Inspector Rumblepants and the Case of the Golden Haggis (5 page)

Looking up at the information board, they spotted which platform they needed. They headed for their train, now weaving as quickly as possible through the bustling crowds. Climbing through the door of the first-class carriage compartment, they put their leather suitcases in the overhead storage racks and sat back in the leather-bound chairs.

Sergeant Widebottom, still clutching the black case borrowed from the police headquarters, cleared his throat. “So this Golden Haggis that's been stolen,” he started.

“Shh!” Rumblepants admonished. “Good Lord, man! It's a top-secret case. Even Inspector Nailard is being kept informed about it, so that's how secret it is! Wait until I close the compartment door so that no one will overhear us.” He got up and firmly closed the door to their carriage.

Sergeant Widebottom waited until the door was closed and then leaned forward as Rumblepants sat back down again. “This Golden Haggis,” he whispered, “what actually is it?”

Inspector Rumblepants leaned forward so that his mouth was almost next to Sergeant Widebottom's ear. “I didn't have much time to research it properly, I have to admit,” he whispered back. “But I did speak to Old Jock, from the Stolen Bike Department, before we left. He told me that Tiny McFarlane, from the Missing Purse Division, said that the Golden Haggis is from Scotland. Tiny claims a Haggis is a small Scottish animal, about the size of a small dog, that only lives in the highest mountains of Scotland.”

He started to sit back in his seat before he remembered something else to say. He leaned forward again. “Apparently, the Haggis's left legs are shorter than their right ones so that they can more easily travel around a hill.”

He frowned as he thought about what he had been told. “It sounds very strange. It didn't seem to make any sense at the time. Old Jock also said that Tiny claims the Haggis tend to roll downhill if they try to travel in the wrong direction, which is why they are so rare.”

“So someone,” Widebottom surmised, “has stolen an odd, rare, Scottish dog-like animal with funny legs and a tendency to fall down hills.” Sergeant Widebottom looked confused.

“Apparently so,” agreed Inspector Rumblepants, scratching his head in a puzzled manner. “The Scottish are a strange bunch,” he added, looking out the window at the passengers boarding other trains.

A knocking sound interrupted their conversation, so they looked up at the compartment's glass door. A grey-haired old lady, pushing a squeaky tea trolley, smiled at them.

“Would you boys like a cup of tea and some biscuits for the trip?” she asked as the Inspector slid open the door.

The Inspector looked at the assortment of biscuits and cakes hungrily. “Yes, please. Can I get a slice of carrot cake and a cup of tea?” he asked, handing over a shilling to the old lady.

He turned to ask Sergeant Widebottom whether he was hungry, only to find the Sergeant already eating the biggest sandwich he had ever seen, with a large slice of cake on a handkerchief on the chair next to him. Further, he had a steaming flask of coffee.

The Sergeant smiled as crumbs fell from his mouth. “Your mum packed me some grub for our trip,” he explained.

Inspector Rumblepants shook his head, amazed. “She told me that she had no food left in the cupboard, and she gave me a shilling for the trip to Dundee,” grumbled the Inspector.

Sergeant Widebottom held up a half-eaten sandwich. “You can have some of mine, Sir,” he offered. He reached for a large thermos of tea that Inspector Rumblepants's mother had given him.

“Hey, that's my thermos!” sputtered the Inspector, shocked. “I was looking for that everywhere,” he added.

Sergeant Widebottom held up his mug of steaming tea, bits of sandwich floating on the surface. “We can share, if you like,” he said with a bright smile.

The Inspector glared at the Sergeant. The train lurched forward, making Rumblepants spill half of his scalding hot tea down one trouser leg. “No thank you,” he muttered. He sat down and started to nibble his small slice of cake.

Sergeant Widebottom dug into his police helmet and pulled out an apple that the Inspector's mother had picked from her garden.

The Inspector sighed. “When we arrive, we will be met by Inspector Thistle McDonald from the Scottish police in Dundee. He will give us all of the information we will require to solve this case very quickly,” he said confidently, eating the last of his small slice of cake.

A whistle blew, and finally the train doors slammed shut. The train slowly pulled out of the station for the long trip to Scotland.

The next morning, as the train approached Dundee Train Station, a tired Inspector Rumblepants spent ten minutes trying to wake the snoring Sergeant Widebottom. The previous night, they had not been able to fold their seats out into beds. After much grunting and panting, they decided that the rollout bed feature was not working. Instead, both policemen had slept curled up under their big police coats.

To make matters worse for the men, the window had jammed open. A thin layer of ice now made the view from the window blurred, and their breaths were cloud-like plumes in the freezing morning air.

All night, the train puffed its way slowly through the dark, cold countryside. For Sergeant Widebottom, this train trip was a solid, uninterrupted twelve hours of snoring, snorting, and grumbling. But Inspector Rumblepants had spent the time desperately trying to block out the sound of Sergeant Widebottom's constant tossing, turning, and snorting. Rumblepants had endured the night huddled, cold, in his coat. His toes were freezing because cold air blew into the compartment through the jammed window. When morning finally arrived, he looked with bleary eyes out of the soot-coated window. He'd managed to wake Widebottom, and now he was tiredly watching his sidekick bounce around the small compartment, full of energy, smiling, with shaving foam covering his face.

“What a comfortable way to travel! Best night's sleep I have had for ages,” beamed the Sergeant, trying not to cut himself as he shaved his stubble off in the midst of the rolling train.

“Yes, fresh as a daisy,” muttered the Inspector darkly, glancing across at the Sergeant through bloodshot eyes. “Wish I could travel by train more often!”

They heard a polite knock, and the train conductor opened the door. “Ten minutes until Dundee,” he said cheerfully.

He looked around the compartment. “The gentlemen didn't use their beds last night?” he inquired.

“They seem to be broken,” yawned the Inspector. “We tried to open them, but they obviously malfunctioned.”

The conductor pulled on a blue cord next to a ceiling sign that said, “Pull for Bed,” and two large beds slowly unfolded. They were wide, with soft blankets and big, fluffy pillows.

“Seems to be fixed now, Sir,” said the conductor, pulling the cord again. The beds folded themselves back into the train's wall.

“Nice,” muttered the Inspector, rubbing his tired eyes and yawning. He smiled thinly at the conductor. “It would have been good if you had pointed out that cord last night.”

“The sign says, ‘Pull for Bed,' Sir,” replied the conductor politely. He smiled. “I shall remember to do so for you on your trip back.” He then closed the door behind him.

The policemen quickly finished shaving and changing into fresh clothes. Then they packed and headed down the corridor. They struggled with their cases, bumping them through the lurching train's corridors. The train shunted, steam billowing, into the small train station at Dundee. A loud whistle blast announced the train's arrival, and the doors were flung open by well-dressed porters. Only a few people were at the station, because most of the passengers already had disembarked the train at the Edinburgh Station. The policemen easily noticed a man in a long, brown coat and a trilby hat, standing near the granite entrance to the train station. He was tall and slender.

Inspector Rumblepants shook hands with the Scottish detective. “Inspector Rumblepants and Sergeant Widebottom,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

Widebottom fell out of the carriage door, with their cases landing on him. He brushed sweet wrappers from his uniform as he struggled to his feet and shook hands with the Scotsman. The Scottish detective did not smile, but rather looked at the two English policemen coldly. He was disgusted that a sweet wrapper had stuck to his hand when he shook hands with Widebottom. He pried the wrapper off.

“I am Inspector Thistle McDonald from the Doogle Clan,” said the tall policeman. “I have been assigned to work with you on this case by Old Scotland Yard's Rather Quite Serious Crimes Department.”

“Glad to team up with you,” said Inspector Rumblepants, smiling brightly.

Inspector Thistle McDonald looked at the two policemen for a moment. “Were you not both involved in The Case of the Stolen Big Ben Clock?” he asked with a sneer in his voice.

Inspector Rumblepants looked slightly embarrassed. “Um . . . yes we were,” he mumbled.

“Didn't I read in the newspaper that you were looking on the wrong street all along? And that no one actually stole the 150-foot clock? That finally an Inspector Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Watson worked out the problem?” asked Inspector Thistle McDonald with a slight smile.

“Well,” stuttered Rumblepants, “it is believed that someone may have stolen the clock and then returned it the next day . . . possibly. These things happen to the best of policemen,” he added, turning red with embarrassment.

Inspector Thistle McDonald smirked coldly. “I have a carriage and will go to the castle directly. It will take several hours to get there.” He shook his head. “I hope you solve this crime as quickly and professionally as you did the Big Ben case,” he added with a snicker.

McDonald turned and marched off without another word, walking quickly through the train station archway and into the crowded streets of the city of Dundee.

“Not very friendly, is he?” said Sergeant Widebottom cheerfully, picking up the cases and ambling after McDonald through the crowded streets.

“Yes, and I shall long regret the day that I allowed you to hold the Sights and Sounds of London tourist map, possibly for the rest of my life,” muttered Inspector Rumblepants under his breath, remembering that the cause for the Big Ben clock fiasco was his partner's forgetfulness and inability to read a map.

Chapter 6

The Crime Scene

I
t was only as Inspector Thistle McDonald was loading the old creaky carriage that was to carry them to the castle that Sergeant Widebottom noticed something strange about what McDonald was wearing underneath his coat. “Inspector Rumblepants,” he whispered in surprise, “I think he is wearing a girl's skirt.”

Inspector Rumblepants looked at the Sergeant in shock. “Don't be silly. Why would a grown man wear a girl's skirt in public?” he asked, tying down his suitcase to the carriage.

“In public?” asked the Sergeant, puzzled. “Well, maybe his trousers got wet and he had to borrow his wife's clothes,” the Sergeant offered by way of explanation. “Probably that's why he is wearing a long coat—because he is embarrassed.” He thought for a moment as he handed his suitcase to the carriage driver. “Do you have some spare trousers you could lend Inspector McDonald?” he whispered. “I think your size might fit him.”

Inspector Thistle McDonald leaned out of the carriage window. “I can hear you, you know,” he said angrily, his face red. “And what I am wearing is not a skirt. It is a Scottish kilt, and I am not in the least embarrassed about wearing it!”

His head disappeared—then reappeared a moment later. “Further, I am wearing a long coat because it's a bit windy, and the coat's length stops the draft.”

The trip to Stirling in McDonald's carriage was long, cold, and uncomfortable. The carriage had no springs. It hit every rock and rut on the muddy road. McDonald would not converse with the English detectives, and so they all sat in grueling silence as the hours slowly passed. Sergeant Widebottom tried to apologize, stating that if Scottish men wanted to wear skirts . . . or rather kilts . . . that such a custom was fine with him. He even offered that after a few apple root beers, he had put on a dress once, but McDonald would not even look at him, so he dug out his lunch from his funny police hat and started munching away. Inspector Rumblepants watched him hungrily.