was meeting a friend later and it was Cobb’s turn to buy something for lunch. Besides, it was the best butchers in the neighbourhood.