3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers Read Free Page A

shock made me gasp, it was soon blissful. I sighed, wiggling my toes as a large rainbow trout rose to inspect them before taking fright and concealing itself within a mass of streaming weeds. When my feet were sufficiently cool, I knelt on the bank, splashed my face and felt much better, despite still being desperate for a drink. Yet, the river, glinting, gleaming, gurgling and burbling, held enough drink for thousands. It was tempting, though I dithered a while, trying not to think of all the bugs it might contain and what the trout did in it. The temptation was too strong. Lying flat on my stomach, leaning over the stream, I opened my mouth and drank greedily. Though a little earthy, the river water was cool, fresh and delightful.
    Gulping it down, drinking my fill, I was happy until rough hands grabbed my ankles and lifted them, plunging my head under the surface, causing water to pour up my nose, and explode into my sinuses. Panicking, in pain, desperate for air, flailing, writhing, squirming and kicking, unable to escape, I was certain I was going to drown until I was released to slide into the river. I grazed my hands on the pebbly bottom before, pushing up and kicking, I made it to the surface. Gasping for air, I floundered as the current took me.
    ‘Help!’ I screamed.
    ‘We don’t like poachers,’ said the man from the pub, bending to pick up my bag and hurl it.
    It hit the water in front of me and I grabbed it, clinging like the proverbial drowning man clings to a proverbial straw, and with about as much effect.
    ‘I can’t swim well!’ I cried, raising my hands and sinking.
    ‘Well, stand up, you daft bugger,’ said the man. ‘Then take your sodden bag and clear off.’
    My feet touched bottom and I struggled to stand, finding the river was only waist-deep, though the flow was strong and the pebbles underfoot offered little grip. It was a relief to reach the bank, to drag myself ashore and to lie there panting, while my brutal assailant laughed his ugly head off. I wished Hobbes were there to sort him out.
    Then, getting to my feet and drawing myself up to my full height, I turned to face him. ‘Can I have my shoes back, please?’
    He threw them. I nearly caught the first one. The second caught me on the ear.
    ‘Now get lost,’ he yelled, taking one giant step towards me.
    Clutching my shoes and bag, I fled down the road until it felt safe to stop and catch my breath. After rubbing my ear, I sat on the verge to pull on my socks, which luckily I’d stuffed into my shoes. Then, to my surprise, I heard a car approaching. Unfortunately, it was heading in the wrong direction and was a police car that turned up the lane beside the Squire’s Arms and sped into the hills.
    Having put on my shoes, I stood back up and resumed my walk, leaving a trail of drips on the hot asphalt.
    I could hardly believe what had just happened. Even Featherlight Binks had to be subjected to some degree of provocation before resorting to violence, and I’d noticed how he usually managed to restrain himself until he’d taken as much of a customer’s money as he was likely to get before punching him or throwing him out. Besides, Featherlight had never, to my knowledge, tried to drown anyone in the river, although this might have been because the Soren was a five minute walk from the Feathers and his rage rarely lasted that long. However, according to Hobbes, he had once made an attempt at drowning a complaining customer in a pan of spicy cat stew.
    I couldn’t understand what I’d done to provoke the man, although I’d have been the first to admit I was not to everyone’s taste. There’d been no reason for accusing me of poaching, although I had seen a trout when bathing my feet. I’d never heard of anyone poaching trout with their toes. Hobbes had once told me that he’d been fishing with bears, who’d used their paws to hook in salmon, but I had nothing in common with bears, other than that my bedroom had once been