Chapter 4

In which Sid horns in and grabs the wrong end of the giggle stick with distressing consequences.

I really have to hand it to Mrs. Brown-by the end of our session, there is no other way that it will get there. What a performer! If sex is food and drink to her it is no surprise that half the population of the world is starving. When I limp round to my photographer china, I hardly have the strength to push the film through his letterbox. At least, I tell myself, I have done my bit as well as Mr. Brown's. The only thing that can go wrong is if the pictures don't come out. I banged them off in a hurry and I couldn't see what I was aiming at. Still, there will be something there and that should impress Sid if no one else. I think I can safely say that I have proved my ability to undertake further assignments.

The next day drags by and is not helped by Sid being in a diabolical mood because he has bashed his nut on something and is wandering about with sticking plaster all over his mug. He is not amused when I comment on the improvement and my own state of mind is not eased when my mate rings up and says that he will be pushed to get the photos to me by six. I have not told Sid about the caper because I want it to come as a complete surprise to him.

Six o'clock draws near and I pray that Mr. Brown is late. Sid is only hanging on because he is waiting for the rubber to open and is having big problems with the kiddies' picture crossword he is doing.

'I don't know how they expect kids to do this,' he says.

'Lynx has four letters, doesn't it?'

I look over his shoulder. 'That's cat,' I say. 'That makes four across: cow and-'

'All right, all right, smart Alec!' says Sid. 'I can do it. It's just that they ought to get some half way decent drawings, that's all. It doesn't look like a cat with those ears. If you took that out and showed it to six kiddies in the street, they'd say lynx every time.'

"They'd say, piss off, grandad, every time,' I tell him. 'What have you got for four across? Oh Sid! It's no good squeezing calf in if there's only three spaces.'

"They could have made a mistake,' says Sid. 'I was trying to give the perisher the benefit of the doubt, wasn't I?'

It is at this instructive moment that there is a sharp tap on the door. I hope to see the outline of my mate with the photos but it is the familiar bulk of Mr. Brown that eases into the office. He is looking as mean as a couple of Green Shield stamps in the middle of a collecting plate and for a horrible moment I fear that he may have cocoed that I was filing my ferret in his old lady's pleasure trove. I can just imagine him squeezing my windpipe until it could hide behind a piece of spaghetti.

'Well?' he says menacingly. It is obvious that he does not go a bundle on small talk. The BBC will have to look elsewhere for someone to introduce Children's Choice.

'All's well with the Noggett Investigation Bureau,' says Sid launching smoothly into his patter and raising his large magnifying glass to his eye in a gesture of greeting. Unfortunately, he has been using it as an ashtray and therefore tips ash all down the front of his whistle.

"This is for me, Sid,' I say hurriedly. 'I've been handling Mr. Brown's wife-I mean, easel' I shriek the last three words as Mr. Brown's eyes blaze and his teeth grind with a noise like someone dropping ice cubes into a glass of warm water.

'Where is the evidence?' hisses my client. 'Does this man have it?'

'Is that one question or two?' says Sid.

"The photos should be here any minute,' I say trying to get a little professional cool into my voice. 'Would you like to take a seat, Mr. Brown?'

'I'm not interested in sitting!' roars Brown. 'I want results!' So saying, he drives his fist down and turns one of the office chairs into instant firewood.

'What is this?' says Sid, taking a swift step back towards the window.

'A delicate matter which I thought it favourite to attend to myself,' I say, coming into my own-well, we all do sometimes, don't we? 'This gentleman had reason to believe that his wife was deceiving him and hired us to obtain the evidence that would prove this superstition correct.'

'Where is it?' snarls Mr. Brown. 'I'm a busy man. I pay for results. The sooner I can be separated from this jezebel the better!'

'Jezebel?' says Sid. 'That's a pretty name. You don't hear much of it these days, do you? Except that old Frankie Lane song. I used to reckon that. "Jezeb-e-el, Jez-e-e-eb-e-e-e".'

'Shut up!' For a moment I think that Mr. Brown is going to throw a fit. I can see his Teds and half an inch of gum line. 'I poured my life into that woman and she reduces me to this! Consorting with two illiterates!'

'Watch it!' Sid draws himself up to his full height. 'If I knew what that meant, I could be offended.'

Brown buries his face in his hands. 'If I could get to grips with one of them I'd kill him. Smash him to a shape less pulp! Is there a court in the country that would convict me?'

'I shouldn't reckon so, Squire,' says Sid soothingly. 'You wouldn't fancy a drink would you? It's from a machine but the Bovril's not bad if you like mint tea.'

I am getting worried about the non-appearance of the photographs. Mr. Brown is clearly in an edgy mood and I would hate him to start dishing out the GBH in our direction. I also want to show Sid that I can bring the case to a nice smooth finale. Where are-? Oh good. Not a moment too soon either. I advance towards the bloke with the envelope as he comes through the door but am pushed aside by Sid.

'Mr. Lea?' says the bloke as Sid grabs the goodies.

They're for me,' says Sid grandly. "These are the photographs I take it? Good. Right Mr. Brown. I think you'll find you have everything you need here. Trust in NIB. I won't let you down.'

'Wait a minute, Sid!' I squawk. 'I-'

'Step aside Timothy,' says Sid moving to the desk. 'I'll handle this.'

'But Sid-'

'Not another word!' Sid holds one of his digits under my hooter and turns to Brown who is standing at his elbow like a bulldog knowing that it is feeding time. 'Excuse the impetuosity of my young assistant, Mr. Brown. He gets carried away sometimes.'

'Get on with it!' grunts Brown. He grabs the side of Sid's desk and I could swear that the metal buckles.

'Hang on a minute,' says the bloke who brought the photos.

'Please!' says Sid, holding up his hand. 'This is no time for dilly dallying and idle chitchat. If the subject is of any importance we can discuss it later. At the moment there is work to be done. Mr. Brown wishes to see the photographs.'

"That's what I meant,' says the bloke moving behind Brown and shaking his head violently from side to side. 'If I were you, I wouldn't-'

'Silence!' barks Sid. 'Enough! I don't know what the profession is coming to when the work of a senior sleuth is so interrupted by underlings.'

Sid spits over the front of Brown's jacket when he says senior sleuth, and there is a further interruption while it is wiped off with one of the curtains, thus making the stain permanent and pulling down the curtain rail.

'I am beginning to lose my patience!' roars Brown. 'Is it your intention to show me these photographs or is it not?'

'It is,' says Sid. 'Definitely and inconverse-uncon-incunt-definitely.'

While what might be described as a breathless hush falls over the room without making a sound, Sid beams into Brown's impassive face and rips open the envelope. The bloke who brought the photographs starts to edge towards the door.

'Here we are, chief,' says Sid. 'You pay for results and we provide 'em. He whips out the glossy ten-by-eights and slaps them down on the desk. Mr. Brown cranes forward with Sid and me on either side of him.

Top of the pile is an unflattering portrait of a wild-eyed Sid sitting up in bed and pointing towards the camera. Mrs. Brown can be clearly recognized in semiprofile, an angle that flatters her cracking set of top bollocks. She looks much nicer than Sid. Mr. Brown looks from the photograph to Sid and then back to the photograph again. It is clear that a thought is occurring to him.

'Y-o-o-u-u-u!'

The bloke who brought the photographs starts running and I follow him through the door a close second. If there is going to be unpleasantness I wish to be no part of it.