stared at the policeman, who seemed to have gone a pale shade of white. “Is anything the matter?” he asked. “Would you like a marmalade sandwich? I keep one under my hat in case of an emergency.”
The policeman shook his head. “No, thank you,” he groaned, as he removed the handcuffs. “It’s my first week on duty. They told me I might have some difficult customers to deal with, but I didn’t think it would start quite so soon…”
“I can come back later if you like,” said Paddington hopefully.
“I’d much rather you didn’t…” began the policeman. He broke off as a door opened and an older man came into the room. He had some stripes on his sleeve and he looked very important.
“Ah,” said the man, consulting a piece of paper he was holding. “Bush hat… blue duffle coat… Fits the description I was given over the phone… You must be the young gentleman who’s had trouble with his shopping basket on wheels.”
He turned to the first policeman. “You did well to keep him talking, Finsbury. Full marks.”
“It was nothing, Sarge,” said the constable, who seemed to have got some of his colour back.
“It seems there’s been a bit of a mix-up with the lads in the tow-away department,” continued the sergeant, turning back to Paddington. “They put your basket on their vehicle for safe keeping while they were removing a car and forgot to take it off again. It went back to the depot with them.
“They’ve put some fresh buns in it for you. Apparently, somehow or other, the ones that were in it got lost en route. Even now, the basket’s on its way back to where you left it. And there’s nothing to pay. What do you say to that?”
“Thank you very much, Mr Sarge,” said Paddington gratefully. “It means I shan’t have to speak to Sir Bernard Crumble after all. If you don’t mind, I shall always come here first if ever my shopping basket on wheels gets towed away.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” said the sergeant. “Although I think I should warn you; it may be a bit heavier now than when you first set out this morning.”
“Quite right too,” said Paddington’s friend, Mr Gruber, when they eventually sat down to their elevenses and Paddington told him the full story, including the moment when he got back to the market and found to his surprise that his basket on wheels was full to the top with fruit and vegetables.
“You have been a very good customer over the years and I dare say none of the traders want to see you go elsewhere. It is a great compliment to you, Mr Brown.
“All the same,” he continued, “it must have been a nasty experience while it lasted. If I were you, I would start your elevenses before the cocoa gets cold. You must be in need of it.”
Paddington thought that was a very good idea indeed. “Perhaps,” he said, looking up at the antique clock on the wall of the shop, “just this once, Mr Gruber, we ought to call it ‘twelveses’.”
PADDINGTON’S GOOD TURN
LIKE MOST HOUSEHOLDS up and down the country, number thirty-two Windsor Gardens had its own set routine.
In the case of the Brown family, Mr Brown usually went off to his office soon after breakfast, leaving Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird to go about their daily tasks. Most days, apart from the times when Jonathan and Judy were home for the school holidays, Paddington spent the morning visiting his friend, Mr Gruber, for cocoa and buns.
There were occasional upsets, of course, but on the whole the household was like an ocean liner. It steamed happily on its way, no matter what the weather.
So when Mrs Bird returned home one day to what she fully expected to be an empty house and saw a strange face peering at her through the landing window, it took a moment or two to recover from the shock, and by then whoever it was had gone.
What made it far worse, was the fact that she was halfway up the stairs to her bedroom at the time, which meant the face belonged to someone outside the house.
She hadn’t seen any sign of a ladder on her way in; but all the same she rushed back downstairs again, grabbed the first weapon she could lay her hands on, and dashed out into the garden.
Apart from a passing cat, which gave a loud shriek and scuttled off with its tail between its legs when it caught sight of her umbrella, everything appeared to be normal, so it was a mystery and no mistake.
When they heard the news later that day, Mr and Mrs Brown couldn’t help wondering if Mrs Bird had been mistaken, but they didn’t say so to her face in case she took umbrage.
“Perhaps it was a window cleaner gone to the wrong house,” suggested Mr Brown.
“In that case he made a very quick getaway,” said Mrs Bird. “I wouldn’t fancy having him do our windows.”
“I suppose it could have been a trick of the light,” said Mrs Brown.
Mrs Bird gave one of her snorts.
“I know what I saw,” she said darkly. “And whatever it was, or whoever it was, they were up to no good.”
The Browns knew better than to argue, and Paddington, who had been given a detective outfit for his birthday, spent some time testing the windowsill for clues. Much to his disappointment he couldn’t find any marks on it other than his own. All the same, he took some measurements and carefully wrote the details down in his notebook.
In an effort to restore calm, Mr Brown rang the police, but they were unable to be of much help either.
“It sounds to me like the work of ‘Gentleman Dan, the Drainpipe Man’,” said the officer who came to visit them. “They do say he’s usually in the Bahamas at this time of the year, but he could be back earlier than usual if the weather’s bad.
“He didn’t get his name for nothing. He bides his time until he sees what he thinks are some empty premises, and then he shins up the nearest drainpipe. He can be in and out of a house like a flash of lightning. Never leaves any trace of what we in the force call ‘his dabs’, on account of the fact that being a perfect gentleman he always wears gloves.”
The Browns felt they had done all they could to allay Mrs Bird’s fears, but the officer left them with one final piece of advice.
“We shall be keeping a lookout in the area for the next few days,” he said, “in case he strikes again. But if I were you, to be on the safe side, I’d invest in a can of Miracle non-dry, anti-burglar paint and
