Good morning, Inspector. I was not expecting a visit from you. Not at two in the morning. Is there anything wrong? Can I help you in any way with your inquiries?
Yes, I was sleeping. I believe it is normal for decent people to be fast asleep at this time of night. Or rather, this early in the morning. That goes for the rest of my family including Rusty, our pet Golden Retriever. Not forgetting the cook.
The security fellow at the gate was sleeping as well? Tell me about it. And you had to wake him up? There you go. Asleep at the wheel. I have had it with him. I will have to complain to the company. This will have been the fifth such incident.
No, no. You misunderstand me, Inspector. Got the wrong end of the stick. I did not mean the police have knocked on my door at the dead of night, or pre-crack of dawn to wake me up five times. I meant having to change the security staff for the fifth time.
Why did Rusty not bark? He is a Golden Retriever, Inspector. Six years old but still a puppy. Always happy to welcome anyone who comes in at any time of the day or night. We have never heard him bark. Look at him, wagging his tail and inviting you to come in and tickle him under his chin. He loves that. And if you tickle him under the belly, you are friends for life. You can offer him a chocolate brownie, if you happen to have one.
You don’t? Never mind. He has had his fill for the day. Now how can I be of assistance? Please come in and take a seat. I could offer you some coffee, but my cook sleeps like a log. Even an earthquake won’t wake him up. He will be most irate if I try to rouse him. And I cannot afford to lose him. Sadly, I don’t know the first thing about making coffee.
My wife? She is a very light sleeper and I dare not wake her up. There will be hell to pay. She is probably awake already and wondering what the fuss is all about. What is the fuss all about, Inspector?
You received a call from our neighbour that an armed intruder has entered our premises? You mean our neighbour was awake at this late hour and observed a suspicious person, armed to the teeth, entering this house? What was my neighbour doing staying awake and spying on my house? And why did he not call me in the first place?
I agree that is my neighbour’s business when he goes to bed, but still. Guess I should be grateful to him, but then, where is this mythical armed intruder? My security fellow would have some idea, if he wasn’t counting sheep.
He was in the land of Nod? Well put, Sir. His snoring alone can wake the dead. He is wide awake now? Did you question him, Inspector?
To what end? Good point. Ah, he accidentally took an extra sleeping pill and that knocked him out for the count. But we are wasting time chit-chatting while the armed robber is ransacking my house. We need to find this miscreant, if indeed there is one. No time to waste. Ah, so sweet. Rusty has brought my wife’s Versace bedroom slipper to you. He is always doing that when guests come visiting. Ever since he was a puppy. Just take it from him and throw it away. He will fetch it and hand it back to you. It’s a game he plays.
Why did I not keep a German Shepherd or a Doberman? Good question. They are dangerous animals. Apt to go for your throat if something upsets them. And we have kids in the house.
They would be so much more efficient and useful than Rusty? In what way? Ah, for barking their heads off, waking the entire neighbourhood and jumping at the throats of armed intruders. Excellent point, Inspector. I will consider getting a Doberman as a companion for Rusty, if he does not tear the poor angel to shreds. I should set him loose first on my security staff.
You would like to search the house. Naturally. I shall be your guide. I think it will be a complete waste of time, but you are the boss.
Why do I think it will be a complete waste of time? No tell-tale signs. Well, for one thing Rusty here would have offered him my wife’s slipper. The Versace luxury slipper, left foot, however has not gone missing. It is right here, safe and sound. That tells me. What does it tell me?
Please be patient with me, Inspector. It is three in the morning and my brain is somewhat frazzled what with cops swarming all over the place.
I know it’s just you Inspector, but it feels that way. You are a powerful presence. You feel like twenty inspectors. To get back to my point about Rusty and the left-foot slipper, it tells me that there has been no intrusion. The brigand could not have entered our bedroom boudoir to look for jewellery, else my wife would have screamed her head off. Have you ever heard my wife scream? Or shriek? The word banshee springs to mind.
Cash? Who keeps cash these days, Inspector? It’s all UPI. That leaves only my precious M.F. Husain canvas of Bollywood diva Madhuri Dixit, one of the great artist’s favourite muses. Worth about Rs.7 crores. Come and admire it. It is my pride and joy displayed in my study. I will switch the lights on. You will appreciate the Master’s light and shade effect. There it is. Voila!
Good God! There it is not. Whatever happened to my Madhuri Dixit? My wife will murder me after doing her banshee imitation. Inspector you simply must do something. I am as good as dead. Let us search the basement.
You don’t think Madhuri Dixit will be in the basement? I was alluding to the thief. In fact, you don’t think the thief is within 50 miles of our residence? Let us knock on the door of my neighbour. He will be able to give us a description of the culprit.
You are right. By now, my neighbour would have been here to help you out with your investigation. The cunning crook crept in under cover of darkness and made off with the painting. There must have been a vehicle parked outside. Do you think my neighbour took down the number of the licence plate? No? Bloody hell! Should we not ask him?
Was my neigbhour aware of the existence of the Husain canvas? Is he a suspect? Aiding and abetting? No, no. Please do not pursue that line of inquiry. He is as innocent as a baa-lamb. Just has peculiar sleeping habits.
Why is no security alarm system installed on the premises? Well, I am paying a bomb to the sleeping beauty, namely the security chap from a big company. And I have a curious, deranged neighbour who stays awake all night watching over our house. Wonder if he has a pair of binoculars. We might be able to obtain an identikit of the criminal from him. Can you send for your composite artist, Inspector?
You are not very sanguine, Inspector. Your smirk is revealing. I am finished. Disaster stares me in the face. Was the painting insured? Why not, you ask. Well, there was a substantial black money component involved in the transaction and I would rather not go into all of that for now.
Are you saying there is nothing more to be done, Inspector? There is? Do tell. Register an official complaint with the police. Sack the security staff. While I am about it, sack the cook as well. I can sense a divorce in the offing. Get a Doberman immediately and provide additional security for Rusty. Copy that.
Pardon? Oh, I watch a lot of crime movies and serials, Inspector. The Inspector’s lackey always says ‘copy that’ when given an order or instruction, meaning he has understood and will act accordingly. I always thought it was a strange expression.
I should present myself at the station tomorrow, Inspector? Certainly, but please don’t reveal the black money transaction on the Husain canvas I thoughtlessly revealed to you. I must get that painting back. I am sure it will show up somewhere.
It will show up in Tokyo? In some Japanese, billionaire art-collector’s museum? And I will not be able to do anything about it. Mon Dieu! Then fall, Caesar! Apologies. When my mind is in a whirl, I fall back on Shakespeare.
Thank you, Inspector. I will see you tomorrow at your den. Good night. Or rather, good morning. And here’s the reverberating Rusty with my wife’s slipper. Right foot, this time. Please say ‘Good boy’ and hurl it as far as you can.
I shall retire and kill a bottle of Chivas Regal. If the robber hasn’t cleaned out my bar as well. Care to join me for a night cap? No? You are on duty. Good man. Drive safely.
Published with permission from Suresh Subrahmanyan – A long time advertising professional, now retired, and taken up writing as a hobby. Deeply interested in music of various genres, notably Carnatic and 60’s and 70’s pop/rock. An avid tennis and cricket fan. Voracious reader of British humour and satire. P.G. Wodehouse a perennial favourite. He blogs at – https://sureshsubrahmanyan.blog/
