Gretel and the Case of the Missing Frog Prints by P. J. Brackston Page B

little time to consider how she looked, however, as the by now slightly less eager client was bundled in. He had evidently not been idle during the long wait, but had busied himself drinking. A maid and Bacon Bob strapped him to the bed and left, though not before the latter had paused to blow a slobbering kiss in Gretel’s direction. She had steeled herself, testing out her whip gently against her hand. She cleared her throat and stepped forward to address the shape on the bed in the best no-nonsense tone she could manage. She was saved the trouble. The tom, for all his earlier eagerness, was deeply asleep before he ever felt so much as a tickle from Gretel’s cat o’nine tails. Hugely relieved, Gretel sat on a chair, where she remained for the next two hours, occasionally barking out commands lest Mistress Crane should send somebody to listen at the door. Just before her client’s time was up she shook him roughly awake and whispered in his ear that if he valued the reputation of his virility he would tell everyone what a thoroughly glorious time he had had, and extoll the talents of SheWho Rules to anyone who asked, particularly Mistress Crane and Bruno Phelps, should he come across him.
    She had been released from her trial due to there being no more takers, but only after she had promised to return in two nights’ time for further probationary work. Gretel knew it would be easy enough to simply stay away. She doubted anyone would come looking for her, and after all, she would be out of the city in a week or two. But her detective senses told her the place held answers. All she had to do was come up with the right questions, and put them to the right people.
    â€œI say,” Hans jolted her from her reverie, “you’ll never guess who I saw striding across the square last evening.”
    â€œUber General Ferdinand von Ferdinand?”
    Hans stared at her, mouth open for a moment. “Oh, you saw him too?”
    â€œSaw him, spoke to him, rather hope to bump into him again. At least, when I’m feeling more . . . respectable. He’s here to prepare for a royal visit. Seems you aren’t the only fan of gargantuan weisswurst. The princesses are coming to see it.”
    â€œYou don’t say! Well, there’s a thing. Isn’t that a thing, Wolfie?” Wolfie answered with a snore. “We shall have to do our level best in our efforts to build the sausage, no half measures if royalty will be here to witness the unveiling. I expect that’s why Kapitan Strudel is here too. Extra security, shouldn’t wonder. Matter of fact, Wolfie and I are due to start work in the butcher’s tomorrow afternoon. It’s a huge job. We’ll be on onion chopping duties for at least a day. My poor eyes will suffer. I hope their knives are sharp. Can’t abide blunt knives when working with vegetables . . .”
    â€œHans, shut up, and tell me again what you just said.”
    Hans’s face registered hurt, confusion, then defeat. “Well, which do you want? I can’t do both.”
    â€œThat name. You mentioned someone . . . I just want to be sure I heard correctly and that it wasn’t simply my mind playing devilish tricks because of my state of near exhaustion. Whom did you say you saw striding across the square earlier?”
    â€œUber General von Whatsit . . .”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd . . . Kingsman Kapitan Strudel. They were together, checking buildings, looking up at windows, cetera, cetera.” Hans paused to hiccup, rub his tummy, and belch loudly before adding, “Point of fact, they appeared to be checking our building, looking up at our cetera, cetera . . .” He tailed off and settled back to nibbling a piece of Edam.
    Gretel tried to convince herself that her brother was right, but it happened so rarely it was a big ask. Much as she wanted to believe that Strudel was here to assist with the royal visit she suspected that