And Thereby Hangs a Tale

Arnold went straight to the lavatory, and when he looked at himself in the mirror two bleary red eyes in an unshaven face stared back at him. He tidied himself up as best he could before creeping into his office. He hoped that when the staff arrived, not too many of them would notice that he hadn’t shaved and was wearing the same clothes as he had worn the day before.

He sat at his desk and began to write down everything he’d witnessed during the past month, going into particular detail when it came to what had taken place the night before. Once he’d finished, he sat staring into space for some time before he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed 999.

“Emergency services, which service do you require?” said a cool voice.

“Police please,” said Arnold, trying not to sound nervous. He heard a click, then another voice came on the line and said, “Police service. What is the nature of your emergency?”

Arnold looked down at the pad in front of him, and read out the statement he had just prepared. “My name is Arnold Pennyworthy. I need to speak to a senior police officer, as I have some important information concerning the possibility of a serious crime having been committed, in which terrorists may be involved.”

Another click, another voice, this time with a name. “Control room. Inspector Newhouse.”

Arnold read his statement a second time, word for word.

“Could you be a little more specific, sir?” the inspector asked. Once Arnold had told him the details, the officer said, “Hold on, please, sir. I’m going to put you through to a colleague at Scotland Yard.”

Another line, another voice, another name. “Sergeant Roberts speaking. How can I help?”

Arnold repeated his prepared statement a third time.

“I think it may be wise, sir, if you didn’t say too much more over the phone,” suggested Roberts. “I’d prefer to come and see you so we can discuss it in person.”

Arnold didn’t realize that this suggestion was used to get rid of crank callers and those who simply wanted to waste police time.

“That’s fine by me,” he said, “but I’d prefer it if you visited me at the bank rather than my apartment.”

“I quite understand, sir. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

“But you don’t know the address.”

“We know your address, sir,” said Sergeant Roberts without explanation.

Arnold didn’t leave his office that morning, even to carry out his usual check on the tellers. Instead, he busied himself opening the post and checking his e-mails. There were several phone messages he should have responded to, but they could wait until the man from Scotland Yard had come and gone.

Arnold was pacing up and down in his office when there was a ta

p on the door.

“There’s a Sergeant Roberts to see you,” said his surprised-looking secretary. “Says he has an appointment.”

“Show him in, Diane,” said Arnold, “and make sure that we’re not disturbed.”

Arnold’s secretary stood aside to allow a tall, smartly dressed young man to enter the office. She closed the door behind him.

The sergeant introduced himself and the two men shook hands before he produced his warrant card.

“Would you like a tea or coffee, Sergeant Roberts?” Arnold asked after he had carefully checked the card.

“No, thank you, sir,” the sergeant replied, sitting down opposite Arnold and opening a notebook.

“Where shall I start?” said Arnold.

“Why don’t you take me through exactly what you saw taking place, Mr. Pennyworthy. Don’t spare me any details, however irrelevant you may consider they are.”

Arnold checked through his notes once again. He began by describing in great detail everything he’d seen during the past month, ending with a full account of what he’d witnessed in the flat opposite the previous night. When he finally came to the end, he poured himself a glass of water.

“What’s your neighbor’s name?” was the sergeant’s first question.

“Good heavens,” said Arnold, “I have no idea. But I can tell you that he’s recently moved into the block, and has taken a short lease.”