Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman mused while she tramped across the field on that farm, listening to everyone’s accents, she hadn’t really thought about that before, since all her friends sound pretty normal – mostly French, Paris in fact, although Scatty was originally from Ireland, and of course, she herself was from Liverpool, and there wasn’t much difference between the two of them the way they could speak together if they wanted to.

However, Inspector Clouseau was a completely different kettle of fish (as one might say), since he spoke very oddly indeed, was he really a Frenchman? she wondered, as she peered at him once again, as he marched along with his over-sized magnifying glass.

It was a long way to walk still, and the red-head woman continued to muse to herself; she thought all the things she had done in the past – breaking in, and breaking out, on various schemes, like that big safe, for example, and she and the two gargoyles had kind of helped – even thinking the three of them should have plotted a heist of their own.

She stopped… dead… as she pondered to herself, was she heartless? was she uncaring? even ruthless..?

‘Come on,’ grinned Scatty, ‘do you need a hand?’ as the two of them linked arms.

Just a few metres and all of them were there, as they crowded in that last shed -and yes, it was amazing… diamonds galore on that one shelf, as Inspector Clouseau said: ‘I am an Office of the Leu.’

*listen to this on YouTube!

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘So here he is,’ grinned the red-headed woman, as all of them got out of that wonderful limo; she walked up to him, offering a firm handshake: ‘such a pleasure to meet-and-greet you, the amazing Inspector Clouseau,’ as she smiled radiantly.

The Inspector Clouseau was wearing his usual trenchcoat, it was very cold and he had been stomping around for a bit, but it was clear that he had been thinking thoughts though; although it seemed he wasn’t going to share much at the moment.

The farmer appeared, he was wearing his work jacket blues, with his beret up top and his wellington boots, as he mumbled to himself, ‘such a shame, such a devastating calamity, even though I’m often shunned, since not many people like to look after snails, but what a waste… and money, so much money.’

‘We mustn’t give up yet,’ said Francis, ‘since those jewels must be somewhere, and you, Monsieur Farmer, you shouldn’t succumb with despair yet; I’m sure these things are connected, don’t we think?’ – all of them agreed, as they began to walk around the place, especially all those sheds.

‘See that channel,’ said one of the gargoyles, ‘no, not that way, look the other way, over there,’ – ‘oh, I see, I can see a dip,’ – ‘okay, lets go have a little look,’ – so both of them set out across the last shed, while bickering a bit, as usual.

‘Hey, everyone come here, look what we have found, you’ll be stunned at this!’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

They had been singing for ages and loudly too, the songs, the lyrics and the melodies were all off key, but none of them cared, since this was a great outing; they hadn’t been all together for such a long time, more than half a year, but time is a strange idea if some of this lot are immortal.

Mr Cushing was driving, as always, in his purring limousine, and The Old One sat next to him; they had both been living in the south of France – very clement and useful too, since they both love going to the Cannes Festival and hang out with the hoi polloi (not).

Francis was sitting in the middle row, he had been reading the newspapers avidly, almost desperately to find anymore news about those jewels which had been stolen from the Louvre; it was only he who wouldn’t sing, while his wife, Joan, and her best friend Scatty, were clapping their hands on the other side and singing their hearts out.

The two gargoyles sat in the back and looked out in the rear of the car, eager to see a particular police car, since Inspector Clouseau could be just behind them.

The red-headed woman had been moving around in that gorgeous long car, talking to all her lovely friends; she was very keen to see what would occur, and she shouted: ‘we must be almost there at that farm.’

And a moment later she grinned: ‘it’s that it… all those big sheds.’

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Just in case you’ve missed this lot, here’s a bit: https://lunas-online.com/2025/01/30/back-on-the-road/

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman had been feeling rather pensive as she continued to listen to the two friendly gargoyles, while she rummaged in her big bag.

‘As you know we had enlisted several clever animals for a while, although sadly they have moved on to another case, we believe,’ – ‘not surprising though, since they are jet-setting animals who solve crimes all around the world,’ as the two of them grinned to each other.

‘You know there are still protests around the Louvre,’ said one of the gargoyles, ‘since so many very exquisite jewels had been stolen, and they are still mostly missing, so it’s vital that we stay in touch with Inspector Clouseau, you must know him surely,’ as the two of them looked at her; she affirmed.

‘So what are we going to do now?’ asked the red-headed woman, as she opened her notebook and clicked her retractable pen; while the two gargoyles looked at their phones, and a moment later they both said: ‘ooh, breaking news… look.’

They all craned over to read what it said: “Thieves have stolen a huge amount of escargots in a farm quite near Paris, they broke into the farm buildings overnight a few days ago; now the officers are on the trail…”

One of the phones pinged, it was Inspector Clouseau who said: ‘it’s a decoy, I’m sure – never mind about those escargots, but those fabulous jewels, they will be hidden in some very strange place – they will reappear, mark my words.’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman was tired, since it had been a long day, and it was very late now, she hadn’t seen her friendly two gargoyles, which was rather sad, but as she was about to turn in, she saw them.

She motioned a hand from her little balcony as the two gargoyles circled and landed; she thought how graceful they were – always on the move, and very mobile considering what they were, although only very privileged people would see one moving, never mind two.

Both of them grinned, then one of them said, ‘let’s get a photo quickly, all of us, say cheese,’ – and a moment later they all crowded together on that rather new smartphone, ‘that’s nice, and don’t forget some suitable hashtags.’

‘So did you? I mean that daring heist in the Louvre,’ asked the red-headed woman to the two of them; – they both grimaced and said at the same time, ‘if only… imagine that, but no, not us.’

‘Well, I guess you wouldn’t have done a photo just now, know of course not, you would be hiding, wouldn’t you,’ – ‘correct,’ said one of them, and continued, ‘but there might be a reward, and that would be good, wouldn’t it, don’t we think?’

‘We have also had a few good thoughts about that,’ said the two gargoyles, ‘you see, we have been trailing several leads, including that Inspector Clouseau, and also a couple of clever animals – a cat and a panda; what do you think about that?’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman had been in various places in France, enjoying the cafes and vineyards, and also managed to get a bit of money on the side, since she had to earn a living in some way or another – a hustle here and a hustle there, but at least her lovely ruby red ring had been fixed.

She was so happy to draw up in her little red car to look up to see her attic apartment in Paris; she parked her car several streets away and hurried to buy some things.

She went to the nearest small supermarket, threaded her way to the counter where she would find a few things to keep her going – a baguette and a squishy cheese and a carton of fava beans which she would cook with some butter and garlic, very tasty.

She walked up to the top floor, unlocking her door, dumped her big bag on the table, then opened her double French doors, how lovely to be home; she had idly thought about the two gargoyles since she always enjoyed their company.

She had been perusing on her smartphone to see what had been going on over those last few months and, of course, the main story had grabbed her the most had been the Louvre Museum in that amazing dare-devil heist and all those gorgeous jewellery stolen, almost to order, she’d thought; could it have been the two gargoyles who had a hand in that heist?

But surely not!

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