Eddie yawned and shuddered slightly. “As I am sure you know,” he said, between further yawns, which set Jack off, “we bears are known for our remarkable stamina, and can go for many days without sleep.”

“Bears hibernate all winter,” said Jack, informatively.

“Yes, but that’s because they stay up all summer clubbing ’til dawn.”

“And your point is?” Jack asked.

“I’m knackered,” said Eddie. “Done in, banjoed, wrecked and smitten. I don’t think I can take the ballet.”

“The ballet is soothing,” said Jack. “You can take a little nap.”

“I’ll take a big nap, believe me. And that is not professional for a crime fighter. Five minutes of ballet and I’ll be gone from this world.”

“You’ll be fine.” Jack smiled and drove; the car lurched and hiccuped.

Eddie yawned once more, this time behind his paw, did little lip-smacking sounds and promptly fell asleep.

“We’re here,” said Jack, and he woke Eddie up.

There was no real question as to whether when they built the Toy City Opera House, which also housed the ballet, that they had built it for the patronage of toys. They hadn’t. This was a man-sized affair, as was Old King Cole’s, built for the elite of Toy City. The elite that was man.

Jack had to cruise around for a bit looking for a place to park, but once parked-up, in a rather seedy alleyway, he and Eddie plodded on foot to the glorious, grand establishment.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Jack.

“Frankly, I hate it,” said Eddie. “It sends out all the wrong messages.”

“Right,” said Jack. “Well, I don’t really recall exactly what the protocol is here. The last time we came was when you were first made mayor, remember? We had some times then, didn’t we? We were fêted everywhere.”

Eddie did remember. “Wasn’t I sick in the royal box?” he said.

“Yes,” said Jack. “Just a little. So I think I’d better carry you in under my coat, or something.”

“You what?”

“We don’t want any unpleasantness, do we?”

“I could wait in the car, I don’t mind.”

“Eddie, a crime is going to be committed here. A murderous crime. A multiple murderous crime.”

“You have yet to tell me how you know this to be.”

“I have my sources,” said Jack, and he stuck a hand into his pocket. A tiny sighing sound coming from within went unheard by Eddie.

Because Eddie was now nearly being stomped upon.

The fashionable set, Toy City swells, the fêted glitterati, were hustling and bustling around the two detectives. Exclusive fragrances perfumed the air, diamonds dazzled and shimmered amongst fur stoles, gowns and gorgeousness.

“Do you have tickets?” Eddie called up to Jack.

“No,” said Jack, and he grinned.

“Phew,” said Eddie. “Then at least we won’t get in.”

“We’ll get in – I have my special lifetime membership card.”

“You hung on to that?”

“I have a walletful,” said Jack, “for all those posh places that wanted the bear and his partner who had saved Toy City to patronise their premises.”

“Scumbags all,” said Eddie. “Scumbags and treacherous turncoats. And my lifetime membership was lost in the post, as I recall.”

“You’ll be back on top, Eddie,” said Jack, lifting Eddie from his paw pads and tucking him under his arm. “Once we’ve saved the city once more.”

Eddie made a growly groan. “Just listen to yourself,” he said.

“I’m confident,” said Jack, elbowing his way into the crowd with his free elbow. “We have the edge, we’ll succeed.”

“The edge?” and Eddie shook his head.

The Toy City Opera House owned to a doorman whose livery put that of Old King Cole’s severely to shame. This man was magnificent. So much so that thankfully he was beyond description.

He held up his gloved hand against Jack’s slovenly approach.

“No tradesmen,” said this personage.

“How dare you,” said Jack, making the face of outrage and adopting once more the haughty tone. “I am a lifetime honorary member of this here establishment, and can therefore attend any opera or ballet, free of charge, in the very bestest seats that you have, as it happens. Would you care to see my gilt-edged membership card?”

“Dearly,” said the doorman. “Few things would give me greater joy.”

“That’s a smirk on your face,” said Jack, lowering Eddie to the marble flooring and rootling out his wallet. “We shall see who’s smirking soon.” Jack flicked through a number of cards that offered him lifetime privileges, some at certain establishments that really suited Jack.

“There,” said he, presenting the doorman with a grand-looking one.

The doorman perused this grand-looking card. He held it close to his smirking face, inspected it carefully, raised it up to the light. Marvelled at the watermark and the special metallic strip. Checked the ID photo and everything. “Wow,” he went, and he whistled. “You weren’t pulling my plonker-piece, were you, your princeship.”

“No, I wasn’t,” said Jack. “Now hand it back and stand aside and be grateful that I do not report you for your insolence.”

The doorman whistled once more and returned Jack’s card to him. Then he leaned forward, still smirking, and informed Jack in a curt and brusque manner exactly what Jack could do with himself.

“What?” went Jack. “How dare you!”

“I dare,” said the doorman, “because your card has no currency here. Shove off.”

“What?” went Jack. “What?”

“Do you ever read the newspapers?” the doorman asked Jack.

“Actually, I do,” Jack said.

“Well, not too long ago,” said the doorman, “Toy City was plagued by a mad mayor. A hideous freak, he was, with glass dolly eyes and these really creepy hands –”

Eddie flinched and took shelter at the rear of Jack.

“Well, this abhorrence put into place certain edicts,” the doorman continued. “He appeared to have it in for his betters, you see. Inferiority complex, inverted snobbery or have it as you will. I’ve been reading all about that kind of business in this self-help manual I bought. Anyway, this mad mayor did away with all the privileges of the monarchy. Edict Five, as I recall.”

Jack said, “What?” and Jack looked down at Eddie. Around and behind himself and then again down at Eddie.

Eddie made a foolish face and shrugged.

“Ah,” said Jack. “Ah, but –”

“Ah, but what?” asked the doorman.

“Ah, but the mad mayor was kicked out. Tarred and feathered.”

“Yes.” The doorman smiled. “But not all his edicts were rescinded. Actually, the management of the Opera House quite liked Edict Five – they were fed up with the monarchy always poncing free tickets for all the best bashes.”

“Oh,” said Jack.

“So on your way,” said the doorman. “Scruffy trenchcoated oik that you are.”

“You will answer for this,” said Jack.

“Word has it,” said the doorman, “that The End Times are upon us, and that all of us will answer soon for something or other.”

“You must let us in,” Jack protested.

“Us?” said the doorman. “I wouldn’t have let you take that tatty bear in with you anyway.”

“But,” said Jack, “we are detectives. We’re here on a case. We have the authority of Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis.”

“Yes, of course you have, sir. Now move along please, we have posh people trying to get in.”

“Let us in!” Jack demanded.

“Please don’t make me use force,” said the doorman. “As enjoyable as it would be for me, I regret to say that it would probably leave you with permanent damage.”

Jack made fists and squared up to the doorman.

The doorman made bigger fists and squared himself down to Jack.

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” said Jack.

“I can assure you that I have,” said the doorman, “because I am no longer listening.”

Posh folk pushed past Jack on either side. Jack retreated down the marble steps with Eddie following on.