3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers by Wilkie Martin Read Free Book Online

towards a chopping board, and selected a broad bladed knife.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Hobbes. ‘He’s not normally so forward. He’s probably tired.’
    ‘Don’t worry, old boy,’ said Sid. ‘Most humans take a while to adjust. You can’t blame them, really. There’s so much piffle out there. Just try googling the word vampire and you’ll find there are millions of hits and hardly any of them come even close to the truth.’
    ‘I did tell him,’ said Hobbes, ‘that you would not dream of drinking his blood.’
    ‘He did.’ I agreed.
    ‘That’s alright then,’ said Sid, examining the edge of the knife. ‘Did he also mention that I prefer to dine on human brains?’
    I shook my head, my mouth dropping open.
    ‘I’m surprised,’ said Sid. ‘He usually does.’
    Having crushed and chopped the garlic, he threw it into a small pot on the range, along with a knob of butter. The fragrance cut through everything else and made me even hungrier.
    Hobbes was grinning and, I thought, looking somewhat sheepish.
    ‘When the garlic is nicely browned,’ said Sid, ‘I’ll add it to the soup and then we can have a good chat while it finishes. Help yourselves to wine while you’re waiting.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Hobbes, reaching for a bottle in the middle of the table. Pulling off the foil capsule, he gave three sharp smacks to the bottom of the bottle, making the cork rise up. Pulling it out with a gentle pop, sniffing it with a nod of approval, he flicked it across the kitchen, straight into a flip top bin.
    ‘Would you care for a little, Andy?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, please.’
    Having filled three glasses with the dark red, almost purple liquid, he pushed one towards me and took one for himself. ‘Cheers.’
    ‘Cheers,’ I said, sniffing, satisfying myself that it really was wine, and taking a sip. It was rich and fruity, with a warm velvety feel and was more than acceptable. Since living at Hobbes’s I’d developed a rudimentary palate and considered I now knew enough to avoid anything likely to dissolve my teeth or blind me.
    We sat in silence for a few moments, sipping, enjoying the flavour, relaxing as the sizzling garlic, combined with the other cooking aromas, set my mouth watering.
    ‘Is he really a vampire?’ I whispered.
    ‘I really am,’ said Sid, who was suddenly standing right behind me.
    Jerking with shock, I knocked over my glass. Sid caught it and handed it back without a drop spilling.
    ‘We have sharp ears as well as sharp teeth,’ he said.
    ‘Not to mention sharp reflexes,’ said Hobbes.
    ‘Hardly, old boy, I’ve slowed down with age.’
    ‘Age?’ said Hobbes, looking severe. ‘More like your drunken life style.’
    ‘Drunken? I haven’t touched a drop since 1950.’
    ‘Since it’s only ten-past eight, now,’ said Hobbes, ‘you’ve lasted all of twenty minutes.’ He handed a glass to the old vampire.
    ‘Much obliged,’ said Sid, raising it to his lips. ‘Good health!’
    If he was a vampire, and I had few doubts anymore, he was a cheerful one.
    ‘The soup will be ready in just a few minutes,’ he said, taking a seat at the head of the table.
    ‘What is it?’ I asked, raising my voice over the rumbling of my stomach.
    ‘It’s borscht, my own recipe and I hope you like it.’
    ‘It smells great,’ I said, unsure what borscht was, but unwilling to expose my ignorance.
    ‘It does indeed,’ said Hobbes and refilled his glass. ‘It’s very good of you to have us.’
    ‘Not at all.’
    ‘Your invitation was most opportune. You see, my house is currently under siege, and getting out is a trifle tricky.’ Hobbes took a gulp of wine and stretched out his legs.
    ‘Ah, yes,’ said Sid, ‘the barbarians at the gates. I’ve been keeping an eye on the news. I’m always a little nervous with crowds, because they are, in my experience, only one step removed from turning into mobs and taking up flaming brands and pitchforks.’
    ‘You’ve had no more trouble of that