The Armchair Detective The Early Years (Special Editions)

by Ian Shimwell

  EDITOR LAW: Very amusing, Trench – but somebody has to hold the fort at the Herald while you two go gallivanting off shopping.

  TRENCH: Now, now sir – it was at your request.

  EDITOR LAW: At my request, as I was going to say. Have you come to help? I’ve a mountain of features to get through…

  TRENCH: Err… actually no. I’ve come for some information, in relation to our ‘assignment’ on… Devlin.

  EDITOR LAW: (Says disbelievingly:) Devlin? Don’t tell me he’s a suspect for wrecking his own store.

  TRENCH: Possibly, but it’s more likely he’s some sort of target. So, the more I can find out about his background, the better.

  EDITOR LAW: And how can I hope to help you with that?

  TRENCH: When are you next due to play Devlin’s uncle at golf?

  EDITOR LAW: Later today in fact – I’ve drawn against him in a club Christmas tournament match on the winter course.

  TRENCH: Excellent. Make sure you have a chat with him later in the clubhouse.

  EDITOR LAW: What on earth about?

  TRENCH: Oh, I don’t know – try and delve into his family background, that sort of thing.

  EDITOR LAW: There is only one problem with all this.

  TRENCH: Which is?

  EDITOR LAW: He’s a pretty quiet fellow, mostly keeps himself to himself… unless – oh no.

  TRENCH: Come on, spit it out sir.

  EDITOR LAW: His tongue only loosens when plied with alcohol.

  TRENCH: Well, tonight Editor Law, is going to be one of those nights…

  EDITOR LAW: …and he only drinks if he wins.

  TRENCH: Any information could be vital to our investigation.

  EDITOR LAW: Loose at golf? On purpose? Oh no, my day is becoming worse by the minute…

  TRENCH: Call it a Christmas golfing present – or better still don’t.

  EDITOR LAW: Trench – get out of err… your office.

  (Christmas music moves things on.)

  DEBSY: Trench, over here.

  TRENCH: What is it?

  (We can hear the clockwork cuckoo clocks and the cries from the excited children in the background.)

  DEBSY: Look at the children, they seem almost magically enchanted by the cuckoo clocks.

  TRENCH: And in Gerard – at work in his meticulous manner.

  GELDA: Yes, I am proud of my husband.

  TRENCH: Oh, hello Gelda. Do you ever help Gerard? Making the clocks?

  GELDA: Only in a very basic way, Trench. I sometimes help with the easy things, like a wooden spindle or the springs, when my Gerard is busy. You think I would be more handy, though.

  TRENCH: Really, why’s that?

  GELDA: My stepfather was an electrician.

  DEBSY: But you can’t change a plug? Don’t worry, Gelda – neither can I.

  TRENCH: Isn’t it marvellous, though – look at all those little faces lit up with pure wonderment.

  DEBSY: Yes, that is what Christmas is all about. I bet your kids are really proud of their dad – and you, of course, Gelda.

  GELDA: We could never have children.

  DEBSY: I’m sorry.

  GELDA: Which makes my Gerard’s work all the more important. The cuckoo clocks are our babies, if you like.

  TRENCH: Well, he certainly takes good care of them…

  DEBSY: Ah, Mr Bridges, what can we do you for?

  BRIDGES: This is becoming ridiculous – it’s getting worse. There is not one child looking around the toy department – they are transfixed by your damned clocks.

  GELDA: Gerard, I think you should come out here for a moment.

  GERARD: Whatever for, Gelda? (Reluctantly, GERARD puts his tools down and comes over to them.) Oh, it’s you – Bridges.

  BRIDGES: Yes, it’s me.

  GERARD: Well, what do you want?

  BRIDGES: What do I want? I want you to stop tinkering with those clocks just for a couple of hours.

  GERARD: I can’t, I have a backlog of orders to fulfil.

  BRIDGES: You always have a backlog of orders. Just do it – or I’ll report you to Devlin, and have him end your lease or something.

  GERARD: You do that – and I wish you good luck. Gelda, come – we will break off for lunch – and then I’ll be back to nurture more cuckoos…

  (GERARD and GELDA leave the scene.)

  BRIDGES: Unbelievable.

  (TRENCH and DEBSY walk away from the clock stall. Suddenly, there is an almighty bang. Someone shouts ‘bomb!’ Another shouts ‘let’s get out of here.’)

  BRIDGES: (Says loudly, but from a distance:) Stay calm. Evacuate the store in an orderly fashion, please.

  DEBSY: What do you think?

  TRENCH: I think it’s time to go. Right Debsy, nice and slow – heh, come back!

  (Dramatic music evolves into something calmer and we change scene.)

  OLD TOM: So, Trench, after all the commotion had died down..?

  TRENCH: I discovered that the ‘bomb’ wasn’t a bomb – it was a rocket bang-a-boom.

  OLD TOM: A what?

  TRENCH: Simply a firework – but it worked well enough to severely damage another day’s trading at Devlin’s.

  OLD TOM: And I would wager that said firework originated on the seemingly cursed first floor?

  TRENCH: And you would win that wager, Old Tom.

  OLD TOM: And when the rocket did go off, all our main suspects were out of view?

  TRENCH: Unfortunately, yes.

  OLD TOM: So, let’s put them in view now. Does Devlin have a motive for messing up his own store? Or more especially the first floor?

  TRENCH: I’d say – he barely disguises his anti-Semitic tendencies.

  OLD TOM: Which would provide him with a reason for being rid of the cuckoos by fair means or foul.

  TRENCH: And Devlin’s family do originate from Germany – but that’s all Editor Law could prise from Devlin’s uncle after plying him with drink.

  OLD TOM: I suspect there could be more to find out from the uncle. Tell your Editor Law he must try again.

  TRENCH: Have yet ‘another one of those nights’ after dropping another round of golf? He’ll kill me.

  OLD TOM: And floor manager, Bridges – he seems more than zealous in his aversion to clocks that go cuckoo.

  TRENCH: Hmm, is it to maximise his profits, especially in the continually deserted toy department?

  OLD TOM: Or is it something else?

  TRENCH: Do you want some tea?

  OLD TOM: And the clockmakers themselves, Gerard and Gelda – could they possibly have a motive?

  TRENCH: Hmm, all Debsy discovered from Gerard is that they’ve been married forever… and met in England at a Synagogue apparently. I couldn’t honestly imagine a more harmless-looking couple. Mind you, they say Debsy’s harmless – and look at her!

  OLD TOM: Yes, I will have that tea – and bring in three stale mince pies, will you?

  TRENCH: Mince pies?

  OLD TOM: They might help, Trench, get me in the mood – because we still have this most mysterious of Christmas mysteries to unwrap…

  (A longer piece of mystery music indicates the end of Act Two.)

  Act Three

  DEBSY: Good morning, Trenny. It’ll be Christmas Eve later. How exciting is that?

  TRENCH: It’s Christmas Eve now, Debs – as in today.

  DEBSY: Even though it’s morning.

  TRENCH: Yes, even though it’s morning. Now we’ve cleared that up, shall we delve into Devlin’s once more then?

  DEBSY: Wait, can’t you hear it?

  (There is a pause as TRENCH listens. Very faintly we can just hear the cuckoo clocks.)

  TRENCH: The cuckoo clocks.

  DEBSY: Look, the first floor window is slightly open – the cuckoo’s cuckoos must be coming from there.

  (Suddenly, Snowy arrives on the scene, panting and barking excitedly.)

  DEBSY: Snowy! Look, Trench – Snowy’s a stray.

  TRENCH: How do you know?

  D
EBSY: The little tyke doesn’t have a collar.

  TRENCH: I see…

  DEBSY: Trench, aren’t you glad to see my favourite white bit of fluff?

  TRENCH: Ahem. Even though I’m thrilled to see our seasonal snowy dog, I think we should have slipped inside before, when it was all clear.

  DEBSY: It’s all right – here’s a stick. I’ll throw it.

  (DEBSY throws the stick.)

  TRENCH: While the mutt’s distracted – quick, inside – before it joins us.

  DEBSY: Hey, what do you mean – mutt?

  TRENCH: Hurry!

  (Having rushed inside, they slam the door – leaving poor Snowy alone, as he returns with his stick. Snowy drops the stick and howls longingly at the door. Sad and thoughtful Christmas music changes the scene.)

  TRENCH: Debsy, where’ve you been most of the morning – snooping for shoplifters or have you been hiding or something?

  DEBSY: I’ve been… err something. I have actually been talking to the accounts manager of this place.

  TRENCH: Bully for you… and?

  DEBSY: And the dear man offered to buy me a cappuccino.

  TRENCH: Did he now?

  DEBSY: Anyway, while he was away – I did have a snoop round, and guess what – I found one very interesting nugget of information.

  TRENCH: Debsy, let’s move away slightly – Bridges is hovering suspiciously just within earshot.

  DEBSY: Oh, right.

  (They move away slightly.)

  DEBSY: I discovered that the lease on the cuckoo clock shop is practically half the price of a similar size stall on the second floor…

  TRENCH: Hmm, I wonder why – and it provides yet another reason to be rid of the cuckoos. Good work, Debs.

  DEBSY: Don’t worry, I’ve already given myself a gold star.

  TRENCH: You have too! Come on, let’s have another look at the clocks that cuckoo.

  DEBSY: Any particular reason?

  TRENCH: I err… just like looking at them.

  DEBSY: I don’t know, Trench – you’re just like a big kid.

  TRENCH: Me? You behave or I’ll take away your doll.

  DEBSY: Can’t catch me. Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah.

  (Jokingly, TRENCH chases DEBSY. They come to a sudden halt at the cuckoo clocks – which we can hear.)

  DEBSY: Oops, sorry.

  GERARD: Yes, so you should be – even the children behave better than you two.

  (The cuckoo clocks ‘cuckoo’ three times, signalling three o’clock in the afternoon.)

  TRENCH: That’s told us. Gerard, where’s Gelda?

  GERARD: Oh, she’s in the back – in the workshop doing a little job for me.

  DEBSY: Can we see her?

  GERARD: Yes, of course – just go through, but don’t run.

  DEBSY: Promise and hope to die.

  TRENCH: (Says exasperated:) Debsy.

  (They walk into the workshop where we can hear GELDA working.)

  DEBSY: Gelda, you’re doing a spot of woodwork – I am impressed.

  GELDA: I’m sorry – I’ll pack up right away. You must think me ill-mannered.

  TRENCH: Nonsense Gelda. Heh, you’re working on those spindles we were thinking about – can I have a look at one?

  (GELDA places the spindles in a drawer and shuts it sharply.)

  GELDA: They are really not very interesting, Trench.

  (A cuckoo inside the workshop –cuckoos three times.)

  DEBSY: Either that cuckoo has the wrong time or all her sisters are singing from a dodgy hymn sheet.

  GELDA: Sorry..?

  DEBSY: This cuckoo clock appears to be a bit on the slow side.

  GELDA: Oh yes. That little fellow is in for repair. My Gerard just hasn’t got round to it yet – well, you can see how busy he is. All those children to please…

  TRENCH: Well, I for one think your Gerard does a marvellous job.

  DEBSY: Me too – I mean, I for… err two.

  GELDA: (Who laughs slightly.) I know what you mean, child.

  DEBSY: That’s a relief – can you explain it to me then?

  TRENCH: Debsy, you’re misbehaving again…

  DEBSY: Sor-ry.

  GELDA: Do not concern yourself, dear. I welcome laughter and fun. He knows, I have had precious little of them in my life…

  DEBSY: You can’t have had things easy, Gelda – but at least you have all this.

  GELDA: I have my Gerard.

  TRENCH: Gelda, these attacks or whatever they are, generally seem to focus on this floor, maybe even this stall. Do you know anyone with a grudge against you or your business?

  GELDA: I was beginning to fear that… Bridges wants the floor to himself and Devlin has another reason for wanting us out…

  DEBSY: Surely, he wouldn’t…

  TRENCH: Devlin could have one of the oldest motives, but still…

  GELDA: I… have lived with prejudice all my life. From blatant abuse to that stolen look of disapproval you catch from some people. And, you know, after all this time; practically all my life in your country, one grows weary. One grows so very weary…

  (GERARD enters the workshop.)

  GERARD: What’s going on in here? You have upset my wife.

  GELDA: It’s all right, Gerard.

  GERARD: I think you should leave.

  DEBSY: We’re… going.

  (TRENCH and DEBSY resignedly walk out of the cuckoo clock shop.)

  TRENCH: Devlin! He’s over at the toy department. Let’s have a word with him right now.

  DEBSY: I’m right behind you.

  (TRENCH dashes over to the toys.)

  TRENCH: Ah, Devlin – sorry to disturb you, but me and Debsy… That’s funny, she’s gone…

  DEVLIN: What is it, Trench? I am very busy – it is Christmas Eve, you know. Even though we are open late till eight tonight.

  TRENCH: Sorry sir, I just thought a little chat was in order.

  DEVLIN: On your progress, eh? Won’t be moment. (He raises his voice.) Bridges, we have customers for once in toys. Help the staff out, will you?

  BRIDGES: (From a distance.) At once, sir.

  DEVLIN: So, whom is the lunatic who is plaguing me?

  TRENCH: Err… our investigations are reaching their final stages. The surprise Christmas present hasn’t been unwrapped yet, so to speak.

  DEVLIN: What in the Fatherland, are you talking about?

  TRENCH: I mean we’re close – I just need clarification on a few things. Fatherland..?

  DEVLIN: Simply a turn of phrase. Now ask your questions if you must, but hurry up.

  TRENCH: Gerard and Gelda, the husband and wife team who work and run the cuckoo stall…

  DEVLIN: I know who they are, Trench. In fact, I can hear the damned cuckoos from here.

  TRENCH: Yes, of course. Can I ask why you gave them a potentially lucrative thirty-year lease – and only charge them half your current going rate?

  DEVLIN: My, my – you have been doing your homework. I am impressed.

  TRENCH: It was Debsy who discovered that, actually.

  DEVLIN: Thirty years is a long time – the store has grown magnificently since the early, difficult days.

  TRENCH: So, you were desperate?

  DEVLIN: In a work, yes. And that type always profit from other people’s suffering and vulnerability.

  TRENCH: Gerard and Gelda?

  DEVLIN: Yes. I had just opened the store – and was almost drowning in debt. Gerard shrewdly offered me more than generous rent on said thirty year lease with one proviso – I had to agree to no increase in rent – ever.

  TRENCH: Which presumably was great at first, but bad business for you as inflation kicked in.

  DEVLIN: Exactly. They may have helped me long ago – but at a price. My father advised me to never do business with a Jew – I should have listened.

  TRENCH: So, you think the Jewish people are some sort of business parasites, which are best being rid of?

  DEVLIN: That son, is a question for history itself t
o answer.

  TRENCH: And are these incidents directed at what I regard as a sweet, elderly couple?

  DEVLIN: I hope you are not suggesting that I..? How ridiculous. Attack my own store and takings? Nonsense. Just find out who the culprit is before Christmas is out – and they do any more damage. Good day.

  (DEVLIN storms off and DEBSY reappears.)

  DEBSY: Peek-a-boo!

  TRENCH: Coward!

  DEBSY: (Says in a mock, hurt way:) What do you mean?

  TRENCH: Debsy, you deliberately waited for Devlin to leave before magically reappearing.

  DEBSY: Oh, what if I did? I can’t stand the man. Was your discussion with Devlin fruitful?

  TRENCH: I learnt one thing – that I must see Editor Law.

  DEBSY: I wouldn’t, he’s a law unto himself, that one. Why though?

  TRENCH: I suspect that Devlin’s family background could hold the key to the whole thing – and our boss is the man to find out!

  (Thoughtful, Christmas music changes the scene.)

  TRENCH: Old Tom, I can’t believe it. I have some vital information from Editor Law and all you can talk about is spindles!

  OLD TOM: Then humour me, Trenchy. Simply describe the dimensions of these spindles – and then, as far as Editor Law is concerned, I’m all yours.

  TRENCH: Oh, all right then. The spindles are about this thick – and this long.

  OLD TOM: I see. That’s around three-quarter inch diameter and seven inches long. Thank-you Trench.

  TRENCH: Now, where was I?

  OLD TOM: Does Editor Law ring any bells?

  TRENCH: Oh yes. Oh, by the way – you still haven’t put any Christmas decorations up, have you?

  OLD TOM: I never put seasonal decorations up until midnight on Christmas Eve – which is the traditional and proper time. There is almost eight hours to wait – and my flat will be transformed.

  TRENCH: With tinsel?

  OLD TOM: You will see, all in good time. Now please, tell me about your editor before you burst!

  TRENCH: Right. I went to see Editor Law to ask him if he would have another one of those nights with Devlin’s uncle but, as luck would have it, his uncle had already beaten someone else in his next golf match when Law met him in the clubhouse.

  OLD TOM: So, Devlin’s uncle was already worse for wear?

  TRENCH: Correct. And uncle was even more lucid on this occasion and passed onto my editor a startling revelation…