Read 3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers for Free Online Page A

out in the street, as if a tone deaf brass band on steroids was performing.
    ‘Here we go,’ said Hobbes, springing lightly out the window.
    Had my mouth not been dry, as if coated in peanut butter, I might have screamed. Twisting my neck, I stared down at the street, which was glittering under silvery streetlights and already looking much further away. The rucksack swung as Hobbes, twisting in mid-air, reaching out with one great, muscular arm, grabbed the top of the window frame, and hauled us up and onto the roof. As he scrambled on all fours to the summit, the tuneless braying ceased.
    ‘Alright, Andy?’
    ‘Umm … I suppose.’
    ‘Good. Hold on tight.’
    ‘Hold on to what?’
    There was no reply.
    Blackdog Street consisted of two parallel rows of tall, terraced houses and shops. Hobbes, as agile as a monkey, despite me swinging and bumping on his back, ran along the ridge towards the end of the street next to the Parish Church. Even in my terrified state, I was struck by how magnificent and strange the church looked from such an unusual vantage point. I tried to think about its architecture and not about what would happen should Hobbes slip, or should the frayed old straps on the rucksack snap.
    He stopped and stood upright.
    ‘Where does Sid live exactly?’ I asked.
    ‘Number one, Doubtful Street.’
    ‘That’s to the left, isn’t it?’ Below was the gentle curve of Pound Street. Doubtful Street, one of the oldest in town, led onto it.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How do we get down?’
    ‘Getting down from a roof is easy, although getting down safely may be less so. Do you see that wall over there, the one around the big garden?’
    I grunted an acknowledgment, fearing the worst.
    ‘Well, once we’re on that, it’s an easy drop into Pound Street.’
    ‘But, it’s miles away! How can we possibly reach it? It’s impossible.’ I wished I’d decided to stay home and make do with toast.
    ‘It’s not impossible. I don’t think so, anyway.’
    ‘You’re not going to … oh, God!’
    Hobbes, having taken a few paces back, sprinted along the ridge until, when there was no roof left, he leapt. I didn’t scream, the acceleration having squeezed all the air from my lungs, but I did manage a pathetic whimper that was instantly carried away in the wind rushing past my face. There was a sensation of weightlessness, a long moment when my heart seemed to have stopped and a thud that nearly bounced me from the rucksack. Within a few steps, we came to a halt.
    We were on the wall.
    Hobbes clapped his hands. ‘I thought we’d make it.’
    ‘You didn’t know for sure?’
    ‘Not for sure. I’ve never carried anyone before. It was fun.’
    ‘We could have been killed.’
    ‘But we weren’t. Now, let’s get down before somebody sees us and calls the police.’
    The jump down seemed trivial, and I was suddenly safe, or as safe as anyone could be who was on their way to meet a vampire.
    ‘You might as well walk from here,’ said Hobbes, setting the rucksack down on the pavement.
    Getting out wasn’t as easy as getting in; my legs wobbled like those of a punched out boxer.
    ‘Come along,’ he said, swinging the rucksack onto one shoulder. ‘We don’t want to keep Sid waiting.’
    ‘OK,’ I said, struggling to keep up, trying not to think of how we’d get home, ‘but can you explain something?’
    ‘I can explain many things.’
    ‘I know, but what made that awful racket?’
    He laughed. ‘That was Billy testing his new car horn. I phoned and asked him to put in an appearance. It worked rather well, don’t you think?’
    I nodded. Billy Shawcroft, a good friend of Hobbes, was a dwarf of no small ability, who had shown himself a very useful man in a crisis, and the reconditioned hearse he drove had proved its worth on several occasions.
    Turning into Doubtful Street, we stopped outside number 1, a high, narrow, old house of dusty, lichen-encrusted stone, with a shiny black front door. Leaning forward,