Green, the men must proceed in groups of no more than three morons at a time to the Cat in the Custard at Pipers End. It is of crucial importance that all the nose-picking men have visited this public house before sundown. Honesty, you skunk-tickler, this is a matter of national sodding importance and you can't overestimate the number of constables required. We need a bloody army. I will take full responsibility. Get to the Cat yourself, dirt-slurper, as soon as possible. Bring with you the strumpet Sister Raghavendra of 3 Bayham Street, near Mornington Crescent. Speed is of the essence. Message ends.'
'Well, I'll be blowed!' exclaimed Honesty. It was one of the longest and strangest messages he'd ever heard issue from the beak of a parakeet.
'Tosspot,' squawked the bird.
'Reply,' snapped the Yard man. 'Message begins. Doing as you say. This better be good. Message ends. Go.'
With a colourful flutter the parakeet flew from the windowsill and disappeared into the sky. Faintly, its voice floated back: 'Buttock-licker!'
Slightly over an hour and a half later, five rotorchairs landed in a field to the west of Letty Green. Detective Inspector Honesty climbed out of the first, removed his goggles, and straightened his clothing. He retrieved his homburg and cane from beneath the seat, then paced over to one of the other chairs and helped its driver out.
'That was utterly wonderful!' Sister Raghavendra laughed. 'Though a little tricky to begin with!'
'You did well! First woman to fly!' replied Honesty.
'Really? No, surely not! Me, the first woman to fly?'
'Perhaps, my dear. Perhaps.'
Honesty turned to the three men who awaited his orders.
'Remain here, Constable Krishnamurthy,' he said to one. 'Instruct new arrivals.'
'Yes, sir.'
Then to the other two men: 'Venables, Ashworth-come!'
He led the girl and the two policemen to a stile in the hedgerow that surrounded the field and climbed over it into the lane beyond. As they proceeded toward nearby Pipers End, three specks appeared in the sky behind them: more rotorchairs arriving from London.
They traipsed on until, forty minutes later, they arrived at the Cat in the Custard and were shown up to the private sitting room.
'Hello, old fellow!' said Burton, shaking Honesty's hand. 'I want you to listen to what Trounce has to tell you. It will sound incredible but, believe me, every word is true. We must act fast and we're relying on you.'
Honesty nodded curtly and sat in the chair to which Trounce gestured.
Burton guided Sister Raghavendra out of the room and down into the empty parlour.
'Sadhvi,' he said, placing his hands on her upper arms. 'You said you would like to help. You can. But I may be placing you in harm's way.'
'No matter,' she replied eagerly. 'Tell me what I must do.'
Later that morning, a flower seller, wearing a red cloak with a hood, entered Old Ford village and started calling from door to door. It was late in the season and her basket contained only magnolias, hydrangeas, geraniums, a makeup kit, and a pistol.
Business was not good. She made few sales, though all the villagers were friendly. One, a retired soldier who introduced himself as 'Old Carter the Lamp-lighter,' informed her that she was the most exotic of the blooms.
Eventually, she came to a cottage at the bottom of the hill on the western edge of the village. There were two bobbies standing guard outside and one blocked her path and refused her entry.
She whispered a few words to him.
He nodded, spoke softly to the second constable, then the two men strolled away and didn't come back.
Ignoring the bellpull beside the gate, the flower seller passed through and walked along the short path to the front door. She knocked upon it and, a few moments later, it opened.
A short conversation followed.
The flower seller entered the cottage.
The door closed.
Twenty minutes later, it opened and she stepped out. She walked down the path, out through the gate, and back through the village.
Her basket contained magnolias, hydrangeas, and geraniums.
Old Carter the Lamp-lighter was sweeping the road in front of his house.
'Sold much?' he asked as she passed.
She shook her head and hurried on.
'Funny,' he mumbled. 'The exotic bloom seems to have faded.'
As she exited Old Ford along the south road, a man detached himself from the shadow of a tree and wandered along some distance behind her.
A little while later, the flower seller arrived at the Cat in the Custard in the neighbouring village of Pipers End and sat in the parlour, waiting. The man who'd followed her entered.
'Miss Pipkiss?' he asked.
'Yes,' she answered nervously.
'I'm Detective Inspector Trounce. I can assure you that you're quite safe now.'
Alicia Pipkiss pulled back her hood. Her dark skin was much paler around the edges of her hairline and behind the ears and back of the neck.
'Can I wash this makeup off?' she asked.
A deep and mellow voice from across the room said, 'I'll ask the landlord to heat some water for you.'
A man had entered. He was big and had a fierce, scarred face that was bruised and cut.
'Hello, Alicia,' he said. 'I'm Captain Richard Burton. I'm working with Scotland Yard.'
She nodded.
'I have to ask you a rather personal question. I hope you don't mind.'
She swallowed and shook her head.
'Alicia, do you happen to have a birthmark? Something shaped like a rainbow?'
Alicia Pipkiss cleared her throat and put down the basket of flowers.
She looked up into Burton's eyes.
'Yes,' she said. 'As a matter of fact, I do.'
Back in the cottage in Old Ford, Mrs. Jane Pipkiss nee Alsop, onetime victim of Spring Heeled Jack, handed her guest a cup of tea.
Sister Sadhvi Raghavendra accepted it with a smile and placed it on the table next to her chair.
She sat and waited, the tea at her side, a pistol in her hand.
The hundred and eleven men of Letty Green village met on the cricket field at lunchtime to discuss the strange state of the sky. It was filled with streamers of white vapour that were coming in from the south, veering to the west over the little settlement, and dropping groundward to the east.
'It's comets, that's what it is!' claimed one.
'You mean meteors!' corrected another. 'And they don't turn in the sky like what these 'uns are doing!'
'Maybe these 'uns are a new sort!'
'Maybe you ain't got no brain!'
The discussion went back and forth for half an hour until it was suggested that they head out of the village to see where the trails of vapour ended. This plan was immediately approved and, arming themselves with shovels and garden forks, broom handles and walking sticks, and the occasional blunderbuss and flintlock, the mob swarmed out of Letty Green, climbed the hill to the west, and stopped dead on its brow. The field below them was filled with rotorchairs.
'What in heaven's name is going on here?' muttered the villager who'd somehow emerged as the leader of the crowd.
He led them down the lane until they came to a stile that gave access to the field. A man, standing beside it, smiled at them.
'Good day, gentlemen,' he said. 'I'm Constable Krishnamurthy of the Metropolitan Police-and I have just become a recruiting officer!'
