The Curious Case of the Clockwork Man - By Mark Hodder Page 0,22

of the British Empire!"

Later that same day, Burton was standing by one of his study windows smoking a Manila cheroot, filling the room with its pungent scent and staring sightlessly at the street below, when a messenger parakeet landed on the sill. Raising the window, he received: "Message from that dung-squeezer, Detective Inspector Trounce. Message begins. Word has reached me that you're back on your feet, you dirty shunt-knobbler. I'll call round at eight this evening. Message ends."

Burton chuckled. Dirty shunt-knobbler. He must tell Algy that one.

He did, later, when Swinburne visited, and the poet roared with laughter, which was cut short when Fidget, Burton's basset hound, bit his ankle.

"Yow! Damn and blast the confounded dog! Why does he always do that?" he screeched.

"It's just his way of showing affection."

"Can't you train him to be a little less expressive?"

They sat and chatted, relaxing in each other's company, enjoying their easy though unlikely friendship. Perhaps no stranger pair could be found in the whole of London than the brutal-faced, hard-bitten explorer and the delicate, rather effeminate-looking poet. Yet there was an intellectual - and perhaps spiritual - bond between them, which had begun with a shared love for the work of the Portuguese poet Camoens; had been sustained by a mutual need to know where their own limits lay - if, indeed, they had any; and was now strengthened by the challenges and dangers they faced together in the service of the king.

On the dot of eight, there came a hammering at the front door, followed by footsteps on the stairs and a tapping at the study door.

"Come!" Burton called.

The portal swung open and Mrs. Angell crossed the threshold. She stood nervously wrapping her hands in her pinafore.

"Detective Inspector T-Trounce and a young con-constable to see you, sir," she stammered. "And - and - goodness gracious me!"

"Mrs. Angell? Are you quite all right?"

Trounce stepped into the room behind her. Constable Bhatti followed.

"Hallo, Captain! Hallo, Swinburne!" the Scotland Yard man cried cheerfully. "Mrs. Angell, my dear woman, don't worry yourself! I promise you, it's absolutely harmless!"

"B-but - bless my soul!" the old dame stuttered. She threw up her hands and bustled out of the room.

"What's harmless?" Burton asked.

"You look like your old self again!" Trounce exclaimed, ignoring the question. "But never mind! Worse things happen at sea!"

Swinburne gave a screech of laughter.

"Come in, gentlemen; help yourself to a drink and cigar," Burton invited, indicating the decanter and the cigar box.

They did so, pulled over a couple of armchairs, and settled around the fireplace with the king's agent and the poet. Fidget sprawled on the hearthrug at their feet.

"We have a gift for you, Captain," Trounce declared with a mischievous twinkle.
Chapter Four
"Really? Why?"

"Oh, for services rendered and whatnot! Besides, I noticed that your shoes are never polished, your cuffs are frayed, and your collars need starching!"

"Ever the detective. What on earth has my personal grooming got to do with anything?"

"I'm suggesting, Captain Burton, that you're in dire need of a gentleman's gentleman - a valet!"

"I have a housekeeper and a maid. Any more staff and I'll be managing a 'household!'"

"Only those that need managing," Trounce said. He winked at Bhatti.

The young constable smiled and called: "Enter!"

A figure of gleaming brass walked in, closed the door, and stood, whirring softly.

Fidget yelped and dived behind a chair.

"My hat!" Swinburne exclaimed. "Is that the clockwork man of Trafalgar Square?"

"The very same!" Trounce answered. "Constable Bhatti has been studying him for the past three weeks."

"We found a key that fitted him in the priory," the constable added. "Then it was just a matter of experimentation. As I suspected, the little switches at the front of the babbage dictate his behaviour. He can be rendered more aggressive, subservient, independent; you can set him to respond to any voice, specific voices, or just your own. What do think, Captain Burton?"

Burton looked at each of his guests, then turned his gaze to the brass man.

"Frankly, gentlemen," he said, "I'm at a complete loss. You mean me to keep this mechanism as a valet?"

"Yes," Trounce said. "It will do whatever you tell it!"

Bhatti nodded and added: "It has enough independence to perform tasks without needing to be told all the time. For example, if you order it to ensure that your shoes are polished by six o'clock each morning, then it will never need telling again."

"I wish I could say the same about my missus!" Trounce muttered.

"Wait, Captain!" Bhatti said, jumping up. He strode to the brass man and stood in