Unwisely I had gone to bed early, and as a result awoke some hours later fully alert and restless. So I went down into the kitchen intending to nibble a biscuit and complete the crossword. My movements were stealthy for fear of waking the dog normally snoring in his basket. But there was no snoring and no dog. How strange … I called his name and listened for a bark or flurry of paws but there wasn’t a sound. Odd. I recalled letting him in from the garden before going to bed. Had I perhaps carelessly left the back door open and he had slipped out again? Or maybe Maurice had permitted him entry to his own hidey-hole in the airing cupboard. I went to look. But not only was there no Bouncer, but no cat either. This was absurd – and worrying. Certainly the cat goes on a nightly prowl through the cat flap or kitchen window if I’ve forgotten to close it, but invariably returns by the small hours – normally around two o’clock. It was now nearly half-past three.
There was nothing for it but to dress and go and search for them. Little beasts, they had sneaked out and ‘gone a-roving’ or on a dustbin raid … Unless of course some crazed animal lover had broken in and whisked them off. But I suspected not: the mayhem would have been excruciating!
Equipped with torch and Bouncer’s lead I had just opened the front door, when to my shock the telephone rang. Shrill and insistent it cut the silence like a knife, and I froze. Who on earth at this hour! Wrong number? A hoax? I put down the torch and tentatively lifted the receiver.
‘Ah,’ a voice said, ‘we’ve got your dog [Oh my God, so he had been kidnapped!] and were hoping that—’
‘Who’s that?’ I said sharply, ‘and what are you doing with my Bouncer!’
‘It’s not what we’re doing with him, but what he’s doing with us. You see he keeps getting in the way and it distracts the medics. He’s already knocked over the stretcher and—’
‘What stretcher?’ I demanded of Sergeant Wilding (for it was he).
‘The one that’s taking the chief superintendent to hospital.’
I went cold. Oh, surely the dog hadn’t attacked MacManus! He might have him destroyed!
‘So could you come immediately, Miss Oughterard? That would be very helpful,’ the sergeant continued.
‘Yes,’ I said faintly, wondering what frightful thing I was going to face now.
As I approached the town’s outskirts and drew level with MacManus’s house further progress was abruptly halted, for in the middle of the road was a makeshift barrier, an ambulance and a crowd of police and pyjama-clad onlookers. In the ditch lay a car with its headlamps still blazing. I stared in consternation … Oh my God, had Bouncer caused the accident?
I parked my own car and with some nervousness got out and looked around for the dog. He was not in evidence but Wilding was. ‘Where is Bouncer?’ I said tightly.
He gestured to a couple of onlookers. ‘Over there. They’re feeding him biscuits.’
‘Biscuits – why?’
Wilding chuckled. ‘Oh, he’s been the little hero – except when he knocked Mr MacManus off his stretcher. Bounded over, put his paws up and – whoops! – the whole thing toppled in the mud. Still, no bones broken and they are about to take him off now.’ As he spoke the ambulance engine started and it began to move away.
In some bewilderment, I cleared my throat. ‘Uhm … you say Bouncer is a hero, Sergeant. Er, may I ask in what way exactly?’ I shot a sceptical glance at where the dog was being patted and fed and clearly enjoying itself.
Wilding explained that MacManus had been pranged by a speeding car and tipped into the ditch. Apparently no one would have known had it not been for Bouncer and some ‘yowling mog’ rampaging around and waking everyone up. And then when one of the householders appeared in his dressing gown Bouncer had grabbed the cord and pulled him towards the car where MacManus was trapped. The latter was unconscious when they pulled him out but it was no more than temporary concussion.
Well, naturally I was glad to hear that but even more glad that Bouncer was off the hook. What a relief! ‘The yowling cat,’ I said, ‘was it that tabby who lives close by and is always mooching about?’
‘Tootles? No fear, dim as they come, he is. They say it was a black fellow with a white leg, but he seems to have sloped off now.’
Yes, I thought wryly, sloped off home and dozing in the airing cupboard no doubt … or raiding the pantry! I thanked Wilding for the telephone call and said I would retrieve Bouncer from his attentive admirers and take him home. But the sergeant stopped me and asked which route I intended taking. I shrugged, and told him the way I had come.
‘Oh, that’s all right then, because if you had wanted to take the shortcut down the old lane you wouldn’t have been able. It’s blocked.’
‘Oh yes? Roadworks?’
He shook his head. ‘No, another accident. A real nasty one too. It’s obviously the same chap that knocked Mr MacManus sideways. Must have been going at one hell of a lick. Smashed through a farm gate and landed halfway up a tree. A terrible mess.’
It sounded horrific and I shuddered. ‘So what about the driver – is he all right?’
Wilding hesitated, and then said, ‘Well no. Not so as you’d notice … poor bugger is hanging off a branch. Dead. They are cutting him down now.’
I closed my eyes trying to blot out the image. ‘Poor young man,’ I murmured, ‘or at least I assume he was young going at that speed. A joyrider presumably – hardly some pensioner in an Austin Seven.’ Pride in Bouncer’s exploit was suddenly eclipsed by the thought of the youth’s awful end and I felt quite shaken.
Wilding shook his head sadly. ‘We see a lot of that, I’m afraid, and the vehicle has certainly lost its oomph now; ready for the scrap heap, I should say! Ah well, these speed merchants – they never learn, do they?’
I agreed that they didn’t. And on that bleak note I went over to collect Bouncer and to drive us soberly home.
During that somewhat pensive journey I had permitted Bouncer to sit on the passenger seat, his favourite place. I told him that he was a very good dog and deserved a whole bar of chocolate. (He loves chocolate but normally is only allowed it at Christmas.) He emitted what I took to be a grateful grunt and then struck an erect pose gazing straight ahead at the car bonnet. I think he thought he was looking noble.
As guessed, when we arrived it was to find Maurice out for the count in the airing cupboard. By this time it was nearly morning but Bouncer made a beeline for his basket and I too managed to snatch a couple of hours back in bed.
Later that morning there was an excited telephone call from Emily avid to hear of the night’s drama and the antics of the animals. ‘Everyone’s talking about it!’ she twittered. She asked me to join her for coffee in the Hearts & Flowers, but for reasons already explained I declined that particular venue and suggested another.
I cannot say that I was unduly curious nor moved by the spirit of altruism, but on passing the cottage hospital on my way to meet Emily, I thought I might call in to enquire after MacManus. I didn’t wish to see him, merely to show polite interest at the reception desk.
As I approached the desk I encountered Nurse Roberts, as always looking spruce and competent in her white uniform and black stockings. On seeing me she said, ‘Ah, I expect you’ve come to have a word with Mr MacManus. I daresay he’ll want to thank you for your sweet doggie rescuing him like that. The ambulance men told me all about it!’
‘Oh no,’ I said hastily, ‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing him. I just thought I’d check to see how things were going, that’s all.’ I flashed a concerned smile.
‘Oh yes, he’s all right. Nothing that a couple of days’ bed rest won’t cure. But they say his wife is very worried.’
I remarked that given what had happened to her husband I supposed she would be.
‘Yes, but it’s not him that she’s bothered about so much as the car. They were going to drive up to Clacton for their holiday, but the thing can’t be repaired in time and they will have to go by train. Mrs MacManus doesn’t like trains – says they give her palpitations. So she’s very put out about it … Mind you, he’s being quite gloomy too. Last night when they brought him in he said he was convinced he had suffered a near-death experience – something to do with fiends and mad bears, I think it was.’ She laughed. ‘Oh yes, that’s it: he said that as he lay in the car he saw a malevolent succubus at one window and a ravening grizzly at the other. “You’ve been reading too many horror stories,” I said, and offered him a sleeping pill. “No fear,” he replied, “they may come again!”’
‘Goodness,’ I said with a smile, ‘that can’t have been much fun, stuck in a ditch with a great bear trying to get in … Er, I don’t suppose he mentioned an ostrich by any chance?’ Odd the way our vices come back to haunt us.
Nurse Roberts shook her head. ‘An ostrich? Not yet he hasn’t – but you never know with some of these crash victims. They may be all right physically but mentally they are all churned up. It’s the shock, you see. But it doesn’t last long. He’ll soon be his old self again.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Oops, it’s time for Mr Purbright’s injection. He’ll complain if I’m late. Says his nerves can’t cope.’ She bustled off, shoes squeaking and syringe at the ready.
Left alone, I reflected uncharitably on the likelihood of the superintendent regaining his old self: did one really want that? Hmm, not specially … But I did not pursue the question for at that moment the Reverend Egge appeared equipped with invalid fodder (grapes and chocolates) and a kindly smile. Unless destined for the nervous Purbright, I assumed such offerings were for MacManus. His beaming benevolence made me feel mildly guilty – a state of mind which, like the latter’s near-death vision, was unlikely to last.