cream.â Truffler Mason chuckled fondly at the recollection. âYou know, Paddington Green still smells of raspberry ripple.
âSo, anyway, Mrs P, that was your late husbandâs first encounter with Inspector Wilkinson. And from the very start, he realized what we were up against was a one-hundred per cent, copper-bottomed dumbo.â
Truffler Mason may have finished his anecdote, but Hedgeclipper Clinton had been waiting for some time to chip in with his own recollections of the unfortunate Wilkinson. âThen there was that other time,â he said, the moment Truffler paused for breath, âthat Hampstead Music Museum job. Only a small place it was, full of biographical memorabilia from various composers, but amongst all the stuff it got was some really nice instruments, violins mostly. One Amati and a couple of Stradivariuses â and a Stradivarius cello. Well, Mrs P, as youâll remember, your old man always was a great music-lover . . . and, besides, he recognized that that lotâs got quite a good resale value.
âSo, once again, the whole thingâs set up beautifully. Times the curator and his staff go on and off duty checked out. Keyhole Crabbeâs brought in â you remember him, locks and alarms specialist â and he checks out the security system. Finds the best thing to do is set up a little electronic jiggery-pokery that reverses the alarms â like, when theyâre switched on, the doors open silently; when theyâre switched off and a doorâs touched, all hell breaks loose. Dead simple.
âAnyway, couple of days before the lift, Jukebox Jarvis does his routine hack into Scotland Yard, and blow me if he doesnât discover that theyâre on to this one too.â
âNow that Iâm sure was Posey Narker,â said Truffler.
âProbably. Anyway, we find out theyâre on to us and, whatâs more, the detective in charge of the case is once again â Inspector Wilkinson.
âObviously, Mr P and everyone else is dead chuffed to hear this, and the plans for the job are adjusted accordingly. Cut a long story short, the instruments are all successfully liberated from their cases before old Craggy Wilkinson gets there. And he ends up spending the whole weekend locked in the museum. Not sure whether he knew much about music before, but by the time he got out, he could certainly tell his Arne from his Elgar!â
While Hedgeclipper chuckled at his witticism, Truffler Mason was quick to pick up the conversational baton. âWell, by now it had become a pattern. Wilkinson was entirely reliable. Whatever he had to do, we could guarantee heâd screw it up. One time he was even duped into letting us use a Panda as a getaway car. With a police driver, and all!
âAs you can imagine, Mrs P, your late husband saw the potential advantages of all this. Soon, whenever weâd got a big job coming up, heâd get Jukebox Jarvis not only to hack into the police computer for information, but to make a few changes to what he found in there. Particularly in the business of duty rosters. Jukeboxâd fix it so that any time weâd got a real biggie, Detective Inspector Craig Wilkinson would be slated to be in charge of the case. Then we knew nothing could go wrong. I tell you, if Wilkinson hadnât been around, the information Posey Narker was spilling couldâve caused a lot more trouble than it actually did. Your husband used to say that old Craggy Wilkinson was his lucky mascot.â
Again Truffler Mason roared with laughter at the recollection, and Hedgeclipper Clinton joined him. Their laughter rose to a merry crescendo, then trickled away.
Both realizing at the same time that they had heard little for some time from the third person present in the bar, they looked across at her. On Mrs Pargeterâs soft, creamy brow was a wrinkle of puzzlement, and even a hint of reproach. âIâm sorry,â she
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