The promise to absolutely cover his monetary loss really brightened up the scene for Charlie who now expressed his gratitude with a verbal testimonial.
‘You blokes, no I want to correct that’, Charlie slurred. ‘You gentlemen are true blue saints, if I was religious which I ain’t, you would be known to one and all as St. Bountiful and St Debonair.’
One could almost smell the incense burning, hear the church bells pealing, took another half hour before Debonair remembered they had better phone in and report they were going to be unavoidably delayed a trifle more than somewhat.
In spite of being bestowed with instant beatitude there was the more earthly realization that, wealth does not save you from the soul destroying diatribe of an angry spouse, you were simply forced to suffer misery in a more expensive dog house.
Debonair, being so blessed, pontificated that by the time they bought their way back into matrimonial bliss and restoration of conjugal rights it would have been far, far cheaper to have simply replaced Charlie’s pension and avoided calling the police.
A fact that Bountiful was about to agree with, except there was not the ringing of church bells, just a simple knocking upon Charlie’s front door.
With a name like Roberto Cheadleus, one might envisage a famous classical violinist, instead of a flat footed copper sent to investigate local petty crime.
Constable Cheadleus, one of those conscientious policemen who wished to do everything by the book, a rather large note book as it turned out, in which he made copious notes and drawings of every item, every name and description pertaining to the crime scene.
‘You say Mr. Quamby that when you departed this morning at eight-O-five-am both the front and rear doors were securely locked, and they were still locked when you and your two friends, ah, Mr. Bountiful and Mr. Debonair returned home?’
‘Indeed that is so constable,’ replied Charlie.
‘Well then please tell me Mr.Quamby, why did you leave the kitchen window open?’
‘Ah, I can answer that,’ says Bountiful ‘It is all because of the Burmese who prefers to come and go via the window.’
‘Why does this Burmese fellow not use the back door like everyone else?’
‘Not a fellow,’ interrupted Debonair, ‘she is a feline called Fred.’
‘You mean a female cat,’ says Roberto, ‘to be more correct a female Burmese cat called Fredia.’
‘No just plain ordinary every day, Fred,’ says Bountiful ‘You see constable cats are never fussy when it comes to names and besides being Burmese she does not speak a word of English.’
Fortunately for everyone’s sanity constable Cheadleus decided not to pursue this line of enquiry any further. Instead he took a different tack.
‘You say Mr. Quamby you left your pension money in the bank, which bank?’
‘That one there,’ says Charlie pointing directly at the empty box clearly marked “Cooking Salt”.
‘Besides you Mr. Quamby, who else has knowledge that the wooden container marked cooking salt is actually where you prefer to hide your pension money?’
‘Well for starters, Fred knows,’ says Charlie.
‘Anyone perchance,’ says Roberto, ‘with two legs and maybe answering to the description of being, a human being, Mr Quamby?’
‘Struth, I reckon, just about everyone I know, being a pensioner I have most of my stuff delivered, need to have the cash handy to pay them you see.
I am here most days anyway, except every second Thursday when I collect the pension and of course the very next day, if it is not raining, I play bowls and my two best mates Bountiful and Debonair bring me home from the club.’
A flash of lightning, a shuffling of molecules, and life for Franz Kafka Molekel will never be the same. His sudden metamorphosis from a bright young lad into an energetic and clever jack russell terrier brings a neverending series of amazing challenges and adventures into Franz’s life.