His heart wanted him to skip lightly across the twenty yards to his door, to escape the rather unnerving Dalek, and to fall into the welcome arms of his familiar home again. He sauntered, as best he could, and was about to ring the doorbell when a deadness, a dread, filled his stomach. Something was wrong. He just knew it, though he didn't know why he knew. The street, his house and all about him looked perfectly normal but something was amiss. He fumbled quietly in his pocket for his keys and opened the door into the small foyer slowly, very slowly.
The main door was already open, thankfully, and he took the five paces up the passage with a thumping heart. All was quiet. Eerily quiet. He peered round the door and saw Joan on a kitchen chair - hands tied behind her back, ankles tied together and with a mouth-gag tied around her head. Her grey-tinged blonde curls looked as if someone had grabbed hanks of it and her eyes were wide and frightened. She nodded to her left and Arthur looked further round the door to see Mollie, their neighbour, trussed up similarly. Joan was then indicating to him furiously and he determined that she was trying to tell him about something upstairs. He listened and could hear rustling, probably in his office. He dropped the bag and rushed to Joan, untying her gag as the phone rang.
"Get it!" she whispered urgently and he fled with the wings of Pegasus into the living room and picked up the phone.
"Help! hel …" he yelled, then the phone went dead. There was a curse from upstairs and then the sound of someone running along the passage and clattering down the stairs. Had there been time for Arthur to panic or react, he would have done the former and not the latter. As it was, Toby burst into the dining room, wrenched the phone from his hand and twisted him around in an arm lock before he had time to do either. He was then pushed, rather rudely, into the lounge and pushed onto the couch.
"Don't you move an inch!" commanded Toby as he disappeared and reappeared with another dining room chair. "Sit!"
Arthur got up and sat in the appointed chair.
"Now, where do you keep rope?" asked Toby, looking around quickly as if it might be stored in the lounge..
"Oh dear, rope …" said Arthur, pondering. "It's not something we usually carry here …"
"And where's the stuff for the Atkinson case?" interrupted Toby.
"Ah, I took it with me …" said Arthur, instantly regretting his helpfulness. He made a mental note to tell more lies.
"I know that, Arthur!" said Toby. "You must have stuff in your computer …"
"Not much, really, it's all in the files, I'm afraid," said Arthur, thankful he'd taken the precaution of regularly downloading all the Atkinson files onto computer sticks, now hidden in Joan's underwear drawer.
"My god, you old codgers, just not computer savvy are you!" said Toby, obviously impatient at yet another impediment.
"No, I suppose not …" said Arthur.
"So, where's your rope, now?" demanded Toby, returning to his initial problem.
"Ah, it should be in the back shed, behind the mattress and freezer against the back wall," said Arthur, thinking of the most inaccessible place he could imagine.
"Right. So, move a muscle and you're dead. Got it?"
"Oh, yes, dead," said Arthur, trying to look submissive.
Toby fled out the back and Arthur leapt up immediately. In his panic, Toby had obviously not noticed Joan's gag had come loose and she's acted suitably statue-like for him not to notice. Arthur struggled to untie her hands and, when done, bend down to untie her ankles.
"No, no, I can do that," whispered Joan. "Get Dottie's."
"Yes, just a minute," said Arthur, rushing from the room. He quietly opened the front door and motioned frantically to Dalek, who was watching, with great intent, as two young girls walked past. Arthur didn't want to be seen out of his seat or to make any noise before Dalek arrived. He continued to wave frantically and, just as he was about to give up, Dalek looked his way and then burst from the van like fireworks.
"Yes Mr Arthur, trouble?" asked Dalek, obviously relishing some action.
"Yes, aah, bad man out the back," said Arthur, pointing down the passage.
"Right suh! Me deal with bad man then," said Dalek, squaring his massive shoulders and walking purposefully, though cautiously, into the dining room. Arthur turned right into the lounge to see the two ladies fully untied but sitting as if they weren't.
"So Arthur, what now?" asked Joan, constantly peering out the door.
"Hmm, I'm not sure," said Arthur, knowing that was what the two ladies did not want to hear. "Perhaps I should help Dalek and you two could rush up the road and get help …" He was interrupted by yells, thuds, crashes and bangs. Then there was an "Umph!" in a distinctly Czech accent. Arthur felt sick and immobilised. He looked at Joan who shrugged with a quiet resignation as if she knew everything would be alright. Dottie, on the other hand, looked stricken and Arthur was about to go over and comfort her when Toby appeared in the doorway, panting.
"So, where did you get that oaf, Arthur Bayly?" asked Toby. "Any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?"
"Aah, no, not …"
"And, mysteriously, there's no rope in your wee shed, Mr Bayly," said Toby, his frustration obviously undiminished.
"But what about Dalek? Have you killed him?" asked Arthur, relieved to have the thought of a diversion from his previous diversion.
The main door was already open, thankfully, and he took the five paces up the passage with a thumping heart. All was quiet. Eerily quiet. He peered round the door and saw Joan on a kitchen chair - hands tied behind her back, ankles tied together and with a mouth-gag tied around her head. Her grey-tinged blonde curls looked as if someone had grabbed hanks of it and her eyes were wide and frightened. She nodded to her left and Arthur looked further round the door to see Mollie, their neighbour, trussed up similarly. Joan was then indicating to him furiously and he determined that she was trying to tell him about something upstairs. He listened and could hear rustling, probably in his office. He dropped the bag and rushed to Joan, untying her gag as the phone rang.
"Get it!" she whispered urgently and he fled with the wings of Pegasus into the living room and picked up the phone.
"Help! hel …" he yelled, then the phone went dead. There was a curse from upstairs and then the sound of someone running along the passage and clattering down the stairs. Had there been time for Arthur to panic or react, he would have done the former and not the latter. As it was, Toby burst into the dining room, wrenched the phone from his hand and twisted him around in an arm lock before he had time to do either. He was then pushed, rather rudely, into the lounge and pushed onto the couch.
"Don't you move an inch!" commanded Toby as he disappeared and reappeared with another dining room chair. "Sit!"
Arthur got up and sat in the appointed chair.
"Now, where do you keep rope?" asked Toby, looking around quickly as if it might be stored in the lounge..
"Oh dear, rope …" said Arthur, pondering. "It's not something we usually carry here …"
"And where's the stuff for the Atkinson case?" interrupted Toby.
"Ah, I took it with me …" said Arthur, instantly regretting his helpfulness. He made a mental note to tell more lies.
"I know that, Arthur!" said Toby. "You must have stuff in your computer …"
"Not much, really, it's all in the files, I'm afraid," said Arthur, thankful he'd taken the precaution of regularly downloading all the Atkinson files onto computer sticks, now hidden in Joan's underwear drawer.
"My god, you old codgers, just not computer savvy are you!" said Toby, obviously impatient at yet another impediment.
"No, I suppose not …" said Arthur.
"So, where's your rope, now?" demanded Toby, returning to his initial problem.
"Ah, it should be in the back shed, behind the mattress and freezer against the back wall," said Arthur, thinking of the most inaccessible place he could imagine.
"Right. So, move a muscle and you're dead. Got it?"
"Oh, yes, dead," said Arthur, trying to look submissive.
Toby fled out the back and Arthur leapt up immediately. In his panic, Toby had obviously not noticed Joan's gag had come loose and she's acted suitably statue-like for him not to notice. Arthur struggled to untie her hands and, when done, bend down to untie her ankles.
"No, no, I can do that," whispered Joan. "Get Dottie's."
"Yes, just a minute," said Arthur, rushing from the room. He quietly opened the front door and motioned frantically to Dalek, who was watching, with great intent, as two young girls walked past. Arthur didn't want to be seen out of his seat or to make any noise before Dalek arrived. He continued to wave frantically and, just as he was about to give up, Dalek looked his way and then burst from the van like fireworks.
"Yes Mr Arthur, trouble?" asked Dalek, obviously relishing some action.
"Yes, aah, bad man out the back," said Arthur, pointing down the passage.
"Right suh! Me deal with bad man then," said Dalek, squaring his massive shoulders and walking purposefully, though cautiously, into the dining room. Arthur turned right into the lounge to see the two ladies fully untied but sitting as if they weren't.
"So Arthur, what now?" asked Joan, constantly peering out the door.
"Hmm, I'm not sure," said Arthur, knowing that was what the two ladies did not want to hear. "Perhaps I should help Dalek and you two could rush up the road and get help …" He was interrupted by yells, thuds, crashes and bangs. Then there was an "Umph!" in a distinctly Czech accent. Arthur felt sick and immobilised. He looked at Joan who shrugged with a quiet resignation as if she knew everything would be alright. Dottie, on the other hand, looked stricken and Arthur was about to go over and comfort her when Toby appeared in the doorway, panting.
"So, where did you get that oaf, Arthur Bayly?" asked Toby. "Any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?"
"Aah, no, not …"
"And, mysteriously, there's no rope in your wee shed, Mr Bayly," said Toby, his frustration obviously undiminished.
"But what about Dalek? Have you killed him?" asked Arthur, relieved to have the thought of a diversion from his previous diversion.
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