MAJOR THURLBY AND THE RED FACED DOCTOR

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.   
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