officer, typing in the words. “Ahhhhh! Colour?”
“I think it’s called wickerwork,” said Paddington.
“I’ll put down yellow for the time being,” said the man. “Did you leave the handbrake on? That always slows them down a bit when they want to make a quick getaway.”
“It doesn’t have a handbrake,” said Paddington. “It doesn’t even have a paw brake. If I need to stop on a hill I usually put some stones under the wheels. Especially if I’ve been to get the potatoes.”
“Potatoes?” echoed the policeman. “What have potatoes got to do with it?”
“They weigh a lot,” explained Paddington. “Especially King Edwards. If my vehicle started to roll down a hill I don’t know what I would do. I expect I would close my eyes in case it hit something and all the potatoes fell out.”
The policeman looked up from his keyboard and stared at Paddington. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said, not unkindly. “That sort of thing wouldn’t go down too well if it was read out in court. You might find yourself ending up in prison.
“Mind you,” he continued. “It’s probably on its way to the Czech Republic or somewhere like that by now.”
“The Czech Republic!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “But it’s only just gone ten o’clock.”
“You’d be surprised,” said the man. “These people don’t lose any time. A quick going over with a spray gun. Who knows what colour it is by now. A new numberplate… On the other hand we don’t let the grass grow under our feet.” He picked up a telephone. “I’ll put out an all stations call.”
“I don’t have one of those,” said Paddington, looking most relieved.
“One of what?” asked the policeman, holding his hand over the mouthpiece.
“A numberplate,” said Paddington.
The policeman replaced the receiver. “Hold on a minute,” he said. “You’ll be telling me next you haven’t renewed your road tax…”
“I haven’t,” said Paddington. He stared back at the man with growing excitement. It really was uncanny the way he knew about all the things he hadn’t got.
“I’m glad I came here,” he said. “I didn’t know you had to pay taxes.”
“Ignorance of the law is no excuse,” said the policeman sternly. Reaching under the counter he produced a large card showing a selection of pictures.
“I take it you are conversant with road signs?”
Paddington peered at the card. “We didn’t have anything like that in Darkest Peru,” he said. “But there’s one near where I live.”
The policeman pointed at random to one of the pictures. “What does that one show?”
“A man trying to open an umbrella,” said Paddington promptly. “I expect it means it’s about to rain.”
“It’s meant to depict a man with a shovel,” said the policeman wearily. “That means there are roadworks ahead. If you ask me, you need to read your Highway Code again. Unless, of course…”
“You’re quite right,” broke in Paddington, more than ever pleased he had come to the police station. “I’ve never read it.”
“I think it’s high time I saw your driving licence.” said the policeman.
“I haven’t got one of those either,” exclaimed Paddington excitedly.
“Insurance?”
“What’s that?” asked Paddington.
“What’s that?” repeated the policeman. “What’s that?”
He ran his fingers round the inside of his collar. The room had suddenly become very hot. “You’ll be telling me next,” he said, “that you haven’t even passed your driving test.”
“You’re quite right,” said Paddington excitedly. “I took it once by mistake, but I didn’t pass because I drove into the examiner’s car. I was in Mr Brown’s car at the time and I had it in reverse by mistake. I don’t think he was very pleased.”
“Examiners are funny that way,” said the policeman. “Bears like you are a menace to other road users.”
“Oh, I never go on the road,” said Paddington. “Not unless I have to. I always stick to the path.”
The policeman gave him a long, hard look. He seemed to have grown older in the short time Paddington had been there. “You do realise,” he said, “that I could throw the book at you.”
“I hope you don’t,” said Paddington earnestly. “I’m not very good at catching things. It isn’t easy with paws.”
The policeman looked nervously over his shoulder before reaching into his back pocket.
“Talking of paws,” he said casually, as he came round to the front of the counter. “Would you mind holding yours out in front of you?”
Paddington did as he was bidden, and to his surprise there was a click and he suddenly found his wrists held together by some kind of chain.
“I hope you have a good lawyer,” said the policeman. “You’re going to need one. You won’t have a leg to stand on otherwise.”
“I shan’t have a leg to stand on?” repeated Paddington in alarm. He gave the man a hard stare. “But I had two when I came in!”
“I’m going to take your dabs now,” said the policeman.
“My dabs!” repeated Paddington in alarm.
“Fingerprints,” explained the policeman. “Only in your case I suppose we shall have to make do with paws. First of all I want you to press one of them down on this ink pad, then on some paper, so that we have a record of it for future reference.”
“Mrs Bird won’t be very pleased if it comes off on the sheets,” said Paddington.
“After that,” said the policeman, ignoring the interruption, “you are allowed one telephone call.”
“In that case,” said Paddington, “I would like to ring Sir Bernard Crumble. He lives near here. He’s supposed to very good on motoring offences. I don’t know if he does shopping baskets on wheels, but if he does, they told me in the market that he will have your guts for garters.”
The policeman stared at him. “Did I hear you say shopping basket on wheels?” he exclaimed. “Why ever didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”
“You didn’t ask me,” said Paddington. “I have a special
