Secret Service: EPISODE 50

Perfect Retirement Housing Complex

Inner Hamlet

CORSETTSHIRE  QY4 2PN

My Dear Ralph

I have needed all my powers as an operative today pet; events have almost resembled my former days of derring-do with the Secret Services!  I motored over to Steamy Towers after luncheon - Sebastian's new installation of laser beams thankfully turned off - and was met by rather querulous enquiries on the topic of missing Choc 'n Nut biscuits.  I, of course, kept schtum and cast a few hazy looks around at shelves laden with this-and-that summer fare, not to mention table loads of wine bottles undiscarded since the last War.  'No,' I said, 'Perhaps they are under something?'  However, Sebastian tutted with disgust and moved on to remarks about supplies of dog towels and his keenly-anticipated visit to the home of one blonde bauble - Fenella by name - picked up night-clubbing last week.

While I am on this subject of the 'pick-up' pet, I recollect one or two remarks Sebastian made subsequent to returning from a card game - that one involving, at minimum, four people - and which is not Poker and may well have been at its peak of popularity before your own time.  I hear that it may have originated on the Trans-Siberian railway sometime in the late nineteenth century, but this tale could be apocryphal and someone, somewhere, may know better than I?   Anyway, on the occasion I relate, Sebastian returned - a little worse for wear I thought - and said that he'd had no luck 'hunting.'  'Hunting?' I enquired for, naturally, the juxtaposition of such a word with 'card play' is somewhat anomalous to an innocent.  Well Sebastian fudged it, as is his wont with the actual straight answer, and replied (looking a bit pink about the chops): 'Hunting for the card . . .'  I don't know dear.  Sometimes I think he thinks I am an total dimwit (except in the arena of the garrotte-style execution of course).  Sebastian, pet - unless you, yourself, have failed to get the point here - has a predilection for the ladies and comes by them during activities of the night.  Now. Where was I?  I seem to have digressed from my story.

When Sebastian disappeared into the day's haze, casting, I thought, one or two suspicious looks in my direction, I decided to whip out for a walk with Gelert and Tugger before the telephone had time to ring with any tricky invitations.  Luckily dear, it wasn't actually raining on this occasion and we had a fine time ferreting about in the long grasses and generally enjoying the scenic surrounds and view of the moat.  There was one anxious moment when I thought Gelert might be on the point of crushing a squrrel's head between her teeth - but said prey just managed to make it into the upper boughs of the Hungarian Oak we were passing at the time.
There was, of course, no need to break out the dog towels upon our return and so I sat down to divide one Choc 'n Nut biscuit into three parts - i one piece for myself and the other pieces for Gelert and Tugger.  I must say pet, that they seem to have acquired quite a taste for said biscuits and I hope this isn't altogether due to the activities of Yours Truly.   Anyway, at this juncture, an almighty banging sound was heard at the outer portals of Steamy Towers, together with revvings of a distinctly threatening character.  The dogs immediately commenced a most indiscreet barking; I was hard put to sit on one and clamp my hands around the jaws of the other, to instil the urgent need for immediate quiet.  Cautiously we peeked our furry heads out of the windows.  Oh pet!  We saw a large blue juggernaut outside, complete with ramp, straw-stuffed wooden crates, large hydraulic trolleys, and heavy-duty battering ram.  We also saw several blackguards, outfitted in masks, running backwards and forwards at the Tower's main doors (the ones to Sebastian's collection of naked stone goddesses).  And, worse, dear, a henchman appeared to be making his way along the wall to our own door with what distinctly looked like a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum revolver held in a firm grip.  Well I can recognize a trained assassin when I see one, and I immediately conjectured that they had somehow inactivated all the alarms and were set upon inactivating any potential witnesses they might find on the scene!  As volleys of bullets started to thud into the door locks, I threw off my high heels and dived towards the phone.  But there was silence dear; the wires were cut!  Well a lady must defend herself, and I swiftly removed my Beretta 9mm pistol from my handbag, together with my cell phone (not nearly the same as my old Webley .45 revolver, but there you are).  One must move with the times!
Just as the door came crashing in . . .

TO BE CONTINUED