The Collected Short Stories of Roald Dahl Volume 2 Read online

  He didn't say anything. He felt physically sick.

  "Stay here," he said. "I'm going to look upstairs." He ran out and took the stairs two at a time and went first to their bedroom. It was the same in there. The drawers had been pulled out and the shirts and blouses and underclothes were now scattered everywhere. The bedclothes had been stripped from the double-bed and even the mattress had been tipped off the bed and slashed many times with a knife. The cupboards were open and every dress and suit and every pair of trousers and every jacket and every skirt had been ripped from its hanger. He didn't look in the other bedrooms. He ran downstairs and put an arm around his wife's shoulders and together they picked their way through the debris of the sitting-room towards the kitchen. There they stopped.

  The mess in the kitchen was indescribable. Almost every single container of any sort in the entire room had been emptied on to the floor and then smashed to pieces. The place was a waste-land of broken jars and bottles and food of every kind. All Betty's home-made jams and pickles and bottled fruits had been swept from the long shelf and lay shattered on the ground. The same had happened to the stuff in the store-cupboard, the mayonnaise, the ketchup, the vinegar, the olive oil, the vegetable oil and all the rest. There were two other long shelves on the far wall and on these had stood about twenty lovely large glass jars with big groundglass stoppers in which were kept rice and flour and brown sugar and bran and oatmeal and all sorts of other things. Every jar now lay on the floor in many pieces, with the contents spewed around. The refrigerator door was open and the things that had been inside, the leftover foods, the milk, the eggs, the butter, the yoghurt, the tomatoes, the lettuce, all of them had been pulled out and splashed on to the pretty tiled kitchen floor. The inner drawers of the fridge had been thrown into the mass of slush and trampled on. The plastic ice-trays had been yanked out and each had been literally broken in two and thrown aside. Even the plastic-coated shelves had been ripped out of the fridge and bent double and thrown down with the rest. All the bottles of drink, the whisky, gin, vodka, sherry, vermouth, as well as half a dozen cans of beer, were standing on the table, empty. The bottles of drink and the beer cans seemed to be the only things in the entire house that had not been smashed. Practically the whole floor lay under a thick layer of mush and goo. It was as if a gang of mad children had been told to see how much mess they could make and had succeeded brilliantly.

  Robert and Betty Sandy stood on the edge of it all, speechless with horror. At last Robert said, "I imagine our lovely diamond is somewhere underneath all that."

  "I don't give a damn about our diamond," Betty said. "I'd like to kill the people who did this."

  "So would I," Robert said. "I've got to call the police." He went back into the sitting-room and picked up the telephone. By some miracle it still worked.

  The first squad car arrived in a few minutes. It was followed over the next half-hour by a Police Inspector, a couple of plain-clothes men, a finger-print expert and a photographer. The Inspector had a black moustache and a short muscular body. "These are not professional thieves," he told Robert Sandy after he had taken a look round. "They weren't even amateur thieves. They were simply hooligans off the street. Riff-raff. Yobbos. Probably three of them. People like this scout around looking for an empty house and when they find it they break in and the first thing they do is to hunt out the booze. Did you have much alcohol on the premises?"

  "The usual stuff," Robert said. "Whisky, gin, vodka, sherry and a few cans of beer."

  "They'll have drunk the lot," the Inspector said. "Lads like these have only two things in mind, drink and destruction. They collect all the booze on to a table and sit down and drink themselves raving mad. Then they go on the rampage."

  "You mean they didn't come in here to steal?" Robert asked.

  "I doubt they've stolen anything at all," the Inspector said. "If they'd been thieves they would at least have taken your TV set. Instead, they smashed it up."

  "But why do they do this?"

  "You'd better ask their parents," the Inspector said. "They're rubbish, that's all they are, just rubbish. People aren't brought up right any more these days."

  Then Robert told the Inspector about the diamond. He gave him all the details from the beginning to end because he realized that from the police point of view it was likely to be the most important part of the whole business.

  "Half a million quid!" cried the Inspector. "Jesus Christ!"

  "Probably double that," Robert said.

  "Then that's the first thing we look for," the Inspector said.

  "I personally do not propose to go down on my hands and knees grubbing around in that pile of slush," Robert said. "I don't feel like it at this moment."

  "Leave it to us," the Inspector said. "We'll find it. That was a clever place to hide it."

  "My wife thought of it. But tell me, Inspector, if by some remote chance they had found it…

  "Impossible," the Inspector said. "How could they?"

  "They might have seen it lying on the floor after the ice had melted," Robert said. "I agree it's unlikely. But if they had spotted it, would they have taken it?"

  "I think they would; the Inspector said." No one can resist a diamond. It has a sort of magnetism about it. Yes, if one of them had seen it on the floor, I think he would have slipped it into his pocket. But don't worry about it, doctor. It'll turn up."

  "I'm not worrying about it," Robert said. "Right now, I'm worrying about my wife and about our house. My wife spent years trying to make this place into a good home."

  "Now look, sir," the Inspector said, "the thing for you to do tonight is to take your wife off to a hotel and get some rest. Come back tomorrow, both of you, and we'll start sorting things out. There'll be someone here all the time looking after the house."

  "I have to operate at the hospital first thing in the morning," Robert said. "But I expect my wife will try to come along."

  "Good," the Inspector said. "It's a nasty upsetting business having your house ripped apart like this. It's a big shock. I've seen it many times. It hits you very hard."

  Robert and Betty Sandy stayed the night at Oxford's Randolph Hotel, and by eight o'clock the following morning Robert was in the Operating Theatre at the hospital, beginning to work his way through his morning list.

  Shortly after noon, Robert had finished his last operation, a straightforward non-malignant prostate on an elderly male. He removed his rubber gloves and mask and went next door to the surgeons' small rest-room for a cup of coffee. But before he got his coffee, he picked up the telephone and called his wife.

  "How are you, darling?" he said.

  "Oh Robert, it's so awful," she said. "I just don't know where to begin."

  "Have you called the insurance company?"

  "Yes, they're coming any moment to help me make a list."

  "Good," he said. "And have the police found our diamond?"

  "I'm afraid not," she said. "They've been through every bit of that slush in the kitchen and they swear it's not there."

  "Then where can it have gone? Do you think the vandals found it?"

  "I suppose they must have," she said. "When they broke those ice-trays all the ice-cubes would have fallen out. They fall out when you just bend the tray. They're meant to."

  "They still wouldn't have spotted it in the ice," Robert said.

  "They would when the ice melted," she said. "Those men must have been in the house for hours. Plenty of time for it to melt."

  "I suppose you're right."

  "It would stick out a mile lying there on the floor," she said, "the way it shines."

  "Oh dear," Robert said.

  "If we never get it back we won't miss it much anyway, darling," she said. "We only had it a few hours."

  "I agree," he said. "Do the police have any leads on who the vandals were?"

  "Not a clue," she said. "They found lots of finger-prints, but they don't seem to belong to any known criminals."

  "They would