Last Out From Roaring Water Bay by Joe Lane Page A

and raised a finger of remembrance. “Group Captain Bane!” he suddenly bellowed above the racket. “He’s still alive. Or at least he was.”
    Stooping to hear him because of a noisy jet overhead, I said, “Who did you say?”
    “Group Captain Bane. I spoke to him here two years ago. Never saw him last year though. He told me he always made the annual pilgrim to Duxford to honour the fallen.”
    I actually felt deflated. “Two years is a long time. He must be getting on a bit with his age; he could have passed away by now?”
    “Aye, lad, he may well have. But I doubt it.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “Bane gave me the impression that he looked after himself physically; he didn’t half look youthful for his age, made me feel like his father. We were gossiping about the war like two old women. He knew his planes alright. He said he made the trip every year from Yorkshire, though I only ever saw him that one time, two years ago.”
    “Yorkshire’s a big place. Did the chap mention whereabouts in Yorkshire he lived?”
    He nodded. “He did as a matter of fact.”
    I hurried him along. “Can you remember where exactly?”
    “It was a village with a funny name.”
    “Can you remember the name of the village? It’s important that I meet and talk to him.”
    He suddenly snapped his fingers. “It’s Gaggle or something that sounds just like that.” He frowned. “Gagglestone I think. No not Gagglestone.” His face creased in deep thought.
    I couldn’t help him in any way as I’d no idea where he was trying pinpoint. Seconds seem like minutes before he sprung back to life.
    “It’s Giggle-something. Yes, that sounds more like the place he lived.” I could feel the heat of his brain going into uncontrollable overdrive and then he was talking excitedly as he remembered. “I’ve got it! Giggleswick! That’s where he said he lived.”
    “It was definitely Giggleswick?”
    “Yes I’m sure that was the place he mentioned.”
    “Would that be Giggleswick near, Settle?” I prompted.
    He looked at me vacantly. “I wouldn’t know that. To be truthful, I’ve never been further north than Birmingham.”
    “Did he happen to mention if he’d retired there? What I mean: do you think he still lives in Giggleswick?”
    “I wouldn’t know that either, lad. I’d be guessing.”
    I didn’t prompt him for any further details. I would have to hunt down Bane myself and hoped he still resided there. I mean: how big is the village of Giggleswick? At least I’d a trail to follow which was a lot more than I had yesterday.
    I made my excuses for not stopping any longer, thanked him for the information and left the commotion and fuss of the air show with more enthusiasm in my step than I had an hour ago. Strangely, I was beginning to enjoy my days as a detective and I was seriously considering it as a secondary occupation for when the treasure trails slackened during the winter when the ground was frozen hard. I smiled. Me! A private dick! Shackleton Speed P.I. It sounded great, adventurous.
    Yes I was seriously thinking along those lines as I trundled along. But isn’t it funny how ideas can change so dramatically? And suddenly the thought of being a competent detective didn’t seem logical anymore, as I was about to discover as I approached the Roadster.
    I was focusing too much on Winston at the time, wondering why he was bouncing insanely around the car’s interior. I should have anticipated something was wrong only I’d relaxed on my security, and inadvertently, I never noticed nor heard anything untoward other than the roar of aircraft engines hurtling across the skies. Some detective I’d make because there was good reason for the dog’s madness only I didn’t see the problem until it was almost too late.
    By sheer luck, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the rampaging steel bull hurtling straight at me. Somehow I jumped and twisted in one movement and scaled the bonnet of a blue car a