6 MATILDA

THE CASE OF THE GOLDEN EYEGLASS -6

“What in the name of Hades do you think you're doing, Inspector?” demanded Sergeant Williams as he stared at the gaunt figure with his blacked-out spectacles standing in the doorway of Angelina's living room.

“I have come to warn you!” rasped the blind man. “221c has been attacked, and all Hell has been let loose.”

“Attacked? Who by?” demanded Angelina Parr, revealing her hiding place behind the sofa by standing up.

“Is that you, Miss Parr?” demanded the Inspector. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

“I happen to live here,” she replied.

“Well, these aren't times for a little old lady to be abroad,” he told her. “These are desperate times! News has somehow got out that I, Inspector Blinky Curmudgeon, is back in business and the forces of criminal wretchedness are out to stop me! There can be no ends to how far the devious and criminal scumbag will go to stop me, but i'm up to defending myself against them despite being a tad short-sighted. I have to tell you that just now a man knocked on my door with a pistol in his hand, and if I hadn't had all my wits about me he might well have shot me through the heart! And you will understand it when I say I have a natural aversion to pistols...”

“Your accident,” breathed Angelina.

He nodded. “Precisely,” he said. “My accident. And I don't want another one.”

“How did you get here?” asked the Sergeant faintly as a familiar black cloud threatened to engulf his consciousness, standing up.

“Aha! I have a modern car that can drive itself, and amongst a plethora of devices I have installed a tracking device … and I had the wit and wisdom to slip out and attach a small electronic tag to your car whilst you were in the office being briefed by Miss Parr, who really shouldn't be here … not at her great age with all the thugs in creation likely to descend on her at any moment! But if I could follow, so can they, the bar stewards!”

“This is all very confusing...” murmured Angelina, glancing at Royston and shaking her head sadly.

“”It may be, but I'm here in time!” snapped the Inspector. “They haven't found you yet, Sergeant, but they will, you can rest assured of that! And to think we just had a nice little case, that spyglass thing and the reward for finding it we were bound to receive before long.... and now the fiends are on to us!”

“What fiends?” demanded Angelina, taking Royston by one hand and moving close to him.

“The world is awash with criminal gangs,” he replied, “ne'er-do-wells whose only intention is to take Blinky Curmudgeon down a peg or two! The Mafia, for goodness' sake, has long, long arms �" and I've for ever been a thorn in their side. Then there are the gangs of good old London Town, the scar-faced scumbags with boils oozing with the foulest puss you ever smelt!! Well, they're not going to get in the way of my reward! Come, Miss Parr and Sergeant what's-your-name! We must fly!”

“Where to?” demanded Angelina, fearfully.

“That must be kept secret!” snapped the Inspector. “Walls have ears, my dear, and it ill-behoves a gentleman like I try to be to expose a sweet little old soul like your wonderful self to unnecessary danger! But we are all in danger while we are within these four walls! If I could follow you, so could they!”

“Isn't it about time...” began the sergeant, who wanted to suggest that Angelina revealed her true identity to her employer, but the frown on her face and the shake of her head stopped him in mid-sentence.

“He'll only start groping me,” she whispered.

“If we're no longer safe here then we'd best come with you,” stammered Royston. “We'll go in my car if you like. I know how to handle it, and I can drive like a demon if I have to.”

The Inspector shook his blind head vigorously. “Indeed we won't!” he roared. “My car is equipped with all the most modern devices, and what's more it drives itself! Why, it can hurtle down motorways at breakneck speeds and in perfect safety if it has to. And I’ve installed green flashing lights! Blue would have been illegal, which is a shame, but green ones will do! And anyway, I detect you are holding a whisky glass! Whisky and driving never did go together! Come! To Matilda!”

“Matilda?” asked the sergeant, feeling that he was constantly one pace behind the gaunt blind man despite what must have been a considerable advantage in the vision department.

“His car,” Angelina whispered. “He thinks it's a secret, but it isn't really. He calls it Matilda. And it really is as good as he says it is. Come on, we'll humour him. The killing of Tiny Bloxam has convinced me that something truly serious is afoot.”

Sergeant Royston Williams looked doubtful. “I've heard of those cars that they reckon can drive themselves without a human driver, but I don't believe in them,” he muttered. “I've seen them on the telly, rolling along at nearly no miles an hour and supposed to look sporty!

“Now don't be an old fuddy duddy! It's perfectly safe. I hope.” declared Angelina, pulling him along by the one hand she was still holding. “It might still be in development, but the Curmudgeon's Matilda is quite some vehicle. I checked it out myself, before he was allowed to have it.”

“You did?”

“Shush. I'll tell you later! It was my job back then.”

The Sergeant allowed himself to be led out of the flat. The world outside looked spectacularly ordinary. There were no mysterious men in black lurking at corners, no odd obviously fortified vehicles parked suspiciously, no spent cartridge cases littering the pavements. There wasn't even an ice-cream van with its tinkling tune and little row of bickering children-customers on the corner. And up above the skies were a perfect blue with just a hint of puffy cumulus clouds to break the monotony. Everything looked to be as peaceful and harmonious as everything could be.

His own car was parked where he'd left it, and right behind it was a modest grey hatchback with a radio aerial sticking up like the erect penis of a giant stick insect. It seemed as if the Inspector could actually see as he led them towards his grey car. His steps were positive, his air one of confident superiority.

“He is good,” whispered Angelina.

They piled into the Inspector's car, both of them in the back seat while he showed one side-effect of his lack of sight by impaling himself on the little lever that could be used to adjust the seat before settling behind the steering wheel and squeaking in pain.

“It's got all the usual controls,” explained Angelina. “It can, in fact, be driven like an ordinary car until you put it into automatic mode. Then it responds to the human voice �" it's programmed with Mr Curmudgeon's own dulcet tones �" and takes over. It really is amazing!”

“I don't trust gadgetry,” growled Royston.

“Shush,” she breathed.

“Curmudgeon!” pronounced the Inspector, and the car gave a little wiggle as it responded to his voice. Royston felt like leaping out, but he used almighty self-control and stayed put.

“Brainache Castle!” the blind man said quite clearly, “NG39 PPS”

“That's the post code,” whispered Angelina. “Now it's computing the safest way to get to whatever Brainache Castle may be. Sit back and enjoy the ride! It can't be too far with that post code!”

“Then there's something wrong...” began the Sergeant, but before he could finish his sentence the car moved forwards, out into the middle of the road. He couldn't help holding onto everything as tightly as possible, and part of that everything was Angelina's upper left thigh.

“That's nice, big boy,” she breathed in his ear, “but leave it until later...”

The car's movements so far had been smooth, exactly as you'd expect from a car being driven by a human being, and Royston even noted that the indicator lights had been flashing properly and making little audible squeaking noises as they did so.

The Inspector, who had extricated himself from the seat adjusting lever, turned round and smiled his sightless smile at them.

“Now we'll see who's on top in this battle of wits,” he explained.

“Where in the name of goodness is Brainache Castle?” asked Royston, “and, to my certain knowledge, that post code you gave can't possibly exist!”

“It's in code,” smirked the Inspector. “A code in code, clever old me! After all, I've got to make sure that neither of you two know where we're going!”

“Why on Earth not, Mr Curmudgeon,” asked Angelina.

“That's easy,” smirked her sightless employer, “because one of you two must have let the cat out of the bag. One of you two must have let the enemy know exactly who I am and where I live. One of you two must have betrayed me! So don't get to thinking that I'm going to tell you where Brainache Castle is just yet!”

© Peter Rogerson 16.08.14, revised 01.01.20