Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

Meanwhile, The Old One and Mr Cushing had managed to get across all those sheds without being noticed by those many gendarmes around that large farm, and they had a hairy time while that bumbling Inspector Clouseau had been laying across that gorgeous limo.

‘Outrageous,’ muttered Mr Cushing, as he clenched his teeth, while both of them hid in some bushes until Inspector Clouseau somehow or other managed to fall down to the ground from that very expensive car; he stood up rather quickly, as he moved away to catch up to all those gendarmes.

‘Now’s our chance,’ grinned The Old One, as Mr Cushing pulled out his keys; ‘no wishful thinking with this perfect purring car,’ as he gunned into reverse, and very, very quickly, he swung a right, and then put it onto drive, ‘zoom on, we’re on the move,’ as both of them grinned with glee, ‘what wits we are!’

They were racing through the countryside, Mr Cushing drove swiftly, while The Old One used his smartphone: ‘hear we are,’ he said, ‘I’ve the GPS, we can find them near the rails and then to the nearest station, hmm, excellent.’

Then The Old One started a soliloquy, almost like a fourth wall he thought to himself: ‘I think I might be a writer, I feel I should write my memoirs, but only the highlights,’ as he took out his posh pen and beautiful notebook.

Mr Cushing glanced at him, and said: ‘you’re going to be busy then.’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Mark my words,’ said the red-headed woman as she looked outside from her window on the train as she stared across the tracks and pointed, ‘this is going to be a train smash, in a way, look at those two, they are off the train now, they seem to be going to the train station, hmm, wonder why?’

She tried to crane even further to see what they were doing since the station wasn’t far, she could just see the station car park, but nothing further than that, although it was clear that there was much movement around the cars in the car park.

Meanwhile, the two gargoyles were moving stealthily, crossing the tracks without being seen, of course, they still had those diamonds with them since both of them have natty satchels and several useful pockets inside of them.

The two gargoyles had already put their smartphones on silent but on vibrating instead, just to be sure, as they began to climb up the wall to the car park by the station.

They already knew that this town was too small for a cathedral, and it seemed most unlikely to find a proper large and ancient church; it was even less likely to meet some other useful gargoyles around here.

But luck could still come into play as one of the gargoyles said: ‘do just pinch me now, look at this, what a happy coincidence,’ as the two of them sniggered as they moved over to the next vehicle.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Where is our coffee?’ wondered Scatty, ‘she’s taking ages,’ as she craned her head across the aisle, ‘but at least that lovely red-headed woman had given us our tickets, she’s so useful, never inept is she,’ as Scatty glanced across the aisle again.

‘We’re going to be branded as liars and thieves,’ muttered Joan, – Francis said, ‘well, it wasn’t us, was it, it was only them, those wretched gargoyles,’ as he glanced up, although they couldn’t actually see them, since the two gargoyles were lying on the top of the train.

‘Hush, don’t talk so loudly,’ muttered Joan, ‘we need to introduce a different topic, people can hear what we are talking about and that is not a good idea – mums the word, eh?’

Then the red-headed woman appeared holding the four coffees; she was putting them down on the table, and she said, ‘ouch, that was very hot, I got a slight injury, look, there is a small burn on my left wrist, still it’s not a train smash, as we would say – and yes, I’m crossing my one thumb for luck,’ as she grinned.

They sipped their coffees – all black and no sugar – as they were all mulling their thoughts as the train continued to travel quickly; of course, it was dark now, but they could see more buildings, ‘it’s a big town coming up soon,’ remark the red-headed woman.

A little later, the train slowed down, ‘look it’s going to stop before the town, I wonder why?’

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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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