Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

What’s Afoot? by Geoffrey Hitchcock

Percy paused in his work of digging up his old strawberry patch and leaned on his spade. An idea for a poem was coming into his mind. “The glory that was Greece gives way to Rome; the glory of the strawberries gives way to lowly spuds” — but before he could develop the theme, his wife came into the garden and at the same time he noticed something.

“Come over here,” he said. “I’ve just noticed that standing here you can see straight down Tauhou Street.”

“So you can!”

“There must be fifty houses in that street, and I don’t know a single person living in any of them. That’s terrible.”

But Pauli didn’t see anything terrible about it; as far as she could see it was perfectly normal. Why, they hardly knew their next door neighbors in Tihoi Street, so how could they be expected to know people in Tauhou Street, even if they did walk along it nearly every day.

“But don’t you see,” Percy persisted, “if we can’t be interested in our neighbors — find out what they think, what makes them tick — how can we expect nations to understand nations? What hope of peace?”

“Would you like to have smoko now, dear?” said Pauli.

Percy sighed and followed her into the house. A new poem was forming in his mind and he reached for his pencil and paper and wrote it down.

Pauli came in with the tea tray.

“Listen to the poem I’m writing,” said Percy, and proceeded to read it to her while she poured out. “What do you think?”

“Why do you always rhyme so much?” she complained.

“I can’t help it — not when I’m in a good mood.”

“You must always be in a good mood.”

“I am, mostly — is that bad?”

“I suppose not, but you’ll never get a poem in the Listener.”

“Who knows? Who cares? Who dares to send the Listener a rhyme? A poem that makes sense first time? These scones are good.”

And with that he addressed himself to the business at hand while his mind went off on its own track and his automatic defense system took over.

Pauli’s fault was that she never stopped talking and Percy had remained happy and sane simply by not listening while his own thoughts kept him entertained. His automatic mechanism dropped in an occasional “Yes, dear,” or “No, dear,” or “Fancy that” about every thirty seconds.

So Pauli chatted away and Percy worked on the problem of the sinister occupant of Number Twenty-four. Perhaps there was a Russian spy sending Listener poems to Moscow because he was convinced they were in code.

“Mrs. Jones’s cousin’s daughter, you know, the one who married the commercial traveler, had twins last week — that’s four girls she’s got now. More tea?”

“Yes, dear.” Or perhaps there was a white slaver who planned to kidnap Mrs. Jones’s four daughters and send them to a house of delight in Buenos Aires.

“The Stevensons’ holiday bach was broken into and two thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry was stolen. Would you believe anybody could leave so much jewelry in a bach? And a television.”

“No, dear.” It’s a hideout for a gang of thieves. Our hero watches from the shadows while masked men carry in stolen jewels and television sets.

“Mrs. Brown says her uncle has invented an electronic dog that growls and barks if burglars break in, but you can pat it if you’re a friend.”

“Fancy that.” There’s a mad professor living there. He is making robots in the shape of hideous beasts that roam the streets at night and frighten people to death.

“The Atkinsons are coming to tea this afternoon, but they won’t be here until three thirty because they’re going to the hospital first to look in on her cousin who’s got...”

“Yes, dear.” The man in Twenty-four strangled his wife because she never stopped talking.

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying.” She gave him an affectionate pat on the knee. “Have you?”

Percy blinked and surfaced. The situation wasn’t all that uncommon. “Sorry, dear, I was preoccupied with ideas for a story about Number Twenty-four.”

“If Number Twenty-four is worrying you so much, why don’t you simply go round there and pay the occupants a visit?”

“What a good idea. In fact, why don’t I visit all the houses? I’ll start this very afternoon!”

“Bully for you,” said Pauli, knowing quite well that her dearly beloved was much too timid ever to knock on a stranger’s door.

“I’ll go straight after my after-lunch nap. I won’t take Bonzo — he might not be welcome.”

“And mind you wrap up warm.”

“I’ll take my scarf,” said Percy, looking out on the brilliant autumn sunshine.

“And don’t be too long. The Atkinsons will be here about half past three.”

“Oh, are they coming to tea today? I didn’t know.”

“At half past three.” Pauli knew it was no use getting into strife about it.

Ten past two found Percy starting his walk along Tauhou Street. It was disappointing from the start. The first house was Number Forty-six and there was a name on the letterbox — Johnson, not Quix. Percy sighed and moved along, observing the houses really carefully for perhaps the first time.

Most of the houses didn’t have the occupants’ names displayed, and when they did, they didn’t rhyme with the numbers at all. Mrs. Dean, who had such a wide choice, had elected to live in Thirty-seven! Maddening! Percy gradually came out of his poetic fantasy. He looked at Number Twenty-four with some trepidation, but there wasn’t really anything fearsome about its front door at all. It was a stout paneled door, set off center in a green weatherboard house with large, welcoming windows and tiled roof. Two steps led to a porch that sheltered the door. A pleasant if somewhat ordinary house.

The section on which it was built sloped away rather steeply, and Percy guessed that the house would be high off the ground at the back with probably the garage underneath it. Indeed, a driveway led down past the side of the house. The front garden was neat but not excessively so, unlike Number Fifteen where Percy felt he daren’t call for fear he’d leave a footprint in the garden.

On then to the end of the road, rapidly losing interest until Number One, which had a small nameplate: B. and M. Gunn. By Jove, thought Percy, Ben Gunn in Number One — if I’d brought some cheese I’d have been sure of a welcome! But the carport was empty and the letterbox was stuffed with circulars.

The whole street’s dead, thought Percy. No wonder we don’t know anybody here. He turned to walk back, thinking that the idea was silly and he’d just have to brave Pauli’s taunts. He hadn’t seen a soul in the whole street, but now in Number Twenty-three there was a woman in a sundress and a floppy hat (dress up warm, thought Percy, whose muffler was in his pocket) snipping at her roses.

“Lovely day for gardening,” he volunteered.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Bannister, going for a walk? Where’s your dog?”

“Do you know old Bonzo, then?”

“Of course. He’s always so good about waiting for you outside the shop.”

That pressed a key. “Of course — it’s Mrs. Lee from the dairy. I didn’t recognize you in your sun hat and out of your natural element, so to speak. So I do know somebody in Tauhou Street after all!” He proceeded to tell her the whole tale, and even recited his verse.

She listened with great interest. “Of course being in the dairy I know most of the folk around here, but I think it’s a perfectly splendid idea. Where will you begin? At Number One? Oh no — the Gunns are in Australia for the month and the Pughs are both at work.”

“Are they really called Pugh in Number Two?”

“Not really — they’re Morrisons — I was just joining in the fun. I don’t think there are any number-rhyming names in the street apart from the Gunns.”

“And yourself,” said Percy, warming to her.

“Of course, Mrs. Lee in Twenty-three — she may invite you in to tea! I’d never thought of it before. And right opposite are Mr. and Mrs. Shaw in Twenty-four! Well I never!” She thought for a moment. “But that’s all I can think of. Why don’t you start there? They’re a nice elderly couple about your age, though she’s away, I think. But he’ll be there, I saw his station wagon drive in just a few minutes ago.”

“But that’s where the terrors lurk,” objected Percy. “What about Twenty-two?”

Mrs. Lee laughed. “I doubt very much you’ll find any terrors there, they are really nice people. But as to Twenty-two I’d better warn you that there’s a widow living there, and if you make her acquaintance, she’ll be forever pestering you. And she’s a troublemaker.”

“A troublemaker?”

“A gossip. Just now she’s spreading a rumor that Mr. Shaw has murdered his wife.”

“Did he, do you think?”

“Of course not, but she’s sure of it because Mrs. Shaw went away without telling her. My guess is that Margaret went away to get Mrs. Drew off her back for a while.”

“Then why don’t I call in and find out?”

“Why not indeed,” agreed Mrs. Lee. “What a splendid opportunity to put Mrs. Drew in her place.”

“Because,” said Percy honestly, “I’m not brave enough.”

But Mrs. Lee scoffed at the suggestion, and our hero found himself with a big iron knocker in his hand. Almost immediately the sinister door was opened by a big greyhaired man whose usually kind lines were creased into a puzzled frown.

“You don’t look like a policeman,” he said. That threw Percy, and all he could think of to say was, “Oh! Don’t I?”

“No. But I suppose if Dietrich and Wojo are anything to go by, it doesn’t mean a thing. Come in anyway.”

He ushered Percy into a large, comfortably furnished room, the main feature of which was several mounted sets of antlers overshadowed by a magnificent stag’s head.

“Take a pew,” said the man, indicating a comfortable armchair. Percy sat and gazed round the room.

“I say,” he said, “what a magnificent head... you didn’t... did you?”

“Yes, I did. I’m a deer stalker. Do you hunt?”

“Not me — you need to be a big strong fellow for that. I fish sometimes. Mostly I work in the garden and round the house, but for a hobby I write a bit — not much — just the odd short story and a bit of verse.”

“A poet! You seem less and less like a policeman.”

“I’m not. I’m Percy Bannister and I live at the end of the road in Tihoi Street.”

“Then why the devil didn’t you say so?”

“I was going to, but you seemed so obsessed with the police — are you expecting them?”

“Not exactly.” The big man dismissed the matter as of no importance. “So what can I do for you, Percy?”

Percy explained. He considered reciting his verse, of which he was rather proud and at which Mrs. Lee had clapped her hands with pleasure, but in time he remembered the line about the door of Twenty-four. “What do you think of the idea?” he concluded.

His host was delighted. “I think that’s great. You’re quite right — we should be more caring of each other. Glad to know you, Percy. Uncommon name. I’m Dick Shaw, though my wife called me Richard — thought it was more classy.”

“Don’t you have a wife any more?” asked Percy, pleased with himself for being able to broach the subject so soon.

Dick considered the question before answering. Then he shrugged. “I suppose I have.”

“Don’t you know?”

“Well, I suppose the answer is yes I have, but we had a flaming row a while back and she left home. Haven’t seen her since.”

“I am sorry.”

“Well,” Dick considered, “so am I in a way. On the other hand it’s pretty marvelous. Terrible nag she’s become lately. Do this — do that — why don’t you do the other. All day long, it was beginning to drive me mad. Why couldn’t I have a bit of peace now that I’m retired and do what I wanted? I wasn’t causing any trouble.”

“No. I see what you mean, I can understand how you felt.”

“Can you, Percy? Does your wife nag you too?”

“Not much really, but she never stops talking. I don’t listen, of course, but there are times when I could cheerfully bash her one.”

“I could strangle mine sometimes.”

“You didn’t. Did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What... oh, the police thing. There’s a stupid woman next door — she was on good nagging terms with Mag and just because Mag went off without telling her — and why should she, for Pete’s sake — she’s spreading a rumor that I’ve done the old girl in.”

“Ah, so that accounts for the police business.” Percy began to feel a wave of sympathy for Dick.

“I’ve been half expecting her to go to them and report a murder. Not a shred to go on, of course, but I wouldn’t put it past the silly old cow. They’d only laugh at her.”

“They’d curse her and all you’d do is tell them where your wife is and Mrs. Drew would look a right Charleen.”

“Mrs. Drew?”

“From Twenty-two.”

“Of course, old poet — sorry, I’m a bit slow on the uptake. Not quite as easy as that, though. I haven’t the foggiest where she’s gone.”

“You mean you don’t know where she is?”

“No, and I don’t care. She’s welcome back any time, but I’m not going chasing after her. She walked out, not me.”

“But if she’s been gone more than a week, shouldn’t you report her missing?”

“If I did that, old boy, they’d be sure to find her. After all, she must have gone somewhere — to some friend or cousin that I don’t know about, or to a hotel. Back to England, even.”

“Could she really walk out just like that?”

“It wasn’t quite so casual. I say, old visitor, I’m being very inhospitable burdening you with my troubles without offering you something. What’ll it be? Something alcoholic, or are you a tea and coffee man?”

“Thank you, we generally do have a cup of coffee at this time of the day, but that would be imposing.”

“Not at all. Not at all. If you hadn’t called, I’d be putting the kettle on anyway.”

He led Percy through to a pleasant room with kitchen at one end and dining table at the other and seated him on a high stool at a counter that divided the room while he busied himself with the kettle. From his seat, Percy looked through a wide picture window to an unobstructed view of lake and mountains.

“I like this room best,” said Dick.

“It’s easy to see why.” Percy was enthusiastic. “What a magnificent open view. Mine’s restricted by trees.”

“Trees are good, too, but I love my mountains and the forest.” He put two steaming mugs of coffee and slices of fruit cake on the counter, which was wide enough for him to sit opposite Percy. For a while they were quiet, savoring the view and the coffee.

“You make an excellent cup of coffee and this cake’s good. You didn’t make it, did you?”

Dick laughed. “No, Mrs. Adams or Mrs. Irvine made the cake. I’m strictly a bush cook, and that doesn’t run to fruit cake. Mag was a dab hand at cake, I’ll say that for her.”

“So you had a barney one evening, and when you woke up next morning she’d gone?” Percy was anxious not to let the subject drop.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that. I got up very early and went into the Kaimanawas. I stayed there two days.”

“I see,” said Percy. It did make sense now. She was fed up with his always going off and leaving her, so she had plenty of time to pack a bag and take off. “And when you came back she was gone. It must have been a shock.”

“Percy, my friend, it was, and at the same time, it was wonderful. I’d had two glorious days in the bush — not stalking, just communing with nature as they say. Tane had soothed my shattered nerves. I had walked until I was physically exhausted and was filled with that glow of contentment that only such days can produce. Heaven would be a hot tub and a long, cool beer, but I braced myself for an ear-bashing.”

“Which didn’t come.”

“No,” said Dick, “talk about all this and a Seven too — only I don’t smoke, do you?”

“No, gave it up years ago, but I know how you felt. I hate coming home after a day’s fishing and being fussed over and put in a hot bath. But it must have been a shock for all that.”

“Yes and no. She had always threatened to leave home if I went into the bush alone. But of course she never had — before.”

“No. I can understand her being anxious if you do that. Isn’t it one of the first rules...”

“Aw, come off it, old comrade, don’t you start nagging now. I’ve been tramping in the bush since I was a kid.”

“But perhaps she thought you were getting past it.”

“Hey, steady on, how old do you think I am?”

“Sixty-five?”

“Well, I’m not, I’m only seventy-two!”

“Oh well, that’s different.” They had a good laugh over that.

“And I’m still very strong,” Dick said.

“I can see that.” Everything was quite clear to Percy now. Silly old codger didn’t know when it was time to slow down. No mystery now about his wife walking out. It was time to change the subject.

“This coffee is good,” he said.

“Bush style,” said Dick, topping up their mugs. Percy sniffed the coffee, appreciated the aroma, and then some other not so pleasant odor, crept into his nostrils. He lifted his head away from his mug and sniffed the air. Drains, perhaps?

“I say, Dick, you sure you didn’t do for your missus?”

Dick sniffed the air and frowned. He stood up and took a large meat cleaver off the wall, then he came round the counter and, trying hard to conceal his mirth, he suddenly grabbed the startled Percy from his stool and steered him towards the outside door before he could think what was happening.

“You have discovered my secret, so now you are implicated and must help me dispose of the corpse.”

And before the now thoroughly disconcerted Percy could gather his wits, he found himself being hustled down a flight of wooden steps that led down the side of the house and round the corner into the back yard where, to his horror, he saw Mag in her nightgown hanging from a beam that protruded from the wall. He let out a strangled cry and felt his knees buckle.

When he recovered, he found he’d been propped up comfortably against the wall. Summoning all his courage he looked at the “body.” He at once noticed two things about it: it had no head and a small black hoof was protruding below the hem of the nightie. He felt very foolish. What would his new friend think of him? It was obvious now that it was all a big joke and Dick would have been expecting a roar of laughter — not a swooning nincompoop. After all, what murderer would leave his victim hanging up for all to see?

He had just managed to struggle to his feet when Dick came down the stairs with a glass of whisky.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Here, drink this, it’ll put the color back in your cheeks.” And while Percy was gagging on the strong drink, he burst into uncontrollable mirth.

“If only you could have seen yourself.” Tears were running down his cheeks. “I wish it had been Mrs. Drew. She might have died of heart failure!”

“I might have died of heart failure,” protested Percy.

“Never, old man, your heart is too big, but I do apologize. I get carried away with my leg-pulling. Perhaps that’s why I have so few friends. It’s the Irish in me.”

He went on to explain that he had hung up a side of venison to “ripen” and had covered it with one of Mag’s passion-killers to keep the flies off.

“But why the drama with the meat cleaver?”

“No drama. I was going to cut you a joint. You deserve something nice after listening to all my nonsense.”

“Thanks very much,” said Percy, imagining how Pauli would react to the undoubtedly “ripe” meat, “but I mustn’t deprive you.”

“No possibility,” said Dick, who proceeded to unlock and open a heavy door. “Look — plenty more where that came from.”

Percy saw that the door opened into a sizeable cold store. There was a rail across the room from which deer carcasses were hanging, and on the floor at the back a whole heap more. He was about to inquire why they were on the floor when there were so many spare hooks when his eye caught something that gave him such a jolt that Dick couldn’t help noticing it.

“What is it now?”

Percy was in a state of shock. “There’s a foot sticking out... it’s... got... five toes.”

Dick looked into the room. “How the hell did that happen.” He locked the door carefully.

Percy just stood there waiting for his legs to regain their function. “I’ll go home now. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“No, don’t do that. I don’t want you to go away thinking badly of me.”

“I won’t do that,” moaned Percy. “I don’t doubt you were driven to it. I’m not feeling very well.”

But the big man had other ideas. “Come upstairs and I’ll give you a drink... and we’ll decide where we go from here.”

Percy looked around for an escape route, but there didn’t seem to be one. “I don’t really have much option, do I?”

“Not really,” said Dick, and guided the unwilling little man up the stairs. Seated at the counter again, Dick poured two enormous drinks in spite of Percy’s protests that he wasn’t used to whisky.

“You’re in a state of shock,” he said, “so knock that back. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” said Percy, obeying. “Wow — that was strong.”

“Put you right — there,” filling the glasses again. “You can drink this one more slowly while I tell you exactly what happened.”

“Hic! Pardon.” The two large whiskies were taking effect already. Percy began to feel a warm glow and a feeling of confidence. Maybe his position wasn’t as hopeless as it had seemed while he was being hustled up the stairs. He took a generous sip of his third whisky. He was beginning to get a taste for it. “Right you are then, old soldier, fire away and no lies this time.”

“Percy, my old bard, I haven’t told you a lie yet. I may have noted some unlikely possibilities and left out a few details. I’ll fill them in now.”

Percy took another sip. He was beginning to feel well in control of the situation. “Carry on, corporal,” he said.

Dick took a deep swig himself. “I’d arranged to go on a short hunting trip with Len Gardner, but at the last minute he phoned to say he couldn’t make it — Mag took the message. I said never mind, I’d go on my own, and that started it. All the afternoon — what if this, what if that, what if, what if, what if! Drove me barmy.”

“Must say I see her point of view.”

“Now, Percy, I thought we’d agreed...”

“Not nagging,” said Percy, “see your point of view too, but not safe to go in the bush alone.”

“Dammit, man, the bush is no more dangerous to me than walking down the street is to you.”

“Funny things happen to me walking down the street,” said Percy pointedly. Dick decided to let that one ride.

“Anyway I kept out of her way all evening while I got my gear ready. She went to bed early. The trouble was that she’d got old and frail and couldn’t understand that I was still strong as an ox. I sleep in the spare room when I’m going off early so’s not to disturb her.”

“Thoughtful of you.” Percy drained his glass.

“I’m not all bad. I went to kiss her goodnight, and damn me if she didn’t start all over again. What would happen to her if... I let her rant on for ten minutes; then, when I was beginning to lose my temper, I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a good shake. ‘That’s enough,’ I shouted, ‘now shut up and go to sleep.’ I dropped her on the pillow and stalked out. When I got home two days later, she was still there.”

Percy was shocked. He pushed his glass towards Dick, who filled it automatically.

“You told me she’d gone.”

“She had gone but she was still there, if you get my drift.”

“You sure she was still there — not there again?”

“She didn’t seem to have moved. Can’t be sure, though. A person in bed one night looks much the same as any other night. I think I must have dislocated her neck — her head was floppy.”

“The doctor could have told you.”

“I didn’t send for the doctor. He’d only have confirmed that I’d killed her.”

“The pleesh then — it was only an accident.”

“I thought about it, but what would they do? Lock me up. Drag me through the courts. Accuse me of womanslaughter, then lock me up again. I don’t have time for all that.”

“Right, no time for all that. So what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I thought, She’s gone now, poor dear, and perhaps not much before her time. And nothing will bring her back. And I don’t expect to last much longer. A couple of years, perhaps, then one of the things she worried about will happen. So why not leave it at that?”

“You’re quite right — couldn’t agree more.” The mists that had clouded Percy’s thinking were beginning to clear. “But laws, customs, and you had a corpse on your hands.”

“Yes,” replied Dick, “and a busybody neighbor, so I carried poor Mag down to the cold room and hid her behind the carcasses while I thought things through.”

“And have you?”

“Well, no. Up to now it’s worked very well as it is. ’Nother drink?”

“Cheers,” said Percy, clinking his glass with Dick’s. “Whatcha mean — up to now?”

“You don’t think anything’s changed?”

“Why should it? Just because you showed me a foot? Not my bishness is it what a man dush with hish wife? Own affair.”

“You mean you don’t intend to phone the police as soon as you get home?” Dick eyed him narrowly.

“Not lesh you want me to.”

“Why the devil should I want you to?”

“Why’d you show me that damn foot?”

“I didn’t mean to. I don’t know how it slipped out. I was trying to allay suspicion, wasn’t I? Give the busybodies something to think about.”

Percy thought about it for a while and emptied his glass. “I wonder,” he said.

Dick’s temper was beginning to fray. “What do you mean you wonder,” he shouted. “What the hell do you think I was doing? Here, have another drink.”

“Yesh,” said Percy, “helps me to think clearly. Not sh... muddled sh... usual.”

“Good. Think clearly, then.”

“I think... I think you were calling for help.”

Dick exploded. “Help? Me? From a pipsqueak like you that I’ve never met until today?”

“Not likely, is it?” acknowledged Percy.

“No.”

“No — but the point is...” If Percy was sure of one thing now, it was that he wanted to go home. “The point is, no matter what you shay, I’m going to be drawn into this. I know you’ve got a heavy load, even for your broad shoulders, and I’m shorry. Like to help... not going to be drawn in.” He started to rise unsteadily to his feet, but the big man reached over and sat him down again.

“You are drawn in, old philosopher, up to your neck.”

“Yesh, but I’m drawing out now.” He tried to get up again.

“No, sit down till we sort this out,” said Dick, pressing him down again.

“No need to push me like that. I’m your friend, aren’t I? Tell you now... feel shorry for you... damn shorry... know you didn’t mean to do it. Know you were still fond of her, elsh why would you kisher goo’night?”

“It wasn’t always bad. Mostly it’d been good.”

“So, you had acshident... should’ve gone to pleesh... cleared the matter up... butcha didn’t... you thought you’d found freedom that’d last. You began to wish the silly ol’ biddy next door would go to pleesh... but she didn’t.” Percy’s mind was very clear now. He just wished the room wouldn’t float up and down.

“But she didn’t,” prompted Dick.

“So when I came ’long, you took... opportunity to get me involved.”

Dick was amazed. “You worked all that out?”

“By myshelf,” said Percy proudly.

Dick shook his head — slowly, because the drink was beginning to get to him, too.

“You must be off your rocker. I was just trying to allay suspicion. Now I’ve got you on my hands.”

“I’ll get off, then, no trouble. Tell you what I’ll do, I think you want help so I’ll help you... tell you what I’ll do... is the whisky finished?”

“Never!” Dick filled the glasses, then raised his in a toast. “To Mag.”

“Yesh, the nag. Tell you what I’m going to do, I’m going to do nothing, that okay, Dick?”

“That’s splendid, Percy, couldn’t be better.”

Percy struggled to his feet and once more Dick pushed him down again.

“You can’t go yet, old soldier, I need a guarantee.”

“Don’t push me down all the time. What guarantee?”

“That you won’t tell that chatterbox wife of yours.”

“Tell Pauli? Don’t ever tell her anything, old com-pat-riot, be all over the neighborhood if you do.”

“That’s right, Persh. Thash why need guarantee.”

Percy thought hard for a moment. “Crosh my heart and hope to die?”

Dick considered this, then shook his head sadly. “Not good enough.”

“How about Shcoutsh honor?” suggested Percy hopefully.

“Sorry, old sergeant... been a scout m’self... have to lock you in the cold room.”

“Can’t do that, cap’n, haven’t got my jersey on. Only a muffler.”

“Only soundproof room in the house,” said Dick.

“I (hic) presheate your point, old turnkey, but there’sh a problem. Pauli will come looking for me. That’sh it!” He snapped his fingers in delight. “Lock Pauli in cold room.”

“Stop her talking,” said Dick doubtfully.

“Stop me talking, too, colonel... get in trouble if I do.”

“Percy, you old Einstein, you’re a genius. How do we get her in?”

“Shimple... ring her up... tell her put on lotsh warm cloze... bring basket... gonna giver her some fenison. Then shut door.”

“Full marks, professor. What’s her number?”

“Pauli’s number? Cucumber.” He giggled. He thought hard. “Don’t know her number... never ring her up, see... I’m already there... don’t have to phone her.”

But when they tried to look up the number in the directory, the small print danced about so it was impossible.

“I’ll go and get her,” said Percy. “Sh not far.”

“Don’t be long,” said Dick. “Going out early tomorrow.”

“You gonna kill another old deer?”

“Now, now, none of that. Jush going deep bush for a few days. Clear up some problems. You go get Pauli.”

“Three minutes,” said Percy, but in his haste to stagger out he opened the wrong door.

“Tha’s a cupboard,” said Dick.

“Full of Mags,” said Percy.

“Relics of the days she had her boutique. Dress shop to you.”

“I know... this one’s got a foot missing.”

Somehow he managed to get home and fall up the front steps without hurting himself. Pauli came running out and helped him in.

“Where have you been? I don’t know what the Atkinsons must have thought. Thank goodness they didn’t see you like this — you’ve been drinking.”

“Jush one or two... lishen, Pauli... s’important... losh and losh cloze... big basket... get locked in cold shtore.”

“What on earth are you on about?”

“Cloze,” said Percy, “locked in Dick’s cold store... oh, I feel bad.”

Everything was going black and the house was on a roller-coaster...

Percy woke in the morning and reached across the bed for Pauli. She wasn’t there. A sudden vision of her locked in Dick’s cold storeroom sent him racing to the phone. He had already dialed the first two digits when he heard Pauli making tea in the kitchen. “Pauli! Thank God you’re here.”

“Where did you think I’d be?”

“In the freezer.”

“Now you just pop back into bed and I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea and some aspirin and when you’re feeling better you can tell me all about it.”

“Ow, my poor head,” he said and obeyed her instructions. He thought a lot about how much he should tell her, and eventually, over breakfast, he told her everything — well, as much as he could remember.

Pauli thought it all very funny. She didn’t believe Percy had really seen a foot in the cold room.

“What an afternoon you had, my poor darling! What are you going to do now?”

“Nothing,” said Percy, whose aching head took all the fun out of the episode.

“You’re probably right,” said Pauli. “You drank so much whisky that you couldn’t be sure what was going on.”

“No, it’s all very confused. I just wish I’d never noticed that smell. Do you know, I can still smell it.”

Pauli sniffed the air. “So can I, it’s coming from outside.”

She went to the front door and came back with a carton that had an unmistakeable effluvium about it and a note taped to it.

“Dear Percy (he read), I’m going bush for a few days. Here’s the venison I promised you. It’s just nicely ripe now so you needn’t hang it any longer. Sorry I teased you and got you so drunk. You’re a good sport. Dick. P.S. I’ll come and see you if I get back.”

“He means when he gets back,” said Pauli.

“Yes,” said Percy.

Percy opened the carton. Inside was a haunch of “nicely ripe” venison and beside it a plastic foot. On the foot was written “A souvenir from Mag.”

Pauli saw the funny side of it. “What a character. What a weird sense of humor! My poor old muggins, he certainly had you on a string. He must have had it all lined up for Mrs. Pew or whatever the busybody’s name is, only you came along and copped the lot.”

Percy found it more difficult. “I was the sucker all right. Never mind, we’ll have roast venison for dinner. It’ll make a nice change.”

“Pooh,” said his spouse, “we will not. You go and bury it in the garden.”

Percy dug a deep hole in the old strawberry patch, a place he thought fitting, and dropped the venison in it. “In you go, you stinking flesh. Dust to dust... Poor Dick. Are you digging a grave for your old mate somewhere out there in the forest? And who will bury you, Dick? Tane will take your spirit and cover your body with leaves. Such a strong old body. Such a waste... In you go, poor foot. Such an elegant pink foot. Not a bit like that old bluey-white one with the big bunion that’s punched forever on my memory tapes. But I won’t tell Pauli. Not ever.” He made a two-fingered salute. “Shcouts’ honor.”