“Not one word,” said this little man, turning to Adrian and holding up an admonishing forefinger. So imposing was the little man’s demeanour that the crowd, which had been shuffling and laughing among itself, fell silent. The little man rearranged his top hat and sniffed prodigiously. He was obviously conscious of the fact that he had made this impact and was extracting every last exquisite moment from it.
Having rearranged his battered headgear to his satisfaction, he then inserted his fingers carefully into an ample pocket in his moleskin waistcoat and extracted from it a large and battered pewter snuff box. Rosy, under the impression that it was something edible, stretched out her trunk tentatively and sniffed.
“Desist,” said the little man coldly, fixing her with a malevolent stare, and to Adrian’s astonishment, Rosy curled up her trunk and looked as embarrassed as only an elephant can. It was obvious that she had fallen under the little man’s spell as well as the crowd. The little man opened the snuff box, whereupon it played a few tinkling bars of “God Save the Queen.” He extracted a pinch of snuff delicately and then, holding out his left hand, placed the snuff reverently on the inside of his wrist, He closed the snuff box with his right band and returned it to his pocket, then raised his wrist to his nose and sniffed deeply. The silence was complete. Everybody, including the constable, was watching him with rapt attention. He sniffed a couple of times and then, starting at the tips of his shoes and reverberating all the way up through his whole body, he sneezed enormously and voluptuously, uttering at the same time a sort of screeching yelp that made everybody, including Rosy, retreat several paces. He then produced an enormous silk handkerchief and blew his nose into it with a trumpeting worthy of a bull elephant. He stuffed the handkerchief back So his pocket and straightened his top hat which had become disarranged by the force of his sneeze.
“Inspector,” he said, raising his shaggy eyebrows and looking up at the constable, “you have just been privileged to witness a sight which many people would give ten years of their lives to have seen.”
“Yes, sir,” said the constable. “I am constable, actually, sir.”
“It matters not,” observed the little man, “how menial you are, it is a matter of appreciating great acts of heroism when you see them.”
“Yes, sir,” said the constable woodenly.
“It is the Bible,” said the little man, waving his arms oratorically, “that teaches us we have dominion over the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field.”
“If you say so, sir,” said the constable.
“I do say so,” said the little man. “And that includes elephants.” He threw his left arm round Adrian’s dripping shoulders and spread out his right hand with a gesture of one about to field a tennis ball.
“Friends,” he said trenchantly, “this brave young man, prompted by the sacred words of the Bible, unhesitatingly and without a thought for his own safety, cast himself into the roaring tumult of the waves to save a beast of the field.”
The fact that the harbour was oily calm in no way detracted from this dramatic statement.
“Is there a man among you,” continued the little man, addressing the crowd which consisted largely of women, “is there a man among you who would have performed such a deed of valour?”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the constable, “I know that what this young man did was very brave, but you see, him and his elephant is wanted.”
The little man swirled like a pouter pigeon and his eyes became as blue and as sharp as two periwinkles under ice.
“I,” he said, adjusting his top hat with care, “I am Sir Magnus Ramping Fumitory. You may, no doubt, during your long association with the courts, have come across my name.”
“Yes, sir,” said the constable dismally, touching his helmet once more, “I have heard about you.”
“Well, I demand to know,” said Sir Magnus, “whether you intend to arrest this young man, this hero of the deeps?”
“Well, yes, sir,” said the constable, “in a sort of way. I just want him and his elephant to come down to the station and help us with a bit of information. It’s pursuant to a complaint.”
Sir Magnus smiled a grim smile.
“What a masterly massacre of the tongue that Shakespeare spoke,” he said. “Still, Chief Constable, I realise you have your duty to do, however erroneous it may be, so I will allow you to apprehend this heroic young man and I will, indeed, endeavour to protect you from the wrath of the crowd. For it is patently obvious to me where their sympathies lie.”
The crowd, captivated but like most crowds not knowing what the whole thing was about, growled encouragingly. Sir Magnus beamed at them like a conductor beaming at an orchestra at the end of a particularly difficult passage of music, and then turned to Adrian.
“My boy,” he said, “I shall personally accompany you to the police stations and if they arrest you and charge you, if indeed they are so inhuman and so callous as to arrest you and charge you, I, Sir Magnus Ramping Fumitory, will defend you.”
“You are very kind,” said Adrian, who was now so bewildered that he was not sure whether he was under arrest or not.
“Well, if you will just come along with me,” said the constable. “If nothing else, we will be able to give you a hot cup of tea at the station.”
“Thank you,” said Adrian, who was frozen to the marrow and felt that it was even worth being arrested in order to have a hot drink.
“Don’t say a word,” said Sir Magnus, “until we get to the station and find out what their paltry charges are.”
So Adrian seized Rosy’s ear once more, and with Sir Magnus strutting pigeon-toed on one side, and the constable lumbering on the other, and the crowd shuffling and whispering following behind, they made their way to the police station.
When they arrived they induced Rosy, with a certain amount of difficulty and with the aid of a bribe of several loaves of bread, to stand in the station yard. Inside the dour red-brick police station, the station sergeant, with a rich, peony-coloured face and an impressive moustache, peered at Adrian like a good-natured walrus.
“Good evening, sir,” he said. “You’re name is Adrian Rookwhistle?”
“Yes,” said Adrian.
“And I wouldn’t admit anything more than your name,” hissed Sir Magnus.
“Well, sir,” said the sergeant, “we’ve several charges against you, so I must warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence at your trial.”
He paused and stared at Adrian portentously. “The charges are as follows. That you did on 20th April in the County of Brockelberry cause a public nuisance in the meadow, alongside the Monkspepper Road there situate by releasing a large wild animal, and furthermore that you allowed it to commit grievous bodily harm to Hubert Darcey, Master of the Monkspepper Hunt and that on the night of 5th June you did commit a public nuisance by allowing a large wild animal loose in a public place, to wit the Alhambra Theatre and allowed it to commit grievous bodily harm to Mr. Emanuel S. Clattercup, the theatre manager.” The sergeant paused, looked down at his notes and then looked up at Adrian and beamed affably.
“That seems to be all for the moment, sir,” he said.
“Ridiculous trumped-up charges,” said Sir Magnus, taking off his top hat and banging it on the sergeant’s desk. “Don’t worry, my dear chap, I will soon have you free of this noxious web which these bovine illiterates are endeavouring to weave around you and that noble creature of yours.”
“I am afraid, sir,” said the sergeant, unmoved by Sir Magnus’s oratory, “that I shall have to detain you in custody so that you can appear before the magistrates tomorrow morning.”
“Well, that’s all very well,” protested Adrian, “but what about Rosy?”
“Your elephant, sir?” enquired the sergeant “Umm, that does present a bit of a problem. You see our cells are somewhat on the small side.”
“Well, she’d be all right out in the yard,” said Adrian, “if she was given something to eat.”
“I will attend to that, sir,” said the sergeant. He picked up a clean piece of paper, licked his pencil and looked at Adrian interrogatively. “Now, what does she eat, sir?”
“Well,” said Adrian, “if you get half a sack of mangolds or turnips (but she prefers mangolds), a bale of hay, half a sack of apples, half a sack of carrots, half a sack of bread . . .”
The station sergeant’s face grew grim.
“You wouldn’t by any chance be gammoning me?”
“No, no,” said Adrian earnestly. “Really, she’s got a colossal appetite.”
“Well,” said the sergeant, “I’ll see what I can, do, sir. Now, I’d be glad if you would just turn out your pockets, sir, and check the contents with me. They’ll all be returned to you in due course.”
Adrian emptied his pockets and the station sergeant put all his possessions in a large brown envelope and locked it away in a cabinet.
“Now, sir,” he said, sounding exactly like the hall porter at a sumptuous hotel, “if you’ll just come this way, I’ll show you your accommodation.”
Sir Magnus stretched out his hand to Adrian.