The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (41 page)

‘I
feel,’ said Lord Brentford, ‘that if everything goes according to plan, if the
building is constructed on time and all correctly assembled within, this should
be the greatest exhibition that any of the worlds has ever known. Thousands
come daily just to view the construction. When it is opened, I am confident
that millions will attend.’

Leah
nodded her beautiful head, her long, slim fingers toying with her cocktail
glass. ‘Might I ask a question?’ she enquired.

‘Ask
anything, my dear, ask anything.’

‘As
you are of course aware, I was present at your al fresco luncheon when Queen
Victoria gave the venture her approval. I now know that even before this time
you had foundries working upon the cast-iron frameworks of the building—’

‘Had
to get ahead,’ said Lord Brentford, ‘otherwise it would not be ready on time.’

‘I
recall well,’ said Leah, ‘that you told Her Majesty that the Crown would not be
expected to pay a penny towards this enterprise.’

‘Ah,’
said Lord Brentford.

‘Then
might I ask,’ said Leah, ‘just where the money is coming from to finance this
enormous venture?’

‘Ah,’
said Lord Brentford once more.

‘Ah,’ said Mr
Caracticus Crawford. ‘An illusion such as that will not come cheap.’

‘A
labourer is worthy of his hire,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I believe the colonials
have a phrase — “If peanuts are the remuneration, then one can only expect to
gain the employment of simians,” or something similar.’

‘Quite
so,’ said Mr Crawford. ‘An illusion of this magnitude will cost you fifty
guineas.’

‘Forty,’
said Mr Bell.

‘Forty-five,’
said Mr Crawford.

‘Pounds
then, not guineas.’

Palms
were spat upon and then smacked hard together. ‘It must be ready and crated by
next Thursday evening,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘Next
Thursday evening? Only a week away? That is an outrageous demand!’

‘Shall
we say guineas, then, instead of pounds?’ Palms once more received spit and
were slapped together. Mr Bell smiled and went upon his way.

Days went on
their way and time passed by. Days passed into a week and then were gone. Chief
Inspector Case was quite excited.

‘You
see
this,
Bell,’ he said with glee and opened up his shirt.

Cameron
Bell had been standing at the window of the chief inspector’s office, viewing
London going about its business. Several airships slowly crossed the sky, huge sections
of cast iron slung beneath them, bound for the Mall and the halls of the Grand
Exposition.

‘That
building is coming on a storm,’ said Mr Bell, and, turning, added, ‘Oh my dear
dead mother.’

Chief
Inspector Case was stripped to the waist but appeared to be sporting the breast-plate
of a Roman legionnaire.

‘Dare
I guess that you have recently discovered yourself to be the reincarnation of
Nero?’ said Mr Bell.

‘Not
one bit of it.’ Chief Inspector Case did tappings at his breast-plate. ‘The
very latest thing in Metropolitan Police issue, this is. It is called a
bullet—proof vest.’

‘Ha,’
said Cameron Bell, drawing out his ray gun. ‘Shall we put it to the test?’

‘For
the love of God, no!’ cried Chief Inspector Case. ‘It is only for emergencies.

‘And
what if it fails in emergencies for lack of adequate testing?’

‘Shall
we test it on a constable?’

Cameron
Bell shrugged shoulders. ‘If you do the shooting. Answering to the charge of
murder is something I would only wish to do in the event of having shot an
officer of a higher rank.’

‘Let
us call in Williams,’ said Chief Inspector Case. ‘It is he who will be
accompanying us to the Tower of London tomorrow night.’

‘Williams
being the knock-kneed constable with the rounded shoulders and the advanced
acne?’

‘He’s
very
willing,’ said Chief Inspector Case.

‘Then
why not call him in.’

Williams
was duly summonsed and matters explained to him.

‘Certainly
not!’ said Williams. ‘Do I appear such a fool?’

‘I
will fire from right across the room,’ said Chief Inspector Case.

‘And
probably shoot me in the head,’ said Constable Williams. ‘Why not prop the
bullet-proof vest upon your chair and we’ll all take pot-shots at it?’

‘Do
you have a gun, then, Williams?’ asked Cameron Bell.

‘The
chief inspector said—’ The lad paused as the chief inspector shook his head.
‘Yes, I
do
have a gun,’ said Williams in a guilty tone.

Cameron
Bell sighed sadly. The term ‘friendly fire’ had recently passed into common
usage. It sent large shivers up the spine of Mr Bell.

Chief
Inspector Case de-bullet-proof-vested himself and placed the protective garment
upright on his chair. He stepped back and winked at Cameron Bell. ‘Let us draw
out our pistols like those cow chaps of America,’ he said. ‘Go for your gun.

Cameron
Bell drew out his ray gun.

Williams
unsheathed something that resembled a miniature cannon.

Chief
Inspector Case brought forth his old service revolver.

And
the three men drew down fire on the bullet-proof vest.

The ambulance
arrived quite soon with the bell on its roof ringing loudly. The blood-stained
Williams was stretchered away in the very nick of time.

‘Worked
better than might have been reasonably expected,’ said Chief Inspector Case,
tapping at the scarcely dented bullet-proof vest on his chair. ‘Shame about the
ricochet, though. Poor Williams.’

‘All
in a good cause,’ said Cameron Bell, trying very hard not to smirk.

39

n
Thursday the twelfth of September at eight o’clock in the evening, Mr Cameron
Bell parted with forty-five guineas.

He
was very sad to see those guineas go, but understood that it was all in a good
cause. For if one sought to match wits with the Masked Shadow, a veritable
demon in human form for whom no godless atrocity went unindulged in, it was
better to do it with a trick or two up one’s sleeve.

Mr
Bell was loaned the use of a horse and cart by Mr Crawford, which he returned
first thing the next morning. The horse looked chipper, for it had had a sleep.
Mr Bell looked much the worse for wear, however, for he had been hard at work
all night.

‘You
constructed it all by yourself!‘ said Mr Crawford as he shook the hand of Mr
Bell.

‘Of
necessity,’ said that man. ‘I trust one day our paths will cross again.’

‘I am
presently engaged in creating a cannon that can hurl a lady at least halfway
across Lake Windermere,’ said Mr Crawford.

‘The
best of luck with
that,’
said Cameron Bell.

Mr Bell returned
to his garret and got his head down for a nap. At six he rose, packed certain
items into his Gladstone bag, armed himself with his ray gun and sword-stick
and, dressed in his finest hunting tweeds, set out for Scotland Yard.

Chief Inspector
Case was having a very bad day. His estranged wife had paid him a visit at his
office and berated him in a voice so loud as to be heard by his superiors. Be
they even three floors up above.

She
had cursed the chief inspector for his thoughtlessness and failure to show her
affection. Criticised his manhood and extolled that of Señor David Voice, the
London-tram-conductor-turned-architect, with whom she was presently enjoying
‘love unsullied’. She concluded her diatribe with the hope that her
soon-to-be-ex-husband would encounter the Masked Shadow at the earliest
eventuality and that said Masked Shadow would thrust a weapon of considerable
magnitude into an area of the chief inspector’s lower regions where ‘shineth
not the sun’. She had then flung things of his all around his office.

And
with that said and done, she had left with a slam of the door.

Mr
Bell passed the indignant woman on the stairs and came immediately to the
conclusion that, should her present liaison with the dashing Señor Voice come
to a bitter end, he would
not
be offering the turbulent woman his
shoulder to cry upon.

‘It
will serve her right,’ said Chief Inspector Case to Cameron Bell, upon his
arrival at the most dishevelled office.

‘I
shall make sure we are divorced before I accept my knighthood. Let’s see how
she likes
that!’

‘Bravo,’
said Mr Cameron Bell. ‘Are you all prepared for tonight?’

The
chief inspector tapped at his chest, evoking a dull metallic clang. ‘And I have
my trusty service revolver, a pair of handcuffs, some sandwiches and a Thermos
flask of tea.’

‘Most
thorough,’ said Cameron Bell, who had not quite given up hope that he would be
the only one armed. ‘And the keys to the Jewel Room, so we might get in?’

‘Well,
bother me,’ said the chief inspector. ‘I knew I’d forgotten something.’ And
then he patted his trouser pocket. ‘Only joking,’ he said. ‘I have a full set
of keys.’

‘You
are the very acme of wit,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘And you have another constable,
to replace the one you shot the other day?’

‘I
have it down in the accident book that he shot himself,’ said the chief
inspector. ‘I took the liberty of forging your signature as a witness.’

‘Very
thorough,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Then let us gather your latest constable and
head for the Tower of London.’

The Tower of
London squatted four-square with its feet dug into the capital. No more solid
and beastly a building ever stood by the side of the River Thames. The
wing-clipped ravens muttered ‘nevermore’ as ravens will always do when given
half a chance. The ghost of Anne Boleyn walked the Bloody Tower with her head
tucked underneath her arm. Beef-eating guardians sat in their wardrooms smoking
cigarettes and discussing the legs of music hall girls. The full moon rose
high in a starry sky and cast deep shadows about the ancient structure.

A
hansom dropped the three bold enforcers of the nation’s law before the big
imposing doors to the sinister building.

‘I
don’t like it here,’ said Constable Reekie. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we
came back in the morning.’

Cameron
Bell shook a head behatted by a tweed deerstalker. ‘Tonight must be the
night,’ said he. ‘Please be alert and let’s not shoot each other.’

After
a degree of key confusion, the chief inspector unlocked a big imposing door and
the three men slipped into darkness.

‘Best
lock it again,’ said Cameron Bell.

The
chief inspector eventually found the key once more.

They
crept across the courtyards and down stone lanes, at last to arrive at the
Jewel House.

‘You
will stand outside the door to the Jewel House, ‘Cameron Bell told the
trembling Constable Reekie. ‘Chief Inspector Case and I will lock ourselves
inside and lie in hiding.’

‘
What?’
gasped Constable Reekie. ‘The Masked Shadow will most certainly carry me
off to his cave of horror and perform hideous deeds upon my young and tender
person.’

‘Whose
idea was it for you to join the police force?’ asked Chief Inspector Case of
the babbling boy.

‘My
mother’s,’ said Constable Reekie. ‘She told me that nice girls like a man in
uniform.’

‘Happily
not only
nice
girls,’ said the chief inspector, recalling happier times
when he was still young and still in a smart uniform. ‘Go and find somewhere to
hide, lad — we’ll call you if we need you.

‘Would
that be after you have the handcuffs on him?’

‘Just
go and hide,’ said Chief Inspector Case.

The
constable scuttled away with speed while Chief Inspector Case located the key
to the Jewel Room door.