The Revised Collecton of Rdm - Short Stories 1 - 5

8/6/2019 The Revised Collecton of Rdm - Short Stories 1 - 5

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THE COLLECTED ADVENTURES OF THE RAINY

DAY MAN: VOLUME ONE

WRITTEN

AND ILLUSTRATED BY

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IZAAK STOAKES

(AND FRIENDS)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Pandoras Box ..3

Englishman in New York..10

Cog of war..17

Irwin..25Murder on the 7:10..30

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PANDORA BOX

It was raining in Izaakdon. It is always raining in Izaakdon but today, thefourteenth of January 1921, it was really, really raining. The sort of rain whereyou can walk to the miniature railway station without having to go home andchange your shoes.That is what I was doing. Id barely made it to park lane, about five minutes

from my apartment on Walters square, when I decided to turn back. I couldactually hear the pools of rainwater sloshing about in my black leather shoes; myfeet near frozen from cold. I opened the door to my apartment block and pressedthe silver lift button. I watched the needle run its semicircular journey across thenumbers until the metal shutter door in front of me had a polished wooden liftbehind it. I stood there, rainwater running down my black umbrella and poolingon the marble floor.When I arrived on the thirteenth floor I walked across to my apartment, number

thirteen. Apartment thirteen, floor thirteen, thirteen Walters square. My humble

apartment.The first thing I did when I entered was to put his kettle on the boil. Sorry, Ihavent introduced myself yet. Captain Hugh Buxton-wells, the IzaakdonPals.Better known as the Rainy Day Man. I live in Izaakdon, one of the weirdestCities youll feast your eyes on. It uses Miniature railways as commuter transport,it has many Hot-Air Balloon ports around its borders, and it, the only one of itskind, is floating two miles above London.

Barmy, isnt it? It hovers around a bit, but doesnt travel any more north ofSough. Its not catching the skyscraper boom like America (due to the thin air)but it gets more rain than any other City in the world. Thats where I come in. Ifeed the pigeons when it rains. That is why I am the rainy day man.Anyway, onwards. Ill take my tea with me, eh? See you on the other side!

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The best thing about pigeons is that they have a bally good memory. When theysee their saviour, their Rainy Day Man, they know that bread is not far away.Despite the awful weather, they popped out of their shelter and eagerly walkedis that right? Do pigeons walk? Is there a word for what pigeons do, likewaddling? Ill stay with walk, I think. Its not really important how they did it,anyway, but they arrived at my feet, their beady eyes staring up at meexcitedly.I like to think that they know what Im thinking, or understand the broad smile

on my face, and the flash in my scarlet eyes. (Thats right, my eyes are scarlet.Pretty good, eh? People say theyre red, but I prefer scarlet. More heroic.) theirkind of like children, not that I have any children or come into contact withchildren on a daily basis (there was this one time, my most recent case, myclient was a five year old.) but Im taken to understand that they get ratherexited if they expect a treat.I imagine that you, dear reader, when looking out of your window and you see

all the rain in the heavens lashing down, and when you spot the raindrops racedown your window or flash by in the glare of a street lamp, do not immediately

rush to the nearest park, bread in your hand, for those poor birds. Youre morelikely to pour yourself a stiff drink, put on the wireless, and settle down with thelatest Sherlock Holmes tale by the roaring fire. Thats the difference between youand me. Im a rather selfless chap, and I am the only one who is ready to do hisbit for the birds. That is why I am Rainy Day Man, it why I gained the prestigioustitle (which I, of course, gained in the war.) not that I call myself a saint, but I ama bit (a lot) like one of those biblical chappys, the good Samaritan, or somethinglike that.

It all started back in the Great War; I was captain of the IzaakdonPals. We werea specialized group set up to take on fritzy and his pals. There was me, RainyDay Man (Captain Rains, for combat situations) Rumble Stillskin (we called himthat because the bully beef never filled him up. The only thing you could hearover the horrors of war was that dratted mans stomach.), Boxcar (a bit slow, buta lovely chap to know. Great singing voice.), Butterfingers Larry (dropped the

jack of spades at Passchendale) Doctor Hotfingers (medic, quiet lad, dashedgood on the piano. Wizard of the ivory keys, we called him) Jekyll and Hyde (twinbrothers. Hyde was taller and more fast-tempered) Q. Gardens (stood forQuentin. Our Coms man) and poor Ted (always in the sickbay). We were a smallbut elite group, sent on secret missions for the good of the Empire. We didnt seemuch actual combat; the biggest fights were Passchendale and a punch-up withthe Bosch at the Catherines wheel pub in the Ottoman Empire. We didreconnaissance, undercover, sabotage, that sort of thing. Reported directly to theS.O.E (special operations executive.)

Even then I would feed the pigeons in the rain, where I got my title. We lost afew of the lads, of course. Jekyll bit the bullet at Passchendale, and Hyde caughtthe chill in the Alps (rumour that the Germans had planned something up there,turned out to be a dead end. The Lusitania sank the same day) Poor Ted wastedaway in 17, and Larry took a fall in Berlin at the Armistice and just saw the warend before his heart gave up. Back to Blighty in 1920, Izaakdon after that.Hotfingers joined the Vaudeville scene, Boxcar stayed in London and sold boats,and Rumble Stillskin opened a restaurant. Ive never been, but a few of the ladsat the club inform me that its the best in Izaakdon. Q took up retirement, ispublishing his poems from the war, I believe. As for Me, Ive set up my ownprivate agent business, using all my army skills of reconnaissance and the likes.Ive always kept up the feeding, though. Gained quite a bit of notice from it, too.

People know my face (whod forget the eyes?). They dont know my name, butthey know the Rainy Day Man. Thats enough for me.

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People know where to find me. I will always be up, at eight, feeidng pigeons inthe rain, in izaakdon Park. If i'm not there, im on a job, or very ill, or dead. Or,i've forgotten to set the alarm.

Its a good job, I get some interesting cases. My first in fact, I was hired byWalter Hunble (owner of the only umbrella shop in Izaakdon), to track thePanicers who would watch his window every night. He was scared to death ofthem, thought the creepy black hooded gang were after his blood. Tuned outthey were some old men who needed umbrella repairs, but didnt know wherethe shop was. Very friendly chaps. I showed them the way and collected a tastysum from the embarrassed but relieved business tycoon.

A few months back, I was offered a job by another businessman, Mr.Mackintosh, who suspected his Partner was snapping up profits for personal use.It took a solid two weeks of tracking and sniffing around to come up with theevidence I needed to get the blighter.When I get some evidence, I mark it with a small stamp of an Umbrella (for the

rain. Genius, eh?). Ive marked it everywhere, on walls, folders, automobiles,wherever it is needed. Call it my calling card. It keeps the image of the Rainy day

Man alive aswell.Anyway, less of that. At that very moment, in that rainy park, on that rainy day,

that I heard a familiar voice greet me. I couldnt help but stand to attention.SirLess of the formalities, Buxton-Wells. This is a personal visit.My old commanding officer, General Walter Q. D. Kensington. A brave andhonoured officer in the field of war. He was our S.O.E man and I, as the Captainof the Pals, reported to him. His dashing, charmed good looks of yesteryear nowlooked grieved, and old.

I hear youve started an Agency, Wells. He leant heavily on his trusty stick. Istood and offered him the bench, which he thanked with a silent nod of the head.

Something of the sort, sir. Reconnaissance, seek-and-capture, tracking, likethe good old days.Yes, yes, I see. He gave a raspy cough. He was hitting seventy, poor fellow. Hefilled his pipe, and I offered him a light, and then lit one of my cigarettes formyself. using your tricks from the war eh? Well, the Izaakdonpals are in needone your services one last time.Sir?On behalf of the S.O.E, Im hiring you for a job we need you to do.Whats the job, if you dont mind me asking, sir?Of course I dont mind! How would you know what you are doing of you dontask! You are dashed slow sometimes, Buxton-wells.He didnt mean it. Trust me.

Sorry sir.Less of that! Anyway, the job is a retrieval. Seems that one of the lads fromeither your platoon has stumbled upon an item of Military importance. Absolutetop secret, imperative you get it back. Its a black box, the Pandoras box, about2 inches by 2its whats inside the box that counts, and we dont want theculprit finding out what that is. We believe you, as his captain, can convince himto hand it over. If not, steal it. If he should find out what is inside the box, or tryto use it, then you will have to kill him.Where shall I find him, sir?He appears to have sprouted up a gang in Izaakdon. The treble clefs. He alsohas protection rackets up around the city. Im sure your war skills will be able totrack him down.

Righto, sir, I accept the job. I will, of course, require the usual fees

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He lifted a battered old leather wallet out of his grey, weathered greatcoat. Outof it he pulled some crisp notes.Twenty pounds. And theres another twenty pounds if you get it back.Sir. We shook hands, and each made our way. I lit another Cigarette as I

Walked back to my apartment. That twenty pounds would do lovely. This wascertainly going to be a bigger job than usual. I wonder who the culprit might be?

Time for another tea. By now I was back in my lovely white apartment. I flickedmy old wireless on and the familiar sound of the Izaakdon news show crackledinto life.reports of hold ups at many of Izaakdons record shops have concerned

citizensBoring. I flipped the tuning dial around until some pleasant jazz tune crackledthrough the speaker.to Nagasaki where the fellas chew tabaccy and the women wicki-wacky-woooo!Much better. The kettle started its exited wail, and I poured myself a lovely

cuppa. It was about nine in the morning. I thought I would set out about twelve,pick up dinner at Evelyns, and then see what I can find out about the PandorasBox.I can see what any female readers will be thinking. Evelyns! That old Mr.

Buxton-Wells has got himself a lady love! but fear not, dear hearts, Evelyns isthe name of one of my favourite eateries in all Izaakdon.After finishing another unbeatable steak pie at Evelyns, I strolled out into the

overcast day. It was still heavily raining, but my trusty Umbrella was up andkeeping yours-truly relatively dry and chipper. Something at the back of mymemory told me that I should check out one of the record shops. Cantremember why (maybe a passing thought) but I had a funny feeling that the

Treble Clefs may be involved with one of them.When I arrived at the nearest one, there were Rozzers patrolling the place. One

of them topped his hat. Ill have to ask you to move, sir.What happened here? I took out my cigarettes, and, after offering one to theconstable, took one for myself.old up last night sir. The treble clefs, we thinksBlimey was all I could think of. I could see that one of the windows had beenshattered, and bullet holes in the cracked wooden frame. I tried my trump card Iwas passing along to feed the pigeonsYou that rainy day fella?Thats me, sir, thats me. Always nice to meet a fan.Its a good thing your doin for them birds the policemen replied. I felt

respected. Boostin morale in the city as well.Always happy to help.I saw a sneaky looking gent across the road. He was wearing a long coat,practically trailing the floor, and a trilby. No umbrella, odd. Everyone else hasone.These Treble clefs, what they look like? I asked. Pushing it a bit, but you dontget anywhere by not taking risks.Dont truly know, sir, but the shopkeeper said there were minstrels with guns. esaid their boss was there.My ears pricked up. Who could it be?Any description? I triedNo can do, sir Id run out of info from the helpful bobby.

After thanking him again, and giving him another cigarette, I moved on. Thesneaky fella was walking up one of Izaakdons many side streets.

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I decided to follow him. He may know something, but I didnt want to approachhim directly. Ill trail him, see where he goes. I closed my umbrella, not wantingto be too noticeable. Rain ran down the sides of my hat and I could hear thepatter of drops on top.I lingered a few buildings behind our shady friend. He seemed nervous. I think hedefinitely has something to do with it. I carried on tracking him until we reachedan old Victorian building. A sign had recently been put up. The Treble clefs itread in thin, tall italics. He must be one of the clefs!I hovered a few yards back, and, being as unsuspicious as I could, scattered

some bread for some starved looking pigeons. By the old wooden double doors,there was a brutish looking fellow. He was dressed as a minstrel, face blacked up,spare the eyes and mouth, which were white. He wore a straw boater with a redribbon. He wore a white shirt with a red bow tie and braces. He had white linentrousers and neatly polished leather shoes and spats. Most importantly, he had a

Tommy gun.Our shady friend, trilby pulled low over his eyes, approached the door. I kept

partially out of sight and managed to make out the minstrels gruff voice.

Password?Our friend muttered something. The minstrel opened the doors and let our friendinside.Right. Now for my go. I had a good idea of what the password might be (the

boss was one of thepals, after all)Despite my calm and collected appearance, it didnt start well. As I approached

the armed brute, the flock of pigeons I had been feeding suddenly flewdesperately at me, demanding more bread. The shock made me stumble overinto a large puddle and flare around in a rather undignified manner. I fumbled inmy side bag and threw out some more bread, and they hungrily tucked in.After brushing myself down (despite my lovely black pinstripe being soaked on

one side), picked up my glasses, and tried again. This time it seemed to go well.Now for the hard bit.Hello! I eventually bleated. Not a great start.

Password? the brute grunted, impassively.Trafalgar Square. I replied. Trafalgar Square had been our group passwordwhen we took on Captain Hans Barratz in Munich 15. The man grunted, and letme in. I shot out a thank-you! and entered.I found myself in a gentlemans pub. It wasnt very wide, but it was bustling. A

mix of minstrels and ordinary shady folk, there was a central bar which most ofthe crowd were bustling around. Still no sign of any of thepals. Maybe it wasStillskin, he had a restaurant, could this be it? No, its too lively for him. Therestoo much energy and jazz.

Jazz. Thats important. I could hear a cracking rendition of Nagasaki (where thefellas chew tabaccy, remember?) being played on a piano somewhere. The walls(varnished wooden panels) were littered with musical bric-a-brac, probablylooted from the record shops. And there were instruments everywhere. Therewas definitely a music theme. Should have guessed, really. Treble clefs. I wasnever one for music theory.And all of a sudden I knew who it was. There was only one of the pals it could

be.Medic Hotfingers. The wizard of the ivory keys.After stumbling around a bit, I found Hotfingers. He was sitting at a white grand

piano. He was wearing something similar to the minstrels, except he had a redwaistcoat, a grey bowler, and a piano keys tie. He had no makeup on, and had

kept his moustache and goatee from the war. He was playing the piano witheffortless ease, as he used too. I decided to approach him.

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He stopped playing. Captain Rains! his thick Manhattan accent was still there.Hed moved to Izaakdon as a teen before the war.Hello, Hotfingers. I replied, happily. Unfortunately, from his face, I could tellthat Hotfingers wasnt as pleased.What are you doin here? Hey, Mind your potatoes, why dont yer!Come to pay a visit I triedHotfingers was by a big window. The Pandoras box was on top of the closedpiano lid. I had only one option.I ran at Hotfingers.If you ever find yourself in this situation, dont do what I did. The minstrels

Tommy guns blazed to life, smashing mirrors, glasses, everything. I lunged atHotfingers, grabbing the Pandoras Box, and burst through the window.Breaking my fall on Hotfingers, I started up and ran. Hotfingers cupped a bloody

nose in one hand and was instantly firing his handgun with the other. His menpiled through the window and started hot pursuit.I think that went well, eh? I got the box, didnt die yet, and am nearly at my

getaway. The miniature railway stop is round the corner.

To my immense relief, there was a train in. pelting through the lashing rain, Imanaged to get to the train just before it left.I clambered onto the miniature railway, having evaded Hotfingers cronies. I

pulled my black trilby low over my eyes, and someone had left the Izaakdonpress on the opposite seat. I pretended to read, while scanning the area fortreble clefs. Nothing yet, but it was hard to see in the continuing downpour.As the miniature railway pulled out of the station, I relaxed a little, and looked

over at my fellow passengers. Opposite me was a boring looking man with a bigbushy ginger moustache. He was wearing a grey tweed three piece suit, a greytie, and a grey bowler on top of a ginger semi-parting haircut. (I know, how verydull! No colour at all! I bet he was a banker, or in some other equally boring job).He was staring mournfully out of the window. He had a weak cough, that brokethe silence every minute or so. It was very irritating; I wish someone would havegiven him a lozenge or something earlier.Next to him was a woman with a toddler. The toddler was dribbling- a horrid

brown colour, must have cheeked a choccy bar earlier. The woman (the mother, Iassume) laughed, and thought it was cute. I really dont see what could be cuteabout a baby drooling. Even if it was your child, I dont imagine youd find it inany way precious.The woman, on the other hand, was very beautiful. Her charming smile and

friendly deep blue eyes were partially hidden by a dangling lock of curly blackhair, flowing out from beneath a lovely black beret.Before the train turned down Pickering street, I caught a glimpse of Hotfingers,

furious and running through the downpour, and angrily ordering his men tocontinue in the other direction to where I was.This seemed a perfect time to see what I had sneakily stolen from underHotfingers nose. Poking my nose in other peoples business (one of myspecialities) I cracked open the lid. Inside the box was a small brass cog.I was, admittedly, disappointed. I expected maybe a key, or a remote button, or

a map or something. Not a blasted cog.The train pulled into Izaakdon synagogue station. The dull man and the womanand child got off the train. I thought I would wait on the train, bit more of adistance from the Treble Clef club. I replaced the cog in the box (after scratchingan umbrella on it with my key) and the box in my bag.A couple of minutes later we rolled into Lucifer Square Station. This seemed as

good as any to depart. Thered be plenty of cabs, and I could make a quick andcovert escape.

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I departed, and started to run, but crumpled to a heap on the floor, bloodshooting form my left thigh.I felt my agonising thigh and could feel the burned, torn linen where the bullet

had entered, and the blood trickling down my leg, soaking my already wettrousers.I looked wildly around, though the treacherous downpour, for the shooter. I

clutched at my burning leg and tried to drag myself into cover. Another bang inthe distance, and my right shoulder exploded. Another cry of pain, and I lay inthe soaking wet, losing blood fast. Before I faded away, I thought I saw, throughblurry eyes, someone I had seen before. But he was dressed differently, and (Imust be hallucinating) had a top hat with a little flag on top. As more blurrycrowds gathered around, I fell into unconsciousness.

I woke up. I was behind a crumbling grey-brick wall, the corner of a house. I wascrouched in the rainy mud. Looking around, I saw my greenpals captains hat,and smoothing back my black, grimy hair, replaced it. I felt a bit restored.I suddenly realised that I had been shot. Looking over at my ruined shoulder, I

saw no wound, no ruined stitching in my green army officers jacket. My leg,similar, was unharmed. I could move both of them. Strange. I dismissed theidea; I must not have been shot. There was no pain. I started to panic, I was atwar. I held the panic back, I was their leader, and I needed a cool head. A shotzinged off the wall, scattering brick debris over me. I pulled out my trusty servicerevolver, and loosed a few shots back. From what I could see, we were advancingup a narrow street, probably in France or Belgium. I could see ol butterfingersahead of me, fumbling with his rifle. Captain! he shouted over the crossfire.Plans?You, Hotfingers and Boxcar to the left, Ted, you and me stick right. Jekyll, youand Hyde cut them off to the left, Q and Stilskin stay back and cover us!

Taking a chance, I darted forwards a few yards and ducked into a door alcove, apotted plant exploding into clay and dirt in the windowsill behind me. Larry racedahead, dived forward, and took cover behind some rubble. I saw Hotfingersdirectly opposite me, his concentration focused on the target in the sights of hislee Enfield. I instinctively levelled my pistol at him, but checked myself. Whatwas I doing? Medic Hotfingers was a comrade, a pal. I had nothing against him.As I turned back, I saw our target. Barking orders, luger in hand, was the man

with the velvet hand, Kommandant Victor Stahl, the man we were after. His cruel,cold features were twisted in fury and concentration. His cap was missing,revealing his balding head, slick back hair, and the scarred, burned mess wherehis ear had once been. His velvet hand was tucked, napoleon like, in hisovercoat.

I took a shot at him, missing by inches, hitting a poor kraut behind him. Heturned his face to me, and was about to level his gun when I fired again.His head lurched back, a thin wisp of smoke coming out of the new hole in his

forehead. As if in slow motion, he fell backwards, out of sight.

Then I was suddenly in a lot of pain again. Still expecting to be in the battle atBergeraque, my glorious defeat of Stahl, I was surprised to find myself atIzaakdon hospital. My leg and shoulder were patched up, and my right arm in asling. My clothes were in a neat pile on a chair by my hospital bed.The day was nicer. Turned out it was about three days after my shooting, as Ihad lost a good bit of blood. Id been out for a while.A lovely young nurse came in, cup of tea in hand. The smell was welcoming and

my face must have lit up. Smashing! I cried. The nurse replied with a kindsmile.

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Youve had visitors. She said.Oh, such as?An old gentleman, he said he was here to pick up your wedding ringShe must have meant the Pandoras Box. That was good. Despite my pain, I wasa lot happier.The doctors managed to remove the bullets, though your wounds will take timeto heal. Youre a very lucky man. Unfortunately the police havent found theshooter yet, but, well, theres still time yet she said reassuringly.good-o I replied.So, despite all things, id managed to retrieve the Pandoras Box. I imagine Ill

see Doctor Hotfingers again soon, I suppose Im Treble clef enemy number onenow. And the man with the flag hat, whoever he was. A random shooter?Someone I know? Knew? Or was he after something?I suppose ill find out soon enough, though. All that mattered now was my cup oftea, and, when I get better, a lovely meal at Evelyns.

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ENGLISHMAN IN NEW YORK

INTRODUCING STEPHEN DENNISS ANTI DERESSANT MANAND ZARA ROBINSONS ROSEBUD MURDERER

Here I am, sipping a rather flat cup of tea in a corner caf on FifthAvenue. Yes, I know, its quite a jump, I should have jotted my briefing, the

journey over the glorious sight of the statue of liberty and all that, but apart fromthe curious events at he Metropolis Bar (of which my memory is at best hazy) Icant for the life of me remember any of it.I was sloshed the whole time, you see. Im pretty sure everyone on the boat

knew how walloped I was. I dread to think of what damage I may have done. Yousee, theres this thing in America, last year I think it was. The eighteenthamendment. Restricts all alcohol brewing, purchase or selling. This prohibition

means that I wont be able to get any liquor across the pond. I thought I best geta bit merry before I got to the states.Anyway, dear reader, assume that the journey was at best uneventful. Or, if you

like, make something up, like how I fought the man with the diamond eye, orcracked the paradox scandal, or something like that. Go crazy with it. Write itdown, send it to me. Id like to see what you come up with.Nevertheless, Im still here, in the caf, waiting For Anti Depressant Man and

watching my tasteless tea.Americans are very bad at tea. Its all due to a major event in American History.

The Boston tea party, I think it was. As far as I can remember, we had imposed atea act on the yanks, so that they had to pay through the hat for our best eastIndia supply. Anyway, some blighters threw the tea overboard. Dashedscoundrels, that was the good tea!Missed a bit, havent I? Back in Izaakdon, Id accepted a very important job.

Izaakdon Mayor Justin Case had been invited to a Visit in New York. I was to meethim there and keep an eye on him. Sounds a bit trivial, like there should alreadybe a chap on the job, but the man who normally does these things has died.

Thats why it is important, because the chap who died, died of suspicious causes.The top brass in Izaakdon police department hired me to make sure the samefate didnt befall the Mayor. The election was coming up, and his politicalopponent, Hectar Lloyd, is doing very well. People love him, he has big changesplanned. Me, ill stick to Justin Case. I like his style.They approached me where every client approached me, in the Izaakdon Park,

on a rainy day, at eight oclock. I recall the conversation. For your convenience,Ill jot it down. It went something like this:Rainy Day Man?Thats me. But call me... no, nevermind. . I was going to say call me Hugh,but that was too informal. Rainy Day Man was better. Mr. Rainy Day Man.I turned around and recognised the chap as the constable outside the recordshop on that Hotfingers case a couple of months ago.Me Sarge tells me you run some Detectin business n the likeYour Sarge speaks the truthEes got a job e needs you ta do, sirWhat sort of job? I enquired. My attention was momentarily distracted by

some begging pigeons.

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Lookin after the Mayor on is trip ta New York. is bodyguards bin murdered, nthe Chief wants you to keep the same from appnin ta him. Since the election iscomin up, is safety is paramount. Now your not to let im know that your lookinafter im, weve got someone to be is new bodyguard, but you are to keep aneye on im cause the chief doesnt think ees up to itMurdered?Stabbed in neck with a sharpened metal rose, sir the policeman said in amanner-of fact-ly voice, as if it happens all the time.Ooer I replied. Metal rose?How do I find the mayor when I get there? I enquiredWe ave a contact for you there, sir, the fella oos goin to be is new

bodyguard. Corporal Anti Depressant Man.Code name?No, we dont actually know his name. Only ever referred to imself as AntiDepressant Man. Sarge says es a friendly chap, though over excitable. e hasbeen known attack an sometimes kill sad or depressed people, so watchyourself around im. Sarge says es your type of man, Rainy Day Man. Loyal,

Eager, and full o energy. Your to meet im at a Caf on the end ofThe constable checked his notebook. He lowered his brolly and I held my

umbrella over him (the gent that I am, of course)Thanks he muttered. Fifth Avenue.I, of course, accept the job. I will, of course, require the usual fees

You ave Izaakdons mayoral fund at your disposal or the job, Rainy Day Man,an tickets for the Roxanna, first class, are already bought. She sails tomorrow ateleven sharp from Portsmouth. That gives you all o today to get all the thingsyou need. Ill meet you at the port tomorrow for tickets and further briefing atten.Righto, constable

Plodd, sir. Police constable Ernie Plodd.Plodd. See you then.

Anyway, back to the present. My awful tea had gone cold. I was about to order anew one (or, god forbid, order a Coffee) when Corporal Anti Depressant Manburst in, as if hed tripped over the doorstep.He was in a Blue-grey Aviators Uniform, royal flying corps. His cap was missing,

revealing a heroic looking hair quiff that turned down and shot up at the front,like a wave. His features were similarly heroic, raised eyebrow and dashing smile.His uniform was neat and in good condition, his royal flying corps badge pinnedabove his medals (one of which was a Victoria Cross). He wore black leathergloves, and carried a walking cane, ebony in colour except for the head, yellow,

circular and with a smiley face engraved on it.Corporal Anti Depressant Man, flying ace, Royal flying Corps VI Brigade! Heshouted. Everyone turned around to face him. This happy newcomer marchedinto the caf and bounded beside me. You must be Captain Rainy Day Man,Izaakdon Pals. Jolly fine to meet you, old sport! he shouted. He seemed to shouteverything he said.What ho, Anti Depressant Man. I replied. I was rather taken aback by him. Hedidnt seem real, he was like a cartoon used in the war to boost morale.Sorry? Cant here you over all this shouting!! he shouted. The caf was stillbewildered and silent. No one was shouting. Though a little girl had started tothrow a tantrum.Before I could repeat myself, Anti Depressant Man had marched over to the

little girl and banged his cane down on the table so hard that it cracked. Stopshouting, little girl!! he shouted. Your being too sad!

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a fat man, possibly the father, raged up Hey! Mister! I dont care if youre somebig army general or whatnot, but no limey is goin up to my little girl andthreatening us! Youre in America now! Not in that communist wreck of yoursacross the ponBOSCH! at this, Anti Depressant Man whipped his cane around until the

smiley head connected with the mans temple with a disgusting crack, and ahorrible squelching sound, as if someone had just spat. Serves you right forbeing so unhappy! Anti Depressant Man shouted. The fat body crashed throughthe table opposite, and everyone started crying and screaming and panicking.I started fir the door, throwing some greenbacks on the table for the tea, and

herded the now calmed down Anti Depressant Man out of the place before theRozzers arrived. We both legged it down a few alleys, pushing people away, AntiDepressant Man shouting Good Sport, this! over the hustle of the big apple.When we had got some distance between us and the caf, we stopped to catch

our breath. Fortunately enough, there was another caf here, with wooden tablesand chairs outside, the sun shaded with big umbrellas.I havent mentioned, its very sunny here! Bitterly cold, though, but sunny! Not

the sort of thing Im used to, Ill bet the pigeons here get fed by everyone!We sat down. Right, Anti Depressant Man

Youre the chap sent to watch the mayors back, arent you? I mean, to watchme watch the mayors back and jump in if you think its all kicking off! hestopped shouting now, his voice falling to a slightly lower, more bearablevolume. Great to be working with you old boy, what?You too. I replied. I was starting to like Anti Depressant Man. He was just the

Happy, energetic and downright Barmy friend I needed on a job like this.I have some information you might like to know about the mayor Anti

Depressant Man suddenly said. Rosebud MurdererThe rosebud murderer? The fellow who killed the old bodyguard?

Thats right, old boy. The police are on the case, of course. This man AntiDepressant Man handed me a photograph is the chief who is on the case.Names Ross Venderkamp. Pleasant man. He reckons that the rosebud murdererwas targeting the mayor.And he reckons that hell turn up again?And thats exactly why your here. Any sign of. Rosebuds, or anything elsesuspicious, you give him what for! Anti Depressant Man was shouting again.heres Ross Venderkamps card. Call him if you know any information for hiscase.right-o I replied. Tea?

We talked and drank tea and ran away from the rozzers all day, and had afairly jolly time until we were on our way to the mayors Hotel on ninth. By now,

it was getting dark, and the Mayor was expecting Anti Depressant Man (who, bythe way, he had already met) to arrive in about half an hour. When we got there,the mayor was outside the hotel double doors, talking to the doorman.Hello Mayor! Anti Depressant Man had bounded up to him, like an eager

puppy before his walkies. The mayor noticed Anti Depressant Man, and initiallyflinched.Oh, hello, Anti Depressant Man. The mayor replied, weakly. He gave a small

smile, though from the look of it I would say the mayor was looking a bit scared.Ha ha! Anti Depressant Man shouted. He was shouting again. It became all too

obvious that Anti Depressant Mans threatening friendliness was a bit too muchfor the old mayor.I hung back. They would see the sights for the day. Anti Depressant Man had

informed me that there was to be a night in a speakeasy before the boat back

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tomorrow. Some illegal drinking. I was to meet them there at nine. There was noneed for me before that, really. I was free to explore.I started with a visit to Ross Venderkamp. I explained that I was assisting the

mayors bodyguard form his visit from Izaakdon. He was a slimy looking rat of aman, his greasy black hair combed over the side, like some fascist party leader.He had a constant scorned face, and his untrusting eyes scanned the room.

Thought Anti Depressant Man said that he was a pleasant character. Then again,you know him. All happy, all the time, everyone.So you fellas are watchin his back, ha? Venderkamp snarled. Listen, buddy, I

dont trust you two yet. My guys are the best. If we cant find im, then what areyour chances, ha?Were keeping our eyes open I replied.Yeah, well you limeys better stay out of our way if we bust in. and when we doget im, leave im to us. Hes ours, you get me?I left the police department. As I walked past the big black board full of photos, I

spotted something. One of the pictures on the board, a man with a flag on a tophat. Around it, descriptions, witness reports, lists of places he has been seen. The

man with the flagged hat! He was in New York!As you may recall, the man with the flagged hat shot me down in a rainy

Izaakdon Square. Since then, Ive done a bit of sleuthing; trying to find outanything I can about him. I cant dig up much. Theres nothing on him. The onlythings ive got on him is that he may be a politician, because the angle of theshot form where I was hit indicates a snipers shot from the Izaakdon politicaloffices. The political offices are hard to sneak into, especially if you have a sniperrifle. I reckon he is known there, and he has an office on the higher floor. The riflecould have been hidden, disassembled, in a briefcase. . Nothing has been heardof him, so I imagine that he had only recently arrived. Also, he shot my right leg,to take me down, and then my left shoulder. This indicates a upward slope, to theleft, which may indicate that he is left handed, pulling the trigger with the lefthand while holding the rifle, and sweeping it up, with his right.The most confusing thing is the speed that he got to me. I saw the man with theflagged hat before I passed out, giving him maybe four minutes or so toapproach me. The building is a good five minute walk from where I was, notincluding leaving the building. So how did he get there?I took the picture from the board. One of the notes had shadow people written

on it. Thats not good. Ive met the shadow people. In the war, ages agoAnyway, less worrying, It was half eight. I needed to be at the speakeasy early

to avoid the mayor.

It was a lovely rainy night. The speakeasy was inside an abandoned old post

office. The faded sign and old painted advertisement for 7 up (I love 7 up. Its agreat hangover cure) was just visible on the old crumbling brick walls. It lookedsuspiciously similar to Hotfingers treble clef club.Inside, it was beautifully decorated in a modern white lacquered wood. There

were the latest arts hung from the walls, and a black granite main bar, with ashelf full of different spirits and wines, reflected in the mirror behind, the bright,swirly colours looked like a Van Gogh painting.The mayor and Anti Depressant Man arrived. I made myself scarce (afterordering a deliciously red cosmopolitan in a big glass). Anti Depressant Man andthe mayor got drinks, bustled around the crowds a bit, and found themselves ata table at the window. While the mayor and Anti Depressant Man sat in thewidow, I sat on a small table near the back of the speakeasy. It was very hard for

him to recognise me through the hustle of drunken dancers and crowds of eager

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patrons, so I could get closer to them than usual. Pretty sure one of the drunkswas staring at me. He was grinning. Had we met?Anyway, apart from the grinning man, no sign of any suspicious patrons so far.

Anyone in the crowd could jump out and cause havoc. I needed to be closer,bustle through the crowd. As I stood, I noticed someone flash past. Out of thecorner of my eye.Oh no

Laying in the rain soaked mudanother one, sitting where I was sat, just for asecond, theyre back. I felt cold and empty. . . A frightened boy, only aboutfifteen, cries out as the bullets thud into the war torn earth I thought I wasgoing to be sick, it was so cold, and dark. The shadow peoplemore blood,running like veins through gaps in the cobbled stones, and another comradefalls why are the shadow people back? Another one flashes past.I felt awful. Heavy, the weight of the war hung like lead on my shoulders. More

shadows flashed by the windows and just in the corner of my eye. More this time,it was getting worse. I tried to run away, pushing all-to-merry drunken foolsaside. The mayor notices me.

He sees a lonely, wasted, pathetic man. A man so alone in the world that heneeds the compassion of the pigeons to keep him happy. A fool, a freak, thepeople see him alone in the pouring rain and pity him. And they fear him. He is amonster, an outcast, a terrible, nameless thing. The pigeons, his excuse, like heis making anything better. The people he killed, the Germans, the Austrians,heck, even a few French and British, as well. The deserters that he shot as theyran, the fear of the powerful enemy that they thought was one of them. Howhed let the Izaakdon pals down. They could have been great, but they werestuck with him. An inexperienced, useless, monster.More shadows. Waves of them, getting closer. I feel so weighed down by my

mistakes that I fall to the floor in despair and the mayor and Anti DepressantMan look on, confused looks on their faces. The shadows dived in, flying aroundand obscuring everything. Its awful, the misery of it all. Perhaps, it was time tostop, to do the world a favour and die.At almost the same moment, everything was back to normal again. The

shadows had gone, for now at least. By heck, that was close. I nearly started tohate me. Me! The rainy day man! The greatest detective, army captain and allaround dashing charmer that Izaakdon has ever seen!Ross Venderkamp arrived. He must be on the trail for the rosebud murderer.

The mayor was complaining about my sudden appearance, and how he couldntbe trusted, and how Izaakdon had sent me, some maniac who has suddenoutbursts of great depression, as their best man. Anti Depressant Man, to thebest of his efforts, didnt look to pleased either. I think he had noticed my

sadnessepisode. He, in a way, looked angry. He started towards me.Oh crumbs.I struggled to get my gun aimed when Anti Depressant Man swung for me withhis deadly cane. I cowered away, and at then last minute, when I thought it wasall over, he changed direction, and struck Venderkamp in the arm. He yelped inpain, and stumbled backwards, and I noticed some dropped rosebud darts at hisside.Ross Venderkamp was the rosebud murderer!

Dont worry about the sadness, old chap, it was the shadow people. They dothat! Anti Depressant Man shouted at me. Needed a ruse to cop old rosythere!We both dived at Ross, trying to hold him down, and in a gentlemanly manner,

started to launch blows at his face and chest. Weaken the life out of him. Themayor ran behind the bar, cowering.

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You saw the shadow people!? I shouted. The crowds had started to panic, aftermy antics in the shadow attack, and then the sudden fight that had ensued.Some ran out to the streets, some carried on drinking, but most started joiningin. a riot was starting, drunken Americans attacking other Americans, bottledbeing smashed, knives flaring, playing cards and betting chips scatteredeverywhere.I didnt see the shadow people, but I know about them. Ive seen it before!

Anti Depressant Man shouted. Some rioting patron spilt his cosmopolitan overAnti Depressant Man, ruining his lovely quiff.STOP BIENG SO BLOODY DEPRESSED!!!!

Anti Depressant Man let go of Ross and launched himself into the crowd. Heappeared to get some sort of sword out of his cane, and began mercilesslyhacking and slashing at the terrified rioters.Using this advantage, Ross swung his arm around, and I felt a prick in the side

of my neck. A rose!Ross started to launch his attack. After kicking me flying across the room, I

dizzily saw the mayor screaming in terror, Ross throwing rose after rose at him.

I felt dizzy. I wasnt dead, which was good, Ross must have used a tranquilliserdart, either as a mistake or so that I could watch the mayor die before I slept.Using all my remaining strength, I dizzily stood up, fell over, and landed on a

broken glass. The pain of the small shards piercing my back kept me active.Once again, I tried to stand, the drugs already overpowering me, I grabbed thefirst thing I could find, which happened to be a ladies discarded stiletto shoe,probably from the fleeing. I picked this up of the drink and glass covered marbletiled floor. Wielding this, I threw myself at Ross Venderkamp, and with all mymight rammed the heel of the shoe deep into his left eye. He gave a short howlof pain, and blood spurted everywhere, soaking most of my arm and the woodenbar. Then he crumpled in a bloody heap. The heel must have stabbed all the waythrough and into the brain.I did it! I save the mayor from the evil rosebud murderer. At that moment, I

heard a familiar sound. Like metal on bone.Oh no. Anti Depressant Man!

I stumbled outside, barely able to hold myself up, into the middle of the fogdrenched road. Anti Depressant Man had chased the terrified mayor and,mistaking the terror for sadness, was bashing the mayor in the chest and legswith the smiley head of his cane. Small droplets of blood scattered through thefoggy sky, and the mayors agony could only just be heard over Anti DepressantMan shouting Dont worry, everything is under control!!Anti Depressant Man, NO! I shouted. Thats the mayor!

hes sad! Anti Depressant Man shouted. I heard a sickening crunch as the

mayors leg splintered under the might of the cane. It was all going wrong.Nothing could get any worse.In the terrified crowd, a man stood with a flag on his hat. Around him, just out of

the corner of my dizzy vision, shadows scurried around him, peered from behindhim.Oh no.The drugs were taking effect. I fell to the floor, and just before I fell into

unconsciousness, as my eyes stung as I strained them awake, the flag hattedman, I must be hallucinatingHe appeared to launch in the air. Screams started up again, as the man

rocketed up into the foggy night sky. Impossible!There was a massive explosion, and everything fell black.

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Id met the shadow people for the first time during the war. They look likehuman shadows, hence there name, but are independent creatures. They appearin the corner of your eye, in your peripheral vision. When you see one, or theyare around you, you feel awful, like all the bad things in the world are on yourshoulders. Its quite depressing. They usually only linger for a minute or so, thatwas the first time theyve attacked me. Theyre like ghosts, or spiritual creatures,unexplained, mysteries that science cant prove to exist or not exist.

I awoke on a cosy settee. Confusing, isnt it? Have you ever awoke somewhereyouve never been before? Its quite a puzzler, especially when you just awake.

Though not the first time Ive awoken in a new place, eh, readers?My neck stung from where the rose had hit me. I scratched it a bit. I appeared

to be on an airship. There were various people in RFC uniform doing variousthings, and at the helm, Anti Depressant Man. Hello! he shouted.He..Hello. I murmured. Any chance of a tea?

a young lad in RFC uniform brung one over. That was quick.What happened? I asked. Where am I?

This is my airship. This is my squadron. These are my men. Anti DepressantMan explained. To make a long story short, the mayor died. Someone turned up,rocketed into the air, and threw a stick of dynamite down at the speakeasy. Blewit to pieces. I managed to rescue you, after your scuffle with the Rosebudmurderer and the shadows, and brung you here, to my airship. He smiled.Impressive way of killing Venderkamp. A heel to the eye, ingenious!The man who threw the dynamite, the man in the flagged hat, who launched

into the air as quick as a shot. I know him, Ive been after him for a while. Hekilled the mayor!?Well, noI did. Sorry. He was being sad, and I, kind of beat him to death. Anti

Depressant Man explained. But we cant win them all, can we?No I replied, knowing that I should have been there to save the mayor, no wecant win them all.Everyone has bad days, dont they? Well, being tranquillised by a crazed

murderer, attacked by shadows, your partner killing the man you were hired toprotect, and an old enemy blowing up the ground below your feet may constituteas more of a bad day.Dyou reckon the flagged hat man will turn up again? Anti Depressant Manshouted.Oh, hell turn up again. And dont worry about killing the mayor, it was electiontime, Hectar Lloyd will fill the position.Thats good then. He replied.Where to now?

Izaakdon he replied. Get you home. Im going to stay there as well for a bit. Ithink I deserve a holiday, after all.So we sailed through the sky back to my beloved Izaakdon. Bit of Izaakdon

rainll do you good. He shouted.Sure will. I owe you a dinner at Evelyns for saving my life. Speaking of food,

those pigeons will be starving!

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COG OF WAR

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Down Trumpton lane, thered be a stop at the T junction,

it takes ages, Ill take St. Andrews instead, theyll either move onto Alabama

quarters or the side street into Lucifer square. No, if they went to Lucifer squaretheyd be held up by the 10.52 miniature railway form Roswell, theyll takeAlabama lane. I can cut the corner down Francesco gardens and meet them headon at Timbershade quarters.

It wasnt going well. I zipped past the blurs of street lamps and buildings, therain pounding onto the windshield like bullets. I nearly toppled when I turneddown Francesco gardens, my wheels nearly loosing their grip on the tarmac.Only a few feet in front of me, in their custom model T, the men I am chasing -

the Pigeon at the wheel, a fanatic bird hater who wishes to see Izaakdon pigeon-free. Firing out of the back window, and the Pigeons right hand man, theGardener, a vulgar property developer who wants to rid Izaakdon of parks and

replace them with dull, uniform buildings. I swerved as bullets sprang of thehood, my right headlight shattering.Fortunately, I have an advantage when it comes to car chases- I know every

street, square, and seedy cobbled back alley in Izaakdon. I also know the lights,train times, and every other hindrance on every street. I even know about allroad works, all road closures, and peak times of congestion. Ive memorisedevery inch of Izaakdon, and can consider every possible outcome.The Pigeon and the Gardener are one of my most dreadful nemeses, as theirattacks on the Pigeons and the parks strike me on a personal level. They were asmall time criminal duo, funded by the Gardener. They have been spreadingpoisoned bread through the parks of Izaakdon, in a double-whammy plot to killthe Pigeons and show the parks as being unsafe, and closing them down. I Have

stopped their fiendish plan once again, but this time, there will be no escapingfor these two. I leant out the window and returned fire, catching the rear windowon the model T and ( I think) catching the Gardeners shoulder.Another shadow person flashed in the car! Just for a second! Theres not been a

shadow person for ages!It soon disappeared, but in my distraction I nearly ploughed into a gang of

terrified pedestrians. I swung the steering wheel around for grim life, and the carlost purchase on the rain soaked road. It skidded along sideways, and I thrust myfoot down on the breaks. Thankfully, and with a lot of luck on my side, it came toa grinding halt.The Pigeon and the Gardener werent doing too well either. After I shot theGardener, the Pigeon lost control of the wheel and careered headlong into a wall.I ran after the car, gun reloaded and ready. A figure opened the drivers door,

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probably the Pigeon. I shot at him, and the figure jerked, and fell to the rainsoaked floor.Im not one for mercy, so I shot at the body again. The Pigeon, dead. Good. One

of my deadliest enemies gone forever. Now the Gardener to sort out.When I got there, I examined the body of the Pigeon. His heartless, cold,

scowling face showed the blank mask of death, his curly blond hair matted withfresh blood.The back door flung open, catching me and launching me to the ground. TheGardener was alive, his long bony fingers holding his trademark flat-cap to hisshoulder, nursing the battered flesh, and his viscous face contorted with anger. Ipicked myself up, and narrowly dodged the Gardeners wild stab with his sharpstiletto. With one hand I punched his injured shoulder, with the other, pulled hisarm forward, throwing him off balance and hurling him to the ground. I grabbedhis stiletto and thrust it into his shoulder wound. He screamed in agony, hiswhole body seizing in pain.I could have tried to save him. But I didnt really want to. It would be another

angry nuisance one my back. There were some things I wanted to know, though.

The Pigeon and the Gardener were relatively small criminals, but a plan this bigneeded millions. They were working for someone. I needed to know, becausethat someone is someone who undoubtedly knows me, and knows that the RainyDay Man protects his pigeons.All right, gardener, choke up. You dont have the money to pull off a stunt like

this, who you working for this time?He..he wanted youout of the way.Who!? I turned the blade further into the shoulder.ThedistractionWHO!? I jammed the blade harder into his wound.HOTFINGERS!!!!With that, the Gardener slipped off into the eternal land of nod. DamnHotfingers! Whats he up to now?As you know, dear reader, Doctor Hotfingers is an old friend of mine. True

followers of my work will recall the exiting adventures of the Pandoras Box case,but since then, Hotfingers has branched out. He has become my greatest anddeadliest enemy, and I have since squared with him on a number of occasions.Everything from the deadly operation resting piece (an attempt to poison theLondon Royal Philharmonic Orchestra) to my most recent confrontation with himin Prague, where he revealed OCTAVE.The Operatives of Criminal Treachery, Atrocity and Violent Exercises. Hotfingerscriminal gang, an underground organisation that focuses on musical relatedcrimes. His protection rackets, smuggling, dealing, rigging, murdering, robbing

and general not-being-nice methods are bringing in millions of pounds of ill-gotten funds. He is based mainly in Izaakdon, but has branches over most ofEurope. He must be planning something, something he didnt want meinterfering with. What could it be?But first, priorities. I needed a tea, and a cigarette to calm my nerves. Also, the

car needed servicing. Didnt I tell you? After my solving the mysterious case ofthe disappearing Rabbi, I gained enough money to splash out on a motorcar. Igot me a 1922 white Hupmobile roadster, converted to include a canvas roof, tokeep the rain out. Cost me a bundle, but it has proved invaluable, especiallygetting to all the parks to feed the Pigeons. Ive painted my decorative umbrellamotif on each door.Whilst driving home, I decided to pick up a paper. One of the most valuable

sources in sleuthing is the press. I think my answer was spread out all over thefront page. Silent Clown Sally Army to appear at her Izaakdon premier. Oh, Id

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nearly forgotten. You want to know how I got away with killing the Pigeon and theGardener. Where are the rozzers? The sirens?I have police connections now. They use me occasionally in cases that demand

my.. Approach to the work. If its justified, I can shoot whoever I like.Now where we? I really need to stop interrupting my train of thought. Im lost

now. Ah, here we are, the paper headline. Sally Army is a up and coming (and,dare I say it, very beautiful) silent comedy star. Like Chaplin, and Keaton, orLaurel and Hardy. She films her flicks in Izaakdon, and because of this, she is oneof Izaakdons biggest stars. To be honest with you, though keep this under yourhat, dear reader, Im rather in love with her. She is very lovely.Well, as it is a big event, I can be sure that Hotfingers big plan may connect

with this. Hotfingers is always one for grand entrances. Even in the pals, he lovedto emerge through the fog, the hero, saving the day. What happened to thatHotfingers?I drove on to Evelyns. As I sat lazily watching the smoke from my cigarette race

the steam from my tea, I noticed something out of the rain soaked caf windows.One of my umbrellas was painted on a wall. But I hadnt painted it there.

I am aware of people painting fake umbrellas around, but this one was noamateur. It was good. Exact, to be precise.This is a bit odd. On closer inspection, there was an arrow painted on it. It was asimple white arrow, pointing left. Since this must be for me, I decided to follow it.At the end of the road, another arrow, pointing right this time.I followed a few of these umbrella paintings until I realised that I was heading

straight for the old Treble Clef Club. Hotfingers had abandoned that place acouple of years ago. He is rarely seen now, he usually has his minstrels do thedirty work (or small time criminals like the Pigeon and the Gardener.)On the double doors, once stylish in well kept Moderne design, was an

envelope. On the front was the umbrella design, but a red treble clef had beenpainted over it. Hotfingers calling card over mine.There was a note inside, written in Hotfingers hand. The note read:

Dear Hugh Buxton-Wells.

Sally Armys new film was a blast. Shame you couldnt make it. You would haveloved to meet her.

Forever yours, Doctor Jack Lantern

Through Curiosity, I looked through the window.Oh dear. Id better start running. The whole placed was crammed with dynamite,

and someone had wired it up to blow.As I ran, the whole placed exploded all around me. My ears went deaf, and Icould only just make out the sounds of bricks falling around, and burning woodand shattered glass. I was launched through the air by the force of the blast. Abit of glass flew by, catching my cheek. I dont remember much after that.I was awoken by a fireman. You all right, old man? he was saying. He was

trying to wake me up. The rain splashing on my face refreshed me. I could seeblack plumes of smoke choking the sky. Seems like you were caught in a gasleak explosion, old man. You seem all right though. Dashed lucky, I dare say!Would you like an ambulance?no, Im all right now, thank you. I replied. I got up, slowly. I seemed OK, no

broken bones. My suit was torn in places.

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After saying my goodbyes and thank-yous to the firemen, I made my way home.When I arrived, I changed into my best suit- a tan ensemble with a matching redtie and carnation. I was ready for the premiere.Did I mention that Ive met Miss Sally Army Before? It was a month back now.

She hired me to track a stalker. It turned ugly, and after a few foiledassassination attempts, and one rather nasty punch up, I managed to turn thestalker in to the proper authorities. Weve been in communication since,occasionally, but I was too preoccupied at the time to focus on her. Its a goodthing that the films are silent, though- the public wouldnt think her asentertaining with her stutter and her strong Geordie accent.

I took the Miniature railway to the picture house. The car was still in forservicing. I managed to get a cab to myself, so I sat by the window, had a smoke,and watched the rainy world go by.Itll be nice to meet Sally Army again. I think, if it goes well, I might ask her out

for a cup of tea. Or a dinner. Thatd be lovely. Me and Sally Army. It gives me awarm, exiting feeling thinking about it. Then, after dinner, maybewell, I am acharming old thing, arent I?

I departed my train outside the Picture-house. There were a few big namesaround. There was Mayor Hectar Lloyd, he is up for re-election at the moment.And there was Harvey Pepper, the famed pianist who would accompany the film.And then Sally Army appeared.Oh, H-h-h-Hello, pet! he called. Her fiery Red hair was curled and bob-cut,

hidden under a black cloche hat. She was wearing a long black dress under abrown fur coat. She wore an emerald diamond necklace, which shone green inthe flash of the camera lights. The press roared around her, snapping shots andscoops, but I managed to muscle through with some charm and a bit ofpersuasion with my gun.Miss Sally Army! You look positively delightful! I flashed my most charming

smile. She radiated a warm feeling, and I felt a tad exited, butterflies inside me.Not T-to bad yourself, pet. She replied.We talked for a bit, and took our seats in the cinema. I sat with sally, at the

front.With a whurr, the film flickered into life. The piano tinkled along to the flickery

images, as Sallys character danced around a bit, ran a way from way too manypolicemen, and some other comedic acts. The audience laughed along merrily,but I was too preoccupied to watch the film. (Not because of Sally Army, well, notentirelybecause of her.)Through the smoke of the cigarettes dancing patterns on the light of the

projector, I looked out for Hotfingers. Where was he? He has to be heresomewhere. I suppose the only thing to do is to sit and wait, and enjoy the

flicker. At least enjoy sitting next to lovely Sally.Suddenly, as Sallys character was pulling a very over-the-top Oh no! faces,the music stopped. A ripple of murmurs washed over the audience. Then, thebody of Harvey pepper fell out from behind the curtain, where the piano was. Hisneck was soaked in his blood.Hello, Hello, Hello and welcome to you all! Doctor Hotfingers jumped out from

behind the curtain. The picture stopped, and through the white screen burst outloads of OCTAVE minstrels, waving Tommy Guns threateningly. The audienceresponded in screams and panic. They quietened down with a few gunshots inthe air from Hotfingers Mark VI army Webley Revolver (the same as mine.)Okeydoke, lets start the proceedings. You, people of Izaakdon, are in the care

of Doctor Hotfingers, thats me, and my friends here form OCTAVE. I need you as

my Hostages.

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At that, some Minstrels carried a few boxes of Dynamite into view. The audiencegasped. I noticed that there was a radio transmitter in operation; he must becommunicating via radio to someone.OK, Pals to Kensington, Pals to Kensington, are you receiving me, over? Hello?

Hello Izaakdon Military Offices, Hello? Do you come in, Izaakdon Military?The receiver whistled in reply Kensington to pals, This is Izaakdon Military

services, General Walter Q. D. Kensington Reporting, we dont use Pals orKensington anymore, Q, over.This is Hotfingers, Not Q. listen, I want the Brass Cog, you hear! I want my

intelligence delivered to Izaakdon Picture-house. Otherwise I blow it up, youhear! Over.Hotfingers, we will not give in to terrorist demands, over.

OCTAVE to Kensington, OCTAVE to Kensington, I will blow the picture house, andall the souls within, out of the sky, over.OCTAVE, cease now! You will not get your hands on the Intelligence! Over and

out!Hotfingers turned the radio off. Well, folks, looks like the military aint

responding. See you all in.Buxton-Wells! I didnt think youd be here! Well, thisis nice, isnt it? Looks like the Pigeon and the Gardener didnt do a very good jobof assassinating you..Well, no good hiding now.. Assassinate me? I thought they were after the

Pigeons.They were after both Hotfingers Drawled in his Manhattan accent. Well doneto you though. But then you always did have a knack of knowing where everyoneis. Did you visit the Treble Clef Club at all?I got the message.Well, survived two assassination attempts in a day! Im quite proud of you. Butyou aint gettin outta this one!Time for me to make my leave. Come on, Sally! I grabbed her arm and

together we ran for our lives out of the theatre, whilst bullets from the minstrelszinged and flashed past.We were out, and we ran into Sallys Car. Drive, quick! Sally shouted to the

driver. We speeded off into the rainy streets.Where we goin? she asked.

Well go to my flat. Hotfingers wont find us there. 13 Walters Square, pleasedriver!Our car raced down the streets. Whats this c-cog ee was goin on about?

Oh, that, I stole it from him. On a job, you understand. Anyway, are you allright?Yeah, Im f-fine, pet.

We arrived at my apartment building, and I showed Sally and her driver up intomy rooms. Make yourselves at home, put the kettle on, and dont worry. Keepcalm and dont panic. Now Im going to try and sort it all out. Here is my key,dont let anyone in until I get back. Ill knock four rapid beats, then two slow ones,like this I rapped on the side of the table to demonstrate. They both nodded.And Sally?Yeah?Would you like to have dinner with me, say tomorrow night?Er, yeah, thatd be g-grand!Excellent. See you later!

Right, what to do, what to do. Sally is safe, thats good. Thats bally good. AndIm having dinner with her tomorrow night, thats doubly good. All I need to do

know is somehow stop Hotfingers and

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I didnt get to finish the sentence because at that moment I was thrown downthe first flight of stairs. I recovered myself, and found the Leviathan on top of my,his deadly gloved hands reaching for my neck.Whilst I struggle with the Leviathan, I will explain who he is, as you, my dear

reader, will surely not have heard of him. He is one of the most top classassassins, trained in the Japanese mercenary Ninja style, and an expert of closequarter combat and knife fighting. He is an assassin for hire, and Hotfingers musthave hired him for OCTAVE.He was still trying desperately to get his hands around my neck, his eyes, under

his grotesque angry face mask, were contorted in anger. I grabbed his arm andtoppled him over. Then, using all my energy, I relentlessly delivered blow afterblow to his face and chest, trying to beat the ninja assassin to death. He, inreturn, threw me backwards, and I was knocked dizzy when my head collidedwith a windowsill.I had one only advantage. I had a gun. While the Ninjas were taught to use only

silent, unseen methods, I can be as noisy and noticeable as I like. Taking mychance, I shot him in the side. He was an exceptionally tall man, and It caught

him just above the waist. He staggered back, and I jumped onto his front, andbashed my gun into his face repeatedly, harder and harder until blood flowedthrough the angry mouth and eyes of his mask, and he stopped struggling. Hefell to the floor, quite dead.

Well, that was easier than expected. Last time I met the Leviathan, I nearly lostmy arm. I thought it best to search the body. As I rooted around, I noticed Sallyarmy, standing at the top of the stairs.I heard a r-racket, what the bloody ell happened here, pet? she asked.What she saw was me, bloodied and bruised, standing over a tall, dead body,

wrapped in black robes and covered in blood, wearing a horrible, smashed angryface mask, with me rooting through the robes. The stair carpet was loose andmessy, and there was a smashed vase (from where I must have hit my head)littered on the floor.Nothing to worry about, my dear, its all in control now! I replied. you get

inside, my dear, youll be safe there!She wandered back into my apartment; I heard the door lock shut. Hotfingers

third assassination attempt had been foiled!I found two things on the body. Some instructions and a stick of dynamite. The

instructions were in Hotfingers writing.

Leviathan,

Here is a stick of dynamite. You are to follow Rainy Day Man, and blow him up.

He may get to the theatre, so if my other attempt with the Pigeon and theGardener fails, youre my backup plan. When you have killed him, head toIzaakdon military offices and steal the brass cog. Return to the Ruins of the

Treble Clef Club (which I have blown up) where I will be waiting for you.

Hotfingers.

I took the instructions, and the dynamite, and put them in my bread satchel. Illhead off to the park, to feed the Pigeons, and think about my next move.

I was feeding the pigeons, thinking away at my impossible problem, when thesolution presented itself to me. I was happily sitting on a bench, in the rain, when

General Walter Q. D. Kensington sat next to me.Hello, Buxton-Wells.

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Sir? I was puzzled. What are you doing here?Im here to give you this he handed me the Brass cog, which I had gratifiedwith my umbrella motif.The intelligence? From the Pandoras Box? WhatThat is not the intelligence, Buxton-Wells. That cog is a red herring, so to speak.

The actual intelligence is the Pandoras Box itself. We put the cog in to trickpeople into thinking that it was important. No one ever suspects that thetreasure chest is the treasure. Why, if you had scratched that umbrella callingcard of yours into the box, world war two would have broken out within a week!Why are you giving the cog to me?Hotfingers said on the radio that the cog was the intelligence. He has hostages,and he will kill then unless you give him the cog. Pretend that you stole it of us,or something like that. Play his game, and let him win. Give him the cog, andsave all those people.Right-o, sir.Hotfingers has left the Theatre some time ago. We dont know where hes gone,but Im sure that youll be able to root him out, eh? The theatre is still crawling

with OCTAVE agents.We both shook hands, and went our separate ways. This was great! Hotfingers

could get the Cog, and ill save everyone. Hell be busy for a while. Trying to workout what the cog is, and I can get some peace and quiet for a while.

* *

The Treble Clef Club, or at least what remained of it, looked like it had grown outof the ground. Long stretches of brick towered high into where once there werewalls and windows. The shattered old Treble Clef Club sign had been replacedwith OCTAVEs Red Treble Clef logo. The back of the building remained fairly intact. The interior was scorched shadows of what once was there, and rubble lawstrewn across the puddled ground. The roof had many holes, so I kept myumbrella up as I walked through the old double doors, hanging on the hinges.Hotfingers! I shouted, holding the Brass cog up high. This is what you want,

isnt it?At that moment, a loud bang echoed around the remains, as a brick crumpled

next to me and the bullet zinged off into the scorched wall. I jumped backwards,and pulled out my own gun, scanning the remains. Over the rain, I heard theclick of a sniper rifle being reloaded.Hello. Hotfingers shouted in reply. He stepped out from behind what was the

bar. He was wearing a dark blue slim suit, his trademark red waistcoat and Pianokeys tie visible under it. He had the same dark red umbrella that I had, with the

varnished oak spine. He stepped out into the clearing, face to face with me. Itrained my gun on him, but he just smiled. I wouldnt try anything, My dearBuxton-Wells, my snipers dont miss.I have the intelligence. I said. Putting my umbrella down on the ground, but

still holding my gun, I took the brass cog out of my breast pocket. I handed itover to him.Thanks. He replied. He held the cog up to his face, as if it was a diamond.

Then, he threw it up in the air. A cascade of sniper fire blew the cog intoshrapnel, bits of brass remains pinging on the old burnt wooden floor.Seeing my confused face, he laughed. You thought I wanted it? Ha, for a

sleuth, you aint so bright. No, I didnt want it, I didnt want you to have it. See,at first, when I nabbed it from Izaakdon Military offices, I didnt know what it was.

I didnt think about it. But when you turned up, hired by the military to get itback, I thought that the military must need this if theyve sent their second best

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man (he lingered at this to let it set in) to get it back. And if the Military want it,its kinda important. I, how should I put this, didnt want the military having anunfair advantage over people like me. Now, I see you ask, why dont you us it?Well, Ive racked my brains, but I see no use for it. What would I need a Brasscog, which somebody scratched an umbrella into? No, I play a fair game,Buxton-Wells, no one gets to have it!After this he stared at me. Eventually he said Well?

What, I can just go? You dont want to kill me?Not yet.Oh. Then, cheerio! I replied. That was easy. I didnt think I could just hand overthe cog and get to leave. Hotfingers is usually quite protective; I thought I wouldhave to muscle out of there. I was just through the doors when sniper bulletsthudded into the woodwork. I jumped backwards, hiding behind a decayed wall.Wait a moment I heard Hotfingers say. You just handed over the cog. You

didnt even hesitate, or fight. You practically forced it at me. You even came hereyourself to give it back. The same person who faced all the treble clefs alone toget this cog has just strolled in, willingly, and handed it back. Now, thats not like

you at all, is it?it was too far to run for cover. The snipers would pick me out straight away. Ive

seen them in action when I took on OCTAVE at Izaakdon Synagogue in theHarmony operation. My best choice was to hide here.I remember Hotfingers continued when you told me that the prize was

everything. How care and mercy on the battlefield will lead to destruction anddeath. You told me to think like the enemy, because they think that you are thesame as we see them. Match dedication to victory. No mercy. Why would thesame man give the prize up like that?Why did you I replied stop being the great Medic, the great man that I was

proud to fight along side? You didnt just think like the enemy, you collected it allup and grew to be one!

PEOPLE ARE THE ENEMY! Hotfingers shouted. people are the reason thatpeople die. People kill people. Music is my way of killing people. Music doesntcare. But more importantly, you havent given me the intelligence. The cog, whatwas that? A red herring? Did you think you could trick me? I am Hotfingers! I amOCTAVE!I was pretty stuck. There was no escape. Hotfingers was firing his gun at the

wall. Might has well have my last Cigarettebut wait! The Dynamite! The stick that the Leviathan had!

Lighting it, I turned, and cherishing the look of surprise on Hotfingers face, threwit at him.The resulting explosion caused the rest of the ruined building to crumble into a

massive heap. The force blew me backwards, but I came out pretty unscathed.Dusting myself off, I picked up my (or was it Hotfingers?) umbrella. It was a bitburned, but it kept the rain off. I walked over to the rubble to try and findHotfingers body.He was lying, unconscious and badly burnt, on some rubble. I took my gun out

and levelled it at him. I could kill himat that moment, someone grabbed me from behind and had his sweaty, pale

hand over my mouth. Die, Rainy Day Man!I know that voice. It was the Gardener! He had survived!I struggled to breathe; he was trying to break my neck. In the lashing rain, I

tried to hit him, but my blows met empty space. My vision was blurring, hismassive, thin hand stopping me from breathing. I took one last swing.

It connected! He staggered back, and I fell to the ground, gasping. He ran atme, but I turned around, gun back in hand, and blew a few holes through his cap.

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The Gardeners body crumpled to the ground. I turned around, to deal withHotfingers, but he had disappeared.Damn. Hed got away again. Well, Id best be off. I picked up my brolly and

walked to my car.I owed Miss Sally Army that Dinner we mentioned.

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IRWINBASED ON IDEAS BY LEIGH BARTON

Conservative ministers murdered at Izaakdonbefore party conference

30th July 1926Sheridan Frogcott

The Conservative Party conference has been delayed after three bodies of recently murderedConservative MPs were found in a back street in Izaakdon, this reporter has heard. Moremysteriously, a horrific painting was found at the crime scene.

The three victims - Roger Napalm MP, of Oldham, Stan Forward MP, of Grimsby and MortimerCatflap MP, minister for education - were found each with their throats slit. More mysterious isa painting found on the wall where the bodies were found.

The painting was painted with the blood of the victims, and the murderer (who we assumehas painted the picture) is believed to have phoned the Izaakdon police, letting them knowabout the crime. Due to Izaakdon heavy rainfall, the picture will not last for long before it iswashed away. Police are baffled by the paintings meaning.

The painting shows a picture of two men shaking hands, one of which is the conservativePrime Minister Stanley Baldwin, the other is American Prime Minister Calvin Coolidge. Underthis is the message "Germany must pay 269 billion marks for the Great war. Was it their fault?"

The police have called in private investigators to help them with the search of the murderer.The manager of the Cameron Hotel, where the Conservatives are staying for the conference,has said "we at the

Thatll do for now, I dont read much of the newspapers. i was at the sight of themurders, waiting for one of the policemen to let me have a look at the scene.Reading this in yesterdays times, I was immediately interested and contacted thepolice to offer my services.I am not a fan of the conservatives. They are a capitalist party for the rich. I am

a member of the Izaakdon peace movement, and I cannot stand the capitalistTories. I was against the Tories having the convention here.

Well, this certainly was a mystery. The police were cornering off the small pile of

mutilated and blood-drained cadavers as I studied the ghastly but beautifulgraffiti which had been painted so elegantly on the old brick wall.as the paper mentioned, the picture was a beautifully painted piece, showing thetwo leaders and the harrowing message. I was, at most, surprised at the purelevel of detail put in, considering it was in blood. There was shading.At the end of this bloody tribute was the inscription "Irwin". The police offers

were already shouting to the inferior rozzers to look up all the files they had onanyone called Irwin. I, as usual, was heading on my own little investigation, as Iusually do. The old white Hupmobile was waiting round the corner. I decided totake a closer look at this bloody tapestry that our new friend Irwin had left us.

There was no obvious evidence, apart from the name. He must be a fast painter,this Irwin. I imagine that there would have been a waterproof covering on the topof the wall. i mentioned it to one of the police, they will ask around decoratorshops for records.

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Now on to Irwin himself. He is an educated man (he is aware of Germanysdebt), and may be German, due to the picture content. he is small, strong andagile - a ladder was found nearby, and these alleys are thin, and a large metalladder would have been carried under one arm, which would have been difficultin these narrow areas for a big lumbering man. he is an excellent and speedypainter, and he dislikes the Tories. there has been a painting like this before (thatthe presses didnt get hold of. the blood was form one Tory backbencher who hadgone missing. a small picture of Guy Fawlks, unsigned, was painted in the Torieshouse)After a few closer looks, I still couldnt figure out what it all meant. I still didnt

know anything about Irwin. (if, of course, it was his name. I have seen a fewcases of graffiti where they use false names.) all that the police and I have beenable to find out is that he killed three (presumably) innocent people in order topaint a large picture on a wall in their blood, and called the police so that theydfind it before the rainy night washed it all away.It all sounds a bit, well, its a bit unnecessary. Why would someone go to all this

trouble to paint a masterpiece on a wall, knowing that the rain would wash it

away? Why would someone kill people and use their blood as paint? Surely youduse paint, on canvas. Something of this brilliance and mystery should be in thegalleries, and not temporarily splattered over some dark old wall, like anadvertisement.There was nothing else for me to do here, so I pulled up my coat, pulled downmy hat and ran over to my car. I was safely inside the shelter of my vehicle andout of the pouring rain.

Ahh. My dear reader, my most caring and loyal reader, who has joined me onmy most intriguing of cases, will surely know my passionate love of a good cupof tea. Fortunately, I had my thermos safely seat-belted on the back seat. Willyou join me for a tea and a muse?I winded down the window so that the blue smoke from my cigarette would

lazily float out into the early morning sky. Well, isnt this a belter? Never beforehave we had a case so mysterious. This will need some serious going-over. Butbefore all that, its coming up to seven. Its time for the pigeons morning feed.And after that, I have a political protest to go to.

* * *There was a rush of furious energy as i was pushed and shoved around amidst

the protesters. Dont get me wrong, I was doing a lot of the pushing and shovingmyself. I disapproved of the Conservatives and their ignorance towards Izaakdon.

They never help us, not even in the war. One protester lost his hat to the masses,it was kicking off!Izaakdon political visits are something to be wary of. i recall the Visit of the

mayor of the Mime committee last year. Unfortunately, as these things alwaysdo, trouble was brewing. Through various methods I found out that Bobo Doll -the most violent Mime serial killer this side of Milan - was planning a mimeassassination attempt. if the mayor of the Mime committee was mimeassassinated in front of the crowd, there would have been a (silent) uproar.Bobo was spotted on the top of a building opposite of the podium outside of

Izaakdon political offices (which, as it happens, i am at now). he was miming asnipers rifle. Using the best of my skill, and a handy pair of binoculars, I dived infront of the mayor and took the mime bullet.After my over-the-top mimely demise, the Mayor was safe. When he was out of

sight I got up and walked away. Bobo got away - to strike more terror into thehearts of mimes, i expect. If you hear a story of a mime found dead in an

invisible box, with no means of exit, then you can bet your top dollar that it willbe him.

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Back to the protest. I was talking to a good friend of mine the other day, oneMiss. Clarity brown. She was talking about the Tories, and we were discussing thebest way to protest. Eventually we decided that the best way to get your viewacross is to hurl a brick at something smashable. That was just what I was hereto do.The brick in question was your usual tan affair, nabbed form a construction siteearlier today. i was waiting for the best moment to cause some nuisance with it.Soon enough, the moment came.I was close enough to the main entrance that I could do a bit of damage to one

of the fancy windows. a rush of excitement caused me to lob the justice brick ashard as I could.the brick had more effect than i planned. my moment of throw coincided with

the arrival of one of the most senior members of the Tory cabinet, Mr. ReginaldBaggeridge MP. the brick, instead of the planned impact with the fancy window,which would have done some minor but noticeable damage, caught theunfortunate Toff square on the forehead. the MP's head lurched backwards with ahorrible cracking sound that was drowned out by the "bonk" of the brick and the

gasps from the crowd."He's dead!" someone shouted. The protesters panicked. The police arrived.

People were running everywhere, and the peaceful protest descended into chaos.Oops.Hoping that no one saw me kill that man, I raced to my Hupmobile and sped off.

Unfortunately, I think someone did see me. There were police cars giving chase.How did they see me? I was just an arm in the crowd.Oh, I had been stupid. Guess what I had carved onto the brick?Using my superior knowledge of Izaakdons roads, and the flurry of panicky

protesters to help me, I managed to get away. I drove down a back alley to evadethe law. Good thing that they don't know that Hugh Buxton-Wells, army veteran,tea drinker and all-round gent, was in fact the legendary Rainy Day Man. i wasdistracted whilst I breathed a sigh of relief. i drove into something with a Bump.

You'll never guess who I ran in to!There was another paining. This time, there were four bodies. Over the wall was

a massive waterproof cover, the silence of the moment interrupted by the drumof the rain overhead. This picture showed the imperial German flag and themiddle appeared to be the start of a violent explosion. Now we have a jigsaw.Guy Fawlks, German reparations, German explosion, dead Tories. A plot is takingplace.However, I think I may have put a stop to the plan. Sprawled out in front of me

was an unconscious man. He wasn't very tall (about 5'7) and wore a darkpinstripe three-piece getup. He had dark, neatly chopped hair and a slight

shadow of stubble. This was Irwin.i bungled Irwin into the back seat of my car. I would drive down to the policestation and hand him in. i felt a bit guilty about putting a great artist behind bars,and he was against the conservatives. He may be a bit more violent, but me andhim are the same..."Listen!" I snapped. He had come around, and I'd seatbelt-ed him down to keep

him still. "I should take you to the police, but im feeling a bit generous today.Irwin?"Irwin smiled. "Hello, Rainy Day Man. Im a big fan." he laughed in a daydream-ishway. "i was impressed when you stopped Hotfingers. And the rosebud murders inNew York, you stopped them, didn't you?""Less about me" I replied. "Im here to tell you to leave. I can't have you

running around Izaakdon dispatching Tories for your artwork!"

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Irwin was heading for Walters street miniature railway station. He jumped intothe fist carriage, and I managed to make a middle carriage before the trainpulled out of the station.Grateful for the chance to catch my breath back, I popped my head out of the

window to keep an eye on Irwins movements. We travelled for a few minutes,and Irwin jumped out at Metropolis park station. I followed suit, and chased on.He was ahead of me by miles. I was in the right mood to give up. I wish I had

my gun with me. It was right next to me on the table! I never think, do I? I mustbe getting old.Fortunately, a conservative was cycling in the other direction. I could tell by his

blue ribbon pinned to his suit. I was as confused at him as he was of me. Whywas a Tory cycling along at midnight? Then I had an idea. Would I?Slightly regretful (he was a Tory though, so I suppose it was justified) I kicked

out at the front wheel. The poor Tory went head over handle bars, and the bikecrashed to the floor. "Sorry!" I shouted, as I picked up the machine and cycledafter Irwin.I managed to catch up to him within a few minutes. I was just about to stop him

when I felt an ape like hand grab my house coat. I was pulled off the bike, andfell to the floor. The next thing I saw was a goliath fist connect with my face.I felt my poor nose crumple under the behemoths ugly fist. It really hurt. There

was blood everywhere, and my nose was clearly broken, bent sideways underthe blow.It was that damn Tory! In anger, I kicked out and caught him in the solar plexus.

With an "Oof", the brute fell to the floor.Irwin was heading to the Cameron Hotel. Hang on, werent all the Tories staying

there for the conference? Irwin was going to kill them in their sleep! his fiendishgunpowder plot! Despite my

Documents

The Revised Collecton of Rdm - Short Stories 1 - 5