The Trouble with Polly Brown (28 page)

“Anyway, Mr. Skunkbelly, as my time is considered by most to be, well—what shall I say?—considerably expensive and therefore well out of the range of most mere mortals, it would, I believe, be most advisable if we got down to the brass tacks of why I have chosen such an earthly hour to pay you this clandestine visit.”

Poor Boritz was now feeling utterly distraught by the professor's presumably unwitting error, but he felt far too demoralized to make any mention of it. “Skunkbelly! Fancy calling me Skunkbelly. That is much, much worse than Fossilize,” he quietly murmured as he forced a weak smile, at the same time giving serious thought as to just how severe the damage to his personal coffers might become, as the professor had just reminded him he was no little cheapskate he could keep happy with a few pounds. Just thinking of the potential sums of money that might possibly be extracted from his bank account to pay the good professor's bill now made it almost impossible for him to even begin to relax.

“Right, now where were we?” the learned professor mumbled as he placed his expensive looking leather-bound briefcase on his lap and released the brass clasp. Then after a few moments spent fumbling around, he finally produced the item he was searching for. Opening up the slim yellow package, he then turned it upside down to give it a good shake, his objective being to reveal the contents of the mysterious package. In just a matter of seconds an ornate gold ring fell directly into the palm of his free hand. “I am here to return this ring to you in person. But before I do, I need to ask how perchance you came upon such a ring as this? Yes, where on earth did you find it?”

“Well, professor, I am not really too sure. You see, one of the children, Gailey Gobbstopper, to be precise, witnessed another of my unfortunate children remove the ring from her finger and place it for safekeeping by the soap while she peeled some potatoes. Of course, Gailey was quick to realize that it was valuable; she therefore waited for the perfect opportunity to present itself so that she could grab the ring and bring it straight to me. And that, in a nutshell, is how the ring came to be in my possession. We have come to believe that the child in question stumbled across it in a field close to some nearby fortress ruins. At least that's the story so far.”

“Well, I have to say that despite my many years of expertise in this field, I have never to date come across such a beautifully exquisite ring—that unfortunately I have not been able to put a historical date to. This fact alone is troubling me greatly, nor, for that matter, can I even begin to tell you from what country it originated. All I can say is that I believe this ring to be of extraordinary value; yes, it is probably worth a small king's ransom.”

Boritz's whole face suddenly lit up like candles on a birthday cake as enormous monetary signs popped up like an old-fashioned cash register in front of his bulbous eyes. His heart then began to hammer loudly, as this latest piece of magnificently good news caused his heart valves not only to expand but to pump harder, as they too found the urgent need to express their joy and liberation at this exceedingly marvelous and very unexpected development.

“Yes, the royal coat of arms in particular has such extraordinary detail, and as I placed it under my specialist microscope before subjecting it to a battery of tests I discovered…”

As the professor continued to assault poor Boritz's mind with detail after detail, all of which was far too technical for him to truly understand or cope with, the professor had little idea that his host had switched off completely.

“What I would suggest at this point is that you step up your investigative techniques and try your utmost to find out precisely where she found it, as this would help matters considerably. I, for one, have exhausted every reference book I could lay my hands on. I have also been in dialogue with a number of very well-respected fellow historians, as I sought their professional opinion and expertise on the matter in hand. To date, none of them have been able to be of any real assistance.”

“Dear chap, I pray you did not reveal the source from which this ring came into your possession?” Boritz hoarsely enquired, an icy shudder suddenly going the full length of his spine as he found himself feeling most protective in his concern for the ongoing safety of his precious ring.

“Oh no, no, no. You have my utmost assurance that both the ring and your connection to it remain our secret alone, and I have gone to great pains to ensure that this will remain so. Yes, I would urge you to trust me implicitly, Mr. Shuffleberry, for at the end of the day you are paying me very handsomely not only for my expertise in this field but also for my professional discretion.”

Uncle Boritz grimaced as he silently suffered yet a further aberration regarding his beloved family name.

“I'm very glad to hear that,” Boritz mumbled as he took his handkerchief and began to wipe the sweat from his brow, great anxiety welling up within as he once again pondered the disturbing thought of just how much the professor's loyalty and silence might end up costing him.

“Well, I must say that as a last resort I took it upon myself to contact the British History Museum in the hope of getting some further form of enlightenment on this delicate matter. They cooperated fully by doing a most extensive search of the archives, but sadly they were still unable to come up with any historical document hidden away in the vaults that could shed further light as to the origin and therefore the authenticity of this ring. And so it is with great sadness of heart that I am unable to help you further in my professional capacity as a historian, that is, unless I am given much more information and considerable funds with which to work.”

“Yes, yes, I fully understand,” Boritz muttered as he struggled to come 'round from his dreamy, almost catatonic daze.

“So might I suggest that one way of following up on the ring would be to write or pay a visit to each and every castle in England, Scotland, and of course, let us not forget Ireland, as one of these remote castles might well hold the key to this mysterious ring. Of course, if you have no luck with any of these, then you might care to broaden your search to cover Europe as well.”

“Oh, dear. To go so far afield would surely cost a king's ransom. I mean, this would involve trekking around much of the continent. No, no. This is all quite unthinkable, for amongst other things, where would I find the time to do all this?” Boritz exclaimed, shaking his head, for he was now feeling in a most beleaguered state.

“Mr. Skunkbe—”

“Scumberry! The correct name is Scumberry,” Boritz quickly interjected, lest the good professor suffer another extraordinary bout of memory loss that resulted in his good name once more being rather disdainfully expressed incorrectly.

“Yes, well then, Mr. Scumberry, as I was saying, I am fully prepared to continue investigating further on your behalf, but you must realize that to do so would add considerably to my bill. I therefore leave it entirely in your fair hands as to where, if anywhere, we go from here.”

“Yes, yes,” was all Boritz could find to mutter as he rather glumly tried hard to consider his very limited options.

“So, Mr. Scum…um…yes, berry, the hour is indeed late, and so I must bid you farewell, for I must quickly head off back to London, as my colleagues are anxiously awaiting my arrival at Paddington. I'm not entirely sure whether I should allow you to be privy to this, but my colleagues have just unearthed a new and therefore very exciting Roman burial site, along with a number of priceless artifacts that require dating. As I have no wish to keep them waiting any longer than necessary, I must excuse myself and then rush to catch a train.”

Professor Fossil got up from the chair, but sadly, poor Boritz felt glued to his seat, his forehead sweating profusely.

“I say, old chum, are you feeling all right? Do you need a physician? You look rather ashen,” the now disturbed professor asked out of genuine concern as he continued to peer down at Boritz over his spectacles. Boritz still failed to move a muscle, leaving the dear professor still rather stupidly holding his hand out with the full expectation that as a matter of courtesy it would in due season be shaken.

“Uhh,” moaned Boritz. The concerned professor gave up and removed his outstretched hand, which he then positioned inside his jacket, reaching into an inner pocket. He brought out a crisp white envelope he had placed there earlier for safekeeping. “If all is, indeed, well with you, and you therefore do not require the assistance of a doctor, may I leave you my bill for services rendered? Before you ask, I have documented every test that was done on the ring, as well as all my trips on your behalf, phone calls, time spent at the British History Museum, etc. Yes, every service has been individually itemized and then recorded on the account, just as you as requested,” he said as he placed the cool, crisp white envelope in Boritz's open but seriously trembling right hand.

The request for money brought Boritz right back into the land of the living, as without warning he jumped to his feet as though he had just been shocked back to life with the help of an electric eel. Still feeling as shaky as wobbly jelly fresh out of the mold, Boritz limply took hold of the professor's hand to finally do the gentlemanly thing and shake it. “Professor Fossil, if this ring is, as you say, worth a fortune, can I have your word that this discovery will remain a secret between the two of us?” he croaked as he struggled to find the correct words of persuasion.

“Of course, Mr. Scuttlebug. Confidentiality is, after all, my middle name, and so it goes without saying that you have my word, which is my bond. However, I would be failing in my duty if I did not suitably warn you that should this ring turn out to be of great national importance to the history of our beloved country, then you, sir, are under some form of obligation from the authorities to report your priceless find.”

“Oh, but if I were to do such a thing, not only would I lose the ring forever, but I know they will only offer me some small paltry amount of money, yes, a mere pittance in exchange for my parting with this priceless and most beautiful ring.”

“This may be true, but you have to understand the importance of holding on to all archeological finds that must then be recorded and preserved, for they do, I believe, bear much witness and testimony to our distinctly noble heritage. So surely, dear sir, this matters far more than any financial recompense or personal gain.”

“Financial what?” sniffed Boritz, as he refused to take heed to the gentle words of warning that came from the learned man.

“Money, Mr. Scullberry. Yes, I would sincerely like to think that for a gentleman of your caliber and social standing to have your name written down in history as the person who discovered this precious ring would, in itself, be reward enough.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course,” Boritz unconvincingly spluttered as he promptly placed a hand on the professor's arm before anxiously hurrying the ancient-looking historian toward the door of the drawing room. Pitstop, who had been taking a well-earned nap, leapt to his feet to dutifully follow after his master. As the three of them frantically rushed down the long corridor making their way toward the front door, a now very frazzled Boritz appeared to almost be pushing the poor learned gentleman along in his desperate bid to see him leave. The reason for this extraordinarily rude behavior was simply that he had no desire to hear another word from the professor that might even attempt to strike at his already seared conscience and thus find him handing over the priceless ring for the good of our great British heritage!

As they reached the front door, Boritz, as a gesture of good measure, placed a hand on the learned professor's arm and gave it a friendly pat. “Professor Fossil, I will have my secretary put your check in the post forthwith! And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your kind assistance,” he said in his usual obsequious tones, as he still wished to appear both courteous and amicable toward the professor.

The professor, though looking deep in thought, took the time to politely thank him.

Still, Uncle Boritz felt uneasy and nervous. “Oh, and we are still in full agreement, are we not, that all of this shall, for the time being, remain wholly between us? For I am relying on the assumption that the rules regarding privileged information apply here,” Uncle Boritz said, giving a wicked wink as he then gave the learned historian a friendly, hearty pat on the back.

“Let's just say for the time being that it's more of a gentlemen's agreement,” the professor calmly replied as he motioned for Boritz to pass him both his hat and umbrella from the wrought iron stand. Placing his hat back on his head, he then waited patiently for Boritz to unchain the front door and thus allow him to leave.

Boritz opened the door with great gusto, but before he had time to move aside and allow his guest to depart, the sheet rain unexpectedly lashed out at him, instantly soaking him from head to foot and very nearly ruining his smart velveteen jacket. Boritz felt deeply humiliated as large beads of rainwater began to drip down his forehead, so he anxiously pulled out his handkerchief to wipe down his face.

The learned professor must have either not noticed or pretended to ignore what had just taken place, as he chose that moment to end his time with Boritz. “I bid you good night, Mr. Sherriberry.”

“Yes, good night, professor.”

“I guess one could be considered quite a fool to be out on such a night as this,” the professor lightheartedly commented as he struggled to release the catch on his umbrella before heading off in the direction of the station, most determined to catch the next train to Paddington.

“Pompous old fart,” Boritz muttered under his breath as, still dripping water from his forehead, he closed the door on the gentleman, stopping only to peer through the glass eye in order to check that the gentleman had truly departed to go on his merry way.