The Peaceful Affair: Chapter 37
“Jolly good job with de la Fesse yesterday,” complimented Lord Dogsworth.
“Thank you,” said Young Man Coronet, his voice betraying a slight trace of pride and joy. The two were seated in the morning room of Dogsworth’s Cardiff manor, sipping sherry and smoking fine cigars.
“Your voice betrayed a slight trace of pride and joy just now,” said the head of the British campaign against the United States sternly. “Such conduct is totally unbecoming of a nobleman.”
“I apologize, Uncle,” replied Coronet stolidly.
Dogsworth scrutinized his nephew for a long moment, finally satisfied that not a single of his facial muscles had so much as twitched. “Good,” he said eventually.
With no advance warning the barometer began coughing gently to warn of an imminent storm. Dogsworth had just enough time to eye the impolite instrument and mutter, “How rude,” before the tempest barged in. She departed seconds later as abruptly as she’d arrived, leaving the two gentlemen sherry-less and cigar-less.
“What was that?” asked a dazed Coronet.
“Mrs. Frankenstein, the housekeeper,” explained Dogsworth. “She does not approve of smoking or drinking in the morning room.”
After a moment or two of silence Coronet spoke softly. “Uncle, can we go down to the dungeon and see the object? I find it rather inspiring.”
“Very well, Young Man,” Dogsworth expressed consent, and the two commenced their descent.
Except for a small passage who shouted in delight, “Lord Dogsworth, what a pleasure! Haven’t seen you in ages,” the winding corridors of the manor welcomed the lord and his kin with grim silence.
“They’re rather ill-mannered, these passageways of yours,” commented Coronet coolly.
“I bought them on the cheap when the Tories went out of vogue,” explained Dogsworth. “I guess they’re still a tad displeased at no longer being corridors of power.”
After meandering along for several minutes the two arrived at an ancient-looking door made of thick oak wood.
“I see you’ve installed a new door,” remarked Coronet.
“Got it on a shoestring from a doorman who had had it in his family for centuries.”
“Why did he sell it, then?”
“Moved to Hollywood. Wanted to become an actor. Last I heard he was working as a doormat.”
Dogsworth extracted a large key from his jacket pocket and opened the imposing door, affording the two entrance into a large room boasting the usual assortment of dungeon articles: chains, mails, skulls, and crowns; at the center stood a plain wooden chest.
“May I open it, Uncle?” asked Coronet eagerly. Dogsworth again reached into his jacket pocket, extracted a large key, and handed it to Coronet. The lord then ambled over to a tall closet standing against a wall, and proceeded to examine some of his favorite skeletons.
Coronet fumbled with the key for a while until finally managing to open the trunk. “Good Lord — it’s empty!” he cried in shock.
Dogsworth came out of the closet in a flash, as though someone had just informed him the chest was empty. “Can’t be,” he shouted. “I was in here a few days ago and all was well.”
“Look for yourself, Uncle,” invited Coronet, motioning to the case.
“Confounded,” swore Dogsworth as ocular evidence poured in through his eyes. “It’s gone.”
“I just can’t believe it,” said Coronet in disbelief. “Someone stole the Rose Eta stone!”
A raven, who had been hiding amongst the skeletons, decided the time was ripe for his departure. He made for the door as the crow flies.
“What are we to do?” bemoaned Coronet.
“Extreme straits call for mundane measures,” declared Dogsworth decisively. “There is only one solution to this predicament.”
“You don’t mean …” began Coronet, unable to complete the sentence.
“Yes,” averred Dogsworth. “We need a pint.”
Twenty minutes later the two gentlemen were seated in the Dog and Pony, each holding a frothy glass containing a cold foamy liquid.
“Do you think Loaf did it?” asked Coronet, sipping gently from his very own pint.
“Not a chance,” replied Dogsworth determinedly. “He’s been the family butler for as long as I can remember. I inherited him from my father.”
“But he’s the only one with a key,” said Coronet intensely. “Beside you, that is. And I assume you did not do it, Uncle.”
Dogsworth took a sip. “Don’t be daft, boy,” he commanded and burped. “Neither Loaf nor I have anything to do with this sordid affair. But some wisdom may yet be retrieved from your bit of balderdash. The butler may further our investigation.”
Twenty minutes later the two gentlemen were seated in the manor’s morning room again, each cautiously holding a sherry and a cigar, bracing themselves against the potential tempest.
“You rang, sir?” asked Loaf impassively, as he entered the room and stood as straight as a pin.
“Loaf,” began Dogsworth without delay, “I need your help in a small inquest we’re conducting.”
“Of course, sir,” came the flat response.
“Has any unusual visitor turned up at the manor over the past few days?” asked Dogsworth.
“Might you be so kind as to define ‘unusual’, sir?” requested the butler.
“Anything out of the ordinary,” replied the lord.
“In that case, there has been an unusual incident, sir,” revealed Loaf. “Three days ago, the milkman arrived at six thirty-two, a tardiness of two whole minutes. I considered that to be so extraordinary I almost called your attention to the affair, sir.”
“Thank you, Loaf,” thanked Dogsworth levelly, “but I was thinking of something slightly more odd.”
“Odd, sir? Well, the hounds in the commons decided to vote with the Tories in favor of the motion to disallow young pups to filibuster. Quite odd, sir.”
Dogsworth was losing his patience. “Loaf, can you think of something wholly and totally out of place? Perhaps a visitor you had never encountered before in your life?”
“Ah, why did you not say so before, sir? Just such a person appeared at the doorstep three days ago.”
The lord and his nephew both pricked up their ears. “Go on, man,” prompted Dogsworth keenly.
“He indicated you had sent him to repair a leak in the dungeon closet. Seems the skeletons were popping out in a manner most unchecked.”
“And you let him inside the dungeon?” cried Dogsworth incredulously.
“He had a writ bearing your seal, sir,” replied Loaf defensively.
“Sorry, Loaf. It wasn’t your fault. What did this fellow look like?”
“A chap of ordinary appearance, sir. I’m sorry I did not take note of his semblance more closely.”
“That’s all right, Loaf. Can’t be helped,” Dogsworth reassured the man. “Tell me, did you notice anything about his speech, perchance? An accent, maybe?”
“Oh, he did not speak, sir,” replied the butler confidently.
“A mute?” asked Coronet, who had finished his sherry by now.
“Sorry for being unclear, sir,” apologized the butler. “I meant he did not speak as such. You see, he recited poetry.”
“Poetry?” uttered Coronet uncomprehendingly.
“Thank you, Loaf, that will be all,” said Dogsworth calmly, and dismissed the butler.
“Poetry?” repeated Coronet once Loaf had vanished.
“Intricate problems call for commonplace actions,” declared Dogsworth decisively.
Twenty minutes later the two gentlemen regained their seats in the Dog and Pony.
“Who is this mysterious leak-fixing poetry-reciter?” asked Coronet, sipping from a pint dedicated entirely to his liquid needs.
“No idea,” replied Dogsworth assertively. They drank silently for several minutes.
After a while, Coronet jumped on the table and performed a simplified belly dance especially suited for novices. “I have an idea,” he cried.
“What is it?” asked Dogsworth joyfully, clambering on the table and joining the dance.
“We must examine the scene of the crime!” proclaimed Coronet.
“Brilliant!” exclaimed Dogsworth.
Two hours later the buoyant pair had finally found their way out of the forest, with the help of some friendly elves. They returned to the manor posthaste and descended directly into the dungeon.
Squandering not a second they sprawled on the ground to look for evidence, and quickly found proof of the floor’s coziness. In no time at all they were snoring like babes out of the woods.
By the time they woke up night had fallen outside.
“Good heavens,” cried Dogsworth, rubbing his eyes and massaging his temples, “night has fallen outside.”
“So?” asked Coronet, massaging his eyes and rubbing his temples.
“So we must head to my office straight away,” said Dogsworth commandingly. “I expect a call from Victor and Cent Eccent later tonight. They’ll be using the secure string.”
“Let’s go then!” called Coronet enthusiastically.
“There is a slight problem,” Dogsworth put a damper on his nephew’s fervor.
“What?” asked Coronet.
“We’ve missed dinner,” admitted the lord gravely.
“Oh dear,” blurted Coronet, conveying his understanding of the situation’s graveness.
Dogsworth’s countenance took on a grave mien. “Precisely. We shall have to attempt a furtive dash to the car. We must not get caught, otherwise we shall be held up for hours. Are you ready?”
Coronet breathed deeply. “Yes.”
Dogsworth took the lead, guiding his nephew through little-known secret passages, finally stopping in front of a spiral metal staircase. Silently, he pointed upward toward the summit of the stairway where a trapdoor could be seen on the ceiling; Coronet nodded his understanding. They stole upward, cautiously proceeding step-by-step. At the top, Dogsworth opened the trapdoor and the two exited — to find themselves walking on eggshells.
“There you are, sirs,” said Loaf, who appeared to appear out of nowhere. For a fleeting second it seemed as though the butler had allowed a small note of triumph to creep into his voice; but only for a fleeting second. “Dinner is served.”
“Drat,” muttered Dogsworth.
“Confounded,” mumbled Coronet.
Without further ado the two gentlemen were led by the gallant butler to the dining room, where a long table had been laid for precisely two diners.
Dinner was served.
“Drat,” cursed Dogsworth two hours later, when they’d finally managed to escape the butler’s unyielding insistence. “No, sir,” Loaf kept saying, “you cannot leave the table until you’ve finished your pudding.” The lord’s pleading was to no avail. “You know what they say, sir,” the adamant butler would invariably reply. “The proof of the pudding is in the eating.” The two had to finish everything on their plates — including the broccoli — before the butler had at last let them run along.
Now they were finally in the car, racing toward Dogsworth’s office.
“Drat,” repeated the lord, and uttered not one more word until they arrived at the clock tower and ascended all the way to the top. As soon as they’d exited the elevator the phone rang. Dogsworth picked up the receiver at once.
“Lord Dogsworth, it’s Victor. We’ve been trying to make contact for the past hour.” He sounded upset.
“Sorry, Victor. A dining problem. Couldn’t be helped.” Dogsworth and Coronet exchanged a frustrated glance. “Anyway,” continued the lord, “we’ve got bigger problems. The stone has been taken.”
“What?” cried Victor.
“Apparently, someone had my seal forged, thus gaining illicit entry,” explained Dogsworth peevishly.
“Damn,” said Victor.
A shuffling sound from across the Atlantic made its way via the string to the clock tower, after which Cent Eccent came on line. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“You’ve approached General?” asked Dogsworth eagerly.
“Just moments ago,” answered Cent Eccent.
“How did he react?” inquired the lord.
“Peacefully,” came the reply.
“Excellent. Jolly good job,” complimented Dogsworth and ended the conversation. He turned to Coronet. “First de la Fesse, now General. I think we’re all set.”
“Set to explode,” added Coronet expectantly.
“Yes,” nodded Dogsworth solemnly. “We’ve set the stage for a worldwide chain reaction.”
“Which will lead to nuclear peace,” completed Coronet softly.
A raven, who had been quietly perching upon Big Ben’s face, decided the time was ripe for an invitation. He flew above Dogsworth’s desk, dropping a pink envelope on it, and then veered in midair en route for Coronet, who received a rosy packet as well.
Without waiting to study the effects of his actions, the raven spread his wings and took off in a westward direction.
