Thompson’s Lost Plimsole

Part 44

By the morning, the local police were all over the old farm site checking for evidence, as yet, there was nothing tangible to link the Dray twins to the bank robbery. However, they had the man that Clarence had brought in, but he was doing his upmost to remain silent. Sgt Grout and a few of the other constables had been working on him for several hours, constant questioning, threats of violence, actual violence, fists, truncheons, and leather belts wrapped around the knuckles. He was taking a severe beating, but their prisoner knew what would happen to him if he betrayed the twins and it was far worse than anything that the police could inflict.

Somewhere between London and Hallifield, Billy Nutmeg sat contemplating his future. His chance of major stardom had gone, taken from him, as he believed, by Shadwell Crump. In Billy’s fantasy world, he had murdered Shadwell a thousand times, he had inflicted the worst horrors of the Inquisition on him, he had rained down every plague and misfortune on this beast, this demon, this venomous gargoyle. Billy let out an angry scream which startled the other passengers in his train compartment. The couple sitting directly next to Billy shuffled further along their shared bench seat, leaving a reasonable gap between themselves and the incoherently, mumbling, dishevelled, former star of the variety stage. The train sped onwards towards Hallifield and through a long, dark tunnel. As daylight returned to Billy’s compartment, he found it to be deserted bar himself. No matter, he still had a score to settle. His first port of call would be the hotel where he had left his personal belongings. After a good clean up and a decent meal, his next stop would be the theatre and this time there would be no climbing out of windows!

In a small Parisian hotel near the Arc de Triomphe, cat burglar, jewel thief and criminal mastermind, Leonard Price, or as he was now calling himself, Sir Anthony Dunhill, sat contemplating his future. A few more nights in Paris and then on to Switzerland. Possibly in a year or so, on to America, the land of opportunity. A year would give him plenty of time to cultivate his new identity, and for a wealthy Englishman with a title, doors would open, and so would safes and bank security boxes.

 Mr Cecil Davies, Headmaster of Hookemin Hall School, strode purposefully down the hallway towards his office. Today he would confront his secretary, Miss Fudge, about her recent behaviour. Her unwarranted feelings towards him had been borne from a series of misunderstandings on her part and now that everything had been sorted with his wife, he was ready to draw a line under this business and to hopefully continue his and Miss Fudge’s working relationship in the same orderly and distanced manner as before. As Mr Davies opened the door to his office, he found Miss Fudge waiting for him. The change in her appearance and general demeanour over such a short period of time had been astounding. He had been used to not actually noticing her, and now standing here before him, was a very attractive young woman. Mr Davies’s mind was now in a whirl, he must say what needed to be said. “Er, Miss Fudge”. “Yes, Cecil”, she replied softly. “Er, Is that a new dress?”, he asked. “It is”, she said, toying with the lacework around the neckline. “Er… well, it’s very nice”, Cecil blustered. “Oh thank you” she said, “I was hoping you’d like it; I was thinking about you as I chose it, thinking about your soft hands helping me out of it”. Cecil balked. “Er, erm, really Miss Fudge, you really must put these thoughts out of your mind. I’m a happily married man with responsibilities to this school and I really can’t…”. Emily cut him off at this point by throwing her arms around his neck and wailing. “Oh, Cecil, please don’t say these things, I love you, I love you. Please don’t cast me off like an old shoe, I don’t think that I could live without your love”. Mr Davies tried to extricate himself from Emily’s grasp. “Miss Fudge, really, you must stop reading those romantic novels”. His words were falling on deaf ears. “Oh, Cecil, please don’t do this to me”, she pleaded.

Still struggling to release himself, Emily pressed her lips onto his. A sound to his right caught his attention. With Emily’s lips still planted firmly against his, he glanced to his right. Framed in the open doorway to his office stood Francine, his wife. She was holding a bunch of fresh flowers that she had brought along to brighten her husband’s desk. Francine threw the flowers into her husband’s face and stormed off. Cecil pulled away from Emily and chased after his wife. To the dying strains of Mr Davies’s voice, Emily sobbed. “Oh, Cecil”, please don’t leave me like this, I shall die without your love”.

Later that day, Francine was seen leaving  the school in a taxicab with several suitcases. A while later, Mr Davies was also seen leaving the school.  Mr McQueen had been appointed to take on the role of acting Headmaster, on a temporary basis. Colin sat in Mr Davies’s chair and swivelled around in it. He re-arranged the pens and pencils on the desk into size and colours, making a mental note to use each writing implement in turn so as to not favour any one instrument over another. The door to the adjoining office opened and Miss Fudge entered with a cup of tea for Mr McQueen. Placing the cup down in front of Colin, Emily positioned herself so that her bottom rested on the edge of the desk. Picking up one of the carefully arranged pencils, she placed the end of the pencil between her lips. She looked down into Colin’s face, he looked up at hers. “If you want anything”, she said, “I’ll just be in the other room”. As she stood to leave, Emily replaced the pencil from where she had taken it but noticing that it was slightly longer than the one next to it, she swapped them over. She looked down again at Colin and with an outstretched hand, ran her fingers through Colin’s ginger hair. She then walked away. Colin gulped…  

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