They Made Their Mark: Chapter 11

Larry noticed that, uncharacteristically, there was a slight tremor in Fatty's voice.

"Six... sixteen wonderful years, Larry!"

Larry hastened to reassure him. "Fatty, I'd say that's exceptional."

"Yeah, don't I know it, although you can understand my wish that it had been a little longer."

"Of course," said Larry with feeling. "When did it happen, Fatty – and that's only if you feel like talking about it? If you'd rather wait until more time has passed I'd understand."

Fatty cleared his throat. "No, it's perfectly all right. It was in November last year but it could have been yesterday and please don't worry about discussing it."

"Thanks, Fatty!" Larry searched for the right words to express himself. "I hardly know what to say except that he must have had the best life any dog could ever have had with you as his master – even better than Harmer's cats because dogs are more responsive to having someone in charge of them."

"Yes," said Fatty. "I was devastated when he left this world Larry, but time is doing its best to heal the ache."

Larry asked tentatively. "Tell me a little more because I loved Buster almost as much as you did and believe me Fatty, it's as if one of my best friends had bowed out so I need closure as well."

"Sure, I understand," answered Fatty. "Buster was rarely sick because I looked after him like I would my own baby and I supplied him with all the right food and plenty of exercise. I had him with me when I was at the Yard – the chap I flatted with looked after him whenever I was called away and, of course, Buster was taken home with me on visits so he led a varied life. It was when we returned to Peterswood that I started noticing a change, Larry. As you know, I took him for a walk every evening and in the later stages we took to wandering over the paddocks up near Sheepridge Lane. Either that or else I'd take him in the car over to Petters Field which he loved because of all the horsey smells."

Fatty paused for a moment and then continued. "The first time I became aware of anything was one evening when I noticed he was lagging behind a little and I had to keep slowing down. A few days later I saw for the first time that he was limping very slightly and then came the evening when we were out as usual strolling along and enjoying the night air. I turned a corner and carried on to the end of the road and then when I looked for him he was nowhere to be seen. I peered over a few fences just in case he'd wandered off after something but I couldn't see anything and it was only when I gazed back down the street that I spotted him waiting patiently on the corner with his tongue hanging out and a big smile on his face."

Larry considered. "I suppose you could say a dog was smiling if his tongue is hanging out and he has the right expression."

"Yeah," said Fatty. "Well anyway, there he was just resting and knowing that his master would return the same way and it was about then Larry, that I realized the walks had become too lengthy for him and from that night on we'd just go for a short stroll round the block. I took him to the vet who diagnosed age-related arthritis, which wasn't all that unexpected, and I quizzed him for advice. He told me to cut down on the walking – which I already had, and to make things a little easier for him he advised that when greeting him I should get right down so that he wouldn't strain himself too much trying to jump upwards."

Larry smiled. "Indulgence to the extreme!"

"Yes," said Fatty. "You bet! I even nailed some pieces of wood onto a board and placed it against the end of my bed. He didn't know how to use it of course so I coaxed him into putting his first foot on the bottom rung and then urged him forward step by step until he could reach the top all by himself. Once he'd got the hang of it he was up and down no end whether it was to have his afternoon sleep or perhaps to join me under the covers at night. He had his little basket-bed in the corner but he rarely slept there."

"Very accommodating," said Larry understandingly as he sat back having finished his drink.

"Buster had entered a new stage of his life, Larry. He coped well and I made his trips to the vet more regular and then one evening he didn't seem at all eager to join me for a walk. He was sitting in his basket and looked happy enough but his breathing was a little laboured and as I wasn't all that keen on an outing either having been up since the early hours. I was ready to hit the sack myself so we skipped that night's exercise and Buster shuffled up his ramp to join me in the sack. I slept soundly and dreamt that we were together back in the Find-Outer days."

Larry looked interested. "Did you now? What period?"

Fatty thought. "We were on a picnic – all of us and it was near the beginning when I hadn't known you all that long. We were down by the river and Jenks was with us in his Inspector role.

Larry recalled. "I remember him picnicking with us Fatty, near the end of the Candling affair."

"Something like that," answered Fatty, "But dreams are often rather fragmented aren't they? In this particular one, Buster was jumping up at me and licking my cheek vigorously and I remember it being so real – I could feel it! I slept on and then when I woke up early in the morning I sensed something, Larry. I really did – I was experiencing an instant in time that had frozen. It was strange and I lay there wondering why I felt like I did. I was near the edge of the bed and my arm slipped off. My hand landed on what seemed like a rug or something. I presumed it was Buster asleep on the floor and I remember wondering why he wasn't at the end of the bed. His fur felt different and a then terrible thought entered my mind. I looked down and there he was lying on his side as still as anything. My first reaction Larry was disbelief. I leaned over looking at him closely for a sign of movement – the slightest indication that he was breathing. Perhaps a twitch of an eyelid but there was nothing. I reached down again and touched him to confirm what I had begun to suspect."

Again there was a slight catch in Fatty's voice and Larry felt a surge of emotion. Fatty, who was super sensitive to body language, regarded him..

"Sorry Larry. I may have described it a little too emotionally."

They both sat in silence for a moment or two. Larry took a deep breath and choked a little as he spoke.

"Fatty. What happened after you realized the inevitable?"

"I jumped out of bed and rang my folks who were having their Saturday morning sleep-in. They got into the car and raced over to console me." Fatty looked over towards the window as he gathered his memories. "I was all right outwardly Larry but inside I was churned up and wondering if I'd make it to the end of the day without being overly affected by grief. I had this dream-like feeling as if my mind was trying to distance itself from reality but I knew all about that from my psychological studies so I just kept existing from one minute to the next knowing that the best thing to counter it was activity."

He reflected some more and went on. "I rang Lillian and while I was waiting for her to answer I realized that I was still coherent because it was the wisest thing I did that day. It so happened that she was in the early stages of helping Brooks to set up a kind of bereavement facility for those animal-lovers who want their dearly departed pets placed in worthy surroundings. Apparently it's all the rage in America – there are graves similar to those in our own cemeteries but the new method is more streamlined. It's basically a wall with cubicles surrounded by gardens and flowers and creepers that supposedly convey a soothing and reflective atmosphere. Originally it was to be just for cats but Brooks' head vet thought it would be a little more profitable to allow any pet to reside there and so it was agreed. Buster's one of the earliest residents and I'm sure you'll want to pay your respects sometime."

"I'll put that on my Do Now list," said Larry earnestly. "Dear old Buster... Fatty there are so many memories of the little dog and I think one of my favourites would be the time when he had that crook leg. Remember?"

Fatty was glad that Larry had diverted the course of conversation to earlier days and he nodded. "I think I can recall all of Buster's life and times, Larry. Yes, when he had his leg in a bandage and wasn't he proud of it?"

"Very proud! I'm trying to remember how it happened so don't tell me. I'll do it off my own bat."

Fatty was more than ready to allow Larry all the time he needed as he ran over his own store of poignant memories. Larry went on trying to scrape up in his mind the cause of an injury that Buster had once received.

"We went somewhere together and I think it was to Oliver's. Was it Oliver's Fatty?"

Fatty shook his head.

Larry thought some more. "Food! Cakes, Crockelby! No, no, no... that's Dot. Crockery... afternoon tea, something starting with Cr. Crumpets! I don't think we've ever had crumpets at Oliver's. Cr... Crump. That's what I'm after. There was a Miss or Mrs. Crump and we went to interview her at... at... Little Marlow. How am I doing?"

Despite the sombre note that had momentarily descended, Fatty managed a smile. "You're getting there but try another location."

"Not Marlow, eh? Little Something... I know – it was Little Minton."

"You're doing fine, Larry."

"I remember a lovely old place and – I've got it! We visited a woman called Crump but I can't remember the name of the house and I'm sure it had one."

"Good stuff and it's my presence that's helping you remember – you said so yourself." Fatty was enjoying a little levity after the sad memories.

"Hillways, Larry"

Larry tapped his head. "Yep, I remember it now and the owner had a large dog. Gosh Fatty, I'm reliving it. I can see it attacking poor Buster and the woman throwing a bucket of water over them. Right?"

Fatty circled his thumb and forefinger to emphasize. "Right as rain. Dog's name, Find-Outer Larry?"

"Find-Outer Larry can't remember that – I've gone blank for some reason."

"Come on you can do it. Dog's name please."

"Fatty, just because you can recall all that you've ever experienced. Is there anything you've forgotten in your life?"

"I'm sure there is but I've forgotten exactly what!" answered Fatty with a grin. "The dog's name began with T and that's as far as I'll go."

Larry thought hard and tried to follow everything he'd learnt about the technique of associating. "It was probably a male seeing it was so aggressive – T for Tom, Timothy, Ted, Trevor, Theodore... it must've been a bully... Theophilus? No, I can't remember."

"Theophilus! Anyone we know? One day you'll look up origin of that name and it'll surprise you."

Larry looked at him enquiringly. "Why, what does it mean?"

"You search it out! Incidentally, you managed to come up with the name of the Crump dog."

"What?"

"You mentioned it," said Fatty, "and as you said it first of all, I think it means your techniques are working but you aren't reflecting quite enough on what you say."

"You're right, Fatty – I need to concentrate more in the present time when I'm remembering things. OK. First name I mentioned was Tim, or was it Tom? I've got it – Thomas! Do I go to the top of the class?"

"Indubitably!" said Fatty with feeling. He paused, waiting for Larry to continue.

"She was very nice to us and I remember how she bandaged Buster's leg so beautifully. I'm trying to recall what we were doing there and I think... yes, it was connected with that furnished room we found. Milton House, right?"

"Right," said Fatty. "...and what a little rascal Buster was during the next few days – limping around with his bandage trying to squeeze as much sympathy as he could from us all. We fell for it of course. Fatty looked over at a picture of a landscape on the wall. "Larry, I think my most pleasant memories are of the times I was out biking round Peterswood with Buster sitting up in the basket, head to the wind and barking every now and again when we passed someone or some animal he recognized. He was the King and we were his subjects. He loved his walks too – especially at dusk because there were more scents for him to follow and I can remember trekking across that big field near Winter Hill one evening. We'd sneaked across the rail bridge and I can see him now – running ahead and stopping occasionally to sniff something or scrabble in the undergrowth. Fatty's voice became slightly staccato. "I was chasing after him. It was chilly and it was frosty and it was beautiful. The sun had just gone down and there were tiny stars twinkling in the sky and a crescent moon. Buster's reached those stars now Larry. I can't pat him and I can't hug him anymore!"

A lump formed in Larry's throat and made him swallow suddenly. He put out his hand.

"Fatty, stop it. I'll start bawling if you keep that up."

There was another silence.

Fatty rose and went over to the bar.

"Brandy?"

"Thanks. I could do with one."

Fatty extracted a bottle of Cognac and poured a couple of nips then added some lime.

"Soda?"

"Yes thanks, Fatty."

A squirt of water went into both and Fatty handed a glass to Larry before resuming his seat.

"To Buster! Long live the memories of the best little dog in the world."

"Here, Here!" Larry took a sip of brandy and allowed it to take effect. He settled back in his chair and relaxed.

"Fond memories. Fond dreams. That little dog was almost human, Fatty. Gosh, if he was here now with his sore leg I'd shower him with as much pity as he could take – and more. Why oh why couldn't I have seen him again – just once?"

"Careful Larry or it'll be my turn to bawl."

"Sorry! Can you tell me more or do you want to leave it at that?"

Fatty took a sip of his brandy. "As I said Larry, it's therapeutic so keep me on it. Buster's resting place is easy to find because Lil gave him a cubicle right on the edge and second from the top where they normally put the animals that have excelled in the shows. I didn't enter Buster in any of the important ones – the nearest he got was a little rosette labeling him as Best In Show at a church fete just before I met you. On the door of his cubicle there's a red and green McDonald of the Isles tartan shield with a gold border and Knight of Achilles printed below. The tartan was on his pedigree so I'm pretty sure my Godmother's family held that connection.

"Your Godmother gave you Buster, didn't she?"

"Yes," Fatty answered. "He was passed on after she'd had him for a few months. Buster's previous owner was a Trotteville who was transferred to Austria with family and all possessions but no pets. Their accommodation didn't allow it and as my kinfolk knew I was desperate for a dog, what better opportunity was there for the clan to present one of their heirs with the perfect birthday gift."

"...and what a gift!" Larry spoke with much feeling. "The loss of a loved one, be it man or beast, is sad but inevitable. Buster was allowed a long and happy life and when you think about it Fatty, he would have been knocking on about, let me see... sixteen by seven equals over a hundred. In human terms, Buster would easily have been eligible for a Royal telegram."

Fatty cradled his glass. "Very touching Larry – and you're quite right of course. Good old Buster. He was a Find-Outer Larry, maybe not in an official sense but he pulled his weight over and over again... remember that time he rooted out the clues we needed in the Dark Queen case?"

"Yeah!" said Larry. "I remember it well – nosing out some hole where incriminating clues had been stashed. I can see him prancing about so happy with himself over that and he wasn't short of friends was he Fatty? Remember when he chummed up with that little Poppet dog... and he got on famously with Ern's pet. What was its name?"

"You tell me," said Fatty, eager once again to help Larry with his memories.

"Bingo!"

"Bingo yourself!"

"Has Ern still got him, Fatty?"

"No! Poor old Bingo passed away last year just before Ern came ashore permanently. His parents were caring for the creature when it came down with a virus or something that reeked of hefty vet bills. One of their rather vague relatives volunteered to take the dog in and attempt a cure with things you won't find in an animal doctor's cupboard."

"Herbs and stuff?"

Fatty frowned. "I would suspect that, Larry. They have one or two rather unconventional characters in their tribe and this woman's one of them. Bingo lasted a couple of weeks or so in his new environment but the sickness was too advanced and he expired. Ern told me that he slept most of the time so it would have been a fairly painless existence, which is some consolation I guess. I don't know the details of his internment but I do know that you can pay your respects to Buster whenever you like Larry, and when you go make sure you sign the book they keep in the office. Each dog has a register where visitors can write down their thoughts and Buster's list has grown like anything. You'll see some familiar names there."

"I'm sure I will, Fatty."

They sat there quietly for a moment or two as still more memories of faithful old Buster ran through their minds. The brandy had helped to ease the slight tension that had descended on them as they mulled over the loss of a character they had known and loved so well.

Larry broke the silence and adopted a philosophical look. "Buster was an inspiration, Fatty. He was loyal and loving, and he didn't discriminate. Whatever happened had to happen so we must be positive – always look for the silver lining on the dark clouds."

Fatty looked at him. "That's a song isn't it?"

Larry nodded sagely. "I... yes. There was a chap in one of the NAAFI clubs who used to play it on the jukebox over and over because it reminded him of his girl for some reason. I quite liked it so I listened for free every day... A heart, full of joy and gladness, will always banish sadness and strife, so always look for the silver lining and try to find the sunny side of life."

"Yeah! Joy and gladness – that was Buster. Toast to swonderful... nope – wonderful Buster."

They toasted the little Scottie once again.

Larry asked suddenly. "Have you replaced him, or are you thinking about getting another dog?"

Fatty went over to the window and adjusted a curtain so that the sun wasn't shining so directly on him and then sat down again looking a little wistful.

"Larry, I haven't replaced him – yet! I think I probably will in the near, or not so near future."

"A Scottie?"

"Of course, but I need a little more time before I decide for certain. Once the business is thoroughly organized and running by itself as it were, I think I'll get round to it."

"Great to hear it," said Larry. "Buster the Second?"

Fatty shrugged. "Not sure – I'll let that take it's course."

He helped himself to some crisps and Larry followed suit.

"By the way, this is excellent brandy and rather powerful I think. How big a dollop did I receive?"

"Quite large actually, Larry. Like another?"

"No, I'm fine – very nicely relaxed thanks."

Fatty glanced over and spoke quietly – almost to himself. "Is parting such sweet sorrow?"

Larry answered. "I think it depends on whether the individuals are alive or not, Fatty. If we know there will be a reunion one day in the near or far future I think it would apply."

"Then it applies," said Fatty with a conviction that made Larry look closely at him. "Buster was almost human Larry, and there's no way that a character like his can be lost forever because all that's Great and Good will not allow it. What say you?"

Larry could only agree and as he did so he realized he believed Fatty inherently. "Fatty, it's not Goodbye, it's Auf Weidersen."

"Good old Larry!" Fatty's eyes were twinkling again as his statement was confirmed. Buster was 'resting.' They'd meet again.

"What's happened to Nosey?"

"What! What?"

"Nosey. You know... that fellow who lived in the caravan. I'm just beginning a new line of enquiry after our sad thoughts."

"Golly, talk about minds going off on a tangent. Here you are with the Fount of Knowledge and all you can think of is Nosey!"

"I know Fatty. This is one from out of the bunch because the last was rather intense."

Fatty laughed and then got up and to take Larry's glass as he drained it. "It's getting on so I'll replenish us both whether you like it or not."

"That suits me said Larry – they call it One for the Road. This has been swonderful... nope; I'm following your example. Let me say it again. It's been wonderful meeting up with you and being brought up to date so competently by the Fount."

Fatty finished pouring the drinks and looked over at the bowl. He grabbed another packet of potato crisps and after giving Larry his glass and replenishing the snacks he resumed his seat and looked enquiringly at his friend."

"Nosey! Nosey? Larry, hear this. You and I have been discussing various people with whom we came in contact during our Find-Outer days. Right?"

"Right!"

"We've talked about Moon and young Zoe and other assorted citizens including riff-raff such as Wilfrid yet there are two of the premier players we haven't yet discussed – one hasn't even been mentioned."

"Once, surely."

"Not once!"

"I must've!"

"No!"

"You mean to tell me I haven't made a passing reference... it's impossible."

Fatty's smiled knowingly. "Must be your memory lapses!"

Larry grinned and sipped from his goblet. "As I said before, I wanted to save one or two up. You and I are easy and Daisy's been taken care of and also Buster rest his poor soul – dear old Buster."

"Nosey's gone," said Fatty.

"Has he now?" Larry looked up. "Well, I guess it was to be expected... we used to see him occasionally at the markets and he looked frailer every time we laid eyes on him. Was it old age or the conditions he lived in?"

"More the conditions I think – and his habits. It was emphysema in the end."

"I can imagine that – he liked his tobacco. I remember he played a tiny part in one of our investigations."

"He did. Know which one?"

Larry thought for a few seconds. "I just asked you about him because the name somehow slipped into my mind when I was thinking of Buster's face with his Scottie's nose. Let me see now... you once visited him where he was camped if I'm remembering correctly."

"Correct you are," said Fatty taking a sip of his Cognac.

"You wanted his signature as a sample to compare – right?"

"So far, so good, Larry."

"Writing played a part in that case because it was to do with some anonymous messages sent to that couple in The Ivies or was it Fairlin Hall? Fairlin Hall – that's right. No, come to think of it, the notes in that instance were typed or cut out of newspaper so now I'm completely off track because that was to do with someone called Kuntan wasn't it?"

"There are some aspects of your memory that are definitely stacking up," said Fatty. "I would've had had to think twice to remember that crook – he was the chap from Burma that we tumbled. Have another think about the messages that were hand-written or printed."

"Yeah, I've got it. The Moon case."

"That's it. Old Nosey couldn't write so he was ruled out of that particular episode. Anyway, he passed on a couple of years ago. His wife went to live in a hostel temporarily and then moved in with some of her family who reside in the kind of environment that Sid and Perce have chosen for themselves. Not all that good for her health I would say but she's still alive – that's something I learnt that from police sources who have the odd run-in with some of her crowd."

"Everyone called him Nosey," said Larry. "I always thought that was his real name but I'm sure it wasn't – no mother would name her baby Nosey!"

"Of course not," answered Fatty. "I never found out his real name because I hadn't realized that one day you'd be sitting opposite me asking after him... still, these things all add to the overall picture of our lives and times don't they? I do recall reading some write-up of a court proceeding where his wife was described as Rawnie Pike so if he was legally married, and I'm pretty sure he was, he must have been Someone Pike. Best I can do for now."

"Good enough for me," said Larry. "You know Fatty, your position gives you so much knowledge of the people we both know. When I was over in Gibraltar I'd lie in bed trying to remember various incidents in my life and when I brought one up there'd be characters on the sidelines that were blurred and I'd begin wondering if they were in a different time frame altogether. This was after I'd had the accident of course, and now with your encyclopedic knowledge, everything becomes so much clearer and I'm remembering so many extra pieces, which are folding into the general outline. We've got a little bit more time haven't we for you to reveal just a tiny bit more of our history and then I'll be off – how's that sound?"

Fatty took a sip of his brandy. "Yeah, sure, and then I'll have to be away. I'd almost forgotten – I have a Rotary dinner, and if I hadn't I wouldn't have minded continuing on into the night and making a real party of it... we could've sent out for some food and really enjoyed ourselves. Tell you what!" He opened a drawer and extracted a small piece of white card then got up and made for the door. "Won't be a moment!"

Larry heard him moving about in the reception area and then the typewriter began tapping. Very shortly, Fatty re-entered and went to the bar. He took down a silver tray from a cubbyhole, put the card on it and took it over to Larry who looked at it with interest as Fatty motioned him to pick it up. He did so and read the following -

"Frederick A. Trotteville. At Home. Saturday the 20th. 1.30pm. Willows, Chapman Lane. R.S.V.P."

Larry laughed and put the card in his pocket. "Always the clown. Fatty... Frederick... Sir Frederick Trotteville. I'd be more than delighted to accept you kind invitation and thank you so much for it. If Peterswood wasn't my favourite place already, your presence would make it so."

Fatty chuckled. "How gracious. Leave your number with me and I'll ring you in the morning around nine?"

"I'll be out, Fatty. I have to call into work for a few moments and then I've got a mid-morning appointment over in Slough – I've arranged to help a colleague take some stuff to his new digs. After that I'm free."

"Well, just come over when you're ready and if it's sunny we can sit outside with a picnic. I'll get the housekeeper to whip up something tasty for us and I can fill you in on anything else you care to enquire about."

"When I arrive home at night no housekeeper welcomes me, Fatty."

"Nor me!" was the reply. "Jinny comes in for an hour or two on Saturdays just to clean up a bit and prepare a few suppers for the weary working man who may arrive home late of a Tuesday and can't be bothered hunting out some grub let alone making a tasty meal of it. Just a stop-gap until I have a little more time to spend on such trivialities."

Larry eyed him. "You could have hired Moon!"

"I'd LOVE to come home to Moon suppers and Moon lunches and Moon anything elses," said Fatty. "Not so much Mrs. Moon herself though because I think the atmosphere would be somewhat strained."

"Yes!" Larry looked puzzled. "Now, where have I heard the name, Jinny?"

"I'll give you a few seconds."

Larry ran through the various people they'd met during their Find-Outer days. He was sure there was a connection.

"A house-keeper. Should be easy... I can remember Miggle because she was in the place next door to us. Jinny! Yes, I can see us lying about in Pip's garden listening to your report after you visited that house over on the hill. I can remember her, and I can remember the name of the place."

"Lawton House!"

"Can't catch me out with that, Fatty. Daisy and I know it well because we used to pass it quite often seeing it was a short cut to Dad's office. Norton House."

"Correct! I'm just throwing in the odd red herring to help your analytical processes."

Larry chuckled. "You're too kind. So Jinny's still at it eh? I'd met her before we got into that Twit business because she worked the odd hour or two for a couple of Mum's friends when they were in party mode. She did a bit of cleaning as well, so she was often called upon prior to the odd Peterswood banquet."

"She's popular," said Fatty "...and that's not surprising seeing her knowledge of etiquette is second to none – Lady Troubridge excepted of course."

"Of course," Larry echoed. "We had both volumes of her works in the family book collection and judging by your At Home card, I'd say you've read them."

"Never have Larry although I've read about her. No, I've just a natural flair for these things. Now getting back to Jinny... she relates to any person no matter what their status. I've seen her at a few gatherings since I first met her at Norton House. I'd never even heard of the place which is surprising because even way back then I had a pretty fair knowledge of the district."

"There's always the odd nook or cranny that one misses," said Larry.

"Yes," Fatty agreed.

Larry reflected again. "I remember that horsey young girl who lived there. She's related to Jenksy, isn't she?"

"That's right," said Fatty. "Daughter, cousin, niece, what?"

"Ummm... I don't think it was any of those, Fatty. Her name's Hilary and she's the daughter of one of the Super's best friends if I'm not mistaken."

Fatty nodded. "No, you're not mistaken. You're getting better and better, Larry so I'll test you. Can you remember what Hilary called the Super... or Inspector at the time?"

Larry looked at him curiously. "Is this a trick question, Fatty?"

"Not as such!"

"I'm blowed if I can remember. I think I was lagging in the rear when we came across them at the gymkhana. What does one call his or her Godfather? Uncle, maybe!"

"Top of the class again," remarked Fatty. "Jenksy has no siblings so he's not her real uncle. Gosh, we really get sidetracked, don't we – I just have to mention a housekeeper and away we go."

Larry smiled. "Fatty, I don't mind the side-tracks because anything you tell me is interesting but now, just before I forget, I was going to ask you earlier about the little baker man. What happened to him? Was 'Twit' his real name? I'm fairly sure I've heard it attached to someone else so sort me out if you will."

Fatty leaned over and grabbed a few more peanuts. You're talking Muriel."

"Am I? The name's familiar. Isn't she the vicar's sister?"

"That's right," Fatty answered. "The vicar's been transferred but Muriel and her brother are still living in the bungalow at the vicarage and assisting with the fold."

"Muriel Twit?"

"Yep! As for the other Twit... you know Larry, I haven't followed up on the baker's early history so he was always Twit but I did hear a reference to him once – ages ago when his name came up in conversation at a dinner party. I couldn't swear to it but I think the late baker's name was Tony or Tom but that's only a guess because someone was talking to me at that particular moment."

"He's dead then?"

"Dead? Oh no, sorry I didn't mean late in that sense. I was just referring to the fact that he was the baker around these parts once, and now he isn't although strictly speaking – he is."

"One day Fatty, you'll tie me up in so many knots I won't be able to extricate myself."

"I do tend to lapse in my speech at times don't I," said Fatty. "...Must be the brandy. Twit's in the baking business again. When he left prison..."

Larry interrupted. "Fill me in from the start, Fatty. Where was he?"

"Spring Hill. He was a definite Category D so that's where he was incarcerated for about eleven months."

"That all, eh?"

"Well," said Fatty. "He was classed as small time and quite the mixed-up kid. He was paranoid about debts he'd incurred from one or two crooked loan sharks and as he gained very little out of his plundering the authorities were lenient. The assessors were unanimous in their opinion that he'd be too frightened to resume his old ways when he was released and, for Twit's part, I think he was glad to be free from the threatening sharks. Apparently, they'd left Peterswood whilst the going was good although I do know that at least one of them was picked up in Banbury and is serving a rather large sentence."

Larry leaned forward taking in all this new information. "...and Twit. Did he come back?"

"Oh yes," Fatty assured him. "His wife was loyal and visited him at the prison when she could. Unfortunately their house had to be sold seeing they couldn't keep up the payments and while Twit was away she went on to a benefit and stayed with friends in Dinton, which was reasonably handy for visits. When he was released they came back to Peterswood because there was no other place to go and besides, they still had a few friends around these parts."

"So, what's he doing now, Fatty? I only ask because I have this firm belief that you can answer any question I put to you."

Fatty smiled. "Not every one Larry but I try. Twit showed very little of himself on his return to Peterswood and that's no surprise because, although his round hadn't been a very big one, it had covered most sections of the village so he felt obliged to keep a low profile. Then, after several months of seclusion he got a break."

"I'm not sure why I'm saying this Fatty, but I was rather hoping that he did."

"Yes, he got a break in the form of Ted Deb!"

"Debreceny! Ted of The Magnet. The Saviour of Skid Row!"

Fatty looked at him. "Skid Row! That's a little Yankee Doodle Dandy isn't it? Yes, Larry. Ted stepped in and Twit was saved."

"I used to liken Ted to that Colonel character," said Larry. "You know, the one who lived over near the river."

"Old man Cross," said Fatty. "He's still there. Chap with enormous feet."

"That's right," said Larry. "He was always donating stuff to charities and helping out various individuals who'd fallen on hard times. Ted's very much like him."

"Yeah! Ted's worth a knighthood at least and I'm sure he'll get it one day," said Fatty. "Well anyway, the agency dealing with Twit's rehabilitation contacted Ted and the good fellow set the ex-baker up into his trade again – that's what I meant before when I said he wasn't and he was. So, as we speak, Twit's probably on his way home from The Magnet Bakery to join his wife at their homestead."

"So, where are they living?"

They're renting a small shop – one with lodgings at the rear. Do you remember that woman, Kay?"

"Um... Kay! Kay who?"

"You know – she was a cousin of Twit's."

"Oh yes, I do remember. Kay was her surname wasn't it? She was into bazaars and rummage sales?"

"That's right," said Fatty. "Well, she'd kept in touch with Twit and his wife and when they returned she suggested they throw in their lot with her and open up a bits and pieces shop. You know, second-hand goods and jumble and assorted bric-a-brac. They found a suitable place and with the ladies running the shop and Twit making pastry at The Magnet they're on their way to better things. You never know, the Twits may be about to invest in their future accommodation because the house they're in is about to go on the market – at least that's what I'm told by my real estate associate."

Larry grinned at him. "Friends all over the place!"

Fatty nodded. "Got a few here and a few there. So, that's the story of Twit... how'd I do?"

Larry placed his glass on the nearby table. "Perfection as always, Fatty. Thanks for that and I must congratulate you on your near total recall. I'm wondering if I should take one or other of those courses you went on if they're that much help – my brain could do with a few structured exercises."

Fatty considered. "There are plenty around Larry, although I don't know how good they are but I think you could help yourself a lot in that respect if you found the right vehicle. The ones I endured were In-House and not available to the general public but you could cast around. One or two of my routines dealt with confidence and the Attaining of Goals as it were and... gosh, the professionals can put you up against almost impossible odds at times."

Larry looked at his watch. "We've got just a few minutes left. Can you tell me what you mean by that and then I think we'll definitely have to call it a day."

Fatty glanced at his watch as well. "I keep meaning to get a nice wall clock and put it in that space over the bookcase. Yes, I can fit in a nice little anecdote that will fill the bill and it concerns a course that was geared to making any participant, if they could last the distance, confident enough to stare down a tiger!"

"Sounds fascinating!"

Fatty leaned back and sipped his drink. "You'd better believe it, Larry. It took up four hours a day for two weeks and it consisted of know-how in the form of the latest information from psychologists, psychiatrists, doctors, and even philosophers who pooled their knowledge. The textbooks were kept on the premises and we'd study them with a tutor who clarified anything we couldn't follow. We were encouraged to ask, ask again, and then keep on asking to make sure we absorbed the material – all of it. As you know Larry, the culmination of study is often a thesis and in this case it consisted of a near impossible task to be undertaken."

"Sounds a bit Flemingish," Larry exclaimed. "I can see you in some old country manor with an enormous driveway leading up to a paneled door."

Fatty smiled over at him and added. "Great Danes by the hearth and a crackling fire. No, this took place in a large building in the heart of London – Curzon Street House actually."

"I think I know where that is," said Larry

"I venture to ask."

"Curzon Street!" Larry got up and bowed

"I think I went a little short on the soda, old chap."

"You speak for yourself. Now tell us about this thesis or whatever it was."

"It wasn't a thesis as such, Larry. It was a task." Fatty elaborated. "We each drew different ones and believe me; they're designed to make strong men quail. That's exactly what they're meant to do of course and it signifies that the impossible has to be at least attempted."

"I suppose it makes sense in a way."

"Yep. Now, hear this – my task was to infiltrate a board meeting and stay unchallenged for at least an hour despite the fact that I wasn't a member of the organization."

Larry's eyes widened. "Wow! I trust they were fair about it."

"Yep again! The tutors who compose the tasks are past masters and are adept at foreseeing anything that would make such an endeavour totally impossible. With that in mind, they chose a large organization that's spread around the country, which means the directors and associates came from all over the place. This gives the initiate a chance – small that it is, and I was told that one of the members will know there's an infiltrator and that made me realize just how thorough they are."

Fatty grabbed a few peanuts, munched them and continued. "The person in the know is detailed to verify that I passed the test. I've a feeling money changes hands when they search out someone for his or her cooperation and it's probably a substantial amount. What happens is that they track down the details of every board member and investigate each one by legitimate means. They learn as much as they can about them without being intrusive or doing anything illegal and then select the one they think wouldn't mind taking part in the subterfuge. It's harmless because the agenda is gone into and any meeting that might reveal closed secrets is avoided."

"Worked out to the letter of the law, eh?"

"Yes," said Fatty. "The professors usually get it right although one came apart some years ago when they were formulating the procedure. Apparently they picked a meeting that was a front for an operation by none other than the Secret Service."

"Military Intelligence?"

"Section 5! The members all had fictitious identities and backgrounds so the professors were fooled but they have to be congratulated for their skill in tracking down the details when things didn't look quite as they should although by that time it was too late and they were rumbled. Don't ask me how they did it except that they themselves engage in a lot of secret hanky-panky and are possibly as adept as the SS when conducting behind the scenes activity. Their prospect was exposed when a sharp-eyed agent "followed procedure" which involved a very thorough examination of his bona fides and once that happened he was a goner. This was before the professors adopted their policy of searching out a board member to get his or her help in advance."

"What was that particular meeting about, Fatty?"

Fatty looked askance. "Larry! You're asking me to reveal State Secrets. Where's that form – I'll have to get you to put your finger on the pad."

"I still want to know – I'm wearing my reporter's hat!"

Fatty answered again with as much shock on his face as he could muster. "That's even worse but as you're my friend I can indulge a little. Apparently the meeting was organized to snare a spy who had got wind of some major development during the cold war. He had to be caught as soon as possible and the meeting was staged to draw him into the net but that's all I managed to learn when I quizzed an old soldier in the Special Branch – but let's get back to my assignment. The stage was set, I was given the details, and one morning I set off to an address in Leicester. It was a large importing concern and, as I told you, it had people attending from centres all over the country as well as one or two from the continent. I was at the appointed venue fairly early to familiarize myself with the surroundings and to soak in a little of the atmosphere and then just before nine I entered the board-room of the local HQ with one item of intelligence – the man who was my overseer would be wearing red cufflinks in the shape of lion's heads."

Larry was hanging on to every word in case he missed something vital. "Were you nervous, Fatty?"

"Who? Me? Nervous? I was petrified!"

"You?"

"Just joking, Larry. No, I wasn't petrified and I think the best way to describe it is that I was so geared up to the challenge, I didn't have any time for petrification."

Larry laughed.

Fatty looked at him. "Yeah I know... but I'm not sure of the noun is so I'm improvising? What should it be?"

"You've caught me out there and I can't be bothered to pursue it."

"Never mind. I think the words to use would be Excitement and Trepidation. I enjoy doing anything connected with a course because I know I'll reap the benefits when it's completed and, because I'm involved completely with the solving of the problem, there's no room for petrification. Anyway, I entered the boardroom, pulled out a notebook, and started writing feverishly – pretending I was terribly engrossed so that no one would think of disturbing me. The board members were wandering around and forming into little groups to talk shop whilst I looked around for the man wearing the cuff links. I spotted him easily enough although he wasn't to be approached of course. He'd been given a description of me and must have been well versed because he didn't show any recognition at all. As far as he was concerned I was just another board member. I then began studying faces trying to pick out a person who was expressing a degree of shyness and I spotted one who looked a little old-fashioned if his dress-sense was anything to go by. He wore rather thick-lensed spectacles and wasn't moving around much. He seemed more inclined to read his briefing and not mix as the others were so I went up and introduced myself. I laid on the charm and he seemed relieved to have someone to converse with so I gabbled on about my trip down from the North and my wife and kids. I asked after his family and said that I had a feeling I'd met him before on a previous occasion. I'd picked the right man and, now that I had a friend, I started greeting other members as they passed by and acting as if I'd been coming to the meetings for years. One member looked at me rather suspiciously as if trying to recall my face so I immediately turned the tables and asked him in a joking manner how was it that I'd never seen him before."

I put it to him. "I can't remember your face. Perhaps you're an intruder!"

He laughed and assured me he wasn't and that he doesn't come to all that many get-togethers. The chairman entered and then came the tricky part, which made me sidle towards the exit and disappear because I was fairly sure that a verification procedure was about to take place. I pulled the door to and I waited outside listening for all I was worth to hear if someone mentioned my absence. No one did and that was probably because everyone was looking forward to morning tea and wanted to get on with the routine stuff. The chatter and general hubbub lessened and that gave me the idea that someone was talking to them and maybe checking identities. Then the voices started up again and I thought it was time to re-enter. I managed to slip back in just as everyone was sitting down and I mentally praised the astuteness of the task-setters because they'd chosen a meeting where everyone sat around in lounge chairs – there was no boardroom table. I rejoined my friend and sitting next to him I began talking very earnestly to cement the impression that I was thoroughly in my element."

Larry imagined being there in foreign territory with the ever-present threat of exposure. He was sure he wouldn't have been up to it.

Fatty went on. "The meeting began and the chairman read out the usual blather and there were some questions bandied around. I said very little because my mission was to last one hour without anyone catching on that I shouldn't be there and to help this along I pretended an intense interest in everything that was said. Occasionally I'd turn to my friend with the specs and ask him a question or two so as not to look too uninvolved and then the moment came, as it had to, when exposure was imminent."

"This'll be good," Larry remarked. "If as you say, exposure was imminent, I can't see you going down without a fight."

"I had to last out, Larry. Anyway, I'd noticed a member of some standing looking at me every now and again as if trying to place me and it became a little nerve-wracking because I was about five minutes away from success or failure."

Larry unfolded his legs and leaned forward. "Five little minutes! What a strain."

"Well, yes," came the answer. "When some general chatter started up I saw him grab hold of the registration list and make a beeline towards me. He glanced at his list of members, and then asked very politely if I could qualify my presence because he thought I might have been missed in the verification process."

"Just checking," he said, "I know most of the board members but I can't remember ticking you off."

Larry watched Fatty shift in his seat as the memory came back to him.

"My thoughts were scurrying around like rats in a maze Larry, and I decided there and then to take the dramatic route because drama can involve chaos and chaos makes time whizz by. I looked across the room and as I did so everyone heard a frantic cry for HELP! that sounded as if it was coming from outside. One guy jumped up from his chair and went over to a window to see what was happening. I got to my feet as well and, rushing over, I pushed a window up and exclaimed in horror as another call was plainly heard. I yelled out to the board members that I could see someone below under a ledge Half a dozen directors craned their necks out of various windows trying to see what the trouble was and there was I urging them on. 'Look over there... no, under that second ledge... his head's disappeared. No, there he is...' One guy was so eager to see what was happening that he almost fell out. I noticed the secretary leaving the room to look for the concierge so I pulled my head back in and told them that it may have been someone fooling around or something because I had just noticed a person jump down to the ground and make off. The result Larry was that the remaining few minutes of grace had passed and I was home!"

Larry laughed loudly at Fatty's story and then scrutinized him carefully.

"I think I know what happened."

"Do you now?"

"Yes, and I don't know how you can possess such nerve... but there you are. We're all different I suppose with our own special ways of overcoming life's obstacles but wouldn't that chap approaching you meant that you'd been sprung?"

"No!" answered Fatty, "Because the rules state that it has to be definite and that didn't happen. He didn't actually accuse me of being an imposter. I had a stroke of luck just then because the board member who had been about to quiz me concerning my right of attendance was called away to the 'phone and I took the opportunity to make myself scarce. As I went into the corridor someone followed me out and tapped me on the shoulder when I reached the lift. I turned and saw that it was the Man in the Know. He smiled, gave me the thumbs-up sign, and disappeared back into the boardroom before I fully realized what was happening."

Larry had pulled out his notebook again and was writing in it. "Fatty," he asked in his reporter role. "In case I may one day have to endure a test such as the one you so capably passed, perish the thought, have you any idea as to whether or not you were helped in any way?"

Fatty put his hands together and looked meditative. "There's a factor that can assist immensely in similar circumstances Larry, and it's a common one. In everyday life we habitually lessen our vigilance because vigilance is an exercise that takes time and trouble. Did you check all the electrical outlets this morning before you left your flat? Are you sure you put your car handbrake on when you parked? Is your purse deep down inside your pocket or at least somewhere that you can guarantee is safe? Today, someone somewhere... and I'll bet it's happening in Peterswood as we speak – someone will have lost his or her purse. It's either been filched from a pocket or a bag, because it wasn't placed sufficiently far down or perhaps it was left on a shop bench or some such place. I spent a few shifts behind the counter at the watch house and believe me Larry, the number of people who come in or telephone about missing property, is worthy of comment."

Larry scribbled some more notes as Fatty laid it on the line.

"Vigilance was missing from the boardroom as far as security was concerned and it helped me that day, Larry. As you know, rules are made for good reasons and when those rules are important such as those that involve security they need to be kept – and kept religiously. Lady Luck favoured me at the meeting because the desired routine wasn't adhered to as strictly as it ought to have been. It happens every day of course and in this case it was no big deal but it might have been if the presence of an outsider could have been detrimental to the proceedings."

Larry nodded and stopped writing. He passed over a scrap of paper with his number on it.

"It all makes sense Fatty, and now you've got me wondering. OK I'm sure I turned the tap off and I have my wallet... I think." He felt about his person and then relaxed. "Fatty, that's the key isn't it? We relax our vigilance until the next time something happens. If I got home and found I'd lost my wallet, I'd curse myself and ask why didn't I make completely sure it was safe and then when, or if it turned up, I'd be doubly vigilant about it for the next..."

Fatty grinned at him. "Few days… few weeks perhaps? The answer of course, is that if you place value or a degree of responsibility on something then you should never relax the vigilance and if you feel like doing so, just think of the consequences and expense and nuisance value that you'd have to endure if you let yourself down. The person responsible for security at the meeting I attended could have been hauled over the coals if my intrusion have been serious and yet, it would have been prevented simply by the following of rules."

"Absolutely!" Larry exclaimed. "That's a good lesson for anyone. Now tell me, Fatty just before I go... that Eurycles guy, the ventriloquist who was into all those State secrets. Did he eventually turn up? I remember you telling me that the Chief approached him but it fell through and that someone else was being hunted out to impart some lessons on ventriloquism."

"That's right, Larry. The Chief never lets people down as I've learnt over the years and when he found someone in London I jumped at the opportunity."

Larry reflected. "You also offered to pay for the lessons if Eurycles consented to giving you a few. Gosh, I'm getting good aren't I at remembering obscure snippets of information?"

Fatty was enthusiastic. "You bet you are, Larry. Yes, I offered to pay when Jenksy informed me about the professional artist he'd employed but he wouldn't hear of it. I insisted 'Yes' and he insisted 'No' so that was it but I think the funding was drawn from the pool that's stored up to fund rewards and other expenses borne by the department. When you think of it, the help that the police received from all of us would no doubt be a legitimate reason for a reward or "payment of expenses wouldn't it?

Larry nodded in agreement. "So it was well worth it?"

"Yes," answered Fatty. "I benefitted immensely from the lessons supplied by a top artist and they've helped me in many a situation such as the one I've just mentioned. What I did there was far more difficult than sitting inside a dairy and making a moo come from a model cow or getting a stuffed duck to quack because I had to make my voice sound as if it was coming from outside and quite far away which is a tad more difficult. As for Eurycles. No, he didn't turn up anywhere handy unfortunately. The Chief tracked him to Southampton but the fellow wasn't able to hang around because he was off back to the Continent. No doubt he packed the houses over there but I've no idea where he is now although I'm sure Jenksy would because the "Big E" was once moonlighting for the Secret Service as you well know."

Larry rose and picked up a few peanuts from the floor. He yawned, brushed himself down, and then looked over at Fatty.

"Fatty, that's it. Thanks awfully for your time."

Fatty got up too. "Larry, there's more to come and it's been enjoyable reliving old memories... even the sad ones."

Smiling warmly at each other, they shook hands and with Fatty leading the way, they walked out into the cooler reception area. They could hear the news being relayed very faintly from the BBC as Fatty went over and switched off the radio. Larry looked around once more and then in a very satisfied frame of mind, he opened the door.

"...'bye, Fatty."

Fatty was dialing a number on the telephone. He grinned and waved.

"See ya, Larry – it's been great old buddy and I'll look forward to mañana. If something unexpected comes up I'll give you a ring, otherwise I'll see you when I see you."

Larry left the office, walked down the stairs, and passed through the outer door into the street. It was quieter now. The dusk had brought a little chilliness with it and the sun was slowly dropping behind the rooftops. A couple of birds flew by and fluttered up to perch on the distant clock tower, which showed almost ten minutes past six. Buttoning up his jacket, the reporter for the Gazette crossed the road, made his way round the corner, and carried on down the High Street.

THE END