Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “So what you’re saying,” he said, “is that we should ignore the fact that a dead monkey crumbled into dust on the carpet of this office and wait until we get some meathead client to offer us money for finding their lost dog or something?”

“Well, I’m not saying that, exactly.”

“So what are you saying, then?”

Jack gave some thought to an appropriate answer. “I’m saying,” said Jack, “that perhaps we should give this some thought. Perhaps over a drink.”

“At Tinto’s?” said Eddie.

“At Tinto’s,” said Jack.

Eddie took a shower, because Bill’s office owned to a bathroom. And Jack squeezed Eddie dry, which Eddie didn’t enjoy too much, although it made Jack laugh. And Eddie unearthed his old trenchcoat and fedora, and so too did Jack, and so they both now looked like private detectives. And they took themselves down to the garage and, much to their joy, found Bill’s splendid automobile just waiting to take them away.

And so they took themselves away in it, with Jack driving.

As ever, too fast.

It was early yet at Tinto’s, so trade was still slack. Some construction-worker figures with detachable yellow hardhats and gripping hands gripped beer glasses and engaged in theoretical discussions on the good-looks/intelligence dialectic. Eddie had no trouble getting served. “Howdy doody,” said Tinto. “Eddie Bear, come to pay off his tab, by Golliwog. Joy and gladness are mine, to be sure, all praise The Great Engineer.”

“The beers are on Jack,” said Eddie.

“And howdy doody, Jack,” said Tinto.

“Nine beers, please,” said Jack, lowering himself onto a barstool and speaking from between his now raised knees.

“Nine, eh?” said Eddie. “This should be good.”

Tinto poured a number of beers. Eddie disputed this number and Tinto poured more. Then Jack and Eddie got into the thirteen beers.

“Just like the good old days,” said Jack, raising his glass and emptying it down his throat.

“What days were those?” asked Tinto. “I must have missed them.”

“Eddie and I have temporarily renewed our partnership,” said Jack. “And there were great days and will be again.”

“Bravo,” said Eddie, raising his glass carefully between his paws and emptying a fair percentage of the beer into his mouth.

“Enjoy your great days while you can,” said Tinto, taking up Jack’s empty glass and giving it a polish. “The End Times are upon us and they won’t prove to be so great.”

“End Times?” said Jack.

“Don’t get him going on that,” said Eddie.

“Doubter,” said Tinto to Eddie. “If you were of the faith you’d understand.”

“I have my own faith,” said Eddie, struggling with another glass. “I am a member of The Exclusive Brotherhood of the Midnight Growlers.”

“A most exclusive brotherhood,” said Tinto, “as you are the only member.”

“We don’t proselytise,” said Eddie. “You’re either a Growler, or you aren’t.”

“You should join The Church of Mechanology before it’s too late.” Tinto made the sign of the sacred spanner. “Already the prophecies are being fulfilled. Did you see today’s paper?”

Eddie shook his head.

“The faithful are being carried off to glory.” Tinto’s voice rose slightly. “They are being taken up by the big horseshoe magnet in the sky.”

“And that’s in the paper?” Eddie asked. “S.T.C.” said Tinto.

“Ecstasy?” said Eddie.

“S.T.C.” said Tinto. “Spontaneous Toy Combustion.”

Eddie looked at Jack.

And Jack looked at Eddie.

“Go on,” said Eddie.

“The monkeys,” said Tinto. “The clockwork monkeys. All over the city. Last night. They Combusted.”

“All of them?” Eddie looked aghast. He was aghast.

“Puff of smoke,” said Tinto. “All of them gone. All of them. Not that there were that many of them, only about half a dozen. The papers says it was S.T.C., but that’s not the truth of it. Carried off to glory, they were. Transcended their physical bodies.”

Eddie and Jack did mutual lookings at each other once more.

“I may be next,” said Tinto, “so you’d better pay up for these drinks. I want my cash register to balance if I’m going.”

“Now, just hold on, Tinto,” said Eddie. “Are you telling me that all the monkeys – and I am assuming that you mean the cymbal-playing monkeys that bounce up and down?”

Tinto nodded.

“That all of these monkeys combusted last night – is that what you’re saying?”

“I think it was you who just said that,” said Tinto, “but correct me if I’m wrong.”

“But what happened?”

“It’s what the papers say. Or rather what they don’t.”

“This is a case,” said Eddie to Jack. “This is a serious case.”

“All the cymbal-playing monkeys?” said Jack to Tinto.

“Thirty-three. Or was it eighty-seven?”

“You said about half a dozen.”

“Well, I’ll say anything, me,” said Tinto, “as long as it makes me popular.”

“Show me this paper,” said Eddie Bear.

And Tinto showed him the paper.

It was the Toy City Mercury and the spontaneously combusting monkeys had not made the front-page headlines. Eddie located a small article on page thirteen, sandwiched between advertisements for kapok stuffing and dolly hair-styling.

Eddie read the article. “Eleven monkeys,” he whispered.

“Twelve counting the one in the beer bottle,” said Jack.

“The one in the beer bottle?” said Tinto.

“Nothing,” said Eddie. “But this is all rot. Who is this Professor Potty who has come up with the S.T.C. theory, anyway?”

“Eminent scientist.” Tinto gathered up further empties and took to the polishing of them. “He does that thing where he pours one flask of liquid into another flask and then back again.”

“And?” said Eddie.

“That’s about as far as it goes, I think,” said Tinto. “Not much of an act. But better than playing the cymbals and bouncing up and down. Each to his own, I say. It takes all sorts to make a world.”

“At least he didn’t blame it on me,” said Eddie.

“Yes he did,” said Tinto, “on the next page.”

Eddie had Jack turn the page.

Eddie read, aloud this time: “‘Although there is no direct evidence to link the monkeys’ demise to the ex-mayor,’ Professor Potty said, ‘I can see no reason not to.’”

Jack did foolish titterings.

“This is so not funny,” said Eddie.

“Will you be giving yourself up, then?” Tinto asked. “I wonder if there’s a reward. If there is, would you mind if I turned you in?”

“Stop it,” said Eddie. “It isn’t funny.”

“No, it’s not,” said Jack, struggling to regain sobriety. “But it’s all very odd, Eddie. Do you have any thoughts?”

“I think I’d like to meet this Professor Potty and –”

“Other than those kinds of thoughts.”

“No,” said Eddie. “Not as yet. I wonder whether Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis and his jolly red-faced laughing policemen will be investigating?”

“What’s to investigate?” Tinto asked. “The monkeys were taken up to the great toy box in the sky. What could be simpler than that?”

“Maybe so,” said Eddie, “but I suspect that there’s a great deal more to their manner of departure than meets the eye. Bring the rest of the drinks to the corner table over there, Jack. We shall speak of these things in private.”

“What?” went Tinto. “The cheek of you! If you and Jack are on a case, then I should be part of it. I seem to recall helping you out considerably the last time.”

“You certainly did, Tinto,” Eddie said. “But see, you have more customers,” and Eddie indicated same who were entering the bar. “We will not presume upon your time, but we’ll let you know how we’re getting on and ask your advice when we need it.”

Tinto made disgruntled sounds, but trundled off to serve his new clientele. Jack loaded what drinks remained onto a convenient tray and joined Eddie at a secluded corner table.