Академический Документы
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www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB
Acknowledgments
I am indebted to my cousin, Peter Murphy, a TV consultant,
for his helpful advice, sound judgment and encouragement,
which enabled me to get this book published. Thank you,
Peter.
And to my wife, who is more computer literate than I am,
for providing much needed assistance in the books
formatting, as well as practical support and guidance. Thank
you, Brenda.
Finally, I must acknowledge my publishers for giving me,
an unknown author, the chance to get this story published.
So, to all the editors and production staff at Austin
Macauley who have assisted me, thank you.
Chapter One
As the winter sun rose over Cwmlas, an extraordinary
village that nestled in a secluded Welsh valley, long
forgotten by the rest of the world, Darius was sitting in
his favourite armchair, warming himself before the
fire. He wasnt thinking of anything in particular, just
indulging in pleasant daydreams. He had washed his
face and trimmed his shaggy whiskers that morning,
and was waiting in his study for Mrs Hedges, his
housekeeper, to tell him that breakfast was ready.
Darius was an amateur detective but no ordinary one
he was The Daring Detective. Indeed, that was how
the local Gazette had described him in the latest edition
of the paper, which was the main source of news to
everyone besides word of mouth, that is. And that
description was really quite apt because he confronted
villains that no one else would and solved crimes that
no one else could; in fact, nothing delighted him more
than helping the police to round up and pen the local
miscreants.
Darius leaned back in the armchair and stretched
his legs so that he could toast his toes in front of the
crackling fire. He was wearing a pair of blue, cotton
pyjamas with a stripy dressing gown that was tied at
the waist with a braided cord. He looked up at the
portrait of his great-grandfather that was hanging
above the mantelpiece and thought what a fine fellow
he was. Generations of his family had lived in this
comfortable, old house down the years, and now
Chapter Two
Constable Bonkers opened the door fully and, as they
followed him down a dimly lit corridor, he muttered to
himself, My backs playing up a bit and this cold spell
isnt helping it any. I was only complaining to Bertha
this morning
Hang about, Bonkers, Max broke in, I wasnt
asking you: Whats the matter? I was just saying, you
know: Whats up!
Well, Im trying to tell you whats up, if you give
me a chance, Bonkers responded, somewhat put out.
Never mind, Bonkers. Max sighed.
Bonkers wasnt mad or crazy or anything like that
but he wasnt the brightest star in the galaxy either. No
one knew exactly how he had acquired the name, but
some folk recalled that it had probably originated when
he was in school. He certainly did some daft things in
those days, more often than not to impress his friends.
Like the time he swallowed thirty hard-boiled eggs in
as many minutes as a dare, then was horribly sick for
the next two days. Or the time he sauntered into Mr
Toadys classroom on Halloween, dressed up as Father
Christmas, when his classmates were masquerading as
ghosts, ghouls and monsters which did get a laugh
from them but didnt amuse old Toady one bit. As his
silly exploits continued, the other pupils would say to
him, Youre bonkers, you are, and, quite naturally
over time, the nickname stuck. He didnt seem to mind
and, in fact, on being addressed in this fashion, would