The Case of Black Tom - Part Seven

The last of our literary evenings, so A.B.Fox read the final episode of the adventure from his memoirs... Beaver and his gang were about to blow the tower, Dolores, and me sky high. She looked me fondly in the eyes. “Well, it’s been one hell of a trip.” she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes in that way that makes my stomach flip. “Yep, some experience – shame it has to end like this.” I replied. My ears pricked up. Above us I could hear the whirring of blades. As if from nowhere, a rope ladder dropped from the heavens. I looked up as a helicopter appeared through the clouds. “Hello, old chum.” shouted Colonel Lungy, hanging from the cockpit. “Sorry for the delay, Uncle has let me borrow his engineer, Cowgill, and this wonderful machine – just had a bit of bother navigating up the Thames. It’s changed slightly, you know, since I was last here. I was saying to Cowgill – whose put that bloomin’ great Ferris Wheel there?...as I recall back in the fifties there was a great big pole thing called the Sky something or over…but I don’t know about this wheel…popular with the tourists I believe…but I don’t....” I interjected quickly before he could go on “Sorry, Sir but I think it would be a good idea if Miss Dolores and I left now before things starting hotting up.” “Oh don’t worry about the Badfort Crowd – there being dealt with…”said Lungy. I looked below. Sure enough, the Badfort Crowd were being surrounded by a fearsome bunch of foxes. “…it’s the ‘Foxes from Uncle’ – don’t you know.” Lungy added. “But look, the Badfort Crowd are getting away to the Thames through the Traitor’s Gate.” I cried. “Yes,” observed Dolores “…and they have a speed-boat moored outside.” The man piloting the helicopter piped up “Sadly, they always seem to get away, Sir.” Lungy sighed “Yes, I’m afraid Cowgill is right – that is what usually happens.” Oh well, I thought, down these mean streets a fox must go always on the look-out for skewers. Goodman shyly asked if A.B. if he still saw much of Dolores. The detective, looking slightly embarrassed, replied that their paths had crossed on a few cases but that he always found that, with his type of work it was best to work alone. Of course, I remember 'The Case of Black Tom' well, I have a letter from the Queen of England, somewhere, thanking me for the speedy intervention of the 'Foxes from UNCLE' thus saving the Royal Crown from being defiled by the head of Beaver Hateman.