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of practice。'
'Changing times；' the detective pronounced； examining his knuckles。
'Sherlock Holmes？' sneered Norman from the desk。 'Is that who he thinks he is？'
'Your servant； sir；' said Holmes； bowing slightly from the waist。
'Oh yes？' Norman cowered in the corner shielding his privy parts。 'Well if you're Sherlock Holmes then tell me； what are the thirty…nine steps？'
'This is where I came in；' said Jim。
Holmes leant forward and waggled his waxy finger towards Norman。 'Spill the beans； you；' he cried。 'Spill the beans！'
'He's been watching the Basil Rathbone reruns；' Pooley whispered to Omally。
'If you don't mind；' said John； 'I think Jim and I will take our leave now。 We are men of peace； and displays of gratuitous violence trouble our sensitivities。 Even in the cause of justice and the quest for truth； we find them upsetting。'
Pooley nodded。 'If you are now preparing to wade in with the old rubber truncheon； kindly wait until we have taken our leave。'
'Fellas；' whined the fallen shopkeeper； 'fellas； don't leave me here with this lunatic。'
'Sorry；' said Jim； 'but this is none of our business。'
'If you really wish to make a fight of it； your Dimac should be a match for his Barritso。' Omally pointed to the still prominent lump upon his forehead； which bore a silent if painful testimony to his previous encounter with the martial shopman。
'That wasn't me； John； I swear it。'
'So；' said Sherlock Holmes； 'then spill the beans； buddy。'
'All right； all right； but no more hitting。'
'No more hitting；' said Sherlock Holmes。
Buddy prepared himself to spill all the beans。
19
Old Pete thrust his wrinkled hand beneath the shining Plexiglas counter…shield of the sub…post office。 The dark young man now serving behind the jump did not remove his minuscule headphones but merely nodded as he passed the electronic light…wand across the ancient's palm。 He punched a few details into the puter terminal and awaited the forthing readout。 Upon its arrival he raised a quizzical eyebrow towards the pensioner and said； 'There appears to be some discrepancy here； sir。 I suggest that you e back next week。'
Old Pete glared daggers at the dark young fellow…me…lad behind the tinted screen。 'What damned discrepancy？' he demanded。
The young man sighed tolerantly。 'The puter registers a discrepancy；' he said。 'It states that for the last ten years you have been receiving two pensions each week。 Such a thing could not； of course； happen now under the new advanced system。 But with the old Giro； well who knows？ We shall just have to resubmit the data and await a decision。'
'And how long will that take？'
'Well； puter time is valuable； you are allotted six seconds weekly； we will see what happens when your turn es around again。'
'And in the meantime？' foamed Old Pete。 'Do you mean that until your filthy electronic box of tricks gives you the go…ahead I am penniless？'
'The word 〃penniless〃 no longer applies。 It is simply that； pending investigations； your credit is temporarily suspended。 You must understand that this is for the public good。 We are trying to institute the new system hereabouts in a manner that will cause minimum civil unrest。'
'You'll get maximum civil unrest if I don't get my damned pensions； I mean； pension！' Young Chips growled in agreement and bared his fangs。
'Next customer； please；' the dark young man said。
'Hold hard；' cried Old Pete raising his stick。 'I want to speak to the manager。'
'This branch no longer has a manager； sir； but an operator； fully conversant； I hasten to add； with all current trends in new technology。'
'A pox upon your technology。 Who do I see about my pension？'
'Well you might fill in a form which we will forward in due course to Head Office； requesting a manual systems over…ride； although the procedure is somewhat archaic and extremely lengthy。'
'Then I'll go up to your Head Office and speak with them。'
The dark young man laughed malevolently。 'One does not simply go up to Lateinos and Romiiths and speak to them。 Whoever heard of such a thing？' He smirked towards his assistant； who tittered behind her hand and turned up her eyes。
'Oh don't they； though？' snarled Old Pete； grinding upon his dentures and rapping his Penang…lawyer upon the Plexiglas screen。 'Well； we'll see about that。' With Chips hard on his down…at…heels； the ancient departed the sub…post office； walking for once without the aid of his stick。
Ahead； where once had been only bombsite land； the Lateinos and Romiith building rose above Brentford； a dark and accusing finger pointing towards the enclosed triangle of grey…troubled sky。 Sixty…six floors of black lustreless glass； swallowing up the light。 Within its cruel and jagged shadow magnolias wilted in their window…boxes and synthetic gold…top became doorstep cheese。 It was not a thing of beauty but there was a terrible quality of a joyless for ever about it。 High upon the uppermost ramparts； amid the clouds； tiny figures came and went； moving at a furious pace； striving to increase its height。 Never had there been a Babel tower more fit for the tumbling； nor a fogey more willing to take on the task。
Old Pete rounded the corner into Abaddon Street and glowered up at the sheer glass monolith。 'Progress；' he spat； rattling his ill…fitting dentures。 'A pox on it all。' His bold stride suddenly became a hobble once more as he passed into the bleak shadow of the imperious building and sought the entrance。 A faceless wall met his limited vision。 Another painful hundred yards； a further corner； and another blank wall of featureless glass。 'Damned odd；' wheezed the ancient to his dog as he plodded onwards once more。 The entrance to the building could only be in the High Street。 To Old Pete's utter disgust and still increasing fury； it was not。
He now stood leaning upon his cane beneath the night…black structure； puffing and blowing and cursing loudly whenever he could draw sufficient breath。 There was simply no way in or out of the building； not a doorway； not an entrance； not a letter…box or a nameplate； nothing。 Young Chips cocked his furry head upon one side and peered up at his ancient master。 The old boy suddenly looked very fragile indeed。 The snow…capped head shook and shivered； and beneath the frayed cuffs of his one suit； the gnarled and knobby hands with their blue street…maps of veins knotted and reknotted themselves into feeble fists。 'We'll get to the bottom of this；' snarled Old Pete； still undefeated。 Once more raising his stick and this time striking at the dead…black wall towering towards infinity。 The blow did not elicit a sound and this raised the ancient's fury to cardiac arrest level。 Pummelling for all he was worth he retraced his steps and staggered back towards Abaddon Street。
As the aged loon lurched along； raining blows upon the opaque glass； a hidden probe； shielded from his vision； moved with him； scanning his every movement。 Digesting and cataloguing the minutiae that made up Old Pete。 Through an advanced form of electro…carbon dating it penetrated the bone rings of his skull and accurately calculated his age to five decimal places。 Its spectroscopic intensifiers analysed the s