The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (17 page)

‘Or a
Master of High Magick,’ said the cardinal. Mr Bell groaned once more. ‘And what
would a High Master — or indeed a High Priestess — want with them?’

Cardinal
Cox slapped his hands together. ‘They would certainly be a witch’s dream,’ said
he. ‘If a High Priestess possessed all four, there is no telling what terrible
witcheries she might perform. You return them to their rightful owners, old
fellow-me-lad, and think no more about it.’

‘Yes,’
agreed Mr Bell. ‘I will do that.’

Cardinal
Cox gave Cameron Bell the very queerest of looks.
‘Exactly
from where
did
you acquire these?’ he asked.

‘From
a witch,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘And
she let you take them from her? That I find unlikely.’

‘She
fled,’ said Mr Bell.

‘Fled
leaving these?’ Cardinal Cox did shakings of the head. ‘Now that I find very
hard to believe. Indeed, indeed.’

‘It
is a mystery, to be sure,’ said Mr Bell. ‘I followed her into a house that had
but a single entrance. I searched it high and low but she was not there.’

‘The
house was utterly deserted?’

‘There
was a child,’ said Mr Bell, ‘but she ran away. ‘A child and she ran away?’ And
the cardinal laughed.

‘That
was no child, you foolish man — that was your witch employing her evil craft.’

‘Oh,
surely not,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘This
child, did she inspire pity from you?’

Cameron
Bell simply nodded.

‘Then
she had you fooled. She tricked you for reasons of her own.

‘I
have the reliquaries,’ said the detective, still fanning away with a will.

‘And
that puzzles me. What of the witch’s familiar?’

‘Her
what?’
asked Cameron Bell.

‘Her
familiar — every witch has one to serve her and obey her evil commands, the
spirit of a demon trapped inside an animal by the witch.’

‘An
animal?’ asked Cameron Bell, a terrible coldness entering into his voice.

‘Certainly.
A rat, a cat or some similar creature, normal without yet fearsome within.
Beware the witch’s familiar, my old friend.’

‘A
rat?’ murmured Cameron Bell. ‘A cat. Perhaps … a monkey?’

‘Certainly
a monkey. Indeed, indeed, indeed.’

‘Oh
my dear dead father, too,’ cried Mr Cameron Bell. ‘I have done a terrible
thing. I must be going now. Farewell. Farewell.’

With
fear upon his face, the great detective snatched up the reliquaries and made
away from the smoke-shrouded room at the very greatest of speeds.

16

yon
House slumbered in sunlight.

An
uneasy slumber, this, however, for loud were the sounds of industry that
issued from the rear of the ancient pile.

Mr
Cameron Bell had engaged a hansom cab. Not the cab of the previous evening,
which he had ‘borrowed’ from its gin-soaked driver and returned to its rank
after dropping Darwin home. This was another cab with quite a different
driver.

This
driver, who smelled deliciously of bacon — having a wife who knew the value of
a good breakfast — dropped Mr Bell off before the gates of Syon House, accepted
his fare and went upon his way whistling that popular music hall tune ‘A Carrot
Is as Close as a Rabbit Gets to a Diamond’.
[11]

Mr
Bell did peepings through the big front gates. Beyond the newly planted groves
of banana trees, a landau stood before the main entrance to the great house.
The landau of Miss Lavinia Dharkstorrm.

Mr
Bell did scratchings of the chin. Perhaps he was not too late. Perhaps he could
rescue Darwin from the evil witch and her sinister familiar. Catching them
unawares would be the order of the day.

Mr
Bell ambled away to find a side-alley where he might scale one of the high
surrounding walls of Syon House unseen.

As he
ambled he cursed unto himself ‘This is all
my
fault,’ he muttered. ‘My
carelessness, my thoughtlessness, my overconfidence, all have brought me to
this pretty pass and put the life of my innocent companion in dreadful danger.’
Mr Bell paused in his soliloquy whilst he ambled on. ‘All right,’ he continued,
‘not wholly
innocent,
I suppose. Our partnership has been fraught with
certain difficulties in that I do all the work and he does all the loafing
about. And complains every time I need him for some special undercover assignment.
Is it
really
too much to expect a monkey to impersonate a monkey?’

Mr
Bell stopped and considered the wall. Much too high, it was.

‘And
how he has prospered,’ the detective continued as he moved onwards. ‘I do not
possess a house as swank as this one, and
I
do all of the work.’

Mr
Bell now stopped once more. ‘I have a good mind just to leave him to it,’ he
said. ‘The more I think about it, the more I become convinced that it is
not
my fault at all. If I climb a wall at the risk of my health and then
confront that dreadful harpy, I might well end up dead. Better the loss of a
mere monkey, I am thinking. Better I return these reliquaries to their rightful
owners—’ he shook the oversized reticule ‘—accept all the reward money and, if
I deem it necessary, at some time in the future team up with another partner. A
man this time, and
not
a monkey.’

Mr
Bell now ceased his ambling perambulations. ‘My God!’ said he. ‘Did I really
just say all
that?
Shame on me, for I am a terrible person. Of course I
must rescue Darwin. Of course I must do what is right.’

And
with that said he found that he had come to a place where the wall had
partially fallen.

‘All
right, Darwin,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Help is close at hand.’

With
much scrambling, which precipitated no small degree of linen-suit besmerchment
and an unfortunate seat-of-trouser tearing which brought a pleasant though
unasked-for ventilation to Mr Bell’s meaty loins, the great detective cleared
the wall and dropped down into the garden.

The
sounds of industry were now very loud in the ears of Mr Bell. Ears which, had
they been located upon the head of an ordinary man, would have had between them
a hangover of epic proportion. But it did have to be said that Cameron Bell was
no
ordinary
man.

He
straightened. his apparel, dusted himself down as best as he could and mooched
in the direction of the loud industrial clamour.

It
was emanating from the all-but-completed Bananary.

Several
sturdy artisans laboured upon this monstrosity. Cameron Bell had only been
offered a brief glance at the plans. In real life and in the brightest of
sunshine, it was far worse than he could ever have possibly imagined. It bulged
in places where a glass-house should not and shunned all architectural
conventions. Mr Bell, a man who harboured a strong appreciation for the
classics in all their forms, in music, in art and in architecture, was rightly
appalled.

The
Bananary had him feeling faint.

‘Good
morning to you, guv’nor,’ said a sturdy artisan as Mr Bell approached. ‘Coming
on a treat, is she not?’

Mr
Bell did shakings of the head. ‘It is not really to my personal taste,’ said
he.

‘Everyone
is entitled to their opinion,’ said the artisan, studying the very plan that Mr
Bell had once briefly glanced over.

‘There
is an old adage,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘that some things
are
better than
other things and some people capable of making the distinction.’

‘Whatever
you say,’ said the artisan, engrossing himself in the plan.

‘Have
you seen your master this morning?’ asked Mr Cameron Bell.

‘Never
seen him at all,’ said the artisan of sturdiness. ‘Never even met him, as it
happens. Seen his monkey often enough, but never met the master.’

Mr
Bell nodded thoughtfully. So even those who worked for Darwin did not know that
he owned Syon House.
A wise monkey indeed,
thought Cameron Bell.

‘Where
would the master and his monkey be found at this time of the day?’ he enquired.

‘In
the drawing room beyond the kitchen. Some creepy woman came to visit. We were
having our tea as working men rightfully should and she shooed us back to our
labours.’

‘Through
that door there?’ Mr Bell looked towards the indicated door.

The
artisan nodded.

‘Thank
you,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘One last question —when do you expect to have the
Bananary finished?’

‘By
lunchtime,’ said the artisan. ‘It took a bit longer than anticipated — things
didn’t fit as they should have.’

Mr
Bell reached towards the plan, tugged it from the artisan’s fingers and turned
it around. ‘I will not mention it if you won’t,’ he said, ‘but you have built
it upside down.’

The great
kitchen was very much as Mr Bell remembered it. Perhaps just a little untidier
than it had once been and somewhat overcrowded by potted banana trees.

I do
wish he would vary his diet,
thought Cameron Bell as he drew out his
ray gun and set its charge to ‘maximum’.
If I were never to see or hear
about another banana, it would in no way lessen the quality of my life.

Mr
Bell approached the door that led to the drawing room. He eased it open just a
crack and peered into what lay beyond.

He
viewed a room of couches and divans, of antique tables and tall jardinières. A
Venusian carpet hugged a floor of polished oak and the walls were frescoed in
the prettiest pastels. The curtains of this room were drawn, but modern
electric torchères lit it with the brightness of the day.

Alone
upon a couch sat Lavinia Dharkstorrm, reading a copy of
The Times.
She
did not look up as Cameron Bell, with gun held high, came creeping into the
room.

‘I
trust you have brought my reliquaries,’ said the High Priestess. And then she
neatly folded her newspaper and smiled up at Cameron Bell. ‘Oh, do put away
that silly pistol,’ she said. ‘Have you no manners? Pointing
that
at a
woman!’

‘Where
is Darwin?’ asked Cameron Bell. ‘If you have harmed him, I will surely kill
you.’

‘Brave
talk indeed.’ Lavinia Dharkstorrm cocked her head upon one side. She was
certainly a most attractive woman. And those mauve eyes were a most enchanting
sight. ‘You allude of course to your pet monkey, who calls himself Humphrey
Banana,’ said she. ‘Such a clever little thing he is. And so very talkative. He
had much to say for himself when we pushed him into the suitcase.’

‘Release
him immediately!’ the detective demanded. ‘I have never been forced to kill a
woman but I will do it now with little force required.’

Miss
Lavinia Dharkstorrm wagged a finger. ‘I could not return him to you at this
moment even if I chose to.’ She pulled from her bodice a silver pocket watch.
‘Ah, the ten o’clock flight,’ she said. ‘What times we live in — such
punctuality. Your pet is even now on his way to Mars.’

‘Then
it is the end for you,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Would you care for me to pause
before your execution, that you might recommend yourself to your Maker and
offer some apologies for the evil life you have led?’

‘No,
no, no,’ said Lavinia Dharkstorrm. ‘That is not the way it will be. I am booked
aboard tomorrow’s flight to Mars. If I do not arrive unscathed in the Martian
terminal and in
your
company, a hideous fate awaits your little friend.
A most prolonged period of torture during which pieces of his flesh will be
removed and then posted to you. Eventually you should have enough to make
yourself a nice pair of monkey-skin gloves.’

Mr
Bell took two steps forwards. Never before had he known a time when he had
wished so much to kill a human being.

‘You
will now return the three reliquaries to me and upon Mars you will seek and
find the fourth. When I have all four in my possession, you will have your
monkey. What say you to this?’