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he must speak to you at once on a matter of national urgency.'
'Does he, by jove!' Grisedale's jaw tightened. 'A crank, no doubt.'
'He gave his name as Professor Davenport,' she went on. 'He's ringing from
somewhere in Wales and he said you'd know his name.'
'Put him through,' Grisedale barked, a puzzled expression replacing the one of
irritation.
'Clifford!' he boomed the moment they were connected. 'What the devil's the
meaning of phoning me at this hour? You what? Oh well, I suppose I'll have to
listen then. Go ahead. I'll try not to laugh.'
For fully ten minutes Grisedale listened to what Cliff Davenport had to say.
He ummed and aahed and clicked his tongue but he did not laugh. A worried
frown appeared on his face as, one handed, he fished a cigarette out of his
case and lit it.
'Christ!' he exclaimed at last. 'If it was anybody else but you, Cliff, I'd
have them certified and put away for spreading rumours liable to cause panic
among the public. I believe you, though, but whether anybody else will is a
different matter. Yes, yes, I know I'm number one up here, but I'm still only
a servant of the government. Everything has to go before a bunch of born
sceptics. Yes, yes, of course I realise the urgency of it. Hold on a moment.'
He paused, reached a diary out of his desk and began flipping through the
pages. 'I'm flying to Belgium tomorrow. Top level talks. I'll send Colonel
Goode down. No, no. It's the best I can do. The only thing I can do in fact.
You won't like him. He's a sarcastic sod. I hate his guts! But if there's
anything in what you say, he's the man to deal with it. He'll have half the
troops stationed in this country down there by this time tomorrow. All right
then, ring me when I get back on Friday if anything further crops up. Best of
luck, old boy.'
Grisedale replaced the receiver and lit another cigarette.
'I hope he's not going off his rocker,' he muttered.
He dialled a number on the internal telephone.
It was late afternoon when Colonel Goode arrived in Llanbedr. He was a short
thickset man, a heavy moustache adorning his upper lip, and his ruddy
complexion had not been caused by the sun. Whisky was his only love in life
and it was the uppermost thought in his mind as he got out of his car.
'Colonel Goode, I presume,' He looked up to see Cliff Davenport coming down
the steps, hand outstretched and a smile on his face.
So this is the bloody nutcase in person, the man from the Ministry of Defence
decided. Old Grizzly seems to think he's sane, too!
'I could do with a drink.' Goode wiped his brow. 'Whisky. I'm parched.'
'I'm afraid this place isn't licensed.' Cliff was taking an instant dislike to
this pompous individual. 'There's a place ... '
'Not licensed!' Colonel Goode interrupted. 'What have I come to? When I heard
your story from Commander Grisedale I thought maybe they had whisky on the
house down here!'
Cliff Davenport clenched his fists and fought to control his temper. How could
he possibly hope to convince a man like this that there was a race of monster
crabs lurking somewhere along this coast?
'Well, I'm going into the village to get a drink.' The Colonel turned back to
his car and lifted out a small overnight case. 'Take this up to my room. I'll
see you later.'
The Professor stood and watched as Goode drove off in the direction of the
village. He heard Pat Benson come up behind him and then her arm slipped
through his.
'I might as well not have bothered,' he murmured. 'Still, we shall have to try
and convince him just the same.'
Page 21
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Colonel Goode had obviously found his whisky. That was evident to both Pat
Benson and Cliff Davenport as the man from the Ministry lowered himself into
an armchair in the lounge. All the other guests had retired for the night and
Mrs Jones, sensing that something important was afoot, had made sure that they
were left in peace.
The Colonel hiccupped and his eyelids drooped.
'Now,' he said, 'what's all this nonsense about?'
'Firstly, Colonel,' Cliff began, as he seated himself on the edge of the
table, 'it isn't nonsense. Both Mrs Benson and I have seen these crabs. Last
night we watched them catch and devour a local beachcomber by the name of
Bartholomew.'
'The whisky,' Goode laughed unpleasantly. 'That's what whisky does for you.
Does it for me too. I've seen those crabs on plenty of occasions. Especially
when I've been eating them! Don't let it worry you. They won't hurt you.
They're always gone by morning.'
'Colonel!' Cliff brought his fist down on the table. 'I am not joking. Human
life is at stake. It might even stretch further than that!' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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he must speak to you at once on a matter of national urgency.'
'Does he, by jove!' Grisedale's jaw tightened. 'A crank, no doubt.'
'He gave his name as Professor Davenport,' she went on. 'He's ringing from
somewhere in Wales and he said you'd know his name.'
'Put him through,' Grisedale barked, a puzzled expression replacing the one of
irritation.
'Clifford!' he boomed the moment they were connected. 'What the devil's the
meaning of phoning me at this hour? You what? Oh well, I suppose I'll have to
listen then. Go ahead. I'll try not to laugh.'
For fully ten minutes Grisedale listened to what Cliff Davenport had to say.
He ummed and aahed and clicked his tongue but he did not laugh. A worried
frown appeared on his face as, one handed, he fished a cigarette out of his
case and lit it.
'Christ!' he exclaimed at last. 'If it was anybody else but you, Cliff, I'd
have them certified and put away for spreading rumours liable to cause panic
among the public. I believe you, though, but whether anybody else will is a
different matter. Yes, yes, I know I'm number one up here, but I'm still only
a servant of the government. Everything has to go before a bunch of born
sceptics. Yes, yes, of course I realise the urgency of it. Hold on a moment.'
He paused, reached a diary out of his desk and began flipping through the
pages. 'I'm flying to Belgium tomorrow. Top level talks. I'll send Colonel
Goode down. No, no. It's the best I can do. The only thing I can do in fact.
You won't like him. He's a sarcastic sod. I hate his guts! But if there's
anything in what you say, he's the man to deal with it. He'll have half the
troops stationed in this country down there by this time tomorrow. All right
then, ring me when I get back on Friday if anything further crops up. Best of
luck, old boy.'
Grisedale replaced the receiver and lit another cigarette.
'I hope he's not going off his rocker,' he muttered.
He dialled a number on the internal telephone.
It was late afternoon when Colonel Goode arrived in Llanbedr. He was a short
thickset man, a heavy moustache adorning his upper lip, and his ruddy
complexion had not been caused by the sun. Whisky was his only love in life
and it was the uppermost thought in his mind as he got out of his car.
'Colonel Goode, I presume,' He looked up to see Cliff Davenport coming down
the steps, hand outstretched and a smile on his face.
So this is the bloody nutcase in person, the man from the Ministry of Defence
decided. Old Grizzly seems to think he's sane, too!
'I could do with a drink.' Goode wiped his brow. 'Whisky. I'm parched.'
'I'm afraid this place isn't licensed.' Cliff was taking an instant dislike to
this pompous individual. 'There's a place ... '
'Not licensed!' Colonel Goode interrupted. 'What have I come to? When I heard
your story from Commander Grisedale I thought maybe they had whisky on the
house down here!'
Cliff Davenport clenched his fists and fought to control his temper. How could
he possibly hope to convince a man like this that there was a race of monster
crabs lurking somewhere along this coast?
'Well, I'm going into the village to get a drink.' The Colonel turned back to
his car and lifted out a small overnight case. 'Take this up to my room. I'll
see you later.'
The Professor stood and watched as Goode drove off in the direction of the
village. He heard Pat Benson come up behind him and then her arm slipped
through his.
'I might as well not have bothered,' he murmured. 'Still, we shall have to try
and convince him just the same.'
Page 21
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Colonel Goode had obviously found his whisky. That was evident to both Pat
Benson and Cliff Davenport as the man from the Ministry lowered himself into
an armchair in the lounge. All the other guests had retired for the night and
Mrs Jones, sensing that something important was afoot, had made sure that they
were left in peace.
The Colonel hiccupped and his eyelids drooped.
'Now,' he said, 'what's all this nonsense about?'
'Firstly, Colonel,' Cliff began, as he seated himself on the edge of the
table, 'it isn't nonsense. Both Mrs Benson and I have seen these crabs. Last
night we watched them catch and devour a local beachcomber by the name of
Bartholomew.'
'The whisky,' Goode laughed unpleasantly. 'That's what whisky does for you.
Does it for me too. I've seen those crabs on plenty of occasions. Especially
when I've been eating them! Don't let it worry you. They won't hurt you.
They're always gone by morning.'
'Colonel!' Cliff brought his fist down on the table. 'I am not joking. Human
life is at stake. It might even stretch further than that!' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]