bout de papier, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2002) — Spring/Summer 2002 // Printemps/Été 2002, pp. 33–37
he fat man smiled. “Do you have any idea, Mr. Dikk, of the fabulous wealth possessed by the Ancient and Loyal Order of Off-key Flugelers?” Another armchair collapsed under his bulk. He snapped his fingers. His stooge, one Nathan Des Moines, pulled up my big ottoman and got his boss upright again. “Can’t say that I do, Don Gordo,” I said, surveying the ruins of my office. “But while you’re telling me, could you make your goat stop eating my plants”? “Don’t be cruel to Wilmer, Shamus,” my secretary Effie butted in, “he’s only a kid”.
Don Gordo pulled a kipper from his vest pocket. He gnashed a large bite and threw the rest over his shoulder, where it cold-cocked the goat. “ALOOF has been the world’s richest religious foundation since the Crusades, when it protected pilgrims by deafening the Saracens and ran a profitable sideline in earplugs for the faithful. In modern times, it has survived by various musical variations on the protection racket. A few years ago, after an unfortunate sonata caused an avalanche at the Olympics and allowed Botswana to win the giant slalom, the Order needed a new home base. As a fortuitously tone deaf man with occasional enemies, I offered ALOOF land in my country, at an annual rent of one piece of agricultural produce. The choice was theirs — I’m not sure why they chose to send me an avocado.” “Because it’s an ugly bulbous fruit with oily flesh and a warty green skin?” suggested Effie.
Don Gordo went on. “All went well until this year, when the rent did not arrive. Moderate as alwavs. I took a heavv infantry brigade and wiped out only half the Order before asking why it had failed to deliver. The commander said a very special avocado had been prepared — skilled craftsmen from Valletta created a jade replica covered in gold and jewels, as an gold and jewels, as an expression of the Order’s gratitude and renewed prosperity. Ăt the core was the fabled Pearson’s Pit, which guarantees the country holding it the benefits of peace, order and good government — or which, more to the point, can be ground up and used to make a remarkable fruit schnapps. The Order had handed this Maltese Avocado over to a man who presented what seemed to be my credentials. He was in fact an imposter named Lloyd Thursday.”
“I have been tracking the avocado and its thief ever since. I almost got my hands on it in Liechtenstein, but Mr. Des Moines got into a fight with agents from Washington, desperate to ensure that the Pit and its influence could never be brought to their homeland. In the confusion, Thursday escaped. The next we knew, it was in Istanbul, in the hands of a used foreign policy salesmen named Gorbachev, who won it in a Parcheesi game. By the time I got to the Golden Horn, Thursday had stolen it back and was on his way to Asia. It surfaced in Singapore, when it was nearly confiscated by airport security officials as a weapon of terror, until they realised it was not an unusually ripe Limburger. We now know that it will arrive here today by sea from Hong Kong — but we don’t know who is carrying it or on what ship.
“And I have almost no freedom of movement — the Americans are still after me, and so is the remaining 50% of ALOOF, some demented woman who wants to sell me pyjamas, and an enforcer from the Boca Grande Catholic School Board, who wants words with me about my recent speeches. That’s why I’ve come to you for help.”
I gave his problem the once-over. “The key is this Lloyd Thursday. He’ll either be on the ship or waiting on the dock. Any idea where we can find him?” Don Gordo shrugged. “I suggest the City Morgue. Mr. Des Moines spotted him by accident on the street and followed him to his hotel. Before he could arrange a private conversation, Thursday disappeared into his room, where he was shot minutes later by someone who had been waiting for him. All that Nathan was able to recover was this puzzle.”
CLUES:
CLUES:
1. Doyle’s consulting detective:
1 8 18 2 24 25
2. Tom Selleck as a TV Hawaiian:
2 16 21 26 10 2
3. Rex Stout’s stout hero:
3 8 18 5 24
Raymond Burr as a paralysed former policeman:
4 9 8 26 25 4 7 24
5. Top writer of thoroughbred mysteries:
5 _9 1 6 26 20 4 25
6. He had a gun and travelled:
6 16 18 16 7 4 26
7. Perry Mason’s detective sidekick:
7 g 1623 24
8. Poirot’s titular express:
8 9 4 24 26 12
9. James Garner did the filing:
9 8 20 23 5 8 9 7
10. Zimbalist’s or Costner’s prohibition squad:
10 26 12 8 10 20 1 16
19 18 24 25
11. Locale for Laurence Gough’s Willows and Parker:
12. William Powell and Myrna Loy vehicle (1934):
12 1 4 26 2 16 26
13. Chester Himes’ Coffin Ed:
13 8 1 2625 8 26
14. Animal in Ross Macdonald title:
14 24 19g 16
15. Ellery the editor, author and hero:
15 10 24 24 26
16. Victim in Agatha Christie title:
16 20 23 9 8 17 7
17. Eye colour in John D MacDonald’s title:
17 24 18 18 8 3
18. Jonathan Gash’s antiques-mad cad:
18 8 11 24 13 8 17
19. Chesterton’s priestly Father:
19 9 8 3 26
20. Howard Engel’s Benny of Grantham, Ontario:
20 8 8 6 24 9 2
21. Kinsey Millhone’s maker:
21 9 16 5 12 8 26
22. Fox and Mulder detect the occult:
22 5 4 18 24 25
23. Well-combed wannabe at 77 Sunset Strip:
23 8 _8 23 4 24
24. Locale for Ian Rankin’s Rebus:
24 7 4 26 19 10 9
25. Debuted Mike Hammer in I, The Jury:
25 6 4 18 18 16 26
26. Played Pl Jake Gittes in Chinatown:
26 4 20 1 8 18 25 8 26
CIPHERTEXT:
25 16 2 24
16 25
4 26
16 2 2 24 12 12’ 25
5 16 18 20 8 26:
8 10 9
2 16
4 26
12 9 4 6 8 18
16 19 8 16 9 7
12 1
6 16 26 4 25 1
7 8 11 24.
Identify the answers to the clues in the chart relating to detective fiction. Each answer starts with a different letter of the alphabet — but not in alphabetical order. The answers correspond letter for letter with the number strings that follow them. The same number corresponds to the same letter throughout the puzzle. Use this fact to decipher the numerical text at the end.
Des Moines added, “I do not lay eyes on the killer and I am not hanging around to shoot the breeze with the cops. But before I blow the joint, I see the stiff has an ice cube in his mouth — and there’s no ice bucket in the room.”
I studied the paper. “Liebnitz is on vacation. We’ll have to solve this one on our own. It shouldn’t be tough. Letters from one answer slot into others.” With help from Des Moines, who knew all the guys and dolls on Broadway, I soon cracked Thursday’s last message.
Two hours later, we were all in the captain’s cabin on a tramp steamer, moored at a remote river pier. The bells of the Peace Tower echoed through the fog. The haunting tune was almost familiar…
“Nearer, my dog, to thee?” Don Gordo snarled, turning from the porthole. “That carillon player is clearly in the pay of subversives, from either the dyslectics association or the SPCA. But we can deal with him later. Now, Captain, where is the Maltese Avocado?”
The Captain was a short, blond hunchback. He started to answer, but a tall, clean-cut man in a dark suit and narrow tie waltzed in and started waving around a Browning 45. “Did someone say ’subversives’? I can deal with them. Special Agent John W Pilgrim at your service. No, Mr. Chicago, I wouldn’t reach up my sleeve like that. And Don Gordo, please put down that goat. But about the perfidious avocado, Captain?”
The Captain cleared his throat. But he was interrupted again, by a tall, classy brunette with another gat. “Nobody moves and nobody gets hurt,” she said. “The pyjama lady!” squeaked Don Gordo. “Yes and no,” I replied. “The dame’s name is Bertha de Kuhl. She does own a pyjama factory, but it’s a cover for her real line of work — racketeering, murder for hire, day-glo ties, the usual. I’d guess she’s working for the Order, hunting down you and the avocado both.” “Smart call, Shamus,” she said. “I left the flugelmen right outside. Enough chat, though. Let’s let the Captain say his piece.”
But he’d given up. He silently shed his overcoat, unstrapped the hump, pulled out a bulky object wrapped in Turkish newsprint and threw it onto the table. Four voices shouted, “I’ll take that!”. Suddenly, the lights went out and guns went off. I got my hands on the parcel but was blindsided by a kick from someone who had practised. The parcel flew out of my hands and smashed into a metal wall. When the lights came on, everyone but me was tangled up on the floor like tag team night at a mud wrestling bar. In one corner, Wilmer was eating the avocado. Don Gordo heaved himself up and dashed over. “What?” he trumpeted. “It’s a fake! This is a real avocado!” “Make up your mind,” said Effie from somewhere under Nathan Des Moines.
Don Gordo turned to his henchman. “Gorbachev must have switched them on Thursday. Quickly, Nathan, get away while Ms. de Kuhl is still unconscious and book us passage back to Istanbul. Perhaps we can interest Special Agent Pilgrim in joining forces — I can assure you, sir, that my only interest in the Pit is in making an aperitif.”
The American holstered his gun. “No, I don’t think we can do business along those lines. I have to get over to the museum and check out the Viking exhibit. National security, Eric the Red — need I say more? Oh, and when we got here, we found a woman in a wimple prowling the dock looking for you. On my way out, I’ll get my men to release her.” He left the cabin, followed by Nathan and Wilmer.
I faced Don Gordo over Bertha’s prone form. Then her automatic was in his hand. “Alas, now you know too much, Mr. Dikk.
Much as I have enjoyed our partnership, I think it will be neater if you are found shot with Ms. de Kuhl’s gun, and if it is found on her body, floating in the harbour. A murder followed by an accidental drowning. Fewer questions that way.” His finger tightened on the trigger. Just when it looked like I would never see Aylmer again, Bertha’s foot flashed up and kicked the gun over my shoulder. It cold-cocked the Captain, who had been hiding in his bunk.
Don Gordo dashed to the door. There he stopped, his face a mask of fear and indecision. To the right was the remains of the Order, de-tuning their flugelhorns and giving him the steely eye. To the left was an old woman in religious habit, holding a grammar book in one hand and a sharp-edged ruler in the other. “Sister Ignatius de Constructa,” Don Gordo gasped and ran toward the band. “Well,” said Effie, “I guess half ALOOF is better than nun”
I turned to Bertha, “Thanks for the assist. I haven’t seen a kick like that since the Rockettes left the CFL. So now there’s only one problem left. Who killed Lloyd Thursday? I was hoping it was someone else — Special Agent Pilgrim or Nathan Chicago, Wilmer, anyone. But it was you, wasn’t it? The ice cube was the clincher — cooler than Kuhl.” She hung her head. “His death was an accident. And lots of people in my line leave calling cards. I just leave one that melts by the time the cops arrive.”
I turned away and watched the fog lifting. “I owe you too much to take you in. But I have to tell the police the score. You’ll have to skip town. There’s a boat leaving for Arnprior at sunset — be on it!” She shuddered. “You’re sending me up the river? Well, I guess it could be worse. Here’s a tape of Gangsta music to remember me by.” I just looked at her. “Sorry, sweetheart. I take the rap for no-one.”
Can you duplicate Shamus’s feat by identifying (a) the name of the ship bringing the avocado into the country and (b) the name of its captain? Not necessary for entering the contest, but can you also provide the answers to the clues and decipher the encrypted passage? bout de papier will decide the winner by drawing from a box containing all correct entries received by September 30, 2002. The winner will receive a book signed by A Aalto.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2002) — Spring/Summer 2002 // Printemps/Été 2002, pp. 33–37. Read the rest of this issue →
