Paddington’s Finest Hour

“You’re right there,” said the second policeman. “Wait till the Superintendent back at the station hears about this. You will be able to produce the relevant documents, of course. Driving licence. Insurance. Three yearly roadworthiness certificate, otherwise …”

“You don’t know our Superintendent,” said Mr Brown. “I’ve played golf with him. He even shouts at the ball if it doesn’t go into the hole cleanly. I hardly think he’s going to laugh his head off when he hears how you kicked my front tyre with such a force all the air came out. I draw the line about using the word ‘vandalism’, but I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes.”

The group fell silent for a moment or two and then sprang into life as a familiar figure carrying a rolled umbrella came into view.

“Everybody out,” said the policeman. “And that’s an order. This is the one we want to question. He gave us the slip back at the postbox and it’s not going to happen a second time.”

And without further ado the two policemen occupied the front of the car, and seeing Jonathan and Judy alighting from the back, Paddington assumed they were making room for him and made for his old seat.

“Don’t open the umbrella whatever you do, Paddington,” called Mrs Brown. “It’s unlucky to open one indoors,” she added for the benefit of the others. “I imagine the same thing applies to a car.”

But she was too late. Paddington had already pressed the catch in the handle and as the folds of the umbrella unfurled, so water cascaded over the other occupants.

“If you ask me,” said the first policeman, when the fuss died down. “It’s a case of even-stevens. Bob’s your uncle, Mr Brown!”

“I didn’t know you had an Uncle Bob, Mr Brown,” said Paddington, as he struggled with the catch on the umbrella. “Is he coming to stay? I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Shh!” hissed Judy. “He hasn’t. And no one is coming to stay.”

Meanwhile the second policeman reached a decision. “In the circumstances I’ll stretch a point and call for a tow truck on my mobile,” he said brusquely. “Wait here.”

“We can hardly do anything else,” said Mr Brown.

“Neither can I,” said the policeman, gritting his teeth.

It was much later that day before the Browns eventually arrived back home. It had stopped raining and Mrs Bird was waiting anxiously by the front door of number thirty-two Windsor Gardens.

“Whatever kept you?” she asked.

“It’s a long story,” said Mrs Brown.

“Has it got anything to do with bears?” asked Mrs Bird.

The Browns stared at her. It really was uncanny the way her mind worked. Nothing got past her eagle eyes.

“It seems it was at its worst in this particular area,” continued Mrs Bird. She turned to Paddington. “Talking of which, what have you been doing to your duffle coat? It looks as though it’s been to the cleaners.”

“Thereby hangs a tale,” said Mr Brown.

“One we are doing our best to forget,” said Mrs Brown.

“News travels fast in this day and age,” said Mrs Bird. “It’s in the evening paper, and it’s been on the radio. I daresay you remember those storms we had a while back when everything got covered with a film of dust and it turned out a lot of it came from the Sahara desert? Well, this time it’s bears. Apparently it’s been raining bears from Darkest Peru.

“There’s a rumour going around that it may have something to do with the traders in the Portobello Market drumming up publicity for their carnival which has been a bit of a washout with all the rain we’ve had, and I was wondering if it was nearer home than that …”

“Have they got any photographs?” asked Jonathan.

“I haven’t seen any so far,” said Mrs Bird.

“Nor will you,” said Judy. “Bears may come and bears may go, but there’s only one Paddington,” she added loyally. “Even he can’t be in two places at once. If you ask me, someone, somewhere, is putting two and two together, and making a great deal too much of it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Mrs Bird. “Mark my words, it will be another nine days’ wonder. I think Paddington had better keep out of the way for the time being.”

With that, she set about getting the supper ready, and it wasn’t until later that evening that Mr Brown remembered the promised award of a ‘little something’ for Paddington posting his letter to the Income Tax Office.

He had already gone up to his room by then and Mr Brown followed him upstairs, only to find him sitting up in bed wearing a long white beard from his disguise outfit.

“Don’t worry, Mr Brown,” he called. “It’s me … Paddington!”

“Thank you for telling me,” said Mr Brown gravely. “I would never have guessed.”

He waited while Paddington put the finishing touches to his disguise before handing him the money. “Don’t spend it all at once,” he said. “I think perhaps you should stay indoors for the next nine days or so until the fuss dies down anyway.

“Being photographed wherever you go is one thing if you are a famous film star, but it’s something else again if you are a bear and like a quiet life. Practically everyone with a mobile telephone has a camera in it these days.”

Paddington looked downcast behind his beard. “Fancy not being able to go out for nine days,” he said. “I shall miss my elevenses with Mr Gruber. I don’t know what he will have to say about it.”

“Exactly the same as what I am about to say, I imagine,” said Mr Brown. “It’s only a saying in much the same way as you say a cat has nine lives or someone is dressed up to the nines.