by Annie Wilson
Paddington pulled away from her and looked into her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t have a home anymore,” he said miserably. “You see, I’m in prison and even the Browns have forgotten me.”
Aunt Lucy said nothing. In fact, as Paddington looked at her, she faded from view and the jungle around her disappeared.
There was a knocking sound and Paddington realized another voice was calling him now—a voice that was not his aunt’s. It brought him back to the stark reality of his cell.
“Paddington!” It was Knuckles calling down the pipes again. “Tonight’s the night. If you want to clear your name, it’s now or never. You in?”
Paddington leaned against the pipes. He tried to swallow the lump that had formed in this throat.
“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “I’m in.”
Later that evening, after the warden called for “lights-out,” Phibs, Spoon, Knuckles, and Paddington each lifted the floorboards of their cells and dropped down to an underfloor passage. They met up and crawled in a line to the end of the prison building.
“Down the laundry chute, boys,” said Knuckles, taking the lead.
The prisoners followed him one by one, whizzing down the chute like a giant slide and landing on a pile of dirty clothes at the bottom.
“To the pigeonholes!” said Knuckles. “You know what to do.”
Paddington and the men went to find their own clothes and possessions. Then Paddington, as he was the smallest, was chosen to climb up inside the clock tower so that he could sneak into the warden’s office and take the key to the canteen, from where they could make their escape. Luckily he had always been good at climbing, thanks to spending his cubhood in the treetops of Darkest Peru. He clambered up through the clockwork and managed to tiptoe to the rack where the warden kept his keys. Then he scurried back to meet the others.
Paddington and his friends made a beeline for the canteen, where they took a huge bundle of tablecloths that had been stitched together to form one enormous sheet of fabric.
Knuckles shimmied out of a skylight above the kitchen, while the other prisoners passed him the tablecloth, a laundry basket, and some canisters of propane gas. Then they all climbed out after Knuckles.
A searchlight swept across the roof. The prisoners waited for it to pass them by, then ran over the roof to the shadows at the base of the prison watchtower.
“Open the laundry basket,” said Knuckles. They opened out the huge tablecloth and fixed it by its edges to the sides of the basket.
“Light the propane!” Knuckles commanded.
Phibs put the canister into the middle of the basket and then opened the gas valve while Spoon lit it. A tall orange flame shot up and the tablecloth began to rise.
“Hop in!” shouted Knuckles.
Paddington, Spoon, and Phibs followed Knuckles’s lead and leaped into the basket, just as the tablecloth inflated fully.
Inside the prison, T-Bone was gazing out of his tiny cell window. He almost fell over in shock at what he saw.
“A hot-air balloon?” he said, shaking his head as though to get rid of a dream. But he wasn’t imagining things. There really was a hot-air balloon rising from the prison watchtower! A hot-air balloon made from some tablecloths and a laundry basket. And carrying three men and a bear.
“Well, blow me down,” T-Bone said to himself as he watched the prisoners rise up into the sky. “Good luck, young bear,” he whispered.
All three men threw their prison caps into the air and whooped with delight as the balloon rose higher and higher. Paddington was quiet, however. He looked out over the city he loved, and worried about the choice he had made.
What would Aunt Lucy have to say about me being a fugitive? he thought anxiously.
The balloon floated out over the Docklands. By now the prisoners had changed into their own clothing and ditched their prison uniforms. Paddington tried to console himself that at least he felt more comfortable in his old hat and duffle coat. And it was a relief to be reunited with his trusty suitcase.
The balloon traveled fast. Soon Knuckles was asking Spoon to take them down.
“We’re there, boys!” he said, looking over the edge.
Spoon cut the flame and the balloon began to drift to the ground. It came to rest by a derelict factory in the East End of London. As the giant tablecloth deflated, the prisoners climbed out of the basket and ran to a nearby wharf. Using the wall of a warehouse as cover, they crept along until they reached a gate.
Knuckles said, “Stop! There she is . . .” He pointed through the gate. “Our ticket out of here.”
Paddington followed the prisoners’ gaze. His eyes settled on a seaplane. “What’s this?” he asked, startled. “Aren’t you taking me back to the Browns’ house? Where are you going?”
The prisoners looked at one another guiltily.
“Aren’t we going to clear my name?” Paddington persisted. “I thought that was the plan.”
Knuckles looked sheepish. “Sorry, kid,” he said, “but the plan has changed.”
“We’re leaving the country,” said Spoon. “We thought you’d like to come with us.”
“But you said . . . You lied to me!” Paddington exclaimed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Knuckles looked very ashamed. “It’s not like that,” he protested weakly. “We’ve done you a favor really. If we’d told you the truth, you’d never have come along. It’s better this way,” he said.
Paddington frowned. “I thought you were my friends,” he said quietly.
“We are,” said Phibs, looking upset.
“We’ll find someplace nobody knows us and start again,” Knuckles assured him. “And we’ll make marmalade together.” He rubbed his hands. “We’ll make a fortune.”
Paddington shook his head. “But I don’t want to leave the country, Knuckles. I want to go and clear my name and go back to live with the Browns. You said you’d help me.”
“I’m sorry, kid,” said Knuckles, spreading his huge hands. “I also said I don’t do nuthin’ for no one for nuthin’.”
Paddington dropped his head. Then, taking one last look at the prisoners, he turned and ran.
“Where are you going?” Phibs called after him.
“Paddington!” Spoon shouted.
But Paddington had already disappeared from sight.
CHAPTER 19
Paddington on the Run
Paddington ran until he could run no longer. He found himself on a busy main road and stopped to catch his breath just as a police car sped by. The sound of the siren made him jump—what if the police had discovered he was a fugitive and were after him already?
Paddington ducked out of sight down an alley, desperately looking for somewhere to hide. Then he spotted a phone booth and had an idea.
I wonder . . . he thought, putting his hand in his duffle-coat pocket. “There!” he said, bringing out the coin that Mrs. Bird had pulled from his ear all those months ago.
He dialed the Browns’ number, praying that they would be at home—and that they would want to speak to him.
The pips went and Paddington put his coin in the slot.
“Hello!” Jonathan’s voice rang out loud and clear.
Paddington was so excited that he started to speak right away. “Hello, Jonathan! It’s Padd—”
But Jonathan’s voice cut him off. “You’ve reached the Brown residence!”
Then Judy’s voice said, “We’re not in, but please leave a message . . .”
Then the answer phone beeped. Paddington slumped against the phone. He hadn’t got through to the Browns after all—it was merely their answering machine.
“Hello,” he said wearily. “It’s me, Paddington. I hope you don’t mind my calling.” He imagined his voice echoing out down the empty hallway of 32 Windsor Gardens—his old home. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve broken out of prison and, well, I suppose I’m on the run. I didn’t really mean to, but Knuckles said that if we broke out he woul
d help me clear my name and then I could come home. But he’s gone now, and I’m on my own. I don’t really know why I’m calling, but I suppose I just wanted to say . . . goodbye.”
If only he’d known that the Browns has been out all night, putting up yet more posters in an attempt to bring him home. But Paddington had no idea that the Browns still cared about him, and so he put the receiver down. He slowly turned and opened the door of the phone booth. He stared at the ground, his shoulders drooping. The wind was getting up, and it was cold and dreary. Where was he going to go now? Would he ever find another family like the Browns? He began to trudge down the road, his paws sunk deep into his duffle-coat pockets. He could not remember ever feeling this miserable.
Just as he had given up all hope, he heard the sound of a phone ringing. He looked up. It was coming from the telephone booth where he had made his call to the Browns! Without stopping to think, Paddington raced back to answer it.
“Paddington?” said an anxious, familiar voice.
“Mrs. Brown!” cried Paddington. “YES! YES, IT’S PADDINGTON!” He could hear the other members of the family rushing to the phone, all talking at once. “I’m so sorry I escaped, Mrs. Brown,” he continued. “I thought you’d given up on me.”
“We’d never give up on you, Paddington,” said Mrs. Brown with feeling, “you must know that.”
“Paddington,” said Mr. Brown, speaking down the phone over his wife’s shoulder. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
Mrs. Bird joined in. “You’re family!” she said. “Of course we haven’t forgotten you.”
“And we know who the thief was,” Paddington heard Judy say.
“It was Phoenix Buchanan,” Jonathan added excitedly.
Paddington was puzzled. “Mr. Buchanan?” he repeated.
“That’s right, dearie,” said Mrs. Bird. “But he’s disappeared into thin air.”
Mrs. Brown took the phone back from the others. “We’ve been looking for him at every landmark in that book—every last page,” she said with a sigh.
“Where all your dreams come true,” said Paddington dreamily.
“Why do you say that?” asked Mrs. Brown.
“It was written on the back of the pop-up book,” said Paddington. “That’s why I thought it would be the perfect present for Aunt Lucy.”
“I’ve seen those words before,” said Judy.
“Where?” asked Jonathan.
“At the fair!” said Judy, sounding suddenly excited. “It was behind you, Paddington, when you helped Phoenix Buchanan open the fair. The fairground organ was behind you, and the words on the organ said ‘Where All Your Dreams Come True.’”
“The organ . . .” said Jonathan, “that must be where Madame Kozlova hid her fortune.”
“In that case, let’s stop wasting time and get to the fair,” said Mr. Brown in a businesslike manner.
“It’s too late,” said Mrs. Bird. “I read in the newspaper that they’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
“On their steam train?” asked Jonathan.
“Yes!” said Mrs. Brown. “The note! That must be where Phoenix is going at 06:35!”
Mr. Brown had clearly decided he needed to take control. “Paddington?” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Brown?” Paddington said eagerly.
“Get to the station right away. If we can find Phoenix and that book, we can prove everything. We’ll meet you there!”
Paddington put down the receiver and rushed out of the phone booth. This time he was beaming from ear to ear. “The Browns didn’t forget me,” he said to himself. “And they are going to help me clear my name! I need to get to the railway station as fast as I can.”
He stuck out a paw, trying to hitch a ride from passersby, but no one would stop for him. He tried again and again with no luck.
Just as he was about to give up hope, Fred Barnes the garbage collector came past.
“Mr. Barnes!” shouted Paddington. “You couldn’t give me a lift, could you?”
“Paddington! Good to see you! ’Course I’ll give you a lift,” said Fred. “It’s thanks to you I passed my exams. This is my last day on the bins—it’s a cabbie’s life for me. So, tell me, sir, where d’you want to go?” he asked with a grin.
“To the station!” cried Paddington. “As fast as you can!”
CHAPTER 20
Paddington Is on the Right Track
The Browns were in just as much of a hurry. They rushed out of 32 Windsor Gardens toward their car but Mr. Curry was blocking it. He was in his dressing gown and was holding a piece of cardboard that read “Neighborhood Watch Panic Levels.” An arrow was pointing to the highest level of panic on the board and Mr. Curry was emphasizing this state of emergency by shouting at his neighbors through a bullhorn.
“Fellow citizens,” he was saying, “this is your Community Defense Force commander.”
All the neighbors were now coming to their windows to see what the noise was about.
“I have just received intelligence that the bear has escaped from prison,” Mr. Curry went on importantly. “He may be heading this way. I am therefore raising the panic level to ‘wild hysteria.’” He held the board up so that everyone could see.
“Please be quiet, Mr. Curry,” said Mrs. Brown irritably.
“Paddington is not heading this way,” said Judy, standing up to Mr. Curry with her mother.
“That’s right,” said Jonathan. “He’s going to clear his name.”
“And we’re going to bring him home,” said Mrs. Bird. She glared at Mr. Curry.
“Well, we don’t want him here!” The indignant neighbor looked disgusted at the idea.
Mr. Brown went right up to Mr. Curry and looked him squarely in the eye. “Of course you don’t. You never have. You took one look at that bear and you made up your mind. Well, Paddington’s not like that. He looks for the good in all of us and somehow finds it. He wouldn’t hesitate if any of us needed help. So stand aside, Mr. Curry. Because we’re coming through.”
Mr. Brown jumped into the car, his family just behind him. He put his key in the ignition and turned it to start the engine, but nothing happened.
“Come on, come on!” Mr. Brown urged the car. He was about to give up when suddenly it started to move.
The children and Mrs. Brown looked around to see that the neighbors were out in force and were pushing the car forward.
“Get back into your homes!” exclaimed Mr. Curry. “I am ordering you to get back to your homes.”
Everyone ignored Mr. Curry.
“Go and bring Paddington back safely,” cried Dr. Jafri, waving the Browns off.
The car roared to life and zoomed toward the kiosk. Mr. Curry jumped out of the way. His panic board was knocked flying as the Browns and Mrs. Bird rushed out of the street on their way to the station.
Paddington was having the ride of his life in the garbage truck. Fred sped along the streets and through the underpass where the walls of the tunnel were lined with posters saying “Free Paddington!” As Paddington watched them fly past, his heart was filled with joy.
The truck reached the rail station at last and Paddington hopped down.
“Here, put this on,” said Fred. He pulled the black cover off a station trash can and popped it over Paddington as a disguise. It was just the right size for a small bear. “Off you go,” said Fred. “Just remember—you’re a bin! And watch out for coppers. Good luck!”
Paddington thanked his friend and began a funny hopping journey toward the station.
“You’re a bin, you’re a bin. Just an ordinary bin going for a walk,” he muttered as he went.
He froze when he spotted a policeman at a cake stall just outside the doors. The man didn’t notice him, though. He was too busy eating a doughnut. As he passed Paddington, the policeman dropped the remains of his snack into Paddington’s trash can!
“Thank you!” called Paddington politely.
“You’re welcome,” said the policeman, not
seeming to notice anything odd about a talking trash can.
Paddington breathed again and waited until the coast was clear before scuttling into the station. He hopped to the fairground steam train, which was already waiting to leave. Then he stopped and watched as a train porter approached the train.
Paddington gasped as he saw that this porter was, in fact, none other than Phoenix Buchanan in disguise! Phoenix made a convincing porter as he strutted along the platform. He clearly thought he looked very fine in the uniform too. He strode forth toward the steam train, then with a glance over his shoulder hopped into a carriage in the middle of the train.
Paddington was also checking that the coast was clear. Once he was sure it was safe to do so, he cast off his disguise and jumped onto the rear of the steam train. He was just in time—the minute he did this the guard blew a whistle and the train began to pull out of the station.
The Browns arrived on the platform just as Paddington’s train was leaving.
“We’re too late!” cried Mrs. Brown. “Look!”
“Never say never,” said Mr. Brown. He looked very determined. “Come on. We can make it if we run.”
Mrs. Brown and the others ran after him.
“We’re right behind you, Mary,” said Mrs. Bird, doing her best to keep up.
The train began to pick up speed as the Browns and Mrs. Bird raced along the platform. They ran faster and faster. Mr. Brown reached out his hand and almost touched the last carriage . . . But the train put on a burst of speed and chugged away.
“No!” cried Judy and Jonathan.
“We’ve got to catch up with that train,” said Mrs. Brown.
“How are we going to do that?” asked Mr. Brown.
As if in answer, there was a whistle from a different train on the platform behind.
“Wow,” said Jonathan, turning to see. “It’s the Belmond British Pullman. Cool!”
Judy gave him a funny look, but she followed his gaze to a magnificent old steam train on the next platform.
“That gives me an idea,” said Jonathan. “Follow me!” He sneaked on board the train and beckoned to his family to do the same. The others didn’t stop to ask why—they didn’t have time if they were going to save Paddington.