Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘It’s stopping, look, that train,’ grinned Scatty, ‘we should get on it, shouldn’t we,’ as they looked to each other, ‘see, those gendarmes are past the last shed now, let’s go, and why not, there are no problems are there?’

Both Mr Cushing and The Old One looked rather apprehensive: ‘it’s my limousine,’ said Mr Cushing, ‘I’m not leaving the old girl by that farm,’ – ‘no siree,’ said The Old One, ‘I always ride shotgun with you now, so we will have to chance it then,’ – and a moment later, they both shot off.

‘Train time,’ smiled Joan, ‘how handy there was a tiny station just here,’ – ‘more than handy,’ said Francis, ‘I am kind of thinking this could be a ghost train,’ but he muttered very quietly and no-one else heard what he said.

However, everything seemed normal as all four of them got into that busy train.

The train was moving quickly now as the red-headed woman walked through the carriages, she brushed a wisp of hair away from her face, as she glanced at a rather pretty baby who was sitting by her dad playing pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake; and in the next but last carriage, this was what she was after: ‘ooh, at last, a brew… hot coffee!’

Meanwhile, the two gargoyles had been checking out those diamonds, since of course they had got them; they had been using their smartphones since they had an inkling about something clever Reena had said quite recently: ‘ah, there it is…’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

All six of them, Francis, Joan, Scatty, the red-headed woman, The Old One and Mr Cushing, burst out from the far end of the shed; all of them glanced back at Inspector Clouseau who was still tied up and tightly, before they all turned forward to this important mission.

‘Come on,’ said Joan, ‘we can walk and talk, and maybe we should walk rather quickly,’ – ‘also,’ said Scatty, ‘we should forget all about that pretty kettle of fish,’ – ‘absolutely,’ muttered the red-headed woman, ‘it’s not relevant anyway,’ – while Mr Cushing nodded his head feeling vindicated.

‘Are we all feeling better now?’ asked The Old One, – ‘I believe so,’ grinned Mr Cushing, ‘are we united… we are, aren’t we,’ – ‘we’re a unit, yes, that’s right,’ beamed Francis, ‘we’re great again.’

‘But where are the two gargoyles,’ asked the red-headed woman, ‘are they missing… it seems unlikely though?’ as she looked around everyone.

‘Well, they are hardly upstarts, are they,’ said Joan, ‘those two gargoyles are very old indeed,’ – ‘yes, very true,’ grinned Scatty, ‘we are all ancient,’ – ‘oh, but not her, the red-headed woman,’ said The Old One, as he smiled back to her, ‘she’s in her prime, isn’t she,’ – as the red-headed woman, blushed a bit.

But now they all started to run, since it was clear that the gendarmes had arrived; then they heard a train very close to them, and as they looked up, they could see the two gargoyles sitting on the top of that train.

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