victory they scratched their heads in awe.
'Well it's a neat bit of work, sir. A very neat bit,' said the superintendent. 'Especially considering as how you're a, well a . . .'
'Spasmo,' prompted Geoffrey.
'Yes, that's right,' the policeman replied. 'A disabled gentleman. I mean these two are well known to us. And very hard cases they are too. I wouldn't have wanted to face them if I had a shotgun. You done 'em with a bottle opener and a pot of coffee.'
'I think me being a spastic put them off guard,' said Geoffrey modestly.
'Yes, well, we could do with a few more like you on the force,' the superintendent replied. But he didn't really mean it. Impressed though he was, he would never have trusted a spastic with the famous tit helmet.
'I reckon the papers will go wild for this one when they hear,' DC Collingwood interjected.
'I'd really rather they didn't hear,' said Geoffrey. 'I mean if somebody wants me dead, the lower a profile I keep the better, don't you think?'
'Oh I don't think it's you they wanted dead, sir,' said the super with an annoying tone.
Geoffrey enquired, as clearly as he could, if the copper would like to suggest an alternative interpretation as to why the two men had broken into his house and pointed pistols at him.
'I think it was probably some sort of mistake. After all, sir, why would anybody want you dead? You're a . . . disabled gentleman. Either way I'm sure we'll sort it all out once we get down the station.'
And leaving Geoffrey's flat filled with pathologists and photographers and men with bits of chalk, whose job it was to draw lines round dead bodies, Geoffrey was trooped off to the police station – at present two nil up against the forces of darkness.
ASK NOT FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS
As Geoffrey and the two police officers emerged from his front door, the London night was, as usual, filled with the ringing and wailing of various alarms.
'Listen to that, sir,' commented DC Collingwood. 'Like I said, this mean city is a seething, writhing, bubbling hotbed of a satanic melting-pot. Your two raving deadies are just part of the devil's mosaic.'
In fact the detective constable was the only person to pay any attention to the alarm bells (except of course the thousands of people with pillows wrapped round their heads screaming, 'Turn them off! Please turn them off!' into the darkness of their bedrooms). Everyone always ignores alarm bells, which is a shame, because if they didn't Sam Turk might not have found it quite so easy to burgle the Office of Patents and hence he would have had no cause to attempt to have Geoffrey murdered. A little social responsibility can go a long way.
Chapter Six
PARTY BUSINESS
CHIEF EXECUTIVE
Digby Parkhurst, the Minister for Transport, prided himself on being a quiet, well-ordered, law-abiding citizen. Hence he would have been astonished to learn that through his unprofessional relations with Sam Turk he was the man who had unwittingly set in motion the events which led up to the deaths of Frank and Gary, the alarm bell ringing at the Office of Patents and Geoffrey being forced from his home.
At present, though, blissfully ignorant of the mayhem he had unleashed, the minister was stuck in the same traffic jam that had caught both Geoffrey and Sam Turk – the one caused by the anti-road protest. It was lucky for the minister that his car had darkened windows, for had he been recognized by the crowds milling about along the road, he might have been lynched. Fortunately, the leather-lined opulence of his ministerial limo offered all the privacy Digby required, for it was a spanking new Panther 'Chief Executive'.
The Chief Executive was the first car to come out of the Panther Motor Company since the Japanese had bought a majority shareholding in it – a deal which Digby had himself orchestrated. It was a wonderful machine. A fitting flagship for a great new partnership, a partnership which, as Digby had said at the time, built on the strengths of both
'Well it's a neat bit of work, sir. A very neat bit,' said the superintendent. 'Especially considering as how you're a, well a . . .'
'Spasmo,' prompted Geoffrey.
'Yes, that's right,' the policeman replied. 'A disabled gentleman. I mean these two are well known to us. And very hard cases they are too. I wouldn't have wanted to face them if I had a shotgun. You done 'em with a bottle opener and a pot of coffee.'
'I think me being a spastic put them off guard,' said Geoffrey modestly.
'Yes, well, we could do with a few more like you on the force,' the superintendent replied. But he didn't really mean it. Impressed though he was, he would never have trusted a spastic with the famous tit helmet.
'I reckon the papers will go wild for this one when they hear,' DC Collingwood interjected.
'I'd really rather they didn't hear,' said Geoffrey. 'I mean if somebody wants me dead, the lower a profile I keep the better, don't you think?'
'Oh I don't think it's you they wanted dead, sir,' said the super with an annoying tone.
Geoffrey enquired, as clearly as he could, if the copper would like to suggest an alternative interpretation as to why the two men had broken into his house and pointed pistols at him.
'I think it was probably some sort of mistake. After all, sir, why would anybody want you dead? You're a . . . disabled gentleman. Either way I'm sure we'll sort it all out once we get down the station.'
And leaving Geoffrey's flat filled with pathologists and photographers and men with bits of chalk, whose job it was to draw lines round dead bodies, Geoffrey was trooped off to the police station – at present two nil up against the forces of darkness.
ASK NOT FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS
As Geoffrey and the two police officers emerged from his front door, the London night was, as usual, filled with the ringing and wailing of various alarms.
'Listen to that, sir,' commented DC Collingwood. 'Like I said, this mean city is a seething, writhing, bubbling hotbed of a satanic melting-pot. Your two raving deadies are just part of the devil's mosaic.'
In fact the detective constable was the only person to pay any attention to the alarm bells (except of course the thousands of people with pillows wrapped round their heads screaming, 'Turn them off! Please turn them off!' into the darkness of their bedrooms). Everyone always ignores alarm bells, which is a shame, because if they didn't Sam Turk might not have found it quite so easy to burgle the Office of Patents and hence he would have had no cause to attempt to have Geoffrey murdered. A little social responsibility can go a long way.
Chapter Six
PARTY BUSINESS
CHIEF EXECUTIVE
Digby Parkhurst, the Minister for Transport, prided himself on being a quiet, well-ordered, law-abiding citizen. Hence he would have been astonished to learn that through his unprofessional relations with Sam Turk he was the man who had unwittingly set in motion the events which led up to the deaths of Frank and Gary, the alarm bell ringing at the Office of Patents and Geoffrey being forced from his home.
At present, though, blissfully ignorant of the mayhem he had unleashed, the minister was stuck in the same traffic jam that had caught both Geoffrey and Sam Turk – the one caused by the anti-road protest. It was lucky for the minister that his car had darkened windows, for had he been recognized by the crowds milling about along the road, he might have been lynched. Fortunately, the leather-lined opulence of his ministerial limo offered all the privacy Digby required, for it was a spanking new Panther 'Chief Executive'.
The Chief Executive was the first car to come out of the Panther Motor Company since the Japanese had bought a majority shareholding in it – a deal which Digby had himself orchestrated. It was a wonderful machine. A fitting flagship for a great new partnership, a partnership which, as Digby had said at the time, built on the strengths of both
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