“Let me take a look at that,” said he of looks official.
“No chance!” said the bloke. “If my mate’s found something, then we’re keeping it.”
“If I’ve found something, I’m keeping it,” said the mate.
“It could be an unexploded bomb,” said Jim, in a voice that sounded unrehearsed.
“Bollocks!” said the bloke and the mate of the bloke.
“It could be,” said the lady in the straw hat. “They used to drop all these booby traps in the war. Disguised as tins of Spam and packets of cigarettes and electric vibrators and…”
“We’d better cordon off the area,” said the OLG. “You two chaps out of the hole and away to a safe distance. I will take charge of the bomb.”
“Good idea,” said Jim. “Come on, everyone, back, back.”
“Did someone say ‘bomb’?” asked Old Pete, who had been passing by.
“Move along please, sir.”
“Why are you wearing that daft moustache, Omally?”
“What’s all this about a false moustache?” asked the bloke in the hole, climbing out of it.
“Just a deluded old gentleman,” said John Omally. “Come on now, all of you, clear the area.”
“What’s your game?” shouted the bloke, taking a swipe at Omally and tearing off his false moustache.
“Oooooh!” said the lady in the straw hat. “It’s the weirdo from the park who makes road drill noises in A minor while his mate here goes to sleep.”
“His mate here?” The bloke turned upon Pooley.
“I’ve never seen this official-looking gent before in my life,” said Jim, crossing his heart and hoping not to die.
“Who’s in charge here?” said someone else, pushing through the nicely growing crowd.
“I am,” said John.
“You bloody aren’t,” said the bloke.
“Well, someone better be. What have you done to my bench?”
“Your bench?” said John.
“I’m the chief librarian,” said the chief librarian.
“He is,” said Jim.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said the chief librarian. “I should have known. You’re always dossing about here. I knew you were up to something.”
“Bloody layabout,” said the bloke.
“Right,” said Jim, rolling up his sleeves. “That does it.”
“Right,” said the bloke, punching Jim on the nose. “It does.”
“Stop all this,” cried Omally, stepping forward to grab the bloke, but tripping over his mate who was climbing out of the hole.
“Fight!” shouted the lady in the straw hat, stamping on the chief librarian’s foot.
“Sandra’s crotch!” yelled the chief librarian, hopping about like a good ’un.
And then the crowd gave a bit of a surge and the fists began to fly.
Omally got his hands on the treasure chest, but the mate, who wasn’t giving up without a struggle, head-butted him in the stomach, knocking him into the hole. The lady in the straw hat began to belabour all and sundry with her handbag. The young man with the beard, whose name was Paul and who knew not only about the blues and Socratic irony but also Dimac, brought down the bloke who was kicking Pooley with a devastating blow known as the Curl of the Dark Dragon’s Tail.
And as if on cue, for always it seems to be, the distinctive sound of a police car siren was to be heard above the thuds and bangs and howls of the growing melee.
Omally clawed his way up from the hole. “The mate’s getting away with the chest, Jim,” he shouted. Jim, now in the foetal position, responded with a dismal groan.
The police car swerved to a halt and three policemen leapt from it. One had a face to be reckoned with, another rejoiced in the name of Joe-Bob.
“Let’s give those new electric batons a try,” said the one with the face.
And things went mostly downhill after that.
13
“No,” said Professor Slocombe. “No, no and again no.” He gestured to the muddy casket on his desk. “Impossible! Ludicrous!”
“I’m sure it’s the real deal,” said Jim.
“Oh, I’m quite sure it is. But I have been searching for the scrolls for years – decades – and you… you…”
“Found them,” said John. “We’re quite proud of ourselves really.”
“Ridiculous! Absurd!” Professor Slocombe shook his head.
“We thought you’d be pleased,” said Jim.
“Oh, I am. I am.” The Professor peered at Pooley. “Why is your hair sticking straight up in the air like that?”
Jim made a very pained expression. “I was doubled on the ground and this policeman came up behind me with an electric truncheon and stuck it right up my…”
“Quite!” The Professor waved his hands in the air. “I don’t think we want to go into that.”
“Exactly what I screamed at the policeman. But it didn’t stop him.”
The Professor fluttered his fingers. “Just sit down,” he told Jim.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
Professor Slocombe sighed and fluttered further.
“Go on,” said John. “Open the box. You know you want to.”
“Of course I want to.” The Professor sat down at his desk. “But it’s all so…”
“Impossible?” said Jim.
“Ludicrous?” said John.
“Those, yes. How did you find the scrolls?”
“We’ve Jim to thank for that.” John patted his companion on the shoulder. “Jim put himself into a mystical trance and travelled mentally back in time.”
“There’s no need to take the piss,” said Professor Slocombe.
“I’m not. That’s exactly what Jim did.”
Professor Slocombe shook his head once more. “You two must have done something good in a former lifetime,” he said.
Two heads shook.
“Quite the opposite,” said Jim.
“Well, you must tell me all about it.”
“There was this monk,” said Jim, “and he…”
“At some other time.” Professor Slocombe ran his fingers lightly over the casket. “Have you opened it already?”
“Ah, no,” said Omally. “You see, we couldn’t run and open at the same time.”
“I don’t think I quite understand.”
“There was a bit of bother,” said Jim. “A minor fracas.”
“Hence the policeman with…” Professor Slocombe made the appropriate wrist movements.
“Amongst other things. Two yobbos nipped off with the library bench, you see, and the chief librarian ran amok with a pneumatic drill.”
