“Save the boastful bull for someone who believes it, T-1901,” said McMoo. “Whatever you’re planning, it will never succeed.”
“You can’t stop me, Professor.” The ter-moo-nator smiled, seeing straight through the ringblender’s disguise. “Not while I hold your young friends Bo and Pat as my prisoners.”
McMoo scowled. “Where are they?”
“Unharmed for now, tied up in the room next door.” The ter-moo-nator stepped forward, a menacing smile on its lips. “They are far too dangerous to be allowed to roam freely, even though I do not need them – not in the way I need all of YOU . . .”
“What is that thing?” whispered Dicky.
Albert shrugged. “Where did it find that cow? And how does it know you, Professor?”
“I’ve met the likes of him in, er, past investigations,” McMoo said carefully. “He’s an enemy not only of Great Britain, but of the world. As for where he found the cow, I have no idea.”
T-1901 smiled. “You will understand all, soon enough.”
“I’ve had enough.” Sir Lawrence raised a bony fist. “You, sir, are trespassing on my land. Be off with you!”
“I think you mean beef off with me,” chuckled T-1901. “But you are the one who went away to stay at your club for a month – allowing me to set up a secret base in your grounds.”
“With the help of Mrs Barmer, I presume,” said Albert, glaring at Eliza. “How could you repay your master’s kindness like this?”
“Easy,” the big woman growled. “Because I’m not Eliza. I’m her twin sister – Fanny Barmer.” With that, she set down the green suitcase and opened the lid – revealing poor Eliza trussed up and helpless inside.
“Twins!” squeaked Dicky. “Good lord, you’re identical!”
“Except Eliza is a sick-making goodie-goodie and I’m not,” Fanny snarled. “She would never agree to help a talking, part-metal bull carry out his evil plans in exchange for cash – unlike me!”
“Of course,” McMoo realized. “When Seymour Bushes went to the outside toilet he shouted Eliza’s name because he thought you were her. You were hiding inside!”
She nodded proudly. “I went there as soon as I’d sneaked in and slipped the moo-der card in his paper – after a scare like that, I knew he’d need the lav sooner rather than later!”
“Mrrph-nnnnnn,” Eliza said, speaking forlornly through her gag.
“But whatever did you do with poor Seymour?” demanded Dicky.
Fanny grimaced. “I’ve been carrying him round with me ever since!” She opened the yellow case and Seymour Bushes came tumbling out, bound and gagged and apparently fast asleep.
“You fiendish madam!” Sir Lawrence cried, checking his chum was OK.
“The old boy fainted,” said Fanny. “I smuggled him out of the toilet while the ghost-cow distracted the professor. Then I hid in Eliza’s room until she came to pack, jumped her and took her place.”
“Clever,” McMoo admitted. “Rotten and horrible, but clever. I thought that so-called ghost had transported Seymour away. But it was just special effects, wasn’t it? Some sort of laser projection . . .”
T-1901 smiled and nodded. “Projected by a device hidden inside Eliza’s brooch.”
Fanny glowered down at her sister. “I’ve had my eye on it for ages, ever since Sir Larry gave it to you.’
“Curse you!” said Sir Lawrence. “You are both heartily wicked.”
“True,” T-1901 agreed. “But you will admit, gentlemen, that the Black Cow was a most effective terror weapon. It scared you all into making foolish decisions, such as rushing back here. And you were the biggest fool of all, my dear Albert!” He turned to the prince. “You thought you were being so clever, defying the Black Cow’s calling card. But I was the clever one, hiding the fake parchment in your local book shop.”
“And all the time the Black Cow was simply an illusion!” Albert groaned. “But why set it off on the train? We were already coming to Sir Lawrence’s house.”
T-1901 frowned at Fanny. “Well, human?”
She blushed. “Stupid thing went off in my hand as I was showing it to the queen! It’s not my fault I’ve got big fingers . . .”
“Never mind all that!” Sir Lawrence looked nervously at the metal monster. “Tell me, bull. Our fellow botanists who fell foul of your phantasmagoria . . . are they still alive, like Seymour?”
“They are my prisoners too,” T-1901 confirmed, “working on a special project. At first, I thought I would only need one or two top botanists. But progress has been slow.”
“So you had to ‘moo-der’ more and more,” Pat realized.
T-1901 nodded. “Now the entire club is here, the work will go much faster.”
“We will never help you, sir!” squeaked Dicky.
“Just what are you up to, anyway?” demanded McMoo.
Wisps of steam escaped the ter-moo-nator’s chimney-like horns as he pressed a button on his chest. “Observe!”
The back wall of the stable swung open on huge, invisible hinges – to reveal a strange and sinister hidden room that seemed to be part-laboratory, part-garden centre. In the glare of artificial sunlight, exhausted-looking men in crumpled clothes were slaving away over curious experiments. Bits of leaf, twig and root lay all about, with weird-looking plants trailing out of test tubes or blossoming in bubbling beakers.
With a surge of relief, McMoo saw that Pat and Bo had not been harmed, although they were tied up tightly in a tangled heap around a thick wooden beam.
“Professor!” Bo cried.
“Help us, please!” begged Pat. “I’ve had Bo’s bum in my face for ages.”
“There’s more at steak here than your face and Bo’s bottom,” said McMoo gravely.
“My fellow members!” Sir Lawrence smiled and joined Seymour, Dicky and Albert as they rushed forward to greet their “moo-dered” friends. “You are alive!”
But T-1901 raised his ray gun and snorted fire from his nostrils. “And now you will join them as part of my workforce.”
McMoo frowned. “What are these poor slaves of yours doing, anyway?” He watched as the large black cow mooed and wandered inside, heading for a cosy pen in the far corner of this secret nerve centre. “And how does it tie in with that enormous animal?”
Steam hissed from the robotic bull’s horns. “Call that enormous? No. It must be bigger. Larger. GREATER. And with the help of you and your friends, it soon will be – ready to fight in a titanic army of killer cows!”