One Of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing by David Forrest Page A

toward the dinosaur hall.
    “Phew,” puffed Melissa, as they dashed along the last corridor, into the hall, and wriggled under the canvas.
    Hettie watched Emily, as the old nanny adjusted Tarzan’s bed inside the duffel bag. “Emily Biddle,” she said, exasperatedly, “you’re the sticky limit.” Emily pretended she hadn’t heard, and tickled Tarzan’s head. “Hang that dratted thing up, and let’s get on wi’ the work.”
    “Oh, bother!” said Susanne.
    “What’s the matter, now?” demanded Hettie.
    “It’s all the excitement. I want to go to the loo again.”
    “Goodness, child. Weren’t you ever toilet trained?” asked Emily from the back of the tent.
    “Quaite,” said Una.
     
    The dinosaur, beneath its canvas cover, was now unrecognizable. “It looks like a torture chamber,” hissed Susanne, looking at the disarticulated skeleton. “Imagine thcreaming prisoners thwinging upside-down, dripping blood. And red-hot pincers.” She stretched up and stuffed her fingers in the monster’s mouth.
    “Concentrate on what you’re doing, child,” gasped Emily, her nose twitching rapidly. She struggled to support the weight of the head as she straddled the framework.
    “Take hold of it properly. If it drops, it’ll swallow you.”
    They lowered the skull to the ground.
    Susanne nudged Melissa. “I wath thinking. I bet an expectant brontothaurus was really thomething.”
    “They laid eggs,” Melissa told her. “They became extinct because whenever they climbed up to their nests, the trees collapsed.”
    “Poor thingth,” said Susanne, sadly.
    Emily slid down the iron support that had held a front leg She rubbed the dust off her glasses and clipped them back on her nose She surveyed the remains on the framework. “Not much more. Just the pelvis and odds and ends. I think it’s time we all had a nice cup of tea “
    An hour later, only the hip bone remained bolted to the brown tubing. Emily pulled up the baggy front of her overalls and wiped away a faceful of perspiration. The dust turned the sweat into a layer of mud. “I’ve got to make some sort of a pulley system to take the weight of that heavy piece. When we’ve got that down, we’ve almost finished.”
     
    Lui Ho trod carefully along the night-dimmed path, just inside Central Park, and parallel to the road running past the front of the museum. He held his nightstick, nervously, and kept reminding himself that his police uniform was probably good protection against being mugged.
    Lui Ho wondered what Central Park bandits did to their victims. If they were anything like those in his home province, they cut throats. On the other hand, some bandits in the border districts specialized in a quick kick to the victim’s knee-cap. Lui Ho clipped the nightstick to his belt, tucked his chin hard down against his chest, to guard his windpipe, then stooped and clasped a hand over each knee. He hoped there wasn’t another bandit standing behind him.
    “Pssst.”
    Lui Ho tried to look up toward the hiss. He found it difficult. “If anyone attacks us and if the conditions are favourable for battle, we will certainly act in self- defence to wipe him out resolutely, thoroughly, wholly and completely,” he said, quoting Mao Tse-tung aloud in English.
    The flat voice of Sam Ling came out of the darkness. “Had I been an enemy, I would have been terrified by that courageous threat, and I would already be fleeing for my life. As it is, I remained because I was so impressed by the important readings, I could not resist staying until you’d finished.”
    Lui Ho wished there was sufficient light to see his second-in-command’s expression. “A true worker can always find comfort and advice in the words of our beloved Mao,” he replied. “A pity that the rest of you have not learned more from them. Had you done so, we would not now be suffering from fifty per cent casualties. And we haven’t had a battle yet.” He sighed.
    “Fat Choy’s broken his