MAJOR THURLBY AND THE RED
FACED DOCTOR
Doctor Doyle sat at the bar
on his usual stool, a stool that had been specially strengthened to take his
enormous weight, and also shortened by four inches, so that his miniature but muscular legs could
reach the floor.
He was seated towards the end of
the tobacco stained snug, with his broad back positioned so that his corpulent body filled the angle
between the bar and wall. He slowly lifted his large balding head and visually
scanned the bar. His brown eyes darting about the smoke filled room, as if scanning and searching out his chosen
prey.
At first he missed the "Major" who was clothed in a grey
mackintosh and seated in the window bay, but quickly recognised his
nemeses after a further review of those present. Major Thurlby was clutching a
pint of best bitter and smoking a non filtered cigarette with his hat sat upon
his head at a jaunty angle.
Dr Doyle turned his head as a
dart thumped in to the cork dart board, but quickly turned back to stare at the Major.
Major Thurlby reached in to his coat pocket
and retrieved a small red coloured notebook and proceeded to read the contents.
Dr Doyle could see from his seated position
that the script was written in a foreign language, and quickly deduced that it
was German. This was seemingly confirmed by his realisation that the cover of
the notebook was adorned with a stylised Prussian Eagle.
The overweight Doctor turned
towards his pint and slowly drained the glass whilst letting out a wet fart. A set of wire rimmed spectacles
adorned his bulbous and ruddy nose, and were attached to a chain that
circumnavigated his elephantine neck.
His pudgy middle finger pushed the spectacles back from the tip of his
nose and he beckoned to the barman to pour him a further pint of ale.
With his fresh pint of best
bitter in his hand, the grotesquely obese Doctor Doyle slid off his seat and
motioned towards the Major, who was still seated with his comical hat set upon
his head whilst reading his notebook. The Doctor coughed as he approached the Major
and was quickly acknowledged with an outstretched hand.
Their hands met for the
briefest moment in a sweaty embrace, as the corpulent Doctor sat down next to
the Major. “Your business Sir?” retorted
Major Thurlby as he scanned the red faced Doctor seated beside him. “You now
what I want….” was his quite but forceful retort. “Give me the note book now,
and all will be ok – do you fully understand me?”
Major Thurlby sat back in his
seat and stared at the overheated Doctor. “Ahh….. I see you are Doctor Doyle
then”
“I expected a fitter and younger man, but if
it is you, let us do business”.
“The Book, let me see it”
demanded the Doctor, as he held out his hand motioning towards the red notebook
in the Majors left hand.
Major Thurlby tossed the
small book across the table towards the gasping outstretched hands of the Doctor,
who swiftly opened the cover and began to read the pages.
He initially struggled to
read the text, but soon became accustomed to the Germanic script scrawled upon
the lined pages. It soon became apparent that the vast majority of the script
described the addresses of various properties located within a couple of miles radius
from Wembley. The addresses were divided in to localised groups of four, and
were a mixture of commercial and residential properties.
Major Thurlby lifted his
glass and drained the contents with a flourish, indicating to the Doctor that
a refill was required.
The ruddy faced Doctor
shouted across to the bartender and asked for two more of the same. This was
met with a hiss and snarl by the elderly gentleman behind the bar and a shrug
of his crumpled shoulders. However, the
pints were pulled and delivered to the table where the notebook was being
scrupulously studied by the corpulent Doctor Doyle.
Thurlby threw his shoulders
back and asked Doyle why he wished to help the Reich, and how long he had
detested the British. His handlers in Berlin had only briefly appraised Major
Thurlby of the background and nature of his treacherous contact, and his thirst
for further details was getting the better of him.
Dr Doyle put down the scarlet
notebook and stuffed his left hand in to his jacket pocket and removed a three
inch piece of shrapnel. “This is the reason” he exclaimed, throwing the ragged
metal on to the table. “This was removed from my knee in Dublin” he continued to shout at the Germanic
interloper.
He went on to explain that
his family was from Dublin,
Ireland, and
that the British “Black and Tan” had killed various friends and members of his
family during the Easter uprising. During and after this event, Doctor Doyle
had fought for the Free Irish and was present when a large bomb exploded near
the General Post Office in Dublin,
and that the shrapnel in his knee was a direct result of that blast.
“That’s why I hate those
bastards !” he replied, with his eyes full of tears and his purple face almost
exploding with rage.
He settled back and took a
long gulp from his glass and placing his hands behind his neck, he surveyed
the pub, looking to see if his outburst had been witnessed by fellow imbibers.
He quickly satisfied himself that all was ok, as the only other person
currently within earshot was "mad Pa Bumfold", who was as drunk as a bohemian
parrot and would not remember being in the pub, let alone what the Doctor had
retorted.
The Doctor rose to his feet, placed the notebook in his pocket and moved slowly back to the Bar.
The Major followed him and
enquired as to his payment for the information that he had bestowed upon the
Doctor. The Doctor laughed and poked his finger towards the Major. “You!” he
whispered, “first tell me who enabled you to establish such a detailed list of
properties!”.
The Major shuffled his feet and explained that the night sergeant at Wembley Police station was
a third generation expatriate from
Heidelberg, and had been supplying the Major with useful information, including
details for the successful recent bombing of the Stonebridge Park Power
station.
With this, a bundle of white
five pound notes were exchanged and the Major swiftly left the premises,
hurriedly walking back towards Sudbury Town
and the Harrow road.
The Doctor waited until he
was a hundred yards down the road and motioned to the barman to pass him the
phone. He picked up the hand set and asked the operator for Acorn 4444, waiting for the rhythmic hum of the ringing tone after the exchange had made the
connection.
The phone rang for three
rings and was answered by a deep voiced man who retorted “is it done ?” The
Doctor quickly intimated the affirmative and responded in a whisper “we have him
Sir, we have finally got the German bastard” and gently replaced the receiver
with a huge red smile about his round face.
He pulled out the Red Book
from his pocked and scribbled some notes in the margins and proceeded to leave
the Mitre, glancing behind to wish the barman well, before striding out in to
the dark cool air and turning right towards the “Carlton Lodge” and further
mystery with an agent who went by the name Big Dick, a Scot with a taste for "a wee dram", and a love of boisterous behaviour.
http://horsingtonsmythe.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/the-abominable-major-thurlby.html
