A Traveller's Tale

Hatchet was startled and bemused. This never happened to Perry Mason. How was he supposed to refer to the prosecutor? 'My ignorant enemy'? Baffled, he looked towards the bench. Alderman Brittle's chin was on his chest. Reg Miller was clearly ill at ease and carefully avoided catching his eye. Only the Colonel met his gaze, and that with a hostile stare. There was a long embarrassing silence, as when an actor has missed his cue and nobody knows whose turn it is to speak next.

The silence was broken by the Colonel. "Well, speak up man. Now's your chance to explain what made you behave in such a despicable fashion. What have you got to say for yourself, you miserable wretch?"

Hatchet shrivelled. "I was only trying to see if she had any hidden assets," he wailed.

There were gasps of astonishment from the jury. "Ooh, the brazen villain!" one of the lady members was heard to exclaim.

The Colonel too was taken aback. "Aha, so you admit it now, do you? You're a danger to every decent gel you see. You deserve to be horsewhipped, tarred and feathered, and put in the stocks."

There was a painful lump in Hatchet's throat, and tears blurred his vision as he hobbled back to the dock. He hardly heard the verdict and sentence being passed before he was led away to spend four years in Lincoln Prison.

As the courtroom slowly cleared, Sidney Simpkins turned to the man in the next seat and asked, "You Press, like me? I saw you taking a lot of notes."

"No," Les Lister replied. "I've got a friend who might be interested in this case. Just wanted to make sure I had all the details for when I next write a letter to her."

* * *

One or Two

When Les got back to the inn, he expected that Muriel and Bess would be avidly awaiting his account of Hatchet's trial. Instead he found them engrossed over a letter, clucking and twittering like mother hens with a new chick, passing the pages to and fro, reading and rereading them as if to extract every last drop of intelligence from them.

"What's all this then?" he asked. "What have you got there?"

It was clear that they were both eager to be the one to impart the news, and what followed reminded Les of a liturgy of versicle and response as they took it in turns to elaborate.

Muriel: "It's a letter from Sheila,"

Bess: "replying to our invitation"

Muriel: "to spend Christmas with us."

Bess: "She says she would love to,"

Muriel: "but asks if it would be all right"

Bess: "if she brought a friend with her,"

Muriel: "but it's not certain yet"

Bess: "because she hasn't asked him yet."

Muriel: "Notice she says 'him,' not 'her.'"

Bess: "If he says 'yes,'"

Muriel: "and it's okay by us,"

Bess: "they may need two rooms,"

Muriel: "but if she is not mistaken,"

Bess: "by Christmas"

Muriel: "one room will do,"

They both then shouted in unison: "provided it's got a double bed!"

As the meaning of this news sank in, Les smiled happily. "Well, good for her. I only hope this chap is worthy of her. Does she say what his name is?"

"Not directly," Muriel replied, "but I bet you a pound to a penny it's that Inspector that she sometimes mentions, oh so casually."

"I tell you what," Les said. "I don't think we'll need to book more than one room for them. That girl should be a Canadian Mountie. We can rely on her to get her man."

THE END