Chapter Twenty-two

By the time the shop had returned to normal, it was teatime, and Mr. Rollo had woken up feeling as fresh as a daisy. The sun was setting on the thick snow, and he felt better than he had done for weeks. Fortunately he knew nothing about the drama that had gone on all around him.

He told Fidget he was going to see Rosalind and ask her to come home—soggy carpets or no soggy carpets.

“An excellent idea,” said Fidget, much relieved. This was not a good day to be at Wings & Co.

As the tailor left, Lettice Lovage arrived. Unlike Mr. Rollo, she was not in the best of moods.

“I thought you were supposed to be detectives. Why haven’t you found that elf yet?” she said to Fidget. “Pan’s told me all about that wicked little creature, and I want a word with him.”

“Now wait a mo, my old mackerel,” said Fidget. “Elvis was here, but last night he was kidnapped—by Toff the Terrible, we believe.”

“You mean you caught that elf, and now he’s gone?”

“Yes,” said Fidget. “But—”

“Do you know what mischief he’s made at Mountview Drive?”

“No,” said Fidget. “But—”

“He only gave my friend Pauline Smith bright pink hair and the body shape of an apple. Not to mention what he did to the dining room, the tent, and the wedding dress. I’ll tell you this, deary—”

“Listen to me, my old mackerel,” said Fidget. “Buster and Emily have gone to rescue Elvis the Elf.”

“Rescue?” said Lettice. “What’s going on?”

“Elvis came here for help,” said Fidget. “And last night he was kidnapped by Toff the Terrible, who, by the way, also has the magic lamp.”

“Why didn’t you say so straightaway?” said Lettice.

“I did,” said Fidget.

“You mean that no-good, murderous goblin has the elf?”

“Spot on the fishcake,” said Fidget.

“I don’t mind what happens to that lamp, deary, but I want first pop at Elvis the Elf.”

It was then that Doughnut came bouncing into the shop and started to yap.

Lettice yapped back. This went on for quite some time until at last Doughnut had said his piece.

Lettice picked up the little dog and sat down in a chair with him on her lap.

“Toff the Terrible has the lamp locked in a dungeon, threatening to do I don’t know what to it if it won’t open its lid. This is much more serious than I first thought, deary.”

“What else did Doughnut say, old trout?” asked Fidget.

“That his master was a downright bully.”

Doughnut’s complaints were many. Lack of proper walks, shouting, forgetting to feed him, and once, leaving him locked out all night to howl at that huge silver ball in the sky. If things hadn’t looked that jolly from a miniature dachshund’s point of view, then they looked downright terrible for Elvis the Elf. The master had caught him one day near the duck pond and taken away his cloth stick.

“His umbrella, perhaps?” said Fidget.

“Yes, that’s right, deary,” said Lettice.

Elvis had asked for it back, it being a very important kind of stick, but the cloth stick was never returned. Then one day, Doughnut and his master were down by the duck pond when a fiery goblin turned up. His master had barked at the goblin and barked again. He wouldn’t give the cloth stick to the goblin either. The goblin pulled one way and his master the other. That’s when both dog and master shot up into the air. Doughnut landed safely; his master didn’t.

“Where was Elvis all this time?” asked Fidget.

“Tied to the willow tree,” said Lettice, putting Doughnut back on the floor.

Lettice Lovage rummaged in her handbag for her lipstick and blush. She touched up her face in a mirror before snapping shut her handbag and standing up.

“I’m off,” she said.

“Where to?” asked Fidget.

“Where do you think, deary?” she said. “I can’t leave my nephew and Emily Vole to fight Toff the Terrible on their own. This is one murderous goblin we are dealing with. He must be stopped at all costs. And I still want a word with that elf.”