Paddington’s Finest Hour. Michael Bond
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holding one must be the word by now,” broke in Judy. “That’s probably why all the roads are blocked.”
“That’s as may be …” began Mr Brown, and then paused as the policeman, clearly intending to try his luck elsewhere, pocketed his notebook, and set off with a determined air, only to collide head-on with Paddington going in the opposite direction.
By now the windscreen was sufficiently clear of moisture to accommodate a view of the encounter, but it was only momentary. A split second later and it might never have happened as they toppled out of sight.
Despite frantic cleaning with anything that came to hand, moments passed before the side windows of the car were clear enough to see through, and although it revealed a grim-faced policeman talking into his mobile phone, Paddington was nowhere to be seen.
“Would you believe it?” said Jonathan. “Mrs Bird’s favourite motto is ‘Bears always fall on their feet’. He must have done it again.”
“He didn’t have your father’s envelope in his paw at the time, thank goodness,” said Mrs Brown.
“He had it under his hat to keep it dry,” said Judy. “And I bet that survived the accident. There’s a lot to be said for an old Government Surplus bush hat.”
“All he’s got to do now is find the nearest pillar box,” said Jonathan.
The Browns fell silent. From time to time a policeman or two floated past like phantoms, until suddenly the chatter of raised voices broke the monotony.
“Typical!” said Mr Brown. “The rain’s easing off.”
“Shh!” hissed Mrs Brown. “I think they are arguing about something.”
“I said I don’t like the sound of it,” repeated a voice, almost as though he was doing it for her benefit. “You know that vertically challenged foreign guy who wanted to post a letter …”
“The one who couldn’t reach the slot to drop it in so you offered to do it for him,” shouted another. “Bit rude I thought. Making you lift him up just so he got to drop the letter in himself. He wouldn’t let go of it.”
“Oh, he was polite enough,” said the first speaker. “Raised his hat and even said ‘thank you’ when I put him down. It was what he said afterwards that bothers me … ‘I had to do it myself because I promised to guard it with my life’!”
There was a pause while the words sank in, followed almost immediately by a stream of voices anxious to climb on the bandwagon. “It struck me he was a bit suspect,” said one.
“He told me he used to belong to an outfit in South America called The Home for Retired Bears,” agreed another. “It sounds like some kind of gang.”
“Run by a woman called Aunt Lucy,” broke in a third. “Sounds like a nasty piece of work. He had to report to her regularly.”
“The word ‘marmalade’ kept cropping up,” added someone else. “It could be a code word of some kind.”
“Maybe we could get the Post Office to retrieve the envelope,” suggested someone else.
Mr Brown’s groan was barely complete when to his relief the idea was quashed as being too time consuming.
“We need to move in as speedily and quietly as possible,” said an authoritative voice. “Now, here’s what I suggest …”
His words were a cue for the general lowering of voices, and try as they might the Browns had to admit defeat.
“You can say one thing for Paddington,” said Mr Brown. “Shyness isn’t his middle name.”
“He’s certainly made his presence felt on this occasion,” said Mrs Brown. “I don’t know what his Aunt Lucy will think if she gets to hear she’s been classed as the leader of a gang …”
She paused as two members out of a small group of policemen broke away from the others and headed in their direction.
“Meanwhile, it looks as though we may have company.”
“Two is not good news, I’m afraid,” said Mr Brown.
“I bet there will be a nice one to keep Dad talking,” said Jonathan, “while the other one does his best to find something wrong with the car.”
“Lesson number one in the Brown School of Motoring,” murmured Judy, as her father opened his door in readiness for their arrival.
As it happened, when they arrived they were clearly intent on getting down to work straight away. “This is the car the bear was in,” said the leader, “and this gentleman was denying all knowledge of it.”
“I was doing no such thing,” said Mr Brown. “I simply said he wasn’t sitting in the back seat of our car any longer.”
“Another thing,” said the policeman, ignoring Mr Brown’s response, “we would like all the windows open.”
“Certainly not,” said Mr Brown. “I have my family to think of, and it’s getting cold in here. As I’m sure you are only too well aware, it’s against the law to leave your engine running when you are parked for any length of time …”
The two policemen exchanged glances.
“I’m afraid it’s an order,” said the policeman. He took out his notebook. “Talking of things being against the law, you do realise, I suppose, that you are parked on a double yellow line. Not only is that forbidden at any time of the day or night even if there are no upright signs, but I could have you down for loitering with intent.”
“Intent to do what?” asked Mr Brown.
“That,” said the policeman, “is what we must look into.”
“Have you seen the state of this gentleman’s nearside front tyre?” asked the second policeman. “A good kick is all it needs.”
“That’s the one who checks the car,” whispered Jonathan in the back seat.
The words were hardly out of his mouth before the officer stepped back and by way of proof, drew his right leg back and administered a hefty kick.
There was a hiss of escaping air and the Browns’ car slowly tilted over to one side carrying its occupants with it.
Jonathan nudged Judy. “See what I mean,” he said.
“Awesome!” she exclaimed.
“Thanks a heap,” said Mr Brown.
“Shh, Henry.” Mrs Brown struck a warning note. “Why don’t you try counting up to ten?”
“I don’t envy you changing your spare wheel in this weather, sir,” said the first policeman sympathetically.
“Fortunately that doesn’t arise,” said Mr Brown. “I haven’t got one with me.”
“Ah!” The policeman licked the business end of his pencil. “Travelling without a spare wheel? Oh, dear me, sir!”
“It so happens I’m not travelling anywhere,” said Mr Brown.
“You’re right there,” said the second policeman. “Wait till the Superintendent back at the station hears about this. You will be able to produce the relevant documents, of course. Driving licence. Insurance. Three yearly roadworthiness certificate, otherwise …”
“You don’t know our Superintendent,” said Mr Brown. “I’ve played golf with him. He even shouts at the ball if it doesn’t go into the hole cleanly. I hardly think he’s going to laugh his head off when he hears how