London

London was much bigger than I had imagined. We drove for hours through the suburbs, going slowly because of the jam-packed traffic. The weather was rather dismal, too – rain was drizzling from low clouds. William and I covered ourselves with a piece of canvas which I found behind a crate.

The greengrocer dropped us off on a corner in the West End, a very popular shopping and entertainment area of the city. I nearly hugged the man out of gratitude. He had, after all, saved me from becoming a witch’s breakfast.

Not that anyone would ever believe me!

William seemed to know the area. It was raining more heavily and the sidewalks were filled with people with umbrellas. Black taxis were snaking through a slow procession of red double-decker busses. It reminded me of the other European cities we’d been in, but it was also somehow different.

Soon we were drenched, and I started to feel cold and miserable. Suddenly William pressed against my legs, pushing me to the left.

“Get in here, quick!”

We found ourselves in a small corner store that sold snacks and cigarettes. I was pleased to get out of the rain, and it was snug and warm inside the shop.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. He was peeping through the shop window to the outside, staying low. Instinctively, I ducked behind a stand displaying postcards. A man passed the window, his face partly hidden by the rim of his hat. The collar of his raincoat was turned up high, but I recognised his foul face instantly: Scurvy Scabscratch!

I saw him glance up and down the street.

“Do you think he saw us?” I asked William nervously.

“Not sure,” he replied. “We’ll have to watch out. At least now we know he’s here – which probably means Brumbum is back too.”

“May I help you, young man?” asked a voice behind me. It was the shop owner, and he regarded me with suspicion. I said nothing, but whistled softly to William. We left the shop quickly, heading in the opposite direction from Scabscratch.

It was fortunate that the streets were so crowded. Even if Scabscratch did turn around, he would not have been able to spot us among the throng.

“Brumbum’s mansion is towards the west,” said William as we crossed a busy street at Piccadilly Circus. “We will be passing close to Buckingham Palace. You would like to see it, I suppose?”

“Yes, of course!” I cried. “That would be great.”

But the palace was a disappointment. The royal residence of the queen of England looked like a giant cake tin set behind high fences, with as many security guards as my rich uncle’s house in Johannesburg. If I had as much money as the queen, I would have built myself a much nicer place to live in: one with cool towers or turrets and a real moat where I could keep some crocodiles.

We walked through Green Park, next to the Palace. I loved the trees and the open space right in the middle of the city. Fortunately it had stopped raining and my clothes had started to dry.

“We’re going to Kensington,” William explained. “That’s where Brumbum lives.”

The master crook’s headquarters looked just like a miniature version of Buckingham Palace. Criminal activities clearly paid well.

“What do we do now?” I whispered to William as we carefully approached the mansion by a back alley.

My stomach rumbled. I was feeling hungry again.

“Well, since you clearly need some food, and it’s best not to try anything during daylight hours, let’s find a nice spot for a picnic and wait till nightfall.”

I liked the idea. We were close to Kensington Gardens and found a bench in a good spot where we could relax, but also keep an eye out for Brumbum’s men.

I took the bread and cheese from my backpack. The day had turned out warm and sunny. In the bright sunlight, the previous night felt like one unbelievable nightmare.

“Do you think that little old lady really was a witch, William?” I asked between bites.

“Of course not, silly! Since when does one find witches and wizards in the real world?” I decided not to point out that he was a talking spaniel who also happened to be a world class dogtective.

As if that were supposed to be normal!

“So where did she and her cat and the broomstick disappear to at one o’clock in the morning, huh?” I argued.

“Oh, she was probably fast asleep in her bed with that cat curled up at her feet. As for the broom, I moved it myself. I just wanted us to get going, so I decided to scare you a bit.”

“Oh, really? And what about the door that was locked from the outside?”

William had no answer to that, but he refused to discuss the subject any further. To this day, I’m still convinced she really was a witch.

I don’t care what William says.

Because it was summertime in Europe, the sun went down really late. It was after nine when we made our way back to Brumbum’s. Luckily we hadn’t been followed. We waited in the alley, watching the cat flap in the back door. Within a few minutes, a sleek tabby cat emerged.

William barked and she came over.

“You again?” she hissed. “You caused a lot of trouble last time you were here, dog! Stealing the bulbs was easy and no one suspected me, but the boss was having tantrums for weeks afterwards. He fired almost all the staff and interrogated the postman for hours. All his screaming and yelling worked on my nerves. It was awful!”

“Look, Tamara,” my spaniel explained, “Brumbum’s kidnapped someone. I am sure he’s got the man somewhere inside the house.”

“So what?” said the cat, preening her whiskers. “That happens all the time around here. The Boss gets cross with someone and chucks them into the cellar for a few weeks till they have learned their lesson.”

“You don’t understand,” William tried to be patient. “This guy is no crook. He’s a good guy. It’s Carl Cloghopper, the man who created the Silver Tulip. The bulbs that Brumbum stole belonged to him.”

“Mmmhh,” purred Tamara, more interested now. “That kind of makes sense. The chap in the cellar does wear funny wooden shoes. He sometimes hops over them to get some exercise. It must be your man.”

William grinned at me triumphantly. “I told you he was here,” he said.

Tamara sat down and began to lick her paws. It’s something cats do when they have to think things over. After a while she stopped and said, “Right. I don’t like to leave a job half-done. What’s the point of getting those bulbs back if the Boss has caught the guy who grew them? I’ll help you to rescue him. But this time it won’t be easy, I warn you.”

For the next couple of hours the three of us discussed our options. All our ideas seemed pretty far-fetched and dangerous. William would suggest something and then Tamara would shake her head, dismissing the scheme. Then she’d say something and William would just laugh. They could not seem to agree on anything.

I was soon sick of their bickering and started to nod off. Tamara noticed I was falling sleep. “Right. You can’t stay out here on the pavement all night. Let me get the garage keys. We’ll finish making plans and then you can sleep in there tonight.”

The garage was warm and cosy. Tamara brought us some meat pies and a bottle of lemonade that she carried in a small basket. We ate and then I fell asleep on the back seat of Brumbum’s Rolls Royce.

William and Tamara were still arguing, but by sunrise they had finally agreed on a plan.