The Detective

“I see that this is a rather large footprint,” the man said examining it minutely with a telescope.

“Do you use that sort of thing to make your deductions?” I enquired surprised.

“I base all my deductions, subtractions and multiplication with it,” he replied.

“Why not use a magnifying glass?” I asked.

“I use it when I’m thinking aloud,” he said.

“But there can’t be a footprint in that pressure cooker,” I protested.

“Now that you say it, you might be right,” he chuckled, “Elementary my dear Watson. I was only testing your powers of deduction.”

“Now deduce what is wrong with the pressure cooker,” I said sharply, “There’s no need to test my powers.”

“The cooker seems to be all right, but the pressure seems to be the problem,” the man said after examining it for a while.

“Is that so?” I asked.

“High pressure is bad and low pressure is worse,” He said sadly, “I don’t know what other things might be wrong.

“Are you a doctor?” I asked taken aback.

“Sort of, I run a detective service and also look after pressure cookers, dishwashers and washing machines when they aren’t keeping well,” he said.

“What does a detective have to do with repairing kitchen gadgets?” I questioned.

“I first deduce the problem with my incredibly sharp brain then I arrive at a conclusion, and finally I deduce the paying capacity of my client,” he said.

I jingled a few coins before his nose. “Jingle bells, now get on with it.”

“But tell me first what is wrong with your fridge, washing machine and dishwasher, I’ll do them all together. It’s a package deal,” he said.

“There is nothing wrong with them, you only need to look at the pressure cooker,” I remarked.

“That’s bad,” he said pulling his nose, “Since I will only get the pressure cooker to work on, I am hiking my rate, it would have cost you less if you had let me take apart your fridge, dishwasher and washing machine.”

“Just the pressure cooker,” I said firmly.

“This pressure cooker has been leading a hard life, from what I see,” the detective said meditatively. 

“Shall I call you Watson?”

“No,” I replied pointedly.

“It would help the case tremendously if you allow me to call you Watson and you call me Sherlock,” he said.

 I shook my head violently in disagreement.

“As I was saying, the poor pressure cooker has had a rough life under you, you could get arrested for it,” he warned.

What are you talking about?”

“Maltreatment of one so young,” he said pointedly, “And trying to play it down never helps.”

“I didn’t maltreat anyone,” I said astounded.

“Then what do I see, here a nick and there a dent, you must have been very sadistic in your outlook towards this pressure cooker. And just because it can’t speak makes me speechless with rage imagining what it could have told me,” the detective said.

I stood dumbfounded.

“Did you ever offer it hot food and a warm bed, I don’t think so,” he said shaking his head. “How heartless can a man be.”

“You are making my heart bleed,” I replied.

“You will soon have a bloody head if so much as lay a finger on this dear little thing,” he said fondling the pressure cooker.

“Are you going to fix that thing or polish it?” I asked annoyed.

“Fix, that’s the word that comes to your mind eh, the question of better care and therapeutic treatment will never come to your heartless mind,” he said.

“You call me heartless without even telling me the money you will take,” I said pathetically.

“Now, now, grown men don’t cry,” he said.

“I’m not crying but gnashing my teeth and doing a war dance before I scalp you,” I said leaping about in agitation.

 “I did not realise that you were so abnormal,” he said eyeing me up and down.

“Will you fix that pressure cooker or not, it has stopped whistling,” I howled.

“You mustn't howl now,” the detective said, “You should only do that at full moon if you are a wolf.”

“Do I look like a wolf?” I demanded.

“You have a wolfish air, I will be doubly certain when I see what you pay me,” he said.

“Will you see why it has stopped whistling?” I asked lividly.

“It’s age. Do you whistle at the girls at your age? You don’t. That’s why the pressure cooker has stopped whistling.”

“Is that your deduction?” I asked coldly.

“That is my deduction after an inspection with the telescope,” he replied.

“You mean that the pressure cooker is so old it has forgotten how to whistle!” I exclaimed in annoyance.

“You can employ a curvy maid or a cook,” he suggested, “It can help, or you can bathe it in the fountain of youth.”

“Why would a curvy maid or cook come to work for an old fogey like me?” I asked while mulling over the possibilities with an open mind.

“They could return you to the fountain of youth with ‘an address not known’ stamped across your flat bottom.”

“If I go, I could take the pressure cooker along so that we can both benefit,” I said thinking of the brighter prospects. “What do they have at these fountains?”

“Quite possibly stuff that even the quacks would not touch but served in gilded goblets by nymphs and mermaids,” the chap said eloquently.

“Do they make mermaids these days?” I asked doubtfully.

“Belief is the important thing,” he emphasised.

I nodded agreeably. “I have started to believe already.”

“Faith that is what is needed,” the Detective said.

“You have faith and belief?” I asked him.

“Certainly. Sometimes I have a dull week but I have faith and belief. I chuck a stone at a windowpane and then offer my services to the aggrieved householder to investigate the dastardly act, for a fee of course,” he said smoothly.

“But what help will it be to throw a brick at a window in getting a nymph or a mermaid?” I asked anxiously.

“That’s potluck. You can also find a bulldog trying to get his teeth into your shrunken bottom in the hope of finding a bone,” he said quizzically.

“That’s out then,” I said with finality.

“You should look for glass houses then, people living in them don’t chuck stones. You could try one of those houses with a good-sized brick,” he suggested.

“But where will I find them?” I asked bewildered.

“Buy a map, you are certain to come up with a number of glass houses or could try the houses of politicians they don’t throw stones either not unless one is contesting against them.”

“Do I need to buy a compass also?” I asked.

“It would mean greater accuracy.”

“Will there be any luck with nymphs if I were to buy a map and a compass?” I questioned.

“That depends. If your luck is in, the nymphs will be in and if you luck is out the map and compass will show you the quickest route out.”

“I can always chuck a stone through windows to ascertain if a nymph is in,” I said eagerly.

“That won’t do you know, I would immediately know it was you and I always get my man,” he said clenching his teeth.

“Do you also teach bulldogs?” I asked in awe.

“They come to my finishing school to perfect their bites. It’s not the bite that matters, but where to bite and quantity of flesh that has to be seized and impounded,” the detective explained.

“Do you give them telescopes and magnifying glasses?” I asked meekly.

“Not at all, I use them to determine the vermins from which the specimens were extracted under duress,” he replied.

“Isn’t it uncomfortable to carry a telescope around?”

“I carry it beneath my right armpit and a revolver in the left,” he confided.

“You are armed?” I asked in surprise.

He gave me a wink. “The bullets aren’t real, but it’s enough to scare the living daylights out of ghosts, I’m terribly scared of ghosts,” the detective said.

“But what if you are attacked by bad men?” I asked fearfully.

“I know judo,” he said, “Come here,” he commanded and kicked me soundly sending me sprawling several yards away.

“That was great,” I gasped in admiration as I picked myself up painfully.

“Want an encore?” he asked smiling.

“Let’s save that for next year,” I said weakly.

“Happy New Year,” he said and kicked me in the shin.

“Ow, I give up,” I said raising my hands.

“They always raise their hands in the end to me,” the detective said smugly.

I stood up like a bent pole and let out my breath with a gasp.

“Shall I give you assisted breathing,” the chap asked with temerity.

I shook my head.

“What about my pressure cooker?” I managed to gasp.

 The Detective nodded his head sadly.

“Order the wreaths, buy a dozen candles, say a prayer or two for it to rest in peace then throw it in the nearest dustbin,” he replied and left.