They finished their picnic on the floor of the living room. Spud even came down to join them, muttering something about how his computer was misbehaving. Chas felt like he was getting lots of practise at changing the subject.
They unplugged the phone after the first hour of phone calls that seemed to be coming from the speaking clock in Kuala Lumpur. Nics drank vast amounts of herbal tea and Chas tore the house apart looking for something with which to scratch inside his cast, with no success.
It seemed that every channel on television that evening was showing repeats of Antiques Roadshow, with an emphasis on old silver and jewellery. Eventually they just gave up and went to bed.
Nics did dream that night. She dreamt that herself, Chas and Spud were walking down a maze of narrow office passages, all alike. The doors were numbered, but with nonsensical symbols. All of a sudden, Sam appeared in the middle of the hall, carrying in his mouth a bunch of bananas. The three humans followed him down the corridors until he led them out into an open courtyard where a man in a bright red zoot suit was playing the trombone.
Horrible, mocking laughter echoed around the courtyard, jerking Nics from her dream in a cold sweat. Outside she could still hear the laughter, except now her awake brain could process it properly. It wasn't laughter, but a duck quacking very very loudly outside the window.
She got up and strode to the open window. She could hear the sound of wings as the duck took off from the windowsill. But looking out she couldn't see anything. She closed the window firmly, and went back to bed.
Chas rolled over and mumbled something that sounded like a question.
"Just closing the window," she replied. "I don't want the ducks to get in."
Outside, the dark shape that had been crawling spider-like up the wall hissed in annoyance and frustration. It turned, and crawled head first down the wall and disappeared into the darkness between the houses.
The next morning, it being a Sunday, Nics went to church. She left Chas and Spud behind in the house, arguing over whether they'd be watching the football or the Grand Prix that afternoon. Chas had found himself a long piece of wire, a straightened coat hanger or something, that he had somehow managed to shove inside his cast as a scratching device. The look on his face as he finally managed to get that itch was nothing short of blissful.
Nics tried to find her way back to the church via the little courtyard full of cottages, but couldn't. So instead she went the long way round, arriving just in time for the extra practise before the service.
The sermon was all about reconciling God's plans for humanity with the whole thorny theological issues of free will and predetermination. Nics paid most of her attention to examining her nails, flicking through the hymn book and reading the memorial plaques embedded in the walls.
It appeared that one of the parishioners, about a century before had been tragically killed in India by a tiger. And she wasn't sure, as the lettering had become very worn on another plaque, but did it really say that the death had been the result of a rain of fish? She resolved to go take a closer look once the service was over.
The sermon dragged on interminably. Nics could see a number of the older members of the congregation nodding off. One, a very elderly gentleman with two canes, even started to snore slightly. He was roused by a sudden chorus of coughing from his neighbours. The sermon carried on, undaunted.
Eventually it was over. Nics could practically hear the creaking of joints as people stood for the final hymn, surreptitiously rubbing backsides that had grown numb from sitting so long on the hard wooden pews.
Perhaps as a response to the unconscious wishes of the congregation, the choir mistress fairly galloped through the final hymn, and then everyone was off out the door in no time at all, including Nics.
The golden Labrador, Sam, was waiting for her outside the church. As soon as she had walked out the door he was straight up beside her, tail wagging cheerfully, and carrying a cream envelope in his mouth.
He placed the envelope carefully at her feet, and sat down, waiting for her to pick it up. So she did.
It was very nice stationary, with her full name, Nicola Spillard, written on it in black ink with a fine copperplate hand. No address, but in the corner of the envelope where the stamp would be in an ordinary letter was the words "by dog" and "personal".
She opened it up to reveal a single sheet of paper, matching the envelope, folded in half. Unfolding it, she read:
"Dear Miss Spillard,
Please forgive the brevity (and one might even say, over-familiarity) of my first message. I understand that you must have many questions at this time, and may even be somewhat confused by recent events.
I have been informed that you are intending a trip to London tomorrow and are interested in acquiring a new piece of jewellery. May I be so bold as to recommend Mr. Sven Jorgensson, international jeweller and specialist silversmith. His shop is in Camden Town, in Pennybroke Lane. His knowledge of the history of gems and jewellery is unsurpassed and he is very reliable, and, perhaps more importantly, very discreet.
Should you wish to contact me, please leave a message with Sam. If he is not about, please leave a note in a milk bottle outside your front door.
I remain, as ever,
Your faithful servant,
Mr J. Bradford (deceased)"
"Well," said Nics, "This is a puzzle, and no mistake." Absently she reached down and scratched Sam behind his left ear. He leaned into her touch happily, showing off the thick black leather of his collar. There was a gold coloured name tag on it, with his name engraved and a small red gem. It hardly showed up against his golden fur at all.
With her other hand, she shoved the letter back into its envelope, and stuck the envelope into her bag. Then she started walking home, Sam trotting along beside her.
She walked past a funeral procession heading toward the church. The coffin was being carried on the shoulders of eight men, and it was followed by a range of weeping women and children in black, and mournful-looking men. The undertaker in a full tailcoat, top hat and black gloves led the procession, silver topped cane in hand. It would have only been slightly unusual, except for the fact that the occupant of the coffin was sitting bolt upright in it, smiling broadly and waving to everyone they passed.
She snuffled a bit into a hanky and sneezed, her cold was still there. A few feet behind her one of the women in the funeral procession tripped over a raised paving slab in the path and nearly fell flat on her face. She was caught by one of the men walking next to her.
Nics came back to herself a bit more when she realised that Sam was leading her back to her house via the tunnel and the hidden courtyard. This time she looked up before going into the tunnel. There was a wall on top of it, and what looked like a privet hedge. A spray of water came splashing suddenly over the hedge, and she jumped back with a cry of alarm.
A worried face peered over the hedge, a middle-aged woman with her hair caught up in a scarf.
"Sorry!" she called. "I didn't splash you, did I? I'm just watering the garden."
"No, it's alright," replied Nics. "You didn't get me." But just to be on the safe side, in case the hosepipe in the woman's hand decided to spurt water again, she dove into the tunnel.
Inside the tunnel it was still raining. She ran through it at top speed, Sam bouncing around her, thinking that it was a great game.
Someone had parked a skip in the drive directly across the road from her house. There was a duck sitting on top of it, apparently asleep.
Nics opened the door and stood aside.
"Coming in?" she asked Sam. To her surprise he wagged his tail and walked in politely.
Chas and Spud were watching a video of car chases and explosions in the living room. There was a dirty plate with the remains of a triple-decker fried egg and mango chutney sandwich on the coffee table in front of Spud.
"What, no football?" said Nics.
"Antiques Roadshow Omnibus," replied Spud, his eyes glued to the TV.
"And the radio seems to be determined to pick up Russian spy signals no matter what channel we try to tune it to," added Chas.
He was very pleased indeed to meet Sam, making a big fuss of him, even down to offering him some biscuits and a bowl of water.
Chas was not as impressed by the letter Sam had delivered to Nics though.
"I dunno, babes," he said. "Not much of a recommendation, is it? For all we know it could be a daft wind up or something. We could be on Candid Camera, or one of those new reality TV shows or something."
"Naah," interjected Spud. "Your lives aren't interesting enough."
They both ignored him.
"Well, I for one would like to start getting some answers about all of this. And this jeweller bloke might be the best place to start. I mean, it's not like we can really ask any serious questions of a dead guy."
"If you think so, babes." This, said in a tone of profound uncertainty, was Chas code for "I think that's a bloody stupid idea."
"Besides," she continued. "I've got to go down to London tomorrow anyway, so we might as well drop in and have a look. If we don't like the look of this character then we can always leave without saying anything."
"London?" squeaked Spud. "You're both going to London tomorrow?!"
"Yeah," said Chas. "Is this a problem?"
"No, no, no, no, no" stuttered Spud. "Not at all."
He stood up abruptly, a shower of crumbs falling from his lap onto the carpet.
"Just remembered something really important I have to do," he said, heading for the stairs.
At that moment the doorbell rang. Sam walked out to the door, and stood by it, wagging his tail.
Nics opened the door to reveal a pizza delivery guy standing outside. Without even asking she turned and yelled up the stairs, even though Spud was standing in the hall beside her:
"Spud, pizza!"
He pushed past her, thrust some money at the pizza guy, grabbed the pizza and vanished upstairs. The pizza guy looked startled for a minute, then shrugged and left, and Sam stepped daintily out the door, turning to look back at Nics.
"Bye then," she said. "Thank you for visiting, do come again soon."
"Bye," said Chas, who'd come into the hall. "Nice meeting you."
Another tail wag and Sam walked off down the path. Nics watched him go for a minute, then shut the door hurriedly. She'd seen a pair of Jehovah's witnesses coming down the street towards the house.
"Right," said Chas. "I wonder if Antiques Roadshow is finished yet."
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