Gerald Durrell - The Donkey Rustlers

“Got what, dear?” said Mrs Finchberry-White, bewildered.

“My message,” explained the General.

“What message?” asked Mrs Finchberry-White.

“The message to bring out the drinks,” said the General.

“Oh,” said Mrs Finchberry-White. “Oh, yes. Amanda told me.”

The General sighed sorrowfully.

“Have a drink, Inspector,” he said.

They sat sipping their ouzos for a moment and the Inspector made polite comments about the General’s latest painting.

“Tell me,” asked the General, “what brings you to Kalanero!”

“Well,” said the Inspector, “that’s really what I came to see you about. I’m here investigating one of the worst crimes of my career.”

“By George! Really!” asked the General.

“Is it possible that you haven’t heard about the donkeys?” inquired the Inspector.

“Donkeys!” said the General blankly. “What donkeys?”

“All the donkeys of Kalanero,” said the Inspector, making an all-embracing gesture with his arms and nearly upsetting his think. “They’ve all been stolen by Communists.”

The General screwed his monocle firmly into his eye and surveyed the Inspector.

“You don’t say?” he inquired.

“Indeed, yes,” said the Inspector. “I’ve been investigating for the past twenty-four hours without success and so I came to ask for your advice. For, after all, you are a compatriot of Sherlock Holmes.”

“I keep telling you,” said the General with a long-suffering air, “that Sherlock Holmes is an entirely imaginary character.”

“Ah, he couldn’t be entirely imaginary,” said the Inspector, “not with such brilliant powers of mind. I intend some day to go to London and see the place where he lived. But, to return to the donkeys. As I have so far met with no success in my investigations (and you can rest assured that I have left no stone unturned) I would be most grateful for your advice.”

The General took his monocle out, polished it carefully and replaced it, frowning slightly.

“My dear Inspector,” he said, “I come here once a year for a little peace and quiet in order to paint. During my sojourn I endeavour not to get mixed up in any island politics. The first year they tried to get me to decide whose cow belonged to who. The second year they wanted me to decide whether Papa Yorgo had swindled Papa Nikos out of three hundredweight of olives and the third year they wanted me to decide whether it was right that Kouzos should put a lock on his well so that nobody could drink out of it. On all three occasions I refused to participate, so I really don’t see how I could help you with your problem.”

Amanda and David, standing behind the half-closed shutters of the living-room, were listening to this conversation with bated breath.

“That’s a jolly good thing,” whispered Amanda. “With Father helping him, he might get somewhere.”

“But, General,” pleaded the Inspector, “my whole future depends upon you. If I solve this case successfully, who knows, it might get to the ears of my superiors in Athens and I might even earn a promotion.”

The General got to his feet, lit his pipe and limped slowly down the terrace, the Inspector loping along beside him. Amanda and David were mortified, for as their father and the Inspector paced up and down, they could only hear snatches of the conversation.

“. . . and similar cases,” said the General, “frequently happens . . . I remember once in Bangalore, where I lost my leg . . . However, this is what you should do . . .”

They strained their ears, but they could not hear what it was the General was suggesting. Presently the Inspector, wreathed in smiles, took his leave.

The Finchberry-Whites sat down to lunch. Amanda and David glanced uneasily at each other, for their father seemed in a particularly good mood. He kept humming snatches of “The Road to Mandalay” in between mouthfuls of food.

“What did the Inspector want, Father?” asked Amanda at last, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“The Inspector?” asked the General. “Oh, he just popped in to pass the time of day and ask my advice on a little problem.”

“Were you able to help him, dear?” inquired Mrs Finchberry-White.

“Oh, I think so,” said the General airily.

Amanda and David gulped their food down and hurriedly left the table. It was obvious that the General was not going to disclose what his advice had been, so their only hope was to stick as close to the Inspector as possible. They ran down to Yani’s house and panted out the news to him. Then the three of them made their way to the village. Here they found that the Inspector had called an extraordinary meeting of the village council. Needless to say, most of the village attended it as well.

“Now,” said the Inspector, clenching his pipe firmly between his teeth, “as I have said before, this case has many unusual aspects. I have endeavoured, as you know, to solve it by the most modern and up-to-date methods of detection. But detection, as you know, is based upon fair play and Communists, as you know, don’t even comprehend the meaning of the word. That has been our undoing.”

“Quite right, quite right,” agreed Papa Yorgo. “I remember once having my entire strawberry crop stolen by a man from Melissa who was an avowed Communist. As the Inspector says, they have no sense of fair play.”

“Quite so,” said the Inspector. “Now I have decided to try another method.”

“What is it? What is it?” asked the villagers, eagerly.

“I have decided,” said the Inspector, looking stern and noble, “that we, or rather, that is to say, you, should offer a reward for your donkeys.”

There was a gasp of dismay at this.

“But where can we find enough money for all those donkeys?” quavered Mama Agathi.

“I have here,” said the Inspector, taking a piece of paper out of his pocket and laying it on the table, “I have here a list of all the missing animals, and their approximate market prices. It comes to 25,000 drachma.”

A wail of dismay went up from the villagers.

“But where,” asked Papa Nikos in despair, “can we possibly find 25,000 drachma.”

“This is precisely the point,” said the Inspector cunningly. “You don’t offer a reward of that amount. You offer a smaller reward, but one sufficiently big to be attractive. It is a well-known fact that Communists like money, and so if we offer this reward, one of the band of robbers is sure to betray the others since, as I say, they have no sense of fair play.”

“This is a very good idea,” Papa Nikos pointed out, “but we are all of us poor.”

“Yes, yes,” agreed the Mayor hurriedly. “we are all of us poor. Indeed, I am what you might almost describe as poverty-stricken.”

“Bah!” said Papa Nikos with infinite scorn. “You poverty-stricken? It is well known that you are the richest man in the village. I don’t see why you shouldn’t offer the reward.”

“Yes, yes,” chorused the villagers. “It’s only right. After all, he is the richest man in the village and he is the Mayor.”

“Yes,” said the Inspector, “I think you are quite right.” The affair of the Mayor’s bitch had rankled with the Inspector and he had been waiting for a suitable opportunity to try to get his own back, and this seemed to be the ideal time.

“But, I tell you, I am a poor man,” moaned the Mayor.

“Then, perhaps soon you will be a poor man and not even a Mayor,” said Papa Nikos grimly.

“Yes,” said Papa Yorgo. “I wonder if the Inspector would like to know the story of the sweet potatoes?”

The Mayor went white, for he had not realised that anybody knew about the big swindle he had pulled off the year before.