09-01-2021, 01:57 AM
The following day, intrepid idiot Harry Hardcastle entered the Gardener’s Arms to try and solve the case of the undeserving urchin. The main bar was mostly empty except for a few elderly regulars and a quiet drunk.
“Allo, sir. What can I get you?”
“Yes. I’m looking for someone, I was wondering if he drank in here?”
The publican was non-committal as he polished his bar
“People that drink in ‘ere don’t like questions like that.”
Harry was actually intimidated by that answer so changed his approach.
“Well, you see, I am a lawyer. My name is a Castle, I am trying to find this man - a Joseph Blacke, to give him a bequest from the estate of my client.”
“'ow much?”
“Excuse me?” Harry blinked.
“'ow much is Joseph Blacke getting?” the man behind the bar asked.
“30 pounds.” Harry answered, pulling a number out of thin air.
“For 30 pounds, I’ll be Joseph Blacke!” a regular piped up from down the bar with a chuckle of laughter from his drinking pals.
“Sorry, ‘e’s not been in a while.” Damn.
“My client’s estate is most keen to see that this money is not, well, spent in a place a like this -” Harry realised his surroundings and the error of his words “- at least not entirely. What sort of a man is Mister Blacke?” Harry produced a small notebook and pencil.
The publican leaned close to Harry “Oh Joesph Blacke is a terrible man... the worst sort:” a few chuckles. Harry nodded eagerly. This was the information Robert had wanted. The landlord continued, “‘e’s prophane, ‘e beats women and children,” Harry nodded scribbling hurriedly. More titters. The publican continued louder, so that all present would hear the evils of Joseph Blacke and beware. “’e even throws bags of kittens off the West Pier. Louder sniggering. E boasted in this very bar that ‘e was plannin’ on stealin’ the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London…”
It was then that the barman winked and Harry realised he was being publicly mocked. The barman snatched up the notebook and tore out the page of notes.
“Like I says, Mister Castle ‘e's not been in a while.”
“Allo, sir. What can I get you?”
“Yes. I’m looking for someone, I was wondering if he drank in here?”
The publican was non-committal as he polished his bar
“People that drink in ‘ere don’t like questions like that.”
Harry was actually intimidated by that answer so changed his approach.
“Well, you see, I am a lawyer. My name is a Castle, I am trying to find this man - a Joseph Blacke, to give him a bequest from the estate of my client.”
“'ow much?”
“Excuse me?” Harry blinked.
“'ow much is Joseph Blacke getting?” the man behind the bar asked.
“30 pounds.” Harry answered, pulling a number out of thin air.
“For 30 pounds, I’ll be Joseph Blacke!” a regular piped up from down the bar with a chuckle of laughter from his drinking pals.
“Sorry, ‘e’s not been in a while.” Damn.
“My client’s estate is most keen to see that this money is not, well, spent in a place a like this -” Harry realised his surroundings and the error of his words “- at least not entirely. What sort of a man is Mister Blacke?” Harry produced a small notebook and pencil.
The publican leaned close to Harry “Oh Joesph Blacke is a terrible man... the worst sort:” a few chuckles. Harry nodded eagerly. This was the information Robert had wanted. The landlord continued, “‘e’s prophane, ‘e beats women and children,” Harry nodded scribbling hurriedly. More titters. The publican continued louder, so that all present would hear the evils of Joseph Blacke and beware. “’e even throws bags of kittens off the West Pier. Louder sniggering. E boasted in this very bar that ‘e was plannin’ on stealin’ the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London…”
It was then that the barman winked and Harry realised he was being publicly mocked. The barman snatched up the notebook and tore out the page of notes.
“Like I says, Mister Castle ‘e's not been in a while.”
