‘You’re rubbish and silly with girls,’ said Andy. ‘I’d best do all the talking.’
‘Oh no you don’t.’ And I snatched up the fedora from where it lay on the desk and slotted it onto my head at that angle known and loved as rakish. ‘I am Laz this week. You, if I recall, are Andy the Wonder Dog.’
‘I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about that,’ said Andy. ‘I don’t want to-’
But there were further knockings. And I called, ‘Please come in.’
And in walked Lola.
And it was love at first sight.
She was beautiful, was Lola. A vision. An angel in human form. She didn’t have blonde hair and big bosoms though. She had short dark hair and quite small bosoms, but she did have the most stunning green eyes and one of the sweetest noses imaginable. So, no huge bosoms, but curvaceous indeed, with an hourglass figure. She wore a tight white sweater, a tight white miniskirt and tight white kinky boots.
You can ignore Andy’s foolish remarks about my way with the ladies. I was a veritable Love God back in those days and very little has changed.
Lola entered and I said, ‘Hellllooooo,’ in my finest Leslie Phillips.
‘Mr Woodbine?’ asked Lola.
‘That’s me,’ I said.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Lola. ‘You’re a child. Where is Mr Woodbine? Is he your father?’
‘I am Lazlo Woodbine,’ I protested. ‘Behold the trench coat, behold the fedora.’
‘I am not altogether convinced,’ said this goddess, ‘but we will see where it leads. My name is Lola Perbright,’ and she smiled me a mouth-load of snow-white gnashers.
‘What a beautiful name,’ I said to Lola. ‘Will you marry me?’
My brother winced, but Lola smiled some more. And she was smiling at me!
‘I need your help, Mr Woodbine,’ she said. And then she eyed my brother with suspicion.
‘You can say anything in front of my apprentice,’ I told her. ‘He is deaf, dumb and blind and only understands Esperanto. And this only when performed in mime.’
‘Right,’ said Lola.
‘And he thinks he’s a dog. Please take a seat,’ I told Lola.
‘Where?’
I made a mental note:… and a visitors’ chair.
‘Take my chair,’ I said. ‘I can stand. And walk. And run also. And I was very good at the high jump at school. Did you ever do the high jump? The scissors? You can get very high with the scissors.’
I saw Andy rolling his eyes.
‘Please sit down,’ I said to Lola, and she tottered around the desk, because she was wearing very high heels, and sat herself down on my seat.
And crossed her legs, very slowly.
‘I’ll never wash that seat again,’ I told her.
And she said, ‘What?’ in response.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘So what can I do for you?’
‘It is a delicate matter, Mr Woodbine,’ said Lola, ‘and must be handled with utmost discretion.’
‘I am discretion personified, dear lady.’
‘Right.’
‘Is it an affair of the heart?’ I asked. ‘Your boyfriend, or your husband?’
‘I have no boyfriend and I am not married.’
‘Splendid.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Please continue.’
‘Are you aware of the Perbright name, Mr Woodbine?’
I smiled and nodded thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said.
‘My family is noted for its heroes. There are certain surnames that you will always find upon war memorials, and certain ones that you will not.’
I nodded at this. Mine was a will-not, I thought.
‘The Perbrights have been renowned throughout the history of the realm for their bravery. Name a battle or a military campaign and there will have been a Perbright in the thick of it, dying for King and country. There are many medals in the family collection. Many posthumous VCs.’
I nodded at this. Professionally. ‘Where is this leading?’ I asked.
‘To my brother,’ said Lola. ‘The very last in the male line of the Perbrights.’
‘Well, I suppose that they were going to get a bit thin on the ground,’ I said.
Lola eyed me curiously. ‘You are a real detective, aren’t you?’ she asked.
‘As opposed to what?’ I replied. ‘One made out of chocolate?’
‘I think perhaps I have come to the wrong place.’
‘Oh no you haven’t,’ I said. ‘This is definitely my office. Please continue – I feel certain that you can consider the case, whatever it might be, all but solved if I am permitted to take it on.’
‘Right,’ she said once more. And I came to understand just how annoying that word can be when you are on the receiving end of it.
‘It is this way, Mr Woodbine. My family was once very wealthy. Many a grateful monarch rewarded the endeavors of their most noble knight. Posthumously, of course. But over the years the family fortune has been slipping away. And now it is all but gone. And so my brother turned to alchemy.’
‘Alchemy?’ I said, for I was not expecting that.
‘The transformation of base metal into gold. The creation of the philosophers’ stone, the lapis philosophorum. My brother said that it was the only way he could possibly restore the family fortune. You see, there are no real wars at the moment, so dying for King and country and being financially compensated by a grateful monarch are presently out of the question. So my brother sent off to America.’
‘He was sent off to America?’
‘No, he sent off a coupon, cut from a Marvel comic: Transform base metal into gold for fun and profit. Five dollars. It arrived by return of post.’
‘One question,’ I asked of Lola. ‘Do you have a zip code?’
‘Of course we do. We’re posh.’
Curse these working-class roots, I thought. ‘I thought as much,’ I said. ‘Do you think that is significant?’ asked Lola.
‘Everything is significant when you are a private eye,’ I told her. And my brother once more rolled his eyes. Which were not private ones, as it was not his week.
‘All right,’ I said to Lola. ‘Let me summarise. Your family is no longer as wealthy as it once was and so your brother sent off to America for a course in alchemy. Am I so far correct?’
‘You are,’ said Lola.
‘So what exactly is the problem?’
‘It’s the dog. It howls and howls in the night.’
‘Your dog, or your brother’s?’
‘My brother’s dog. It knows, you see – dogs know, don’t they? Dogs can see and sense things that people can’t. My brother’s dog senses that Pongo is not my brother.’
‘Pongo?’ I said. ‘Now please just run this past me once again, slowly.’
‘The dog knows,’ said Lola, ‘and I know now, too. I’m sure that my brother is not my brother. The person who appears to be my brother is a fake, a mockery, a travesty.’ And her voice rose somewhat, which I found strangely exciting. ‘My brother has been replaced by some doppelganger. I want you to find out what this monster has done with my real brother.’
‘Monster, you say,’ said I. ‘You are absolutely sure about this? I mean, there can be no mistake? This person who appears to be your brother is definitely not your brother?’
‘Mr Woodbine,’ said Lola, ‘I know my own brother. If you had a brother, would you not know him? Do you have a brother, by the way?’
‘I am an only child,’ I said. And Andy ground his teeth.
