The Clumsies Make a Mess of the Seaside. Sorrel Anderson

bet he does,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘You didn’t know he could talk until we told you.’

      ‘Maybe so,’ said Howard, ‘but I only have your word for that and—’

      The mice started squeaking, indignantly.

      ‘And anyway,’ continued Howard, ‘there are a lot of busy roads between there and here and I don’t want him crossing them alone. Somehow, I’m going to have to go and fetch him. Somebody put the kettle on so we can think.’

      ‘Maybe you could speak to Mr Bullerton and persuade him,’ said Purvis. ‘Make him think a dog would be a good idea.’

      ‘No,’ said Howard. ‘He won’t and it isn’t. He needs distracting, not persuading.’

      ‘Maybe we could hypnotise him,’ suggested Mickey Thompson.

      ‘Ridiculous,’ said Howard.

      ‘…Or…or…lull him to sleep with a song.’

      ‘Mickey Thompson,’ said Howard, ‘if I go up to Mr Bullerton and start singing lullabies at him, he’ll think I’ve gone completely mad.’

      ‘He already thinks that,’ said Mickey Thompson, cheerfully.

      ‘Harrumph,’ said Howard. ‘Come along. Sensible suggestions, please.’

      ‘Oo!’ said Purvis, hopping. ‘This is what we do: we lure him to his room. We slam the door.

      We jam it shut and keep him in there: TRAPPED!’

      ‘I know the feeling,’ muttered Howard. ‘Hmm, not bad but I’m not sure about the luring bit. Had you anything in mind?’

      ‘I hadn’t got that far,’ said Purvis.

      ‘We could leave a trail of cake,’ said Mickey Thompson.

      ‘It wouldn’t work,’ said Howard. ‘Mr Bullerton doesn’t like cake.’

      ‘Biscuits then,’ said Mickey Thompson.

      ‘Or bits of bread, even.’

      ‘No, no,’ said Howard. ‘No.’

      ‘How about this?’ said Purvis.

      ‘We ring his phone. He goes to his room to answer it. You keep him talking Howard and w—’

      ‘What!’ said Howard.

      ‘What what?’ said Purvis.

      ‘What am I supposed to talk to him about?’

      ‘Oh you know,’ said Purvis. ‘Just some sort of general chitchat.’

      ‘Fabulous,’ said Howard, ‘and how…oh never mind. I expect I’ll think of something. Well go on, go on.’

      ‘Right,’ said Purvis, ‘so it’s rings, room, answers, talking then we shut him in there: BANG! And then you go and get Allen,’ he added. ‘Howard?’

      ‘He’s gone to sleep,’ said Mickey Thompson, poking.

      ‘Stop that,’ said Howard. ‘I am not asleep; I’m attempting to block things out.’

      ‘So what do you think?’ said Purvis.

      ‘It won’t work,’ said Howard.

      ‘But it’s for Allen, Howard,’ said Purvis.

      ‘Woof,’ said Mickey Thompson, plaintively. ‘Woof.’

      ‘Yes, yes, all right,’ sighed Howard. ‘I suppose it’s worth a try.’

      So Howard dialled Mr Bullerton’s number and Purvis peeped out into the corridor.

      ‘It’s ringing,’ said Howard.

      ‘He’s moving,’ said Purvis. ‘Let’s go.’

      The mice climbed on to Ortrud and rode up the corridor to Mr Bullerton’s room. They arrived just as he was answering the phone.

      ‘Err,’ said Howard.

      ‘Howard Armitage,’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘Well? What do you want?’

      ‘Ah,’ said Howard.

      ‘What?’ said Mr Bullerton.

      ‘I was wondering…’ said Howard.

      ‘What?’ said Mr Bullerton.

      ‘Something,’ said Howard. ‘I was wondering… something… but now… I’ve forgotten.’

      ‘I shall hang up in a minute,’ said Mr Bullerton.

      ‘Hmm,’ said Howard. ‘Mm?’

      ‘I’m hanging up,’ said Mr Bullerton and Slammed the receiver down just as his office door Slammed shut.

      ‘Got him!’ said Mickey Thompson.

      ‘Lost him,’ said Purvis as the office door slammed open and Mr Bullerton shot out, tripped over Ortrud and rolled across the corridor straight into the lift.

      ‘TOOT!’ went Ortrud, trumpeting.

      ‘PING!’ went the lift doors, closing.

      ‘LET ME OUT!’ yelled Mr Bullerton, thumping.

      ‘Oo-err,’ said the lift. ‘THUMP,’ went Mr Bullerton.

      ‘Well really,’ said the lift.

      ‘Are you all right?’ asked Purvis.

      ‘It’s a bit much, isn’t it?’ said the lift.

      ‘I know,’ agreed Purvis.

      The lift gave a small cough. ‘And the trouble now, you see…’

      ‘What is it?’ asked Purvis.

      ‘I don’t like to mention it, but…’

      ‘Go on,’ said Purvis.

      ‘The thing is,’ whispered the lift, ‘something seems to be stuck.’

      ‘Are you sure?’ whispered Purvis.

      ‘THUMP,’ went Mr Bullerton.

      ‘THUMP.’

      ‘Very,’ said the lift.

      Purvis and Mickey Thompson exchanged glances.

      ‘Listen,’ whispered Purvis, ‘we’ll get you some help as quickly as we can but…’

      ‘THUMP THUMP THUMP,’ went Mr Bullerton.

      ‘Take as long as you need,’ said the lift. ‘Tell you what—I think I might whoosh