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The author is an aspiring writer who lives with his wife

and pet Dalmatian in South Wales. Whilst Cwmlas is


mythical, it reminds him of happy places he frequented
in his early childhood.

Mr OSullivan this is for you.

Copyright Jeremy Damian


The right of Jeremy Damian to be identified as author of this work
has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of
the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the
publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims
for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library.

ISBN 978 1 84963 924 8

www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain

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

Darius was the sole occupant with Mrs Hedges, of


course, who had been there for as long as he could
remember and who had known Darius since he was a
young pup. He had a great fondness for her because
she had really been a nanny to him when he was
growing up. For some reason, she constantly wore
black clothes, as if she were in perpetual mourning,
although she did have a contented life. She was quite
happy looking after Darius, and took pleasure in
keeping the house clean and tidy and making sure he
ate well; and she was a very good cook. Her only
irritating feature was that she shrieked a lot because
she was going deaf. She thought that if she couldnt
hear herself, nobody else could.
As Darius dreamt about what it would have been
like to live in the good old days, a dark shadow
interrupted his thoughts, like a bad memory
resurfacing, and the outlines of a leering, evil face
started to creep into his consciousness. But his sharp
mind resisted immediately and dispelled the disturbing
image in an instant. Yet, his body still shivered
momentarily as if someone had just walked over his
grave. He settled back into the chair and returned to
happier thoughts; but not for long as Mrs Hedges
piercing voice ripped through the air and snapped him
out of his reverie.
Mr Darius! Breakfast is ready and its on the
table!
He knew better than to dawdle, so he quickly
popped his feet into some black-and-white check,
fleecy slippers, rose from the comfort of the armchair
and walked smartly into the dining room.

Good morning, Mrs H, he said. Did you sleep


well?
I never have a good nights sleep, Mr Darius, she
moaned, because my rooms too cold and the water
pipes are noisy. You know that Ive got a bad back and
I need warmth to soothe it. When are you going to get
someone in to fix the radiators?
Yes, I really must make a note to get that done,
Darius replied sympathetically. Leave it to me, Mrs
H.
Most mornings during the cold weather, they had a
similar conversation before breakfast but Darius never
got around to fixing the radiator in Mrs Hedges
bedroom. It was not that he didnt care about his
faithful housekeeper; it was just that something else
more important usually came up which distracted him.
Whilst his bedroom was on the first floor, she had her
own living quarters in a separate wing on the second
floor of this large red brick house. Darius never
ventured into that part of the property, so he couldnt
say whether the heating system worked properly or
not, but he believed her; though she did tend to
exaggerate. Darius suspected (but was too polite to tell
her) that she simply enjoyed the chance to bristle about
the irksome radiators and her make-believe lack of
sleep because, invariably, she was fresh and alert at the
beginning of each day. He supposed too that theirs was
one of those conversations that had become a kind of a
ritual, so that, if the radiators were ever fixed, she
would feel something was missing from their early
morning dialogue.
Whats for breakfast? Darius enquired.

A medium boiled egg, just as you like it, two


rounds of hot buttered toast with your favourite orange
marmalade and a pot of piping hot tea.
Splendid, absolutely splendid, Mrs H! A feast fit
for a king! Darius replied.
Oh, go on with you, Mr Darius, Mrs Hedges said,
blushing slightly at his extravagant praise for what
was, essentially, a simple meal; but, really, she liked
him complimenting her on the food she cooked for
him, even though he did go over the top sometimes.
She handed him the Gazette and withdrew to the
kitchen to have a bite-to-eat herself. Darius sat down at
the table and, for a moment, savoured the smells
wafting upwards from the hot food in front of him,
before tucking in. He first cut a slice of toast into
fingers and dunked each one into the soft, yellow yolk,
causing it to ooze over the side of the egg. After
finishing the egg, he spread a thick layer of marmalade
over the other slice of toast and munched it greedily.
Delicious, as ever, he thought to himself. He then
poured a cup of tea, stirred in one level teaspoon of
sugar and sipped the invigorating hot liquid. He simply
couldnt start the day without a steaming hot cuppa.
After sighing with contentment, he opened the
newspaper and glanced routinely at the front-page
story. Although Cwmlas was a country village, there
was always something happening which caught his
attention particularly if the story concerned
somebody who was up to no good. He wasnt
disappointed on this occasion. In big, bold, black
letters followed by smaller print, the headline
screamed:

LADY SERENAS SAPPHIRE HAS BEEN


STOLEN the police are making enquiries but
have no suspects yet. Perhaps, this is another case
for Darius The Daring Detective.
Hmm, Darius mused, it looks like the police
may need my help once again. I must visit them
straightaway to offer any assistance I can.
He left the dining table and proceeded upstairs to
his bedroom to get dressed.
Since it was a very cold day, he wore a thermal
cotton vest and long pants underneath a crisp, white,
grandpa shirt that Mrs Hedges had ironed for him. He
put on a pair of brown corduroy trousers and a dark
green corduroy jacket, which had leather elbow
patches. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on a
pair of his thickest socks. Before going back
downstairs to get his Wellington boots from the pantry,
he opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet,
picked up a solid gold watch and chain and dropped it
into the right hand pocket of his jacket. This was a
precious heirloom that had been given to him by his
father who had inherited it from his grandfather who,
in turn, had received it from his great-grandfather, and
Darius rarely went anywhere without it. Remarkably, it
still kept good time, but he did have to remember to
rewind it every thirty days. Darius never forgot to do
so, as he was particular about most things. He liked to
be groomed and well dressed and appreciated order in
his life; everything had to be in the right place or done
at the right time. He considered his actions carefully
and seldom rushed into a situation without analysing it
properly. Indeed, he didnt rush at all and his response

was always thoughtful and measured the sign of a


good detective.
Once he had pulled on a pair of dark green
Wellington boots, tucking the bottoms of his trousers
neatly inside, he grabbed a charcoal-coloured, woollen
overcoat from the cloakroom and threw it on, as he
opened the front door.
Dont forget your woolly scarf and cap, Mr
Darius! Mrs Hedges shrieked again from the kitchen.
Its blooming well freezing out there!
No, I wont, he called back; though he had no
intention of wearing those particular items of clothing.
She did fuss over him a great deal but she couldnt
help it. She had knitted him a garish scarf and
matching cap that seemed to consist of all of the
colours of the rainbow. They would undoubtedly have
kept his neck and head warm but there was no way he
was going to wear them. However, as he didnt want to
offend good old Mrs Hedges, he thought it was better
to oblige her by taking them off the clothes peg and
hiding them in the pockets of his overcoat. Then he
walked outside on this chilly, winter morning.
A pale sun glimmered faintly in a pewter sky and a
sheet of glistening frost covered everything; from the
long gravel path that wound between fir trees at the
front of his property to the green fields on the hillside
yonder. He breathed in deeply and exhaled a plume of
cloudy air, thinking to himself, Its going to snow
today. I can feel it in my bones. Just at that moment,
Maximillian (known to his friends as Max) came
crunching up the path, half walking, half running, and
panted, Whats up, Darius! (Max greeted everyone

this way.) Have you heard about the missing


sapphire?
Yes, Ive just read about it in the Gazette and am
on my way down to the police station. Coming, Max?
You bet. Count me in, Max replied
enthusiastically.
Darius and Max were best friends and, whenever
Darius was about to embark on a new adventure, he
was pleased, as well as a little relieved, to have his
trusted companion alongside him. Max was dressed in
a shabby, brown overcoat that looked too big for him
and that was buttoned to the neck with the collar
turned up. He liked wearing it, not only because it kept
him warm but also because it had lots of deep pockets
in which he could carry an assortment of useful things.
Peeking below this oversized coat were some faded
jeans and a pair of scuffed training shoes.
Contrastingly, he had on some bright yellow mittens
that were obviously a Christmas present. Since Max
was short-sighted, he wore glasses that seemed to
habitually slide down his nose which meant that,
whenever he looked up to speak to someone, he tended
to twitch his snout in the process. He had to do that
with Darius anyway because, although he was
certainly taller and furrier than the average mutt,
Darius was still a head and shoulders above him in
stature. He was an impulsive sort of chap who tended
to act first and think later, so Darius had to keep an eye
on him; but he was always unfailingly in good spirits
which endeared him to Darius and, indeed, to everyone
else.
When they got to the end of the path, they turned
into the lane and headed for the police station that was

located at the heart of the village. Most folk had wisely


decided to stay indoors in their warm and cosy
parlours, but a few hardy souls had ventured outside
and were going about their regular business, undaunted
by the icy weather. Those whom Darius met on the
way, he greeted cordially with either, Good morning,
or How are you? and, after a brief exchange of
pleasantries, he usually finished by adding, Ill be
surprised if it doesnt snow later today.
Max, on the other hand, greeted passers-by in his
unique manner; except that Darius had to gently
remind him that not everyone appreciated being
addressed by, Whats up! especially if they werent
in a good humour or feeling particularly perky that
morning.
After a brisk walk, they came to a stop outside a
grey stone building that looked drearier than normal on
this dull frosty day. A dark blue sign hung above the
front door that announced sombrely in plain, white
lettering, POLICE STATION. Darius lifted the
heavy, silver knocker and banged it twice against the
solid, black door. They waited but nothing happened.
Max was going to knock again when Darius stayed his
hand and suggested, Lets give him a little longer,
shall we?
It was generally regarded as inconsiderate to an
occupier to keep knocking his front door; unless, of
course, there was some sort of emergency. Max began
to stamp his feet impatiently, but also to keep them
from going numb, and even Darius started to rub his
hands together; it was definitely getting colder. Then
they heard a hollow voice, like someone speaking in a
tunnel, Im coming, and the sound of approaching

footsteps got louder. The door creaked open and a


droopy face peered out.
Oh, its you two.
Whats up, Bonkers! Max exclaimed. Come on,
let us in. Its freezing out here.

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

proudly boast, Thats me Bonkers by name, bonkers


by nature! It may have been amusing then but, now
that he had grown up and was the village bobby,
whenever he repeated this expression, it was positively
embarrassing. The problem was that, due to force of
habit, he just couldnt help saying it.
As they proceeded along the corridor, Darius
managed to get a fleeting glimpse of some of the
notices that were pinned to each wall. One warned,
DONT ROLL AND RIDE which he thought was
quite snappy. Since Bonkers didnt have a snappy bone
in his body, Darius guessed that his wife, Bertha, had
probably dreamt up that punchy phrase. He suspected
that it was aimed at those rascals who rolled out of The
Drunk and Incapable Arms late at night, after an
evenings merriment, and then foolishly decided to try
and ride back home on their bicycles. Another notice
cautioned
youngsters,
DONT
TALK
TO
STRANGERS YOU DONT KNOW which Darius
regarded as sound advice, though it was rather
overstating the obvious. That one had more than likely
been devised by Bonkers himself.
They were led into a small office that wasnt much
brighter than the passageway. Bonkers sat down on a
large, comfortable chair behind an imposing desk and
invited his friends to do likewise. There were two, bare
wooden chairs in front of the desk that allowed them to
sit, but not in any comfort. Perhaps that was the idea?
The room was a contradiction in terms because it was
both sparse and cluttered. There was hardly any
furniture a desk, some chairs and a filing cabinet
but what was there was covered in files, documents
and the sort of bric-a-brac you would expect to find in

an office. Unfortunately, Bonkers was quite a


disorganised bloodhound and he didnt have a proper
filing system. Consequently, there were open folders
on his desk; closed files on the wooden chairs; sundry
papers scattered around the floor; and the poor old
filing cabinet was leaning over pitifully from the
weight of documents crammed into it. Consequently,
Bonkers had had to jam a couple of cardboard wedges
under the cabinets front feet in order to keep it upright
and give it some dignity. Nevertheless, as furniture
went, it looked pretty forlorn.
Darius and Max lifted the files off the chairs and
placed them in heaps on the thinly carpeted floor, and
sat down.
Now, Bonkers, Darius said, tell me whats
happened from the beginning please.
Well, I got out of bed, cleaned my teeth and
washed my face, then I got dressed Bonkers began.
No, wait a moment, Darius interjected with a
note of exasperation in his voice, I dont need to
know everything you did today. Just start from when
the sapphire was first reported as missing.
Bonkers didnt like to be interrupted, particularly as
he was supposed to be the one in authority, but he
wasnt about to argue with Darius. So he rearranged a
few papers on the desk, as if he had meant to do that
anyway, gave a loud sniff as if to say, Do you mind!
and continued again, slowly.
As I was saying: early this morning, I received a
telephone call from Boris Badger, the butler up at the
manor. He was blathering on about something terrible
had happened. To tell you the truth, Darius, it was
some time before I could get any sense out of him. I

told him (at this point, Bonkers put on his official


voice), Now look here, Boris, I cant help you if you
dont give me the facts. When he had composed
himself, Boris related to me that his mistress, Lady
Serena, had locked her silver necklace and sapphire
pendant away in the safe, before she went to bed last
night, but, when she woke up, the safe was open and
the necklace was gone. After speaking with the
servants and satisfying herself that none of them was a
likely culprit, she asked the Squire to ring the Gazette
office straight away, so that the theft could be
publicized in todays edition. As I didnt manage to
speak with the Squire, I advised Boris not to disturb
anything at the crime scene and to lock the room in
question, until I arrived. And thats how the matter
stands.
Darius had been listening intently with his hands
clasped together on his chin, as if in thoughtful prayer,
when he released them suddenly and spoke. Well
done, Bonkers, that was sensible of you. Right, well
obviously need to speak with Lady Serena and the
Squire and then examine the crime scene, before
reaching any preliminary conclusions. Give Boris a
ring now and tell him to expect us by noon.
Bonkers started to hunt for his address book, as he
couldnt remember the telephone number off-hand, but
he was unable to lay his hands on it.
Berthas forever moving things about in here and
tidying up after me, he complained, his frustration
evident. I can never find anything.
At this juncture, Bertha happened to pop her head
around the door, which was slightly ajar, and, looking

directly at her husband, asked pointedly, Talking


about me, were you?
Not really, my sweet, Bonkers replied meekly. I
was just wondering where my address book was.
Its in the front right hand drawer of your desk
behind the manual on Proper Police Procedure, she
emphasised with barely disguised sarcasm.
Oh, so it is, Bonkers admitted in an apologetic
tone, as he removed it from the drawer.
Its a wonder you can find anything in this room
its a complete mess, Bertha continued. The number
of times Ive had to come in here and sort things out
for you and thats on top of everything else I have to
do. Youd lose your own head if it wasnt screwed on.
Darius and Max just sat there patiently, mere silent
witnesses to this domestic courtroom drama. As far as
Bertha was concerned, when it came to her husband,
she was the prosecutor, judge and jury and Bonkers
was the hapless defendant who was guilty as charged.
They knew from experience that it was not advisable to
interrupt her when she was in the middle of a rant,
even a mild one like today that would only register
about three on the Richter Scale.
Now, now, dear, dont get yourself into a lather,
we have visitors, Bonkers whispered soothingly,
endeavouring to placate his wife, while he glanced at
his friends.
It worked, because Bertha suddenly calmed down
as if he had opened a gauge on her side and released all
the pressure. She fussed momentarily with her clothes,
looked at Darius and Max and enquired politely, as
though nothing had gone on before, Would you like
something to drink?

Max piped up, Anything please as long as its


hot.
Bertha smiled sweetly and replied that she had a
pot of ready-made soup simmering on the stove in the
kitchen; whereupon she disappeared and returned in
hardly any time at all with three mugs of steaming
broth.
Thank you very much, Bertha, Darius said (he
dared not call her Mrs Bonkers). Youre too kind.
This is really excellent soup, isnt it, Max?
Mmmm its delicious, he answered, as he
lapped it up.
Bertha beamed with delight as she wiped her hands
on a red-and-blue, polka dot apron that seemed to
perfectly match her hot and cold temperament.
When Bertha left the room, carrying the empty
mugs back to the kitchen, Bonkers took the
opportunity to ring the manor. He didnt like her
around when he made official police calls, in case she
interrupted him, which she was prone to do.
Boris, this is Constable Bonkers here. Darius and
Max are with me and Ive just given them the brief
facts of the theft you reported. Can you inform Lady
Serena and the Squire to expect us at twelve oclock?
Is that all right?
There was a short pause, no doubt to allow Boris to
take instructions, when Bonkers continued. It is.
Good. Well see you then. And Boris you will tell the
Squire, wont you?
Darius and Max could visualize Boris muttering
opposition to this final request at the other end of the
line, as Bonkers replaced the phone. Shaking his head,
he got up and put on a long, grey trench coat, which he

fastened to the collar and which concealed a dark blue


tunic with shiny brass buttons. Indeed, only the very
bottoms of his pressed trousers could be seen hovering
above a pair of polished black shoes. These shoes were
standard police issue that were not only waterproof but
also had thick rubber soles, which made walking any
distance more bearable. After pocketing a notebook
and pen, a whistle and some handcuffs, as well as his
trusty truncheon (again standard police issue) he
popped a black helmet on his head, which he cocked to
one side (the way he liked to wear it) to complete his
attire.
They returned down the same passageway they
came in. Darius and Max both noticed that Bonkers
seemed to be walking very cautiously, as if he was
trying to tiptoe out of the station. Once he had lifted
the latch carefully and opened the front door slowly,
Bonkers called out, Were off now, dear. See you
later.
They guessed correctly, because this inoffensive
farewell triggered a crescendo of utterances, like a
gathering storm, from Bertha who was still in the
residential quarters at the rear of the building.
Bonkers, just you wait a minute, followed by,
Ah! and, Oh bother! as she probably spilt
something in the kitchen in her haste to get to the
hallway.
Dont forget you still have to build a sledge for
the younguns; and you can tidy up the shed
afterwards; and tea will be on the table at six oclock
sharp. Dont be late.

Her final words faded into the air like steam


evaporating from a boiling kettle, as they slipped
through the door and hurried on their way.
Aaaah married life, eh, Bonkers. Bliss, isnt it?
Max joked.
Your time will come, you young scamp, Bonkers
retorted. Mark my words it will and well see whos
joshing then. And they all laughed.
The manor was situated right on the outskirts of the
village, so they marched, rather than walked, along
with the combined intention of getting there as quickly
as possible and of keeping themselves warm. As they
passed Mrs Peekys Tea Shop, they nearly bumped in
to Rowena and her younger sister who happened to be
emerging, having spent a very pleasant time drinking
tea and eating cream scones, and talking about this,
that and the other.
Im terribly sorry, Miss Rowena, we didnt see
you, Darius said apologetically.
Thats all right, Darius, Rowena answered
graciously, no harm done.
The group was standing together in a huddle, which
was a little too close for comfort, so Darius continued.
Were in rather a hurry to get to the manor. Youve
heard the news, I suppose?
About the missing sapphire? Yes, its awful, isnt
it? Rowena replied.
Yes, it certainly is, Darius said; but couldnt
think of anything further to say.
As a result, there was a pregnant pause in the
conversation that put everyone in a sort of time
vacuum. Bonkers started to fidget, which progressed to
rubbing his hands together and blowing on them; and it

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