Read Online The Da-Da-De-Da-Da Code by Robert Rankin - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Rankin
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Giggles.
Ranger Connor had unpotted the key. He opened the hut door and ushered Jonny inside. ‘Our little cottage in the woods,’ he said.
It
was
elegantly furnished, Jonny noted, now that he had time for more than a quick look around. There was a very nice George III mahogany sofa-table, with rounded twin-flap top and ribbed trestle supports. A delicious William IV walnut footstool with scrolling legs and brocade-padded seat. A magnificent Empire rosewood cabinet with foliate marquetry veneers. Several exquisite Queen Anne dining chairs, on shell-carved cabriole legs, and a host of other antique bits and bobbery, which lent the hut’s interior the look of Lovejoy’s lock-up.
Jonny viewed all this as one who had not viewed it before. ‘Very nice indeed,’ he said.
‘Commandeered,’ explained Ranger Connor, ‘from the museum basement. No point leaving it all to rot down there when it can be put to good purpose here.’
‘Quite so,’ said Jonny.
Ranger Hawtrey switched on a small television that stood upon a Swedish ormolu-mounted kingswood, walnut and parquetry bombe commode, with a saleroom value of six to eight thousand pounds.
Ranger Connor said, ‘That’s odd.’
‘Odd?’ said Jonny.
‘The armoire door is open.’
‘Armoire?’
‘Clothes cupboard, if you like. The French provincial-style one over there, with the cross-banded top and the boxwood stringing.We keep the spare uniforms inside it. The door’s open. Odd.’
‘Blimey,’ said Ranger Hawtrey,’ settling himself down upon one of the Queen Anne chairs. ‘If you think that’s odd, check
this
out.’
He pointed to the television screen. It was one of those first-thing-in-the-morning news shows. The ones hosted by uncomfortable-looking male presenters whose suits are a little too tight, and very attractive female presenters with heaving bosoms and sexy spectacles.
‘Odd?’ said Ranger Connor. ‘What very sexy spectacles that woman’s wearing,’ he continued.
‘Listen and look,’ said Ranger Hawtrey.
‘Again, this breaking news,’ said an uncomfortable-looking male presenter whose suit was a little bit too tight. ‘Doctor Roland Archy, head of the psychiatric unit at Brentford Cottage Hospital, was viciously murdered last night. Police are seeking escaped psychopath Jonathan Hooker, aged twenty-seven. The public are warned that this man is armed and dangerous. Do not under any circumstances approach this man.’ And up flashed Jonny’s photo on the screen. A nice, crisp, detailed photograph that Jonny did not recall having taken. ‘If you see this man, report his whereabouts immediately to the police.’
‘Ugly-looking customer,’ said Ranger Kenneth Connor.
‘Viciously murdered?’ whispered Jonny Hooker.
‘Psychopath,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘You’re in trouble now.’
9
Ranger Hawtrey brewed a morning cuppa.
‘Ranger Chicoteen’ held his cup between trembling hands and supped and supped at its contents. His stomach grumbled loudly for the lack of a filling and illicited some sympathy from Ranger Hawtrey, who offered the stomach’s owner half of a fresh bacon sarnie.
‘Thank you,’ said Jonny, chewing at the sandwich but finding the swallowing hard.
‘South America would be your man,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘That’s where all those Nazi war criminals retired to. Perhaps you could make a few subtle alterations to the uniform, pretend you’re a merchant seaman and sign on with a cruise liner, or something. Then, when you get there, a few more subtle alterations and lo, you’ll pass for a young Martin Bormann.’
Jonny Hooker said nothing to Mr Giggles. But Jonny’s brain was buzzing like a beehive.
Viciously murdered?
Jonny thought.
I only gave him a bit of a smack. This is all some terrible mistake. It’s all been a terrible mistake. All of it. Everything from the arrival of that letter. Ever since I determined to crack that Da-da-de-da-da code, my whole world has turned to dirt
.
‘It was
Ranger Connor had unpotted the key. He opened the hut door and ushered Jonny inside. ‘Our little cottage in the woods,’ he said.
It
was
elegantly furnished, Jonny noted, now that he had time for more than a quick look around. There was a very nice George III mahogany sofa-table, with rounded twin-flap top and ribbed trestle supports. A delicious William IV walnut footstool with scrolling legs and brocade-padded seat. A magnificent Empire rosewood cabinet with foliate marquetry veneers. Several exquisite Queen Anne dining chairs, on shell-carved cabriole legs, and a host of other antique bits and bobbery, which lent the hut’s interior the look of Lovejoy’s lock-up.
Jonny viewed all this as one who had not viewed it before. ‘Very nice indeed,’ he said.
‘Commandeered,’ explained Ranger Connor, ‘from the museum basement. No point leaving it all to rot down there when it can be put to good purpose here.’
‘Quite so,’ said Jonny.
Ranger Hawtrey switched on a small television that stood upon a Swedish ormolu-mounted kingswood, walnut and parquetry bombe commode, with a saleroom value of six to eight thousand pounds.
Ranger Connor said, ‘That’s odd.’
‘Odd?’ said Jonny.
‘The armoire door is open.’
‘Armoire?’
‘Clothes cupboard, if you like. The French provincial-style one over there, with the cross-banded top and the boxwood stringing.We keep the spare uniforms inside it. The door’s open. Odd.’
‘Blimey,’ said Ranger Hawtrey,’ settling himself down upon one of the Queen Anne chairs. ‘If you think that’s odd, check
this
out.’
He pointed to the television screen. It was one of those first-thing-in-the-morning news shows. The ones hosted by uncomfortable-looking male presenters whose suits are a little too tight, and very attractive female presenters with heaving bosoms and sexy spectacles.
‘Odd?’ said Ranger Connor. ‘What very sexy spectacles that woman’s wearing,’ he continued.
‘Listen and look,’ said Ranger Hawtrey.
‘Again, this breaking news,’ said an uncomfortable-looking male presenter whose suit was a little bit too tight. ‘Doctor Roland Archy, head of the psychiatric unit at Brentford Cottage Hospital, was viciously murdered last night. Police are seeking escaped psychopath Jonathan Hooker, aged twenty-seven. The public are warned that this man is armed and dangerous. Do not under any circumstances approach this man.’ And up flashed Jonny’s photo on the screen. A nice, crisp, detailed photograph that Jonny did not recall having taken. ‘If you see this man, report his whereabouts immediately to the police.’
‘Ugly-looking customer,’ said Ranger Kenneth Connor.
‘Viciously murdered?’ whispered Jonny Hooker.
‘Psychopath,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘You’re in trouble now.’
9
Ranger Hawtrey brewed a morning cuppa.
‘Ranger Chicoteen’ held his cup between trembling hands and supped and supped at its contents. His stomach grumbled loudly for the lack of a filling and illicited some sympathy from Ranger Hawtrey, who offered the stomach’s owner half of a fresh bacon sarnie.
‘Thank you,’ said Jonny, chewing at the sandwich but finding the swallowing hard.
‘South America would be your man,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘That’s where all those Nazi war criminals retired to. Perhaps you could make a few subtle alterations to the uniform, pretend you’re a merchant seaman and sign on with a cruise liner, or something. Then, when you get there, a few more subtle alterations and lo, you’ll pass for a young Martin Bormann.’
Jonny Hooker said nothing to Mr Giggles. But Jonny’s brain was buzzing like a beehive.
Viciously murdered?
Jonny thought.
I only gave him a bit of a smack. This is all some terrible mistake. It’s all been a terrible mistake. All of it. Everything from the arrival of that letter. Ever since I determined to crack that Da-da-de-da-da code, my whole world has turned to dirt
.
‘It was
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