The big over easy

“English,” replied Aardvark. “He is the son of the Bracknell Porgias. You understand what that means.”

“Of course,” said Jack, without understanding what it meant — or particularly caring.

They walked around the front of the chair to find a decrepit old man sitting with a traveling rug over his knees. He smiled benignly at them in turn, running his eyes up and down Mary with the memory of his amorous youth passing fleetingly in front of him. All those women, all that kissing.

“Please,” he asked in an affected Italian accent, “please sit down.”

They sat on two antique chairs that Aardvark had put out for them.

“Mr. Spratt,” he said fondly, “we meet again. How long has it been?”

“Twenty years.”

“It seems like only eighteen. How is Mr. Chymes these days?”

“The same, sir.”

“He has gone on to great things. I follow his exploits in Amazing Crime Stories avidly. Isn’t that so, Aardvark?”

“Avidly, sir, yes,” replied Aardvark, rubbing his hands.

“And you?” asked Porgia. “You are still at the NCD?”

Jack rankled visibly. “There is still work to be done, sir. That’s why I’m here. I want to talk to you about an MO you once used.”

Porgia’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You are here to talk about my days as a criminal?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I cannot, I will not, help you. I don’t speak about my past. If you wish to discourse on the functioning of this prison of which I am the governor, I will be happy to… talk… to you….”

His voice trailed off as he suddenly seemed to become more interested in Mary. She glanced nervously at Jack. Mr. Porgia put on his spectacles with shaking hands, and a smile of recognition broke out on his lined features.

“Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,” he began in a soft voice that was almost a whisper, “of these supposed evils, to give me leave, by circumstance, but to acquit myself…. I did not kill your husband.”

“Why, then he is alive!” replied Mary before Jack could ask what was going on. “O! He was gentle, mild and virtuous!”

“The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him,…” continued Giorgio grimly, “for he was fitter for that place than earth.”

“And thou unfit for any place but hell!” replied Mary with vehemence.

Giorgio Porgia smiled at Mary, his eyes moistening. “It’s Mary Mary, isn’t it?”

“It is, sir.”

“I saw you at Basingstoke in Richard III. It was the only time I have been out since my incarceration began. The Governor — myself — gave me a special pass to go and see you. You were wonderful, dazzling, inspired!”

Mary blushed deeply, and Jack sighed inwardly.

“Your retirement from the stage was a great loss, Mary.”

“I didn’t have time for both, sir.”

“If ever you return to the stage, please let me know. You will, I trust, take tea?”

“No thank you, Mr. Porgia, but we would like to ask you some questions.”

“Of course! Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea? Mr. Aardvark makes a very good cup.”

“Thank you, no.”

“A slice of Battenberg, perhaps?”

“We’re fine.”

“Ah, well,” said Giorgio happily, “how can I help?”

His manner had warmed since he had recognized Mary. They could have asked him the color of his socks and he would have answered without a murmur.

“We’re investigating the murder of Humpty Dumpty,” said Mary.

The old man dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head sadly. “A tragedy, Miss Mary. I heard about it on the wireless. What has this got to do with me?”

“I was wondering how far your influence extended, Mr. Porgia,” added Jack, trying to regain the upper hand after being so badly upstaged by Mary.

Porgia leaned forwards and raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying, Mr. Spratt?”

Jack leaned forwards as well. “A man was found dead yesterday. We think he was killed because he knew who murdered Humpty.”

“And you think I might have had something to do with it?”

Jack stared into Giorgio’s eyes, trying to divine a spark of guilt. He might as well have stared out the window at the clouds and sheep, for the old man gave nothing away.

“He had his tongue split and fed in small pieces to the dogs. Sound familiar?”

Porgia sucked his teeth for a moment. “We used to do that to people who told tales, yes. Liars had their trousers set on fire, and impertinence was punished by breaking people’s legs with sticks and stones. I freely admit what I was, Mr. Spratt, and I shall die in prison as my punishment. I am here for the many hideous crimes I have committed in my futile life, and I am truly penitent for my sins. But I am happy also that I was able to see my parents buried in a decent plot and my children go to university. For that I am not ashamed. I have learnt the virtue of honor in my short tenure on this earth, Inspector, and others have learnt what it means to betray that honor. I’ve also learnt a bit about home improvements. I tell you now, upon the word of a criminal who will pay his debt with the remainder of his worthless life, I had nothing whatever to do with this murder.”

He fixed Jack with a gaze that reinforced his conviction.

“Would anyone want to frame you?” Jack asked.

Giorgio laughed uneasily and started to cough. Aardvark patted him gently on his back with the kind of care that a mother might administer to her child.

“For what?” he continued once the coughing fit had abated.

“How can I usefully be punished?”

Jack had to agree that he had a point.

“I think,” continued Giorgio, “that someone is trying to throw you off the scent.” He sighed unhappily. “I come from a different world, Mr. Spratt, a world swept away by the unsophisticated modes of death meted out by street gangs, pimps, muggers and drug dealers. No one kills anyone with any style anymore. The kids I see now just shoot each other. Setting one’s opponents’ feet in a bath of cement and then throwing them in the Thames is considered very old hat these days. We used to encase people alive in motorway supports. I’m amazed,” he added nostalgically, “that the elevated sections of Junction 10 even stay up. They tell me I’m just a sad old romantic. The kids today have no respect for tradition. No dash, no style, no elegance.”

His eyes glistened. “Those were the days. Yes indeed, those were the days.”

“Thank you, Mr. Porgia,” said Jack, thinking it was time to leave. “You’ve been most helpful.”

“I hope you find Humpty’s killer,” said Giorgio thoughtfully.

“I liked the egg a great deal, despite the fact that I am here because of him.”

Jack started in surprise. “What do you mean?”

The old man smiled and dabbed at a trickle of saliva that had inadvertently run from the side of his mouth. “You knew Humpty did three years for laundering money for me?” he asked.

Jack nodded.

“When he was working for me, he was also collecting information to bring me down. He thought that his own loss of liberty was a small price to pay for the removal of my crime syndicate. I was completely taken in. I even bought him an apartment in Spongg Villas for not talking. It was he who sent the dossier to you and Mr. Chymes.”

He leaned forwards and smiled, holding a bony finger in the air.

“Now, that, Inspector, was style. I didn’t find out for ten years. An ex-cop inside