Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  He spent some moments peering hopefully at the screen through his opera glasses, but the longer he looked the smaller the dot became and even striking a match didn’t help matters for by the time he had been in the kitchen to fetch the box the spot had disappeared completely.

  Paddington stood in front of the silent receiver with a mournful expression on his face. Although Mr Brown had gone to a lot of trouble in order to surprise the family it was quite certain he wouldn’t be at all pleased if they received that much of a surprise and arrived home to find it wasn’t even working.

  Paddington heaved a deep sigh. “Oh dear,” he said, as he addressed the world in general. “I’m in trouble again.”

  “I can’t understand it,” said Mr Brown as he came out of the dining-room. “Mr Higgins promised faithfully it would be all ready by the time we got home.”

  “Never mind, Henry,” said Mrs Brown as the rest of the family crowded round the doorway. “It was a surprise and I’m sure he’ll be able to get it working soon.”

  “Crikey!” exclaimed Jonathan. “He must have been having a lot of trouble. Look at all the pieces.”

  “Don’t bother to draw the curtains. We’ll eat in the kitchen,” said Mrs Brown as she took in the scene. There were bits and pieces everywhere, not to mention a large number of valves and a cathode ray tube on the settee.

  Mrs Bird looked puzzled. “I thought you said it wasn’t working,” she remarked.

  “I don’t see how it could be,” replied Mr Brown.

  “Well, there’s something there,” said Mrs Bird, pointing to the screen. “I saw it move.”

  The Brown family peered through the gloom at the television set. Although it didn’t seem possible Mrs Bird could be right, now they looked there was definitely some kind of movement on the glass.

  “It looks rather furry,” said Mrs Brown. “Perhaps it’s one of those animal programmes. They do have a lot on television.”

  Jonathan was nearest to the screen and he suddenly clutched Judy’s arm. “Crumbs!” he whispered, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark and he caught sight of a familiar-looking nose pressed against the glass. “It isn’t a programme. It’s Paddington. He must be stuck inside the cabinet!”

  “This is most interesting,” said Mr Brown, taking out his glasses. “Switch on the light someone. I’d like a closer look.”

  As a muffled exclamation came from somewhere inside the television Jonathan and Judy hurriedly placed themselves between Mr Brown and the screen.

  “Don’t you think you ought to ring Mr Higgins, Dad?” asked Judy. “He’ll know what to do.”

  “We’ll go down and fetch him if you like,” said Jonathan eagerly. “It won’t take a minute.”

  “Yes, come along, Henry,” said Mrs Brown. “I should leave things just as they are.

  There’s no knowing what might happen if you touch them.”

  Rather reluctantly Mr Brown allowed himself to be shepherded out of the room closely followed by Jonathan and Judy.

  Mrs Bird was the last one to leave and before she closed the door she took one last look round the room. “There are some rather nasty marmalade stains on that cabinet,” she said in a loud voice. “If I were a young bear I’d make sure they’re wiped off by the time Mr Higgins gets here … otherwise certain people may put two and two together.”

  Although Mrs Bird kept a firm hand on ‘goings on’ in the Brown household she was a great believer in the proverb ‘least said – soonest mended,’ especially when it had to do with anything as complicated as a television set.

  If Mr Higgins was surprised at having to repay Paddington’s good turn so soon he didn’t show it by so much as the flicker of an eyelid. All the same, after Mrs Bird had spoken to him he took Paddington on one side and they had a long chat together while he explained how dangerous it was to take the back off a television receiver if you didn’t know what you were doing.

  “It’s a good job bears’ paws are well insulated, Mr Brown,” he said as he bade goodbye to Paddington. “Otherwise you might not be here to tell the tale.”

  “That’s all right,” he added cheerfully, as Paddington thanked him for all his trouble. “Got a bit of marmalade on my tweeker, but otherwise there’s no harm done. And I daresay it’ll wash off.”

  “It usually does,” said Mrs Bird with the voice of experience, as she showed him to the door.

  As the Browns trooped into the dining-room for their first evening’s viewing it was noticeable that one member of the family settled himself as far away from the screen as possible. Although Mr Higgins had screwed the back on the television as tightly as his tweeker would allow, Paddington wasn’t taking any more chances than he could help.

  “Mind you,” said Mr Brown, later that evening when Mrs Bird came in with the bedtime snack, “I still can’t understand what it was we saw on the screen. It was very strange.”

  “It was probably some kind of interference,” said Mrs Bird gravely. “I don’t suppose it’ll happen again, do you Paddington?”

  As she spoke several pairs of eyes turned in Paddington’s direction but most of his face was carefully hidden behind a large mug and very wisely he only nodded his agreement. Not that he was having to pretend he felt tired for in fact it was only the cocoa steam that was keeping his eyelids open at all. Nevertheless, there was something about the way his whiskers were poking out on either side of the mug that suggested Mrs Bird had hit the nail on the head and that as far as the Brown family were concerned there was one kind of interference they weren’t likely to get on their television again in a hurry.

  “‘Lucky For Some’?” exclaimed Mr Brown. “Don’t tell me we’ve got to sit and watch that awful thing. Isn’t there anything better on the other channel?”

  The rest of the family exchanged uneasy glances. “Paddington did ask if we could have it on,” said Mrs Brown. “It’s his favourite programme and he seemed particularly anxious we shouldn’t miss it tonight.”

  “In that case,” said Mr Brown, “why isn’t he here?”

  “I expect he’s popped out somewhere,” said Mrs Brown soothingly. “He’ll probably be back in a minute.”

  Mr Brown sank back into his seat with a grunt and stared distastefully at the television screen as a fanfare of trumpets heralded the start of ‘Lucky For Some’ and the Master of Ceremonies, Ronnie Playfair, came bounding on to the stage rubbing his hands with glee.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” said Mr Brown, “if he asked sensible questions. But to give all that money away for the sort of things he asks is ridiculous.”

  The dining-room curtains were drawn and the Brown family, with the exception of Paddington, who had been unaccountably missing since shortly after tea, were settled in a small half-circle facing the television set in preparation for their evening’s viewing.

  Over the past few weeks a change had come over the routine at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens. Normally the Browns were the sort of family who entertained themselves quite happily, but since the arrival of the television set practically every evening had been spent in semi-darkness as they sat with their eyes glued to the screen.

  All the same, although Mr Brown was the first to admit it out loud, the nine days’ wonder of having pictures in their own home was beginning to wear thin and there were several signs of restlessness as yet another fanfare of trumpets burst from the loudspeaker.

  “I do hope nothing’s happened to Paddington,” whispered Mrs Brown. “It’s not like him to miss any of the programmes, especially a quiz. He’s very keen on them.”

  “That bear’s been acting strangely all week,” said Mrs Bird. “Ever since he got that letter. I’ve a nasty feeling it may have something to do with it.”

  “Well, it can’t be anything bad,” said Mrs Brown. “He seems to have spent all his time with his whiskers buried in those encyclopaedias of Mr Gruber’s. He even missed his second helping at lunch today.”

  “That’s just it,” said Mrs Bird ominously. “
It’s much too good to be true.”

  While Ronnie Playfair’s face grew larger and larger on the screen as he explained the programme to the studio audience and the viewers at home, the Browns began to discuss Paddington’s strange behaviour over the past week.

  As Mr Bird said it had all begun when he’d received an important-looking letter by the first post one morning. At the time no one had paid it a great deal of attention for he often sent away for catalogues or any free samples which he saw being advertised in the newspapers.

  But a little later that same morning he had arrived home pushing Mr Gruber’s encyclopaedias in his basket on wheels and the next day, after borrowing Mr Brown’s library tickets, another pile of books had added themselves to the already large one at his bedside.

  “He’s been asking the oddest questions too,” said Mrs Brown. “I don’t know where he gets them from.”

  “Well, wherever it is,” said Mr Brown, as he looked up from his evening paper, “I hope he gets back soon.”

  Mr Brown liked plays and had just discovered there was a particularly good one about to start on the other channel.

  “Crikey!” exclaimed Jonathan suddenly, as he jumped up from his seat and pointed at the television screen. “No wonder he isn’t here! Look!”

  “Gracious me!” exclaimed Mrs Bird as she followed his gaze. “It can’t be!”

  Mr Brown adjusted his glasses. “It jolly well is,” he said. “It’s Paddington and Mr Gruber.”

  While the Browns had been talking Ronnie Playfair had finished describing the workings of the programme. Waving his hand cheerily to the studio audience he stepped down off the stage in the beam of a large spotlight and announced that the first contestant of the evening was a Mr Brown of London.

  As he made his way up the aisle the camera followed him and eventually came to rest on two familiar faces at the end of one of the rows of seats. Mr Gruber’s look of embarrassment was tinged with a faint air of guilt as he caught sight of his own face on a nearby screen. Although Paddington had assured him that the Browns liked surprises he wasn’t at all sure they would be keen on this particular one.

  But Mr Gruber was soon lost from view as a small brown figure sitting next to him raised a battered hat to the camera and hurried up the aisle after the Master of Ceremonies.

  If the Browns were overcome at the sight of Paddington climbing on to the stage Ronnie Playfair was equally at a loss for words, which was most unusual.

  “Are you sure you’re the right Mr Brown?” he asked nervously, as Paddington dumped his suitcase on the stage and raised his hat to the audience.

  “Yes, Mr Playfair,” said Paddington, waving a piece of paper importantly in the air. “I’ve got your letter asking me to come.”

  “I … er … I didn’t know there were any bears in Notting Hill Gate,” said Ronnie Playfair.

  “I come from Peru,” said Paddington. “But I live in Windsor Gardens.”

  “Oh well,” said Ronnie Playfair, recovering himself slightly, “we won’t ask you to peruve that, but I suppose we must expect the bear facts tonight.

  “Peruve that,” he repeated, laughing at his own joke in a rather high voice. “Bear facts.” His voice died away as he caught Paddington’s eye. Paddington didn’t think much of Ronnie Playfair’s jokes and he was giving him a particularly hard stare.

  “Er … perhaps you’d like to step forward and send a message home,” said the Master of Ceremonies hurriedly. “We always ask our contestants to send a message home – it makes them feel at ease.”

  Paddington bent down and took a piece of paper out of his suitcase. “Thank you very much, Mr Playfair,” he exclaimed, as he began advancing on the camera.

  The Browns watched in dumb fascination as Paddington loomed larger on their screen. “Hullo all at number thirty-two,” said a familiar voice. “I hope I shan’t be late, Mrs Bird. Mr Gruber promised to bring me straight home and …”

  Whatever else Paddington had been about to say was lost as there came a loud crash and the picture disappeared from the screen.

  “Oh no,” cried Judy. “Don’t say it’s broken down. Not tonight of all nights.”

  “It’s all right,” said Jonathan. “Look – they’ve got another camera on.”

  As he spoke another picture flashed on to the screen. It wasn’t quite such a nice one as the close-up of Paddington had been. Until just before the end, when it had suddenly gone soft and muzzy, that one had shown almost every whisker, whereas the new picture was looking towards the audience and there appeared to be some confusion. One of the cameramen was sitting on the floor surrounded by wires and cables, rubbing his head; and Ronnie Playfair seemed to be having some kind of an argument with a man wearing headphones.

  “He wasn’t on his marks,” cried the cameraman. “He kept following me. You can’t take proper close-ups if people don’t stay on their marks.”

  Paddington peered at the floor. “My marks?” he repeated hotly. “But I had a bath before I came out.”

  “He doesn’t mean dirt marks,” said Ronnie Playfair, pointing to a yellow chalk line. “He means that sort. You’re supposed to stay where I put you otherwise the cameras can’t get their shots.”

  “You did ask me to step forward,” said Paddington, looking most upset.

  “I said step forward,” said Ronnie Playfair crossly, “Not go for a walk.”

  Ronnie Playfair had been Master of Ceremonies on ‘Lucky For Some’ for several years with never a word out of place, let alone an upset like the one that had just occurred, and there was a strained look on his face as he picked his way back across the cables closely followed by Paddington who was peering anxiously at the floor in case he lost sight of his chalk mark again.

  “Now,” he said, as they reached the centre of the stage and stood facing the other cameras, “what would you like to be questioned on?” He waved his hand in the direction of four barrels which stood in a row on a nearby table. “You can have History, Geography, Mathematics, or General Knowledge.”

  Paddington thought for a moment. “I think I’d like to try my paw at mathematics, please,” he announced amid applause from the audience.

  “Crikey!” exclaimed Jonathan. “Fancy choosing maths!”

  “Knowing the way Paddington does the shopping,” said Mrs Bird, “I think it’s a very wise choice.”

  Paddington had a reputation among the street traders in the Portobello market for striking a hard bargain and it was generally acknowledged that you had to get up very early in the morning indeed in order to get the better of him.

  “I must say he always keeps his accounts very neatly,” said Mrs Brown. “I’m sure it’s the right choice.”

  “Mathematics?” repeated Ronnie Playfair. “Well, we’d better look for the first question.” He put his hand into one of the barrels and withdrew a piece of paper. “A nice easy one to start with,” he announced approvingly, “and a very good question for a bear. If you get it right there’s a prize of five pounds.”

  After a short roll of drums Ronnie Playfair raised his hand for silence. “For a prize of five pounds,” he announced. “How many buns make five?”

  “I must warn you,” he added, winking at the audience, “think carefully. It may be a trick question. How many buns make five?”

  Paddington thought for a moment. “Two and a half,” he replied.

  Ronnie Playfair’s jaw dropped slightly. “Two and a half?” he repeated. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

  “Two and a half,” said Paddington firmly.

  “Poor old Paddington,” said Jonathan. “Fancy getting the first one wrong.”

  “I am surprised,” said Mrs Bird. “It’s not like him at all. Unless he’s got something up his paw.”

  “Oh dear,” said the Master of Ceremonies as he picked up a hammer and struck a large gong by his side. “I’m afraid you’re out of the contest. The answer is five.”

  “I don’t think it is, Mr Playfair,” sa
id Paddington. “It’s two and a half. I always share my buns with Mr Gruber when we have our elevenses and I break them in half.”

  Ronnie Playfair’s jaw dropped even farther and the smile froze on his face. “You share your buns with Mr Gruber?” he repeated.

  “Give him the money!” cried someone in the audience as the applause died down.

  “You said it might be a trick question,” cried someone else amid laughter. “Now you’ve got a trick answer.”

  Ronnie Playfair fingered his collar nervously and a strange look came over his face as he received a signal from the man wearing headphones to give Paddington the money.

  “Are you going to stop now, bear?” he asked hopefully, as he handed Paddington a crisp five-pound note, “or do you want to go on for the next prize of fifty pounds?”

  “I’d like to go on please, Mr Playfair,” said Paddington eagerly, as he hurriedly locked the money away in his suitcase.

  “I shouldn’t do that,” said Ronnie Playfair as he dipped his hand into the barrel and withdrew another piece of paper. “If you get this question wrong I shall want the five pounds back.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown. “I feel all turned over inside. I hope Paddington doesn’t do anything silly and lose his five pounds. He’ll be so upset we shall never hear the last of it.”

  “Right!” said Ronnie Playfair, holding up his hand once again for silence. “For fifty pounds here is question number two, and it’s a two-part question. Listen carefully.”

  “If,” he said, “you had a piece of wood eight feet long and you cut it in half, and if you cut the two pieces you then have into half, and if you then cut all the pieces into half again how many pieces would you have?” “Eight,” said Paddington promptly. “Very good, bear,” said Ronnie Playfair approvingly. “Now,” he continued, pointing to a large clock by his side, “here is the second part of the question. How long will each of the pieces be? You have ten seconds to answer starting from. now!”