The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (52 page)

The
chief inspector and the consulting detective were led to the vaults by a clerk
who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jacob Marley out of Charles Dickens’s
A
Christmas Carol.

‘It’s
sometimes more of a blessing than a curse,’ he said to Cameron Bell.

‘Working
at the Bank of England?’ the detective asked.

‘Looking
like one of Mr Dickens’s characters. People must mention it all the time that
you look like Mr Pickwick.’

‘Never,
ever,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Is this the vault in question?’

The
clerk nodded, ‘umbly.
[23]

Cameron
Bell examined the door. ‘No evidence at all of forced entry,’ he said. And he
raised an eyebrow at the clerk who resembled Jacob Marley.

‘Don’t
look at
me,’
said the fellow. ‘I’m not in charge of the keys.’

Chief
Inspector Case called to a burly guard. ‘Open her up, please, if you will,’ he
said.

The
burly guard went about his business in a manner both slow and sedate, dragged
upon the enormous door and waved Mr Bell and the chief inspector in.

Chief
Inspector Case lit a gas mantle.

Cameron
Bell said, ‘Oh my dear dead mother.’

‘Certainly
makes you think, does it not?’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘I mean, what kind of
criminal mastermind steals three million pounds’ worth of gold from the Bank of
England
and
replaces it with a pile of old rubbish? I ask you.’

Cameron
Bell beheld the pile of old rubbish. For such indeed it was, being comprised of
numerous mouldy bananas, a bedpan and other sundry items.

Mr
Bell picked up a small pair of trousers with a strange snood affair at the
rear.

‘Perhaps
they tunnelled in somewhere,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Why are you grinning
like
that,
Mr Bell?’

And
Mr Bell
was
grinning, for he had come to a most surprising — but wholly
accurate — conclusion regarding precisely how this had been done.

‘Might
I ask,’ said he, ‘who owned the gold that was taken?’

‘The
foundries and builders and suchlike who constructed the Grand Exposition. It
was all built at Lord Brentford’s expense, you know.’

‘Bravo,
Darwin,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.

‘What
did you say?’ asked Chief Inspector Case.

‘Nothing,’
said Cameron Bell.

‘So
what do you propose to do now?’

‘Nothing,’
said Cameron Bell.

‘Nothing?’
asked
Chief Inspector Case.

‘Nothing
at all,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘For now. We will solve this crime in January next
year.

‘But
this is the Crime of the Century!’ protested the chief inspector.

‘And
as you so rightly said, you cannot have two Crimes of the Century in the same
century, so I propose that we leave this vault and quietly close the door
behind us. Then you can take all the credit for solving it
next
year.
When it will be the Crime of the Coming Century.’

‘Well,
blow me down,’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘Do you think it will earn me another
knighthood?’

‘You
will probably receive the Order of the Garter.’

Chief
Inspector Case was grinning now. ‘Let me buy you lunch, Mr Bell,’ he said.

Darwin and Lord
Brentford stood within the vast and echoing atrium of the Grand Exposition,
where the gigantic arched roof of glass dwindled into great distances, an
ornate fountain played and five thousand seats were arrayed before the stage of
the concert hall.

‘It
is all complete now,’ said Lord Brentford. Darwin looked up at his lordship,
then reached up and clasped him by the hand.

‘It
is a wonderful thing,’ said Darwin. ‘A beautiful thing. I hope that it is
everything you wished for and that it becomes a symbol of peace between the
planets.’

Lord
Brentford looked down at his monkey butler. ‘This could not have come to pass
had it not been for you,’ he said. ‘I would be in my grave now and this might
never have happened.’

‘I am
very happy I could help,’ said Darwin.

Lord
Brentford gave the little hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Let me take you to lunch,’ he
said, ‘at Patrick’s Flaming Chickens.’

‘Might
I have a chair to sit on this time?’ Darwin asked.

‘A
chair with cushions and a bottle of bubbly to share between just the two of
us?’

‘I
would like that very much,’ said Darwin.

50

very
passing day brought news of the Wonders of the Worlds. The papers spoke of very
little else. The three glazed halls were now complete and marvels moved by
land and sea and air towards the Empire’s heart.

Nightly
the music halls sounded with songs about the Grand Exposition. The one crooned
by ‘Topical’ Ted McCready was typical of their kind.

WON’T IT BE GRAND AT
THE GRAND

EXPOSITION?

From India, I hear, there comes an automated
elephant

That can carry hunters on a grand shikar.

From China there comes china

And from South of Carolina

A set of clockwork minstrels, most harmonious to
hear.

The Czar of all the Russias sends an animated egg

That can walk and talk and dance and sing.

The Rajah of Beirut

Has sent a most surprising suit

That is sewn together from one hundred miles of
string.

From Africa, I’ve heard there comes a diamond

That’s easily the size of my old head.

Some umbrellas from Tibet

To keep you dry if it gets wet

Or a handy hat from Harrods, if you fancy that
instead.

Soooooooooooooooooooooo—

Won’t it be grand at the Grand Exposition?

Won’t there be wonders on view?

With every appliance

A marvel of science

And big bowls of Jovian stew.

Won’t there be things to amaze us?

And won’t there be plenty to do?

Yes, won’t it be grand at the Grand Exposition

If I’m going there with you.

Darwin
and Lord Brentford now attended daily, with his lordship directing the setting
up and installation of all the marvellous things.

On a
morning in late December, Darwin watched in considerable awe and trepidation as
an airship spanning a goodly portion of London sky arrived with a Martian spacecraft
slung beneath it. A rather spiffing spacecraft, this, all polished enamel and
burnished new chrome. A spacecraft that was named the
Marie Lloyd.

Darwin
shivered, for he knew that one day he would die aboard this spacecraft.

‘Mr
Rutherford’s time-ship,’ said Lord Brentford to his ape. ‘The very symbol of
England’s scientific prowess. How fitting that a ship of war should become a
ship of peace. Assuming that it works, of course. But that’s another matter.’

Darwin
looked on as roof sections slid aside upon hidden hydraulics and the
Marie
Lloyd
was lowered into the great glazed building.

‘A
special treat for you this afternoon, my boy.’ Lord Brentford patted Darwin on
his little hairy head. ‘The orchestra and chorus will be rehearsing Beethoven’s
Ninth Symphony under the baton of the Italian Master Arturo Toscanini. Small
invited audience. You’ll have a seat at the front.’

Darwin
knew little of classical music. It was mostly beyond his understanding, but
much of what he had heard, he liked. And some of what he had heard that he
liked had moved him very much.

It was a
well-dressed Darwin who at two that afternoon was to be found in the concert
hall of the Grand Exposition, standing proudly beside Lord Brentford as the
nobleman welcomed the specially invited audience.

Darwin
was pleasantly surprised by the arrival of his old friends Lord George Fox, his
wife Lady Ada and their son, the Honourable Connor. Darwin fell to the shaking
of Lord George’s hand and did not mind overmuch when young Connor gave his tail
a hearty tug.

Darwin
now saw many familiar faces and he recalled most ruefully where he had seen
them before. They had all been guests at Lord Brentford’s soirée on that
fateful night when the older Darwin had crashed the
Marie Lloyd
into the
Bananary.

When
all were seated and coughings concluded, Arturo Toscanini, in velvet tailcoat,
white tie, waistcoat and mittens (for it
was
December and there were
some problems with the heating), mounted the conductor’s rostrum and addressed
the audience.

‘Good
people,’ said he, in those Italian tones that set a fair lady’s heart all
a—flutter, ‘it is my deepest pleasure that we perform for you this afternoon —
the Glorious Ninth.’

The
orchestra numbered one hundred and twenty, the choir two hundred more, and as
the great conductor took up the baton and brought the orchestra into the first
movement, Darwin found
his
little heart a-fluttering.

Such
music he had never heard, nor had such music ever played in such a setting.

The
allegro
ma non troppo
of the first movement, in sonata form and played
pianissimo
above string tremolos, curled in orchestrated waves throughout the mighty
building, swirling towards the low bassoon that brought it to its close.

The
tears were already in Darwin’s eyes and he clutched the hand of Lord Brentford.

An hour and a
half later, folk drifted from the concert hall, mounted into their carriages
and were driven away up the Mall. Lord Brentford and Darwin emerged and Lord
Brentford said, ‘Words are not really sufficient to express it, are they,
Darwin, my boy?’

The
monkey butler shook his head. ‘I had no idea that such beauty could exist,’ he
replied.

‘Just
wait until you hear it again in a couple of weeks, when it opens the Grand
Exposition.’

‘A
couple of weeks?’ said Darwin wistfully. ‘I had not realised that it was quite
so soon.

And
yet it was. And as the two looked off along the Mall in the direction of
Buckingham Palace, they could see the arrival of high-sided Jovian cheese
wagons bearing their pungent cargoes towards the Hall of Jupiter where jolly
men from this swollen world were setting up their stalls.

‘Still
much to be done,’ said Lord Brentford, ‘and much more yet to arrive. We will
leave the installation of the Venusian exhibit until the very last minute.
Don’t want any accidents, or anything going wrong.

Darwin
nodded his hairy little head and trembled just a little. It would be a while
before he got over the Ninth, if indeed ever he did.

‘Cold,
boy?’ asked Lord Brentford. ‘It is rather nippy. Come up here inside me coat,
it’s nice and warm in there.’

Cameron Bell had
attended the concert, though Darwin had not seen him. The detective had hidden
himself away at the back of the hall and tried to picture how things would be
upon the opening night. A special royal box had been raised to the rear of the
concert hall and Mr Bell sat beneath this. There was much ado in the papers
about Mr Churchill’s ‘Ring of Steel’ that would protect the royal person, the
concert-goers and indeed the entire building from the unwelcome attentions of
the anarchists. Mr Churchill’s vigilance was nonpareil, the papers said, and
nothing whatsoever of evil intent would ever slip by him.

Cameron
Bell offered up a sigh to this statement. As he had managed to enter the
concert hall this afternoon without so much as showing his ticket.