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truth of it. Carried off to glory, they were. Transcended their physical bodies.”
    Eddie and Jack did mutual lookings at each other once more.
    “I may be next,” said Tinto, “so you’d better pay up for these drinks. I want my cash register to balance if I’m going.”
    “Now, just hold on, Tinto,” said Eddie. “Are you telling me that all the monkeys – and I am assuming that you mean the cymbal-playing monkeys that bounce up and down?”
    Tinto nodded.
    “That all of these monkeys combusted last night – is that what you’re saying?”
    “I think it was
you
who just said that,” said Tinto, “but correct me if I’m wrong.”
    “But what happened?”
    “It’s what the papers say. Or rather what they don’t.”
    “This
is
a case,” said Eddie to Jack. “This is a serious case.”
    “
All
the cymbal-playing monkeys?” said Jack to Tinto.
    “Thirty-three. Or was it eighty-seven?”
    “You said about half a dozen.”
    “Well, I’ll say anything, me,” said Tinto, “as long as it makes me popular.”
    “Show me this paper,” said Eddie Bear.
    And Tinto showed him the paper.
    It was the
Toy City Mercury
and the spontaneously combusting monkeys had not made the front-page headlines. Eddie located a small article on page thirteen, sandwiched between advertisements for kapok stuffing and dolly hair-styling.
    Eddie read the article. “Eleven monkeys,” he whispered.
    “Twelve counting the one in the beer bottle,” said Jack.
    “The one in the beer bottle?” said Tinto.
    “Nothing,” said Eddie. “But this is all rot. Who is this Professor Potty who has come up with the S.T.C. theory, anyway?”
    “Eminent scientist.” Tinto gathered up further empties and took to the polishing of them. “He does that thing where he pours one flask of liquid into another flask and then back again.”
    “And?” said Eddie.
    “That’s about as far as it goes, I think,” said Tinto. “Not much of an act. But better than playing the cymbals and bouncing up and down. Each to his own, I say. It takes all sorts to make a world.”
    “At least he didn’t blame it on me,” said Eddie.
    “Yes he did,” said Tinto, “on the next page.”
    Eddie had Jack turn the page.
    Eddie read, aloud this time: “‘Although there is no direct evidence to link the monkeys’ demise to the ex-mayor,’ Professor Potty said, ‘I can see no reason not to.’”
    Jack did foolish titterings.
    “This is
so
not funny,” said Eddie.
    “Will you be giving yourself up, then?” Tinto asked. “I wonder if there’s a reward. If there is, would you mind if I turned you in?”
    “Stop it,” said Eddie. “It isn’t funny.”
    “No, it’s not,” said Jack, struggling to regain sobriety. “But it’s all very odd, Eddie. Do you have any thoughts?”
    “I think I’d like to meet this Professor Potty and –”
    “Other than those kinds of thoughts.”
    “No,” said Eddie. “Not as yet. I wonder whether Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis and his jolly red-faced laughing policemen will be investigating?”
    “What’s to investigate?” Tinto asked. “The monkeys were taken up to the great toy box in the sky. What could be simpler than that?”
    “Maybe so,” said Eddie, “but I suspect that there’s a great deal more to their manner of departure than meets the eye. Bring the rest of the drinks to the corner table over there, Jack. We shall speak of these things in private.”
    “What?” went Tinto. “The cheek of you! If you and Jack are on a case, then I should be part of it. I seem to recall helping you out considerably the last time.”
    “You certainly did, Tinto,” Eddie said. “But see, you have more customers,” and Eddie indicated same who were entering the bar. “We will not presume upon your time, but we’ll let you know how we’re getting on and ask your advice when we need it.”
    Tinto made disgruntled sounds, but trundled off to serve his new clientele. Jack loaded what drinks remained