Eminently Respectable Capers

by Tony Brennan

  As the Press men hurried off to make their deadlines, and the police left for other duties, only the cardinal, Pongo, the inspector, and Sammy were left. Sammy addressed the policeman:

  “Inspector, I don’t think that Father Black’s car registration is in order and, if I remember rightly, I think he has been suspended from driving for six months. Would you just check that for me?” The inspector’s eyes began to gleam. He rushed off to his computer to do as he was bid.

  “Hey, I say, Sammy, old chap,” entreated Pongo, “you wouldn’t leave a chum to walk home would you?”

  “Well, I have no option, of course – we simply can’t have you breaking the Law can we? You could catch a bus, but, unfortunately, they’re all on strike today, but it’s only a ten mile walk; do you good, you know, you’re getting quite stout.”

  The cardinal intervened. “Sammy, the police are going to provide a car for us; surely there’s room …”

  “No, there isn’t,” snapped Sammy. “Come on now, Eminence, we have a load of work to do back at the Cathedral.” He turned, as the grinning Policeman returned.

  “Good Afternoon, Inspector, I know we can rely on you to see that Father Black does not drive away from here – it’s a pity, but he will have to walk won’t he?”

  ‘He certainly will; I’ll see to that. I’ve arranged for a car to drive you and the cardinal back to the cathedral, and a police-car to shadow Father Black all the way home to see he does walk. I mean … we, on the Force, want to do the best we can for the main person responsible for this wonderful day he has given us – a day we will not forget in a hurry, believe me.”

  Sammy shook the policeman’s hand. “Inspector Naseby, it’s been a real pleasure working with you; you and I understand each other perfectly, don’t we.”

  “We do, Father Spotels,” agreed the Inspector fervently, “we certainly do!”

  DÉJÀ VU

  While most people agreed that Charles Cardinal York – the Archbishop of the city – was, well … slightly eccentric, those few persons who had the opportunity to actually know him, were also aware that the cardinal had a wickedly, ‘child-like’ sense of humour. Hidden within his episcopal breast, he had a highly developed sense of the ridiculous, but through severe discipline, restraint and training, he managed to present to the world, a picture of unruffled seriousness and dignity.

  However, from time to time the ridiculous came bubbling up, seemingly unstoppable, within the old man, and he sought ways to express this – when he could get away with it – in an unconventional manner.

  Thus, when he was notified, by diplomatic post straight from Rome, that his long suffering secretary and master of ceremonies, Father Sammy Spotels, was to be elevated to the hierarchy, the cardinal’s first thought was, the method, he could use to inform Sammy – of whom he had grown fond over the years they had been together – in an amusing and unusual manner.

  The letter from Rome informed the cardinal, the announcement had to be kept ‘in petto’ until a certain date, ten days hence. Only then, would the cardinal be free to inform Father Spotels of his promotion, and inform the press that his secretary was to receive a mitre.

  This gave the cardinal a leeway of ten days, to decide on his plan. His mind ranged over a ‘Blimp’ flying through the air, trailing a huge message behind it. Or, perhaps, a surprise raid from the Terrorist Squad on Sammy – he could give them a fake ‘tip-off’, and they could use it as a practice exercise. Or, perhaps, a funny cartoon in the National newspapers with Sammy struggling – with his prize-fighter’s face, and in his boxing gear – to pull off a ‘too-tight’ mitre.

  None of the ideas really pleased Charles. He went for a walk around his beloved city, and looked for inspiration into shop windows. This was unproductive, until he reached a certain window which only featured a beautifully presented sign, together with a large picture of a Gorilla.

  The cardinal stopped dead in his tracks. A ‘Gorilla-gram’ – the very thing! Charles peered at the sign, but was exasperated to discover he had left his reading glasses at home! He couldn’t read the print without them. However, that wasn’t going to stop him now he had the idea. He entered the shop and said simply: “I want one. I don’t care what it costs, but I want one; it must be delivered on the 20th of this month.”

  The two people behind the desk, staring into their computers, looked up at their customer in amazement. They recognized him immediately – he had been in the city forever.

  They were surprised at this request from a cardinal of the Church, but if he could pay for it; that really was all that mattered – they thought it was all a pretty silly advertising gimmick anyhow.

  They mentioned the price to the cardinal, and he blinked. He had no idea these messages cost so much. He hesitated a moment, but then decided that Sammy deserved it – he had been a good, faithful and, indeed kindly, colleague – so he agreed to the price.

  The cardinal then informed the people when the ‘Gorilla’ was to arrive, and what message it had to bring. This puzzled the Zoo reps. Message, they queried? He wanted a message? … However, after some confusion, they, being kindly people, finally agreed to have a sign printed. The wording of the sign puzzled them even more – it didn’t make sense! It read: ‘Bumps a daisy, lad, you’ve struck the Jackpot!’

  The days seem to crawl slowly towards the ‘big day’. The cardinal was unusually tetchy, and hard to please; it was also difficult for his secretary to get his boss to concentrate for long, on any of a dozen, different important engagement details that had to be worked out.

  At last the ten days were up; the waiting was over. Both the cardinal and his secretary went to their respective offices at 8.30 in the morning, to begin their normal routine.

  However, it was not quite routine, for the cardinal had snuck into Father Spotel’s office earlier, and pushed down the switch on the intercom, that enabled him to hear from that office, and also from the front office, where the two ladies worked. He had also put on his head – for this festive occasion – his beloved ‘Father Brown’ Roman hat. He knew Sammy hated it!

  As the time approached nine o’clock, the cardinal stopped work and sat, smiling, as he listened to the shuffling of papers, and quiet exclamations from his secretary, as Sammy worked on the newspapers as per usual.

  While waiting, the cardinal’s imagination took flight. He chuckled as he imagined what would happen if a mistake were made, and they sent a real gorilla instead of a ‘pretend’ one.

  Charles was a very old man, and he drifted off into, what he thought, was a little doze, with his mind actively working overtime. He thought he was dreaming when he actually heard the panic in the front office, with Miss Wright and Miss Nubbs screaming at their first sight of the gorilla.

  He heard their frantic cries for help to Father Sammy … then suddenly – to his horror – he actually heard Sammy shouting that he was going to shoot the monster with his hunting rifle! The cardinal sat up straight, now wide-awake with the fearful awareness: this was no dream!

  A sudden terrifying realisation brought him to his feet: only he could save the life of the innocent MAN in the gorilla suit – apparently everyone else thought it was a real gorilla!

  Charles leapt from his desk, rushed into Sammy’s office, and threw himself in front of the beast just as poor Sammy pulled the trigger. The cardinal fell to the ground with a gigantic hole blasted in his ‘Father Brown’ hat. Sammy gazed, stupefied, at the sight of his superior lying – as he thought – dead, at the feet of the gorilla, and fainted.

  Pandemonium then ensued as the Police, the Fire Brigade and Zoo attendants – summonsed by the ever-efficient Miss Wright – charged into the small office. The noise was hideous as the women redoubled their screaming, at the sight of the dead cardinal.

  As Charles slowly regained consciousness, he looked up through the hole in his hat which had fallen across his face, and imagined he could see a real gorilla bending over him. I must be worse than I thought, he reasoned; suc
h a thing was impossible! When the beast’s saliva dripped onto his face from the massive jaws, Charles understood that the impossible had become all too possibly, possible. There was only one thing to do, so he did it – he fainted.

  ***

  An hour later, the cardinal sat beside the couch on which lay a white-faced Father Spotels.

  “You’re not dead? Truly?’ Sammy asked tremulously.

  “Not on your life; never felt better, my Lord Bishop,” the cardinal answered jovially.

  “There’s no need to be frivolous,” Sammy declared querulously. “It was no joking matter I tell you. I very nearly killed you.”

  “Well, how was I to know that they would send a real gorilla! You’d think they would’ve had more sense! But, enough of that; I’ve explained that it was all a misunderstanding; they’ve all gone home, and taken the nasty beast with them. Now, about the important thing, my Lord.”

  “What gives with this, ‘My Lord’, business?” Sammy asked. “Is this another one of your ridiculous pranks?”

  “No, you silly chump! I’m trying to tell you something. You are to be the new auxiliary Bishop Samuel Spotels, of the titular Church of Darumbuljka.”

  Sammy sat upright. Could this be another of the cardinal’s jokes?

  “Eminence,” he stuttered agitatedly, “is that really the truth? … And, where the hell is Darumbuljka? Is it a residential See?”

  “No, it’s not …” answered the cardinal, then murmured, mischievously, “more’s the pity …”

  “What did you say?” demanded Sammy sharply.

  “I said: It’s itty-bitty – the place – I mean.”

  “But, it can’t be true,” spluttered Sammy.

  The Cardinal looked surprised. “Of course it’s true! That’s what the message was all about.”

  “Message?” quavered Sammy. “There was no message; I didn’t see any message.”

  “Well, how could you, you silly boy! You acted just like King David … you shot the messenger!”

  LOVE THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY

  It was the written complaint from the French cardinal that first suggested the rumour.

  Charles, Cardinal York read, with dismay, the details of the outraged cardinal. The French prelate had been their guest, too, which made it worse! He had only been here for a few days, and for this to happen! It wouldn’t end here, Charles knew; soon everyone would be talking about it – now that Sammy was a bishop.

  Charles sighed. He really was too old to have to cope with all these problems with the clergy now. Besides that, it didn’t make sense! He knew, or thought he knew, his one-time secretary, Father Sammy Spotels, through and through, and such a suggestion was not only libellous – it was downright ridiculous.

  He couldn’t believe that Sammy, his trusted companion and colleague, was living a double life. Trust the French, he thought mutinously, to dig up the dirt! Immediately after that thought, Charles was aware how wrong it was, and begged God to forgive him.

  The French cardinal was only doing his duty, Charles thought with dismay, but heaven help us if he is correct! I really don’t know what I’m going to do.

  There’s nothing for it, Charles decided. I’ll have to call Sammy in. There’s no use in just sitting here worrying, when I really don’t understand it at all. The old cardinal’s face suddenly lightened. Perhaps, after all, it could be that Sammy has a perfectly logical explanation, and all this is a mountain made from a mole hill.

  Charles lifted the receiver and was immediately answered by his new secretary – an unpleasant, unsmiling, young supercilious priest, called Father Biderbacher – the cardinal detested him! He forced himself to be icily polite.

  “Eminence?”

  “Father, can you tell me if his Lordship, Samuel Spotels, is still in the building?”

  “He is, your Eminence; is it your wish to converse with him?”

  “Please. Would you kindly ascertain whether he is free to attend me as soon as possible?”

  “It shall be done, Eminence, expeditiously.”

  Charles sighed again. I think I’ll burst something if I have to continue being so damned polite every time I speak to that ghastly chap. Why can’t he say ‘talk with him’ instead of always ‘converse’? I’d like never to have to ‘converse’ with him about anything; and, whoever uses a word like expeditiously? I’d like to throw something expeditiously at him! I’d like …

  His musings were interrupted by a heavy thump on his office door. It opened, and Bishop Samuel Spotels clumped into the room.

  “Okey-dokey, Eminence, what’s the big flap?” he asked breezily, and sat down, uninvited, in an easy chair in front of the cardinal’s desk. “I’ve just been talking to that new chap – a proper jerk isn’t he? Perhaps he’ll improve in time. Don’t let him push you around.” The young bishop paused, and studied the old cardinal closely. His jocose manner changed.

  “What is the matter, Eminence,” he asked gently. “I’m sorry I was jocular; I can see it’s serious. Tell me about it; perhaps I can help. Who’s been making a heap of trouble for you, this time?”

  “You!” answered the cardinal abruptly, then his voice softened: “Sammy, how could you? After all the years we’ve been jogging along together? You’ve put up with me and I’ve put up with you – even tolerating your wretched motorbike – and I honestly thought, of all the priests that I have to be responsible for, I could count on you with all my being. And, now I find that I have been deceived! Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!”

  “For the love of heaven, stop your ‘O Sammy’ litany, and tell me what the hell I’m supposed to have done.”

  “Not supposed, Sammy,” responded the cardinal holding up the letter from France, “I have proof.”

  “Let me see that,” demanded the young Bishop. “Oh, it’s from that French cardinal – a proper pain in the butt he was! I remember you saying the same thing, when he was staying with us, didn’t you?”

  “That’s enough of that, my Lord Bishop,” the cardinal answered severely. “Whether we happened to actually like the French prelate, or not, is irrelevant. He has issued a complaint against you.”

  “He has issued what?”

  “A complaint.”

  “Why, the ungrateful, slimy wretch. I was run ragged driving him all over the city the few days he was here; he wanted to see everything. There was only one night I had off to try and get my own work done, when I sent him off on his own, in the official car, with Joe driving him.”

  “Apparently, that night was the problem.”

  “Oh, why?”

  “Well, he claims that he told you specifically that he wanted to attend the evening Solemn Vespers at the Ruthenian-Rite Cathedral, as their special guest, and you sent him, by Episcopal car, to our version of the Folies Bergère.”

  “What!”

  “Exactly! He claims that he was never so insulted in all his life; that he had to stand outside the ‘wicked house of ill repute’ – his own words – for one full hour waiting for the car to return, in his full Episcopal regalia.”

  “Good God!”

  “Indeed, and worse still,” continued the cardinal, “he said that people thought he was busking, dressed up as he was, and threw small change at his feet.”

  “No!” Sammy started to laugh at the mental picture forming in his mind, only to be silenced by a stern warning from the cardinal.

  “Look!” declared Sammy. “It’s the silly chap’s own fault. He insisted on speaking French all the time he was here, although he could speak English perfectly. He most probably gave instructions in French to poor old Joe the driver – who doesn’t speak French at all – and refused to correct him in English. My own French is not crash-hot, I know, but I managed to get by with him – but Joe! Why he wouldn’t have understood a word the Frenchman said to him. As I said, it’s the clown’s own fault, the silly twit!” Sammy paused. “If that’s all there is then…”

  “There’s more to come, my Lord,” Charles added. “The Fr
ench cardinal claims that only a man in love could have been so stupid, as to have done such a thing and demands that I examine you carefully, as to whether that is the case or not. He has threatened to write to Rome if I do not.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “Would to God I were. Now, my Lord Bishop – no more joking please – this is serious. Look at me, Sammy. I want you to tell me honestly, considering all we have been through together, is there a female in your life?”

  Sammy hung his head, and sighed. “Eminence, I’m sorry it has come to this. You know I’d never lie to you, so I’ll tell you the truth: yes, there is. I’m sorry, but that is the case.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, Sammy! What possessed you? You have such a great career ahead of you …”

  “I suppose, Eminence, that being just an ordinary man like all others, I was looking for some love and companionship …”

  “But why didn’t you tell me immediately? We’ve been friends a long time; I could have helped. We could have talked it over together.”

  “I suppose I was secretly hoping you wouldn’t find out.”

  “So the sin is compounded with deceit. Oh, Sammy, how could you let me down in this way? Tell me quickly about this female. Is it a young woman?”

  “Well, she’s pretty young, but she’s definitely not a minor. I’ve never asked her age, it wouldn’t be polite.”

  “Very beautiful?”

  “Absolutely, or at least I think so, although others may not think the same. Every time I see her, I feel my heart soars. I feel I am close to heaven itself.”

  “Careful, son, that’s close to heresy.”

  “She’s not perfect, I know. She has a weight problem, but then I’ve never liked those skeleton-model-type females myself. I think she must dye her hair; it is a strange blue-grey colour, but very beautiful.” Bishop Spotels looked earnestly at his superior.

  “I just don’t deserve her. Look at me: a crooked nose and a cauliflower ear, through all those hours in the boxing ring at University. I’m hardly a beauty, so why she should choose me is beyond me – it is a mystery that she should ever love me.”