to strike, their assailants nonplussed at the
failure of the attack, fists and canes raised in mid-air. The growling
echoed off the bricks. From around the corner of the alley it came.
And was followed by two red eyes in the dark. A dog’s head the size
of a wolf’s came into view around the corner, dusky red, with huge
teeth. All four men flinched. Into the weak, guttering light, hard
to see in the mist and shadow, stepped a man holding a leash to
the dog. His eyes glinted reddish, but probably that was a reflection
from the dog. Or from his long coat, a raddled confection from a
bygone era (even in this situation, Barnabas noticed that). He had a
peaked hat. His teeth shone white.
The first of the two attackers cursed and bolted, then the other.
Barnabas and Sanford were prepared to accept the newcomer as
their rescuer . . . until they saw the dog and realized why the two
footpads had fled. As the man in the glistening coat moved around
the corner, so did the dog on the leash. Rather, the dog flowed
around the corner, an impossibly long body that bent and formed
itself around the corner as if hinged. Its forelegs were at a right angle
now to its back legs and still it oozed around the corner. The growl
intensified. The man in the antique coat was about to slip the leash.
Sanford saw that the dog had ape-like hands.
Sanford gripped his cane for a blow before going down.
Shouts erupted from the other end of the alley. Two figures raced
by Barnabas and Sanford, shouting in a foreign language, and
brandishing very large pistols. The dog, or whatever it was, barked
loudly once — a hoarse, wet sound as if its tongue was too large for
its mouth. Darkness swallowed man and dog. A few seconds later,
the two newest newcomers returned out of the darkness. In the
gloom, Barnabas could just make out a magenta flash on each of
their skullcaps.
“Salmius Nalmius Nax!” he shouted.
“At your service.”
Half an hour later, seven people crowded into the partners’ office at
the McDoon comptoir: Fraulein Reimer, Sally, Barnabas, Sanford,
the Purser, the proprietor of the Piebald Swan, and Tom. The cook
and the maid had returned just before Barnabas and Sanford and,
after determining that Sally was well enough to talk, and that the
kitchen was un-invaded, they made for their room in the back-house. “Poor brave little smee,” said the cook. “The German miss
with a pistol! Housebreakers! Niece, you bar that window!”
While the cook and niece barred the windows of their room, the
seven in the partners’ office were in an uproar. Only Yikes seemed
unflapped, looking on from his position by the fire. Sally lay on a chair,
Isaak licking her face. Sally was bruised and her right arm in a sling,
but she smiled grimly at her brother. “. . . and then,” she continued,
“right outside our back door, up pops Fraulein Reimer.”
“Fraulein Reimer!?” exclaimed Tom.
“Yes,” said Sally. “Cool as can be, with this huge great pistol, yelling
‘ Halten Sie jetzt !’ or ‘halt now,’ I don’t know exactly because I was in
shock on the ground.” Everyone looked at Fraulein Reimer, a plump
woman whose hands now held needlepoint, and who steadfastly
refused to look at the others, though she was blushing. Shaking his
head, Barnabas asked the fraulein what had happened.
The fraulein stopped working the needlepoint, looked up shyly,
and said, “Those, those . . . boese Leute . . . bad men, they stopped only
for an Augenblick , a moment, and then they ran around me, jumped
over the wall, were gone.” She paused, looked down again at her
needlework. “It is the most shockingest thing, the most shockingest
thing.” Her undertone suggested, however, that she would have shot
the burglars if necessary.
Barnabas and Sanford added this news to the evening’s growing list
of wonders. Fraulein Reimer chasing off burglars was as remarkable
as their rescue by the Purser and the proprietor of the Piebald Swan.
“Oh,” grinned
failure of the attack, fists and canes raised in mid-air. The growling
echoed off the bricks. From around the corner of the alley it came.
And was followed by two red eyes in the dark. A dog’s head the size
of a wolf’s came into view around the corner, dusky red, with huge
teeth. All four men flinched. Into the weak, guttering light, hard
to see in the mist and shadow, stepped a man holding a leash to
the dog. His eyes glinted reddish, but probably that was a reflection
from the dog. Or from his long coat, a raddled confection from a
bygone era (even in this situation, Barnabas noticed that). He had a
peaked hat. His teeth shone white.
The first of the two attackers cursed and bolted, then the other.
Barnabas and Sanford were prepared to accept the newcomer as
their rescuer . . . until they saw the dog and realized why the two
footpads had fled. As the man in the glistening coat moved around
the corner, so did the dog on the leash. Rather, the dog flowed
around the corner, an impossibly long body that bent and formed
itself around the corner as if hinged. Its forelegs were at a right angle
now to its back legs and still it oozed around the corner. The growl
intensified. The man in the antique coat was about to slip the leash.
Sanford saw that the dog had ape-like hands.
Sanford gripped his cane for a blow before going down.
Shouts erupted from the other end of the alley. Two figures raced
by Barnabas and Sanford, shouting in a foreign language, and
brandishing very large pistols. The dog, or whatever it was, barked
loudly once — a hoarse, wet sound as if its tongue was too large for
its mouth. Darkness swallowed man and dog. A few seconds later,
the two newest newcomers returned out of the darkness. In the
gloom, Barnabas could just make out a magenta flash on each of
their skullcaps.
“Salmius Nalmius Nax!” he shouted.
“At your service.”
Half an hour later, seven people crowded into the partners’ office at
the McDoon comptoir: Fraulein Reimer, Sally, Barnabas, Sanford,
the Purser, the proprietor of the Piebald Swan, and Tom. The cook
and the maid had returned just before Barnabas and Sanford and,
after determining that Sally was well enough to talk, and that the
kitchen was un-invaded, they made for their room in the back-house. “Poor brave little smee,” said the cook. “The German miss
with a pistol! Housebreakers! Niece, you bar that window!”
While the cook and niece barred the windows of their room, the
seven in the partners’ office were in an uproar. Only Yikes seemed
unflapped, looking on from his position by the fire. Sally lay on a chair,
Isaak licking her face. Sally was bruised and her right arm in a sling,
but she smiled grimly at her brother. “. . . and then,” she continued,
“right outside our back door, up pops Fraulein Reimer.”
“Fraulein Reimer!?” exclaimed Tom.
“Yes,” said Sally. “Cool as can be, with this huge great pistol, yelling
‘ Halten Sie jetzt !’ or ‘halt now,’ I don’t know exactly because I was in
shock on the ground.” Everyone looked at Fraulein Reimer, a plump
woman whose hands now held needlepoint, and who steadfastly
refused to look at the others, though she was blushing. Shaking his
head, Barnabas asked the fraulein what had happened.
The fraulein stopped working the needlepoint, looked up shyly,
and said, “Those, those . . . boese Leute . . . bad men, they stopped only
for an Augenblick , a moment, and then they ran around me, jumped
over the wall, were gone.” She paused, looked down again at her
needlework. “It is the most shockingest thing, the most shockingest
thing.” Her undertone suggested, however, that she would have shot
the burglars if necessary.
Barnabas and Sanford added this news to the evening’s growing list
of wonders. Fraulein Reimer chasing off burglars was as remarkable
as their rescue by the Purser and the proprietor of the Piebald Swan.
“Oh,” grinned
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