The Inquisition of Prof. Plumpfront Part II

Continued From November 4th

“Yes sir, but sir. Do you not remember it is my day off? I have a date with Ms. Comfrey-Brown tonight at seven, sir.”
“Eh, whose that? I never heard of her. All right we'll pick the things up if you don't mind. I must speak with bubbles.”
“Yes sir, right away sir. I shall have your bags packed, sir.”
“Thank you. We will be there immediately, Sumter. And cancel my engagement with Ms. Adams. I suppose we shall see each other at one of the four inquisitions.”
“Four, sir?” asked Sumpter coldly.
“Yes four! I told you of the murder, didn't I? Blast it!”
“I am sure I shall read about it in the paper, sir. Speaking over the telephone on such matters is highly irregular.”
“Sumpter, you are a fool.”
“Thank you sir.”
“You sound like a butler one might read about in detective fiction.”
“Thank you sir.”
“Its no compliment. While you are at it, contact Sherlock Holmes and take a hot bath before you meet that girl. What her occupation anyway, Sumter?”
“I believe she is a waitress, sir.”
“Good, good! I thought so. Bring her to the inquisition some time. Its bound to be amusing.”
“Yes sir. I will sir. Good day sir.”
“Stop sirr-ing me, Sumpter! For heavens sake isn't it the 21st century?”
“Yes, Mister Plumpfront.”
“Then its time you got out of the 19th.”
“Very clever, Mister Plumpfront.”
“I know man. Goodbye Sumpter. Take care of the Animal Shelter.”
“Goodbye Sir. I shall have your bags ready.”
“Sumpter! SUMPTER! He hung up! The fool hang up with as much sass as a donkey!”
“Thats fine. It was time to leave anyway, you spent a good ten minutes talking to the man. Whats your address?” asked the Chief, pulling out a squashed notebook from his breast pocket.
“Barabbas Court, last flat in the cul-de-sac. Hey, that rhymes remarkably well!” brightened the professor. “Barabbas Court, last flat...in the cul-de-sac!”
“True poet you are, Mister. What number?”
“444, last one to the door,” sang Professor Plumpfront happily.
“A little too much port?” muttered the Chief. He pushed the old man to the car and drove off, the Professor making up nonsensical rhymes.
Sumpter ran out of the flat carrying a lumpy suitcase and wearing a look of disapproval.
“I must see bubbles, Sumpter,” said Professor Plumpfront cheerfully.
“Yes sir. I shall bring him out.”
“No we shall go in. Cannot have Bubbles catching pneumonia at a time like this. Mix a little scotch, will you, Sumpter? Come in...oh dash it! What is your name?”
“Gefferies, Mister Plumpfront. Chief Donald Gefferies.”
“Donald? The Scottish Gaelic name derived from the name Domhnall. Tut, tut, tut. A mere figment of my knowledge, Domhnall. Come in and warm yourself. The night grows biter.”
“I beg to remind you, Mister Plumpfront, but we are supposed to be leaving for the station,” answered the Chief, turning red with suppressed rage.
“Yes, quite. Look at Bubbles though. He is a beauty,” remarked the Professor happily. He looked like a child, delighted by colored beads.
“Mister Plumpfront,” retorted Chief Gefferies impatiently.
“Shhhush!” rebuked the Professor. “He may be sleeping.”
They walked down the narrow hall which was hung with clippings of Whippets, Yorkshire terriers, and Dalmatians. They were carefully glued to white pasteboard and tacked to the wall with little consideration for the wallpaper.
“My collection. That one's Gaffy. Won me a blue at the National Convention Dog Show. Wonderful breed and full of vitality,” said the Professor sadly. Sumpter strode with a tray delicately balanced on his arm and poured the whiskey and water carefully. Chief Gefferies twitched an eyebrow but took a glass.
“Its good. Straight from Scotland!” boasted Professor Plumpfront.
“Are you going to drink anything?” growled the Chief.
“After I see Bubbles and stamp a letter. Drink it slowly, my good man. Goes easier off the tongue that way.”
The Chief grasped the glass and grit his teeth. “How am I to make sure it isn't poisoned?”
“My dear man!” exclaimed the Professor in astonishment. “You don't mean to tell me you think I poisoned the port?”
“Of course I do!” cried the Chief.
“I am so sorry I mislead you to believe...Oh well.”
“Thats for the judge to decide,” grumbled Gefferies meanly.
“ Bubbles, come here my precious Bubbles!” The Professor sat down in an armchair and wiped his brow. A tiny, hairy dog trotted in and put his paws on the Professors pant leg.
“You dear little thing. Gefferies, sit down. It must be uncomfortable for you to stand there with a glass of scotch in your hand.”
Gefferies sat down stiffly in the opposite chair and flew backwards off it. The scotch trickled down his face as he lay on the floor wondering what had happened. The Professor was chuckling and then laughing and then crying.
“Its a rocking chair, Gefferies! A rocking chair! Oh you look so funny with the scotch running down your face! Look Bubbles!” The Professor nearly choked.
Gefferies jumped up and scowled at the old man. “Its not funny! You should have warned me! The police will think its queer when I come in smelling of whiskey with..dog hair all over me!”
“Oh its too good! He rolled right in the sunny spot where Bubbles takes his nap!”
“Thats ENOUGH!” roared the Policeman.
“It is beautiful hair though,” said the Professor apologetically. “Golden brown, like taffy.”
“Come on!” barked Gefferies. “We are leaving for the station. Tomorrow is the inquisition of Mr. and Mrs. Hamstreet.”
“Poor couple. I met them at the dog park only last week and introduced them to the club. They have a beautiful terrier. And a Pomeranian which reminds me. Sumpter!”
“Yes Mister Plumpfront?” asked the butler uneasily.
“Get me the latest issue of DOGS please.”
The magazine was produced and the professor licked his fingers and put on his glasses. “Lets see. There was an article which I think you will find interesting. It states the timeline and evolution of the Pomeranian in quite detailed illustration.”
“I don't want to hear about DOGS!” roared Gefferies. “Get out to the car!”
“You don't know what it stands for? Of course you don't,” mumbled the Professor sulkily. “Get off Bubbles, my precious angel. I shall see you in the morning.”
Sumpter appeared with his hat and coat, and wound his scarf round his neck. “Thank you Sumpter. You are bully!”
“Quite so Mister Plumpfront. May I have my weekly salary?”
“What's the grand total, my man?" queried Professor Plumpfront, taking out a small coin purse.
“60 pounds, Mister Plumpfront.”
“You manservants are all the same,” grunted the professor, taking out a wad of notes.
“I am sorry sir. My date with Ms. Comfrey-Brown desires it.”
“I see, I know, I hear.” retorted Professor Plumpfront, waggling his finger in Sumpters face.
He left the room, humming the first bars of the Salve Regina.
“What was that all about?” asked Gefferies.
“I have no right to say, sir. May I show you to the door? The Professor will be out shortly.”
The Chief of Police scratched his bald head and waddled out to the waiting car, fuming under his breath about the smell of whiskey.