QUILPS AND A SPOOK

The secret service intervenes

It was a man called Glum, one who looked as if his name described him to a tee, who rescued Indigo Quilps from the hands of justice.

Glum was one of those important spooks who appear every so often in detective series on the television and who are beyond ,logic and questions to everyone lower than a monarch, or so it seems, and he was instrumental in rescuing Quilps when it looked as if he was going to be wrapped up and thrown away with the rubbish as a sexual deviant in a top hat.

Glum took Inspector Ralph Doobery to one side just when he popped into the gents conveniences at Brumpton Police Station to relieve himself, and engaged him in the sort of conversation he both understood and didn’t understand.

“You know who I am, squire?” asked Glum.

The Inspector didn’t know and didn’t like the tone of Glum’s voice, and he answered the question by asking a telling question of his own.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Glum,” replied Glum (failing to admit to being a Mr.) “I’ve got the ears of the Prime Minister, squire,” he added, “and that’s why I’m here.”

“Ah,” nodded Inspector Doobery, for a moment seeing a little light in the toilet, “Quilps.”

“Exactly,” smiled Glum (well, it was meant to be a smile but failed in just about every respect to achieve even a modicum of joy.)

“What about him?” asked Doobery, who had an uncomfortable feeling that what he looked upon as a valuable collar that might help escort him to a seat in the Superintendent’s office was being snatched from him by a spook.

“I’ve looked into it,” replied Glum shaking his head, “and he’s got nothing to answer to.”

“What on Earth do you think gives you the right to do that?” demanded Doobery, “it’s my case, and that’s that.”

“Can’t say, I’m afraid. Official secrets act, and all that. But the man’s clean. The woman, let me see, what was her basted name? Ah, Miss Townbridge, was mourning the loss of a treasured grandmother…

“That didn’t give Quilps the right to touch her up!” snapped Doobery, starting to relieve himself even in mid-conversation and with Glum’s eyes on him before the pressure in his bladder did it for him.

“So you believed her account?” asked the spook, “you accepted her account of the event without question, and are thus happy to condemn a public official to the ignominy of being accused of a heinous offence?”

“What’s this got to do with the Prime Minister anyway? Surely Mr Quilps isn’t so important as to warrant someone like you white-washing what went on in the privacy of his car?”

“It wasn’t in his car, Inspector,” rumbled Glum. “It was on the car’s very hot bonnet.”

“Oh really. And what was the woman doing on his bonnet?”

“She needed to converse with him in order to get his assistance whilst she was grieving a sad loss, and on the spur of the moment that seemed the best way…”

“So she sat on the bonnet of his car?”

Glum nodded. “After he’d driven all the way from London, where he works as a Member of Parliament. The bonnet would, of course, have been heated up by his engine.”

Inspector Doobery shook his head. “A stupid way for her to attract his attention,” he muttered. “Nobody sits on car bonnets unless they’re star raving mad!”

“Or grieving,” added Glum in sepulchral tones.

“Codswallop! We all lose close relatives to the grim reaper but we don’t all go around sitting on the overheated bonnets of Members of Parliament’s cars!!”

“Miss Townbridge did. It’s on CCTV. In the car park. Quite clear. Especially her, how shall I describe them, increasingly pink thighs.” There was close to a sneer in Glum’s voice.

“You sure it’s on CCTV?” frowned the Inspector.

“You’re the investigating officer. You mean you haven’t checked on camera evidence? I’d have thought that would be the first thing you did! Instead, you harangue an innocent Member of Parliament, which is okay by me because sorting you out is a pleasant break for me! I mean, London can be such a drag with so many dark secrets to keep undder wraps.”

“You haven’t told me why you’re involved. After all, Quilps is only a back bencher who nobody particularly likes…”

“Then I’ll tell you, and this is only between you and me. Zip your flies up and pay attention.

“The old lady Miss Townbridge was mourning died in a long queue of traffic on her way to Dover and hopefully a happy holiday on the continent. She was bursting for a pee and the car was going nowhere, just like you were few moments ago, but being of a certain age and modesty incarnate she wouldn’t do it in public, and believe you me there’s plenty of public around in that sort of queue. So she passed away with a bursting bladder. Sadly, especially to her granddaughter Miss Townbridge, and it would be even more sadly if her story reached the papers. The Dover business is arguably the fault of our government and the Brexit thing. Without that the old lady might well still be alive. So the Prime Minister wants it kept quiet. Miss Townbridge has been awarded a special grant that should keep her quiet from now on and all that needs attending to is Quilps, who won’t say a word to anyone if it’s allowed to quietly go away, but who might ask awkward questions in any public arena if you persist in persecuting him.”

“You mean this is all a cover-up?”

Glum shook his head. “Call it what you will, it’s just a way of smoothing out what might prove to be an awkward problem. What could happen if one of the newspapers thinks it should blame, say, French officials? The public could be stirred up, and you know how easily that can happen. What if it leads to a war? World War Three even? That might seem a bit of an exaggeration, but what if it isn’t?”

“Oh dear… it’s all a bit too much for me to take in… I suppose we’ll have to let him go, then.”

“That’s already been done. And my fellow, what do you call us, spooks? Well, my fellow spook has made sure that his lips are sealed and that the matter is over.”

“It’s all a bit underhand…” muttered Inspector Doobery, “I like everything to be in the open…”

“Like a bloody war?” suggested Glum, “think about it, Doobery. How much blood shed do you want on your conscience?”

© Peter Rogerson 06.08.22

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