Road was just his office. He might have spent a few nights there on his wall, but not more. Grundy says he turned down Humpty’s offer of ten million, and Grundy’s wife, Rapunzel, was having an affair with Humpty — something Grundy knew about and sanctioned. Humpty’s car is still missing, and then there’s the bird shit.”
A brief titter went round the room.
“It’s not funny. If he had enough shit on his shoes to bring it all the way to Grimm’s Road, he must have been wading in it. And wherever the bird shit was will be the place he’s been living the past year. Ashley, any leads on the car?”
“Not good, sir. We spoke to his garage. He had his car serviced three months ago — so we know it’s probably still around.”
“Okay, what about Humpty’s marriage?”
Ashley and Gretel shook their heads. They had exhausted all the registrars in Berkshire and Oxford and were moving farther afield. As Gretel pointed out, he might have got married in Las Vegas.
Jack surveyed their faces. “Any questions?”
There weren’t any.
“Okay. Make yourselves comfortable, because we’re going to run over tomorrow’s job from midday to 1530 hours: looking after the visitors’ center for the Sacred Gonga.”
He went over what they’d be doing with the aid of a drawing on a flip chart and a hastily photocopied plan. There wasn’t much to say, but he tried to make it as important and serious as he could. Besides, there was an outside chance they might get a look at the Jellyman. They all listened to Jack but soon realized they were supernumerary to the Sacred Gonga security staff.
“We’re there to make up the numbers, aren’t we?” asked Gretel.
“It’s orders, so we do our best,” replied Jack. “Mary will take questions. That’s it for now. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
36. Refilling the Jar
KING ORDERS SPINNING WHEELS DESTROYED
The spinning industry was shaken to its foundations yesterday by the shocking royal proclamation that all spinning wheels in the nation were to be destroyed. The inexplicable edict was issued shortly after the King’s only daughter’s christening and is to be implemented immediately. Economic analysts predict that the repercussions on the wool, cloth and weaving trade may be far-reaching and potentially catastrophic. “We are seeking legal advice on the matter,” said Jenny Shuttle, leader of the Spinning & Associated Skills Labor Union. “While we love our King dearly, we will fight this through the courts every step of the way.” The King-in-opposition has demanded a judicial review.
As Jack drove towards home, he could see the beanstalk illuminated by two searchlights that swept lazily to and fro, crisscrossing the night sky with their powerful beams. Curious, he altered course and drove up to his mother’s, where the streets had been closed and crowds of curious sightseers milled around the neighborhood, taking in the extraordinary spectacle of a giant beanstalk growing in the back garden of an ordinary suburban house.
He parked as near as he could and elbowed his way through the crowd. The closer he got, the more impressive the beanstalk looked. It had entwined itself into a tightly woven, self-supporting stalk of a dark green color and was now at least seventy feet in height. Big umbrella-size leaves like canopies drooped out of the main stalk as it spiraled skywards, and the bean pods were already the size of dachshunds. Jack could understand the crowd’s interest. The whole thing was clearly unprecedented; he wondered what the botanists would make of it. As he stared, he once again had the strange feeling that he should climb it, but it soon passed.
“Jack!” said his mother as soon as he had walked up the garden path and knocked on the door. “What a stroke of luck!” She beckoned him through to the kitchen, where a neatly dressed man was sitting at the table holding a brown briefcase. He had small wire-rimmed glasses, seemed to be sweating even though it wasn’t hot and had oily black hair combed backwards from the crown.
“This is Percival Quick of the Reading Planning Department. Mr. Quick, this is my son, Detective Inspector Jack Spratt.”
“It’s just plain Mr. Spratt,” said Jack, knowing full well how bureaucrats hate having rank pulled on them. “What seems to be the problem?”
Mr. Quick laid his briefcase on the table as several of Mrs. Spratt’s cats shot past his feet in a blur.
“As I was saying to your mother, there is a maximum size of structure that can be permitted to be built without recourse to a planning application. This… er… ‘thing’…”
“It’s a beanstalk, Mr. Quick,” said Mrs. Spratt helpfully.
“Precisely. This ‘beanstalk’ exceeds those guidelines quite considerably. I’m sorry to have to say that you are in contravention of planning regulations. We will be issuing a summons and require you to have it demolished at your own expense — there might be a fine, too.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I don’t make the rules,” said Quick, “I just enforce them.”
They all stopped as a large bear of a man in a tweed suit and deerstalker hat entered the room. He was barefoot and sported a long, shaggy beard that appeared to have several rare strains of lichen growing in it. Under his arm he was carrying a giant beanstalk leaf.
“This is Professor Laburnum from the British Horticultural Society,” explained Mrs. Spratt. The Professor rolled his eyes but seemed uninterested in anything but the plant. Jack noticed that he had dirt not only under his fingernails but under his toenails, too.
“Just in time for tea, Professor!” exclaimed Mrs. Spratt. “What have you found out?”
“Well, it’s difficult to say,” he began in a deep baritone that made the teacups rattle in the corner cupboard, “but what you have here is a
Mrs. Spratt nodded, and the Professor sat down, clutching the large leaf lest anyone try to take it away from him.
“For some reason that I have not yet fathomed, it is at least fifty times bigger than it should be. It has a complex root structure and from first indications would seem to be capable of reaching a height in excess of two to three hundred feet. It is quite unprecedented, unique even — extraordinary!”
“And the planning authority,” Jack added provocatively, “wants to demolish it.”
Professor Laburnum went a deep shade of purple and glared dangerously at Mr. Quick, who seemed to inflate himself like a puffer fish, ready to ward off an attack.
“Not,” growled Professor Laburnum dangerously, “if we have anything to do with it!”
“The rules are very clear on this matter,” said Mr. Quick indignantly, “and I have a fourteen-volume set of planning regulations to back me up.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Laburnum as he got to his feet.
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for helping out,” said his mother as she showed him to the door. Behind them in the kitchen they could still hear Quick and Laburnum screaming obscenities at each other. A brief bout of fisticuffs had been succeeded by a series of prolonged and increasingly loud and vulgar name-callings.
“I didn’t really do much, Mother. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Pandora was talking to Madeleine when Jack walked in through the side door of his own house less than ten minutes later.
“A creationist, of course, but what an intellect!”
“If he’s a creationist,” said Madeleine, “what did he make of the fossil record?”
