Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  As the taxi disappeared round the corner of Windsor Gardens Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird turned and went back inside the house.

  “I do hope we’re doing the right thing, letting him go by himself,” sighed Mrs Brown, as she closed the front door.

  “I shouldn’t worry about that bear,” said Mrs Bird decidedly. “He knows how to look after number one.

  Mrs Brown gave another sigh. “It wasn’t Paddington I was thinking of,” she replied. “It’s the hospital.”

  Mr Curry had been admitted to a hospital not far from Windsor Gardens. It was a busy establishment and Mrs Brown shuddered to think of what might happen if Paddington took the wrong turning and got lost in one of its many corridors.

  However, it was much too late to worry for it was only a matter of minutes before Paddington’s taxi swung off the main road, passed through some large gates, and drew to a halt at the main entrance to a large brick building.

  Paddington didn’t often have the chance to travel in a taxi, especially by himself, and he was slightly disappointed that it was all over so quickly. Nevertheless, he felt most important as he climbed out on to the forecourt, and after thanking the driver for the ride, made his way through the entrance doors towards a desk marked RECEPTION.

  “Mr Curry?” said the uniformed man behind the desk. He ran his finger down a long list clipped to a board. “I don’t recollect anyone of that name. Have you an appointment?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Paddington. “Mrs Bird made one specially.” The receptionist scratched his head. “Any idea what he does?” he asked. “This is a big hospital, you know. We have all sorts of people here.”

  Paddington thought for a moment. “I don’t think he does anything very much,” he said at last. “Except grumble.”

  “That doesn’t help a lot,” said the man. “We’ve got one or two like that round here I can tell you. What’s your name, please?”

  “Brown,” said Paddington promptly. “Paddington Brown. From number thirty-two Windsor Gardens.”

  The receptionist riffled through some more papers. “I can’t find any bears down for an appointment either, let alone brown ones,” he said at last. “I think I’d better pass you on to our Mr Grant. He deals with all the difficult cases.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Paddington gratefully. “Is he the head man?”

  “That’s right,” said the receptionist, picking up a telephone. He was about to dial a number when he paused and looked at Paddington. “The head man,” he repeated, his face clearing. “Bless me! Why didn’t you say so before? You want the psychiatrist.”

  Seeing Paddington’s look of surprise he leaned over his desk. “That’s the chap who looks after things up here,” he said, tapping his own head as he lowered his voice confidentially. “What we call the ‘head-shrinker’.”

  Paddington began to look more and more astonished as he listened. Although he was very keen on long words he’d never heard of one as long as ‘psychiatrist’ before, and even if his hat did feel a bit tight sometimes, particularly when he had a marmalade sandwich inside it, he wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to cure it by having his head shrunk.

  “I think I’d rather have my hat stretched instead,” he announced with growing alarm.

  It was the man’s turn to look surprised as he took in Paddington’s words. From where he was standing there was a very odd look about the figure on the other side of the desk, and although he couldn’t find any trace of an appointment in the name of Brown, he felt sure, if the present conversation was anything to go by, that for once the rules could be bypassed.

  Paddington had a very hard stare when he liked and, backing away slightly, the receptionist hastily consulted another list.

  “There, there,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll try and arrange for you to see our Mr Heinz.”

  “Mr Heinz!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “But I wanted to see Mr Curry. I’ve brought him one of Mrs Bird’s cherry cakes.”

  Reaching for a walking stick the man looked anxiously over his shoulder as he came round to the front of the desk. “I think you’ll find Mr Heinz much nicer,” he said, eyeing Paddington warily. Realising the expression ‘head-shrinker’ had been a bit upsetting, not to mention the word ‘psychiatrist’, he tried hard to think of another name. “He’s our best ‘trick-cyclist’,” he added soothingly. “Just follow me.”

  Apart from the time when he’d spilt some hot toffee down his front by mistake and then had been unable to stand up again after it set, Paddington hadn’t had a lot to do with hospitals. Even so he looked most surprised to hear they had such things as ‘trick-cyclists’ for the entertainment of visitors. It sounded very good value indeed and he looked around with interest as he followed the man towards a door at the far end of a long corridor.

  Motioning Paddington to wait, the man disappeared into the room. For a few moments there was the sound of a muffled conversation and then the door opened again.

  “You’re in luck’s way,” whispered the receptionist. “Mr Heinz can see you straight away. He’s got a free period.”

  Taking hold of Paddington’s spare paw he propelled him through the door and then hastily closed it behind him.

  After the brightness of the corridor the room seemed unusually dark. The slatted blinds were drawn over the windows and the only light came from a green shaded lamp on a desk at the far side. Apart from some cabinets and several chairs there was a long couch, rather like a padded table, in the middle of the room, and behind the desk itself Paddington made out the dim figure of a man in a white coat who appeared to be examining him through a pair of unusually thick-lensed glasses.

  “Come in… come in,” said the man, turning the lamp so that it shone on Paddington’s face. “Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Paddington, blinking in the strong light. He felt very pleased that he was the first one in and, taking off his duffle coat and hat, he placed them on top of his basket and then settled himself down in a nearby chair.

  “Have I got long to wait?” he asked, unwrapping his sandwiches.

  “Oh, no,” said the man in the white coat. He picked up a pen. “In fact, I’ll start right away.”

  “I’m sorry about the cherry cake,” said Paddington cheerfully.

  Mr Heinz put his pen down again. Taking off his glasses he breathed on the lenses, polished them with a handkerchief and then replaced them on his nose. “You are sorry about your cherry cake?” he repeated carefully.

  Paddington nodded. “I’m afraid I can’t let you have a slice,” he said, “because Mrs Bird doesn’t want any more postcards from Mr Curry. But you can have one of my marmalade sandwiches if you like.”

  Mr Heinz gave a slight shudder as he waved aside the open bag. “Very kind of you,” he said briefly, “but…” He paused. “Is anything the matter?” he enquired, as Paddington began peering anxiously around the room.

  “It’s all right, thank you, Mr Heinz,” said Paddington, turning his attention back to the man behind the desk. “I was only wondering where you keep your bike.”

  “My bike?” Mr Heinz rose from his chair and came round to the front of the desk. “This really is a most interesting case,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “The receptionist said… er…” He broke off as Paddington gave him a hard stare. “Er… that is… I may even write an article about it,” he continued hastily. “I don’t think I’ve had any bear patients before.”

  Helping Paddington to his feet Mr Heinz motioned him towards the couch in the middle of the room. “I’d like you to lie on that,” he said. “And then look up towards the ceiling and try to make your mind a blank.”

  Paddington examined the couch with interest. “Thank you very much,” he exclaimed doubtfully as he clambered up, “but shall I be able to see your tricks?”

  “My tricks?” repeated Mr Heinz.

  “The man in the hall said you were going to do some trick
s,” explained Paddington, beginning to look rather disappointed that nothing much was happening.

  “I expect he was trying to humour… er… that is, keep you happy,” said Mr Heinz, making his way back to the desk.

  “As a matter of fact,” he continued casually, “I’d like to play a little game. It’s really to test your reactions.”

  “A game to test my reactions?” repeated Paddington, looking more and more surprised. “I didn’t know I had any.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mr Heinz. “Everyone has reactions. Some people have fast ones and some have slow.” He picked up his pen again. “Now I’m going to call out some words – quite quickly – and each time I call one out I want you to give me another one which has the opposite meaning… Right?”

  “Wrong,” said Paddington promptly.

  Mr Heinz paused with his pen halfway to the paper. “What’s the matter?” he asked crossly. “Aren’t you comfortable?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Paddington, “but you told me to say the opposite every time you gave me a word.” He sat up and gave the man behind the desk another hard stare. For someone who was supposed to be testing reactions he didn’t think much of Mr Heinz’s own ones at all.

  For some unknown reason Mr Heinz appeared to be counting under his breath. “That wasn’t the word, bear,” he said, breathing heavily. “Wait until I give you the go-ahead. Once you start I don’t want to hear anything else. I’ll give you a countdown, beginning… now. Three… two… one… go!”

  “Stop!” said Paddington.

  Mr Heinz opened his mouth and then appeared to change his mind. “Very good,” he said grudgingly.

  “Very bad,” replied Paddington eagerly.

  “Look here!” began Mr Heinz, a note of panic in his voice.

  “Look there!” cried Paddington wildly. Much as he had been looking forward to seeing Mr Heinz do some tricks on his bicycle he was beginning to think the present game was much more interesting and he looked most disappointed when his last reply was greeted with silence. “Can’t you think of any more words, Mr Heinz?” he asked.

  The psychiatrist spent a moment or two drumming on his desk with his fingers. He looked as if there were a number of words he would like to have said, but ignoring the temptation he picked up his pen again.

  “White,” he said wearily.

  “Black,” said Paddington, settling down again on the couch with his paws crossed and a pleased expression on his face.

  “Big,” said Mr Heinz hopefully.

  “Small,” said Paddington promptly.

  “Fast,” said Mr Heinz.

  “Slow,” said Paddington.

  Trying several more words in quick succession Mr Heinz began to look better pleased with the way things were going and for several minutes his pen raced across the paper as he tried to keep pace with Paddington’s replies.

  “Fine,” he said at last, leaning back in his chair.

  “Wet,” exclaimed Paddington.

  Mr Heinz gave a chuckle. “We’ve finished…” he began.

  “We’ve started,” said Paddington.

  “No, we haven’t,” said Mr Heinz crossly.

  “Yes, we have,” cried Paddington.

  “No… no… no!” shouted Mr Heinz, thumping his desk.

  “Yes… yes… yes!” cried Paddington, waving his paws in the air.

  “Will you stop!” yelled Mr Heinz.

  “No, I won’t!” cried Paddington, nearly falling off the couch in his excitement.

  Mr Heinz looked wildly about the room. “Why did I ever take this up?” he cried, burying his face in his hands. “I should have had my head examined!”

  Paddington sat up looking most surprised at the last remark. “Perhaps it needs shrinking,” he said, peering at Mr Heinz’s head with interest. “I should go and see the man in the hall. He might be able to help you. He knows all about these things.”

  As Paddington began clambering down off the couch Mr Heinz made a dash for the door. “I shall be gone for five minutes,” he announced dramatically. “Five minutes! And if you’re still here when I get back…”

  Mr Heinz left his sentence unfinished but from the way he punctuated it with the slam of the door even Paddington could see that he wasn’t best pleased at the way things had gone.

  He peered at the closed door for several moments and then hastily gathered up his belongings. There was another door leading out of Mr Heinz’s room and after considering the matter Paddington decided to investigate this one instead of the door he’d come in by. There had been rather a nasty expression on Mr Heinz’s face when he’d left, one which he hadn’t liked the look of at all, and whatever lay on the other side of the second door, Paddington felt sure it couldn’t be worse than the possibility of meeting the hospital’s ‘trick-cyclist’ again.

  PADDINGTON CLOSED THE door behind him and stood for a moment mopping his brow. All in all he felt he’d had a narrow escape. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d escaped from but he hadn’t liked the look of things in the next room at all, and he was glad he’d decided to retire from the scene.

  He felt even more pleased a few seconds later when the muffled sounds of voices broke out on the other side of the wall. From what he could make out through the keyhole there appeared to be some kind of argument going on and several times he distinctly heard Mr Heinz thumping his desk. Gradually, however, the noise died away and at long last he was able to turn his attention to his new surroundings.

  After the previous room it was slightly disappointing. Apart from an old hat stand laden with white coats, the only items of furniture were a desk, on top of which was an open bag containing a number of instruments, a swivel chair, and a big steel rack which seemed to hold a lot of large photographic negatives, and which occupied most of one wall alongside a second door.

  It wasn’t a bit like some of the rooms he’d seen in hospital programmes on television, with people rushing in and out pushing trolleys and barking out orders. That apart, it was also a very cold room. From his few short visits to hospitals Paddington had noticed they were very keen on fresh air and Mr Curry’s was no exception. There were three windows in the room, all much too high to reach, and all of them wide open.

  Paddington began to feel pleased that Mrs Bird had thought to provide him with the Thermos flask full of hot cocoa in case he got delayed, and after several minutes had passed with no sign of anything happening he undid the top and poured some of the liquid into the cup.

  A moment later Paddington let out a yell which echoed and re-echoed around the room as he danced up and down waving the cup with one paw and clutching his mouth with the other. Mrs Bird was a great believer in making hot things as hot as possible and for once even she had excelled herself.

  Hastily pouring the remains of the cocoa back into the Thermos, Paddington replaced the top and then began peering inside the bag on the desk in the hope of finding a mirror so that he could examine the end of his tongue.

  It was while he was doing this that a thoughtful expression gradually came over his face. In the past he’d often watched programmes about hospitals on television. In fact, he was very keen on some of them, particularly the ones where there was a lot of action, and he recognised several instruments in the bag as being identical to the ones Grant Dexter always carried when he made his rounds every Monday evening in the ‘Daredevil Doctor’ series.

  Gradually an ominous quiet descended on the room. A quiet broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and an occasional chink as Paddington investigated still deeper into the bag.

  It was some while later that the door leading to the corridor slowly opened and a small figure dressed entirely in white peered out through the gap. The corridor was empty, but even if there had been anyone around, little but the closest inspection would have revealed the identity of the face behind the mask as it looked furtively first one way and then the other.

  In fact, other than the unusual appearance of the coat, which reached right down to the
floor, even Grant Dexter himself might have been forgiven if he’d met the wearer face to face and thought he was looking at a shortened version of his own reflection in a mirror.

  Apart from the mask, the head was almost completely enveloped in a white skullcap, and this in turn was surmounted by a head band and lamp. A stethoscope was draped around the neck, and although a few whiskers, which had obstinately refused to stay folded, poked out through some gaps and might have provided a clue, the rest of the face was almost entirely hidden.

  Having carefully made sure no one was coming, Paddington closed the door again and turned his attention to the photographic plates hanging on the wall.

  Holding them up to the light in the way he’d seen Grant Dexter do many times before on television he peered at them hopefully, but after a few minutes he changed his mind and decided to sit down in the chair behind the desk instead. As pictures they had been most disappointing. As far as he could make out most of them showed a lot of old bones, and half of those were broken.

  The swivel chair was much more interesting and he spent some while swinging it round and round, gradually getting higher and higher until he was almost level with the top of the desk.

  Waving his paws wildly in the air in the way that Mr Heinz had done Paddington was about to give the chair a final heave when suddenly the whole world seemed to turn upside down and he found himself flying through the air. Everything went black for a moment and then he landed in a heap on the floor with what appeared to be a ton weight on top of him.

  As he struggled to remove the weight, Paddington heard a patter of running feet in the corridor outside and then the door suddenly burst open and a man in uniform rushed into the room.

  “Where is it? Where is it?” he cried, taking aim with a large, red fire extinguisher.