Rhyme Place E-Book

William A. Pollard

• Herausgeber: Europa Edizioni
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Who stole Bo Peep’s sheep?
What was Humpty Dumpty up to, climbing on to the wall?
What happened to the Queen’s tarts after they went missing?
Why did the grand old Duke of York march his men to the top of the hill?

These are questions that have never been answered… Until now.
Let me take you into the world of RHYME PLACE. A place where many of your nursery rhyme characters actually live.
A place where Sergeant Argent and his team are tasked with the job of finding Bo Peep’s sheep, finding the missing tarts and finding out precisely what Humpty was doing on that wall.

William A. Pollard is retired and lives with his wife of over fifty-four years. Since retiring in 2005 he has become a published author of several books and is also a published music composer and arranger.

Leseprobe

William A. Pollard

RHYME PLACE

(Who stole Bo Peep’s sheep?)

Copyright © William A. Pollard 2024

The right of William A. Pollard to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

or actual events is purely coincidental.

No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication

may be made without written permission.

No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced,

copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to

this publication may be liable to criminal

prosecution and civil claims for damage.

© 2025 Europe Books| London

www.europebooks.co.uk | [email protected]

ISBN 979-1-25697-068-1

First edition: February 2025

Edited by Veronica Parise

RHYME PLACE

BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

MY ROGUE GENE

ISBN: 978-1-80074-296-3

Bill’s autobiography. Full of amusing anecdotes from his past, from the time he was born up to the time he left the army after twelve years service.

Olympia Publishers

Amazon Bookstore

MY GROWN-UP ROGUE GENE

ISBN: 978-1-80439-313-0

More nonsense from Bill’s rogue gene, now grown-up and still interfering with Bill’s life.

This is a sequel to My Rogue Gene, highlighting Bill’s life from the time he left the army to his life in civvy street and into retirement.

Olympia Publishers

Amazon Bookstore

BEHIND ROSE BORDERED WINDOWS

(Winner of the Golden Book Prize at the Rome Literary Awards, March 2024)

ISBN - 979-1-22014-338-7

William Colbert’s wife dies. Everyone is convinced her death was an accident, including William. He has inherited a country manor in a remote part of the country, but his new life is thrown into disarray when he witnesses distressing events through the windows of the five picture postcard cottages facing his new home... Nobody believes what he has seen, until the truth about his inheritance, and his wife, is revealed.

Europe Books

Amazon Bookstore

LUCKY, OR WHAT…?

ISBN: 979-1-22014-866-5

How many people, do you think, have just wished that they had more good luck in their lives? What you don’t realise is that the quicker you use up your good luck, the nearer you are to having a shed load of bad luck.

Playing an on-line game, eight finalists don’t know that if they lose the game, they die. Something else they don’t know is that if they win the game, they die.

Either way, they’re dead...

Europe Books

Amazon Bookstore

INSIDE

ISBN: 979-1-22015-306-5

What you don’t realise is that there is a whole community of tiny workers managing your insides. A really, really tiny community of people with the singular purpose of keeping your anatomy and physiology working in first class condition. They’re happy looking after your insides… Until something goes wrong.

Europe Books

Amazon Bookstore

To Sophie

PROLOGUE

How many of you can remember laying your head on a pillow, eyelids drooping, while you listen to Mum singing nursery rhymes to you?

Not many, I bet.

After all, we were just a few months old when Mum told us about Peter Piper picking a peck of pickled pepper, or Mother Goose squeezing out a golden egg from somewhere unmentionable.

I bet many of you have shared a few nursery rhymes with your children, though.

Nursey rhymes are nothing new. They were recorded in English plays as early as the mid-16th century, although it is understood that a French poem similar to "Thirty days hath September", numbering the days of the month, was recorded in the 13th century. As far as we know, ‘Pat-a-cake’ is one of the oldest surviving English nursery rhymes.

Somebody thought of combining music with nursery rhymes. The oldest children's songs for which records exist are lullabies. These are intended to help a child fall asleep and they can be found in every human culture. Have you ever tried to get to sleep while someone is singing in your ear…? It’s not easy.

Anyway, we all know about nursery rhymes. We’ve all heard them and we’ve all used them, but did you know that the characters in nursery rhymes actually exist? They do, honestly… And there is a place where these characters live. It’s true! Nobody knows the actual name of this place but it’s really close to us all. You can visit this place, but you have to close your eyes, relax and let your imagination take you there.

You’re still not convinced that it’s a real place?

Okay, lie down somewhere comfortable, sink your head into a soft pillow, stop fiddling with whatever it is that you’re fiddling with… Yes, put it away… close your eyes and follow me to this place.

This place, where all your nursery rhyme characters come to life.

This place, where everything is relaxed and nothing gets rushed.

This place, where little Bo Peep lost her sheep.

This place, called Rhyme Place…

CHAPTER 1

Simple Simon met a pie man going to the fair.

Said Simple Simon to the pie man

“Let me taste your ware.”

Said the pie man unto Simon

“Show me first your penny.”

Said Simple Simon to the pie man

“Indeed, I have not any.”

(England, 1764)

Week 1. Friday, p.m., at school.

It is the last day of the summer term for the children of Rhyme Place School.

Simon has, for several weeks, saved all the money he earned from his paper round. Added to this is his usual weekly pocket money from Mum, and he now has a tidy sum to spend.

He’s not going to spend this stash of cash on sweets, like he usually does. It’s been hard, but since he heard about the fairground coming to Rhyme Place he hasn’t spent a penny of his hard earned cash.

On many occasions he was tempted to push the door to the sweetshop open each time he gazed through the shop’s window, but no, he had to be strong. He had to resist the urge to delve into the pick-and-mix because he was going to need the money for his forthcoming trip to the fair.

His fortitude and patience eventually paid off. Tomorrow, Saturday, is the day that the fair comes to the village. It will take them the whole of the weekend to set up the tents and stalls and rides on the field on the outskirts of the village, but on Monday they will be ready for the onslaught of families descending on the fairground to empty their pockets of this week’s housekeeping budget and hand the money over to the waiting ride attendants, standing next to their rides trying to look suave and debonaire.

As he stared out of the classroom window, Simon daydreamed about the hours of fun he is going to have at the fair. He was suddenly brought back to earth by his teacher.

“Simon!” she shouted. “You’re gazing out of the window - again. Pay attention!”

“Yes, Miss,” Simon answered.

“What are you gawking at?”

“Oh, nothing, Miss. I was just thinking about Monday.”

“What’s happening on Monday?”

“It’s the fair, Miss. The fair is setting up on one of old Macdonald’s farm fields this weekend and I can’t wait for it to open.”

“Well, you’ll just have to, won’t you? Now pay attention to the lesson, or you’ll not learn anything. You’ll grow up to be simple, Simon. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No, Miss.”

That’s how Simon got his nickname… ‘Simple’ Simon.

Kids can be really cruel sometimes. As soon as one gets labelled with something derisory the rest of the kids all join in to capitalise on that child’s demise, and derisory labels stick for ever.

*

Week 1. Monday, a.m.

After a sleepless Sunday night Simon washed, dressed and dashed downstairs for his breakfast.

“What are you going to do today?” asked Mum.

“The fair’s in the village, Mum. That’s where I’m going after breakfast.”

“Oh? Have you got any money for it?”

“Yep,” a huge smile on his face. “I’ve been saving for ages and I’ve now got ten pounds to spend.”

“Well done. I wondered where the usual pile of sweet wrappers on the bedroom floor had gone. Do you want some more money? Ten pounds won’t get you very far.”

“Yes please, Mum.”

Mum gave Simon an extra fiver. “Look after it - and stay out of trouble.”

“Yes Mum.”

“On your way home from the fair, can you pick up some more eggs from Macdonald’s farm, for me?”

“Will do, Mum.”

With that, Simon stuffed the fiver into his pocket to join the rest of his savings, he donned his coat and dashed out of the cottage. Mum looked on with love and pride as he skipped down the road towards old Macdonald’s farm field.

*

On the way to the fair, Simon caught up with a bloke who was wearing a chef’s hat on his head and an apron over the top of his plaid shirt and chequered trousers. The guy was carrying a large, heavy tray covered with a gingham cloth.

“What you got there, mister?” asked Simon.

“Pies.” A brusque, irritable reply.

“Pies? What kind of pies?”

“Apple pies. Hop it, kid.”

“I was only asking. No need to get the huff.”

“Look, kid, this tray’s heavy and I need to get these ‘ere pies to the fair. So clear off and stop bothering me, or you’ll get a thick ear!”

“Can I have one?”

“What? A thick ear? You’ll get one if you don’t stop bothering me.”

“A pie.”

The pie man stopped walking and breathed out a long, exasperated sigh.

“How much you got?”

“Nothing,” lied Simon.

“Well, sod off.”

“I bet you’re a bundle of fun at parties.”

“Look! If you don’t get lost, kid, I’m going to put this tray down and smack you around the ear’ole. Got it?”

“Want some help?”

“With what?”

“Carrying that tray.”

The pie man thought about that suggestion for a moment, then caved in to Simon’s suggestion.

“Okay, if you want to help me grab hold of that side,” offering the tray to Simon.

“It’ll cost you.”

“What? How much?”

“One pie. For that I’ll help you with the tray all the way to the fair.”

Another pause for thought. “Oh, alright. Get hold of the tray.”

“Pie first.”

“You cheeky sod. Here!” handing Simon one of the pies.

Simon stuffed the pie into the same pocket as his fairground money and took hold of one side of the pie tray. The two of them made their way to the fair. The pie man grumbled all the way there, but that didn’t bother Simon - he now had an apple pie to look forward to at lunch time.

Not such a simple Simon, eh…?

On the way to the fair Simon and the pie man were almost run over by a speeding truck! They managed to get out of the truck’s way just in time.

CHAPTER 2

Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep and doesn’t know where to find them.

Leave them alone and they’ll come home,

wagging their tails behind them.

(England, c.1805)

Week 1. Monday, a.m.

The telephone on Sergeant Argent’s desk rang while he was typing up a report on an incident that took place yesterday - something about a rave party at the mulberry bush that he had to break up because the party revellers had got a little bit boisterous and they had started to make a nuisance of themselves.

Picking up the telephone, he introduced himself. “Rhyme Place police station. Sergeant Argent speaking.”

A tearful voice answered. “Sergeant Argent, this is Bo Peep.”

“Good morning, Miss Peep. How can I help you?”

“My sheep are missing.”

Cries of distress could be heard by the Sergeant.

“Oh dear. Try to calm down, Bo, while I make my way over to your place to take a statement.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I’m so worried about them. The poor little things will be so frightened.”

“Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ve got hordes of television cameras and reporters all over my garden. I’ve absolutely no idea who told them about my missing sheep, but I’ve already given them a statement.”

“That’s alright. Don’t answer the door to anyone else until I get there. Why don’t you put the kettle on to make a nice cup of tea and I’ll be there before it has boiled.”

“Yes. Thank you so much, the Sergeant. I’m really sorry to disturb you with this.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you soon.”

The Sergeant put down his pencil, picked up his helmet and made his way to Bo Peep’s cottage.

*

NEWS FLASH! From Chatty Chaste on the news desk at Rhyme Place TV station.

Chatty - “This news, just in… There’s been a report of some missing sheep… Bo Peep woke up this morning to find every one of her four sheep had been stolen. Enquiries and information about this incident should be provided to Rhyme Place police station. Our chief crime reporter, Inky Irwin, is now on the scene and we’ll interrupt our Play Den programme to go over to him now.”

Cut to the outside broadcast.

Chatty - “Good morning Inky. It’s always good to talk to you. What can you tell us about these missing sheep?”

Inky Irwin - “Not a lot at the moment, Chatty. I’m told by Bo Peep that when she went downstairs to make her breakfast, this morning, she looked out of the kitchen window and all her sheep were missing from the paddock. She carried out a search of the surrounding area, but there was no sign of the sheep. I have with me the old woman who lives in a shoe, Bo Peep’s next-door neighbour. Tell us more about what you saw earlier this morning.” Inky thrusts his microphone under the old woman’s nose.

Old woman - “Well, I was just making my kid’s breakfasts when I saw this man run past my kitchen window.”

Inky - “And did you see where he came from?”

“No, but from the direction he was running he could only have been running from Bo’s place, next door.”

“Was he carrying any sheep?”

“No, but I did notice a lot of sheep shit on his wellingtons.”

“Can you describe this man?”

“He looked about forty years old, with greying hair. I didn’t see his face ‘cos he was running too fast. He wasn’t very tall.”

“And did you see what he was wearing?”

“A grey dressing gown and wellingtons. The wellingtons splattered sheep shit all over my home’s toe cap as he ran past.”

Turning back to look into the camera, Inky concluded his report.

“Please be on the lookout for a forty-year-old man, about five foot six inch tall, wearing a grey dressing gown and shit covered wellingtons. If anyone can help police with this crime they should report to Rhyme Place police station as soon as possible. Back to you, in the studio, Chatty.”

Chatty - “Thank you Inky.” Chatty turns to look into the studio camera. “We’ll return to this story as soon as we get any more news. In the meantime, I think little Jack Horner has been cleaned up by now, so we’ll resume our Play Den programme to continue with the activities taking place there.”

*

On arrival at Bo Peep’s cottage the Sergeant was surrounded by the media, all eager to record what he had to say. He ushered the crowd off her garden and ordered the throng not to trespass.

“As soon as I’ve had the opportunity to interview Miss Peep I’ll come back out to make a statement. In the meantime, please respect Miss Peep’s privacy and keep off her garden.”

With that, he entered Bo’s cottage.

He looked into the lounge from the hallway and saw Bo Peep sat on her settee, crying. The kettle began to whistle for some attention. Bo Peep stood and turned to go to the kitchen and saw the Sergeant in the doorway.

“Sit yourself down, Miss Peep. I’ll just go and answer that kettle.”

Bo sat back down and the Sergeant went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea. With a tray of tea and biscuits he returned to the lounge where Bo Peep was still sobbing.

“I’ve made us a nice pot of tea Miss Peep, so dry your eyes while I pour us both a refreshing cup.”

Bo looked up with red, tearful eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

After pouring out the tea, the Sergeant took out his notebook, licked the end of his pencil and waited while Bo took a sip of tea.

Have you ever wondered why policemen do that - lick the end of their pencil? It doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t make it any easier to write and it certainly doesn’t make the graphite write more clearly. Like I said - It doesn’t do anything…

Anyway, the Sergeant started his questioning.

“Tell me exactly how you found out that the sheep were missing.”

“Well, like I said over the phone - I woke up this morning, got washed and dressed and came downstairs to make my breakfast.”

“And what time would that be?”

“About eight a.m. Actually, it was three minutes past eight exactly when I got up because I looked at my bedside clock. I got down here at about eight forty-five.”

“And then?”

“Well, I went to the kitchen, pulled up the window blind and saw they were gone. Not in their paddock.”

“Is that where you always keep them?”

“Yes, unless I take them for a walk or when the weather is bad.”

“When the weather is bad? What do you do with them at those times?”

“I bring them in here, in the lounge where it’s nice and warm. Where else would I take them?”

“Err… [a pause while the Sergeantlooked round the room and thought of something to say], what happened next?”

“I ran outside and shouted for them to come back. I went to look for them, then came back here to phone you.”

“Did you see anyone at that time?”

“I saw the old lady who lives in the shoe, next door… [thinks], and I saw some bloke running at the top of the street.”

“Which way?” asked the Sergeant, looking more interested.

“Towards Hot Cross, but he was too far away for me to recognise him.”

“And that’s it? Anything else?”

“Yes, I think so. I came back inside and phoned the station. Do you think the old lady next door told the TV people?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll be interviewing her in due course. Is there anything else I should know?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

The Sergeant tore off a sheet of paper from his notebook, handed it to Bo Peep with his pencil and instructed, “You write down a detailed description of the sheep while I finish this tea, then I’ll be out of your way.”

He then finished his tea and went to the kitchen to stare out of the window. The sheep’s paddock was clearly visible. Returning to the lounge, Bo Peep handed him her notes and he quickly scanned the page;

Sheep - 4. One’s only got 3 legs.

Colour - white, all of them

Eyes - 2 each sheep, brown

Hair - curly

Tails - always wagging, except when they shit

Other information - They shit a lot

The Sergeant folded the paper and carefully placed it inside his notebook.

“I’ll make some enquiries on your behalf and let you know what’s happening. When we catch whoever took the sheep he’ll be in hot water, believe me.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your time on this.”

“No problem, Miss Peep. I’ll just make a short statement to the press and then I’ll be on my way.”

The Sergeant exited the cottage, walked to the end of the garden path to the waiting media and had a microphone thrust under his chin.

“What can you tell us, Sergeant?” asked a dishevelled looking Inky Irwin.

“I’ll just make a short statement and then I’ll ask you all to leave.”

A hush descended on the throng. When all was quiet, the Sergeant made his statement.

“Miss Bo Peep’s four sheep appear to have been stolen. My enquiries are under way, and if anyone has any information regarding this theft I urge them to come to the station to make a statement.”

With that, the Sergeant thanked the media for their time, reminded them where to send any information and began his walk back to the station.

The media stayed on site, eagerly waiting to pounce on anyone emerging from the nearby cottages.

CHAPTER 3

Mary, Mary quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells and cockle shells,

and pretty maids all in a row.

(England, c.1744)

contrary (kontrari) adj.1. opposed; completely different. 2. in opposition or contrast (to): contrary to popular belief.

I bet you that whenever you see a picture of Mary and her sheep, you see a shy little lady, wearing a lovely bonnet and smiling a sweet innocent smile.

Appearances deceive!

The first line of the nursery rhyme gives you a clue to Mary’s real character…

*

Week 1. Monday, p.m.

Sergeant Argent started his investigation by conducting a door-to-door enquiry.

The old lady who lives in the shoe, next door, wasn’t at home so he decided to call in on Mary to see if she knew anything. Mary answered the door in a provocative, low-cut dress.

“Good morning, Mary. I’m making enquiries about Bo Peep’s missing sheep.”

“Hello, Sergeant Argent. D’you fancy a cup of tea? Or perhaps coffee?” suggestively inviting him inside.

“Err, no thanks. Perhaps another time. Have you heard about Bo Peep’s missing sheep?”

“With all this commotion going on,” pointing to the media, “I couldn’t very well NOT hear about it. She screamed the place down this morning. Woke everyone up! Are you sure you don’t want some tea and crumpet - crumpets! -Tea and crumpets.”

The Sergeant thought it prudent not to go indoors at this precise time, especially as the reporters and TV cameras were all scrutinising his every move. It was clear that they were waiting for him to depart before pouncing on Mary’s doorstep.

“I’m fine, thank you. You’ve got a great garden. Shall we stand out here while I ask you some questions?”

“Thank you, you’ve got a great body,” said Mary, continuing to flirt.

“You must spend a lot of time keeping the garden looking this good,” suggested the Sergeant.

“Yeah, it’s not easy, and it’s time consuming, but it’s worth it. I’ve groped - grown! - grown some beautiful flowers,” answered Mary.

“What about those dandelions?” enquired the Sergeant, pointing to some offending weeds.

“Missed them,” replied Mary, walking down the path towards the dandelions.

She bent down to extract the dandelions from the flower bed, exposing her ample breasts down the top of her low-cut dress to the Sergeant.

Standing upright, she declared, “I’ve got some lovely buns - to go with some coffee,” pointing towards the cottage door.

Argent was enticed by Mary’s suggestion, but not enticed quite enough to drop his enquiries… Or anything else if it comes to that.

Looking embarrassed, the Sergeant continued, “Errm… what about Bo Peep’s missing sheep.”

“What about them?” Mary leaning provocatively against the fence.

“Well…, [embarrassed cough from the Sergeant] did you see anybody herding four sheep anywhere while you were out here?”

“Not really. I did see some old geezer in a dressing gown and wellies running past Bo’s cottage just after she kicked off, but he didn’t have any sheep… And I heard a truck driving away, but I couldn’t see it anywhere.

“Where were you at the time?” asked Argent.

“Stood on my doorstep. I came out to see what all the screaming was about.”

“So, do you recognise this chap?”

“No, not really. He looked familiar… And he was splattering sheep shit everywhere from his wellies, so I went back inside and shut the door, briefly. I didn’t want any sheep shit all over my easily removable… Sorry, stained dress. I came back out when I knew he had passed by.”

“Did you see where he went?”

Mary pointed towards Hot Cross. “That way, but I didn’t take any real notice ‘cos I had to clean all the sheep shit from my decorative cockle shells after he had run past my place. It took me an age, and some of my silver bells even took a hit.”

“Do you think any of those young ladies would be able to recognise him?” asked the Sergeant, pointing to the pretty maids, all in a row.

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask them.”

“I will do that… What are they doing anyway?

“Queueing.”

“Queueing? For what?”

“I don’t know. They’ve come to buy some flowers… I think. They turned up just after lunchtime.”

The Sergeant made a mental note that it was improbable that any of the pretty maids, all in a row, would have seen or heard anything useful to his enquiries, considering the time that they had arrived on site, but it might be useful to interview them - just in case.

“Do you want me to move them on?” suggested Argent.

“No, that’s okay. They’re not doing any harm. What time do you finish work?”

“Usually about six. Why?”

“Fancy a coffee?”

“… [thinking] Yes, okay. I’ll pop round on my way back to the station after I’ve finished my enquiries.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.”

Sergeant Argent had definitely succumbed to Mary’s charms…

CHAPTER 4

Old King Cole was a merry old soul,

And a merry old soul was he.

He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl,

And he called for his fiddlers three.

(England, c.1708)

Week 1. Tuesday, a.m.

The following morning, a bleary-eyed Sergeant sat at his desk cogitating about last night’s lack of sleep.

The telephone on his desk rang, waking him from his daydream.

“Rhyme Place police station,” he answered.

“Sergeant Argent, this is King Cole. Can you please come up to Rhyme Place Castle when you have a spare moment? I’d like to discuss something of a private nature with you.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll come straight away.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

The call was terminated and the Sergeant picked up his hat, locked up the station and cycled his way to the castle. The castle guard, hovering outside the castle gates, held his hand up to bring the Sergeant’s bicycle to a halt.

Clipboard and pen at the ready, the guard demanded, “Name?”

“You know who I am.”

“Address?”

The Sergeant looked down at his uniform and, with some exasperation answered, “Rhyme Place police station. Why are you asking me these stupid questions?”

The guard looked a bit embarrassed and whispered, without moving his head or his lips, “I’ve got to ask these questions because the guard commander is watching from the guard house, and he’ll have my guts for garters if I don’t do the job properly. Address? [loud enough for the guard Commander to hear]”

“Rhyme Place police station [loud enough for the guard Commander to hear].”

“Purpose of your visit, sir?”

“The King has asked me to come and speak with him.”

“When?”

The Sergeant then asked, with some puzzlement, “When did the King ask me to come and speak with him, or when does he want me to speak with him?”

“What time is your visit?” replied the guard, looking exasperated.

“Are you going to let me in or shall I let the King know that his guard prevented me from seeing him?” asked the Sergeant.

There was a slight pause while the guard thought about that threat.

“… Okay. You can pass, sir. For security purposes, please park you bike on the square, next to the parked cars.”

The guard stood back to allow the Sergeant to enter the open gates with his bicycle.

The Sergeant stared at the guard with some incredulity. “What? I’m not hiding anything on my bike.”

“All vehicles are to be parked on the square, sir,” replied the guard, impassively.

The guard imperceptibly nodded his head back towards the guard room, eyes looking sideways, and whispered “Guard commander is watching…”

Huffing and muttering exasperated expletives, the Sergeant wheeled his bicycle to the square and leaned it up against a car. Looking back at the guard he pointed his thumb at the bike and waited for the guard to nod in approval. He then made his way to the castle.

On arrival, he was met by a butler who bid him, “Please follow me, sir. The King is expecting you but he is presently in the middle of band practice. I’ll let him know you have arrived.”

The Sergeant thanked the butler and followed him to the band room, where the King was sat smoking his pipe and munching on a bowl of plum pie while watching his violin trio practice their music.

Seeing the policeman enter the band room, the king stood and waved his hand at the musicians.

“Okay, that’s enough for today. With a little more practice, the waltz should be ready for my banquet.”

The musicians stood, collected up their music, bowed to the King and headed towards the door, smiling at the Sergeant on their way out.

The Sergeant approached the King and bowed. The King held out his hand in a welcoming gesture.

“Thank you for coming, Sergeant. I heard about Bo Peep’s missing sheep. Have you got to the bottom of the incident, yet?”

“No, sir. My enquiries are ongoing at the moment, but it must be difficult to hide four sheep. I anticipate that the perpetrator has hidden them in plain sight, somewhere.”

“Well, keep on top of it, Sergeant. I’m getting some noise from the village people suggesting that they are not happy about it. I want this person in jail as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir. I entirely agree. I’m spending all my time on this case.”

“I appreciate that, Sergeant. Do you need any help with anything?”

“Actually, sir, I could do with some men to carry out a detailed search for me. I can’t cover the whole of Rhyme Place quickly enough for me to make an immediate arrest, and a few men would save a lot of time.”

“No problem there. I’ll have a word with the grand old Duke of York. I’m sure he can afford a few men to help with your enquiries.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir. I will, of course keep you updated on events as they happen.”

“Excellent.” The king turned to his butler. “Will you ask the Duke of York to contact Sergeant Argent as soon as possible, please?”

With a nod and a “Yes, sir,” the butler bowed and exited from the band practice room.

The King continued. “Actually, I’ve called you here today on a matter not entirely dissimilar to that case.”

“Oh? please, tell me more.”

“Well, You know how my wife likes to bake tarts?”

“Yes sir, and fine tarts they are. The Queen is kind enough to have some delivered to the station whenever she makes a fresh batch. They’re delicious.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. I wish she would give you every one of them because I’m getting fed up with the bloody things. That’s all she bakes… Anyway, I’ll pass on your good words. She baked a fresh batch yesterday.”

The Sergeant nodded and smiled in anticipation of receiving some more tarts. Much tastier than the sausage rolls that his desk constable gets from the baker’s man.

The King continued. “When she went to the kitchen this morning they were gone. All of them. Nobody knows where…”

The King stared at the Sergeant to wait for his next words.

The Sergeant took out his note book and pencil, licked the end of the pencil and began his new enquiry.

“Do you have any idea who would do such a thing?” enquired the Sergeant.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Well, has anybody been seen lurking around the kitchen?”