Further Titles in the Series by Andrew C. Rouse

Level A2

Mr Codie of Scotland Yard

The British Pub

The Ride of Johnny Ringo

Level B1

My Christmases

Tales from Watchet

Small Ads

Level B2

The English Village

For all levels

with Audrey V. Rouse

Eating Around Britain

Further Titles in the Series

Level A2

István Fekete Thorn Castle

(Tüskevár)

Hungarian Folk Tales

(Magyar népmesék)

Hungarian Legends

(Magyar mondák)

Level B1

Frigyes Karinthy Please, Sir

(Tanár úr kérem)

László L. Lőrincz The Shame of the Great Dome

(A Nagy Kupola szégyene)

Ferenc Molnár The Paul Street Boys

(A Pál utcai fiúk)

Level B1

István Csukás Bowler Hat and Red Nose

(Keménykalap és krumpliorr)

Frigyes Karinthy A Journey Round My Skull

(Utazás a koponyám körül)

Géza Ottlik School at the Frontier

(Iskola a határon)

Mr Codie of Scotland Yard

A2 (1000 headwords)

Written by ANDREW C. ROUSE

Illustrated by RONTÓ LILI

ISBN 978 963 05 9314 4

ISSN 2062-6150

Published by Akadémiai Kiadó,

member of the

Association of Hungarian Publishers and Booksellers

founded in 1795.

1117 Budapest, Prielle Kornélia u. 21–35.

www.akademiaikiado.hu

First edition: 2012

© ANDREW C. ROUSE, 2012

© AKADÉMIAI KIADÓ, 2012

Responsible for publication: Director of Akadémiai Kiadó

Responsible for editing: POMÁZI GYÖNGYI

Managing Editor: KÁCSOR LÓRÁNT

Page-Setting: LACZKÓ LÁSZLÓ

Cover Design: SÜTŐ RÓBERT

Technical Editor: KISS ZSUZSA

Print: Akadémiai Nyomda

Managing Director: UJVÁROSI LAJOS

Copyrights are the sole property of the copyright owners

listed above. Any copying, distributing and reproducing in any form

(electronically, mechanically, by print or photography)

without prior permission of all copyright owners is prohibited.

Printed in Hungary

To my wife, who “decodes” my typing.

Mr Codie of Scotland Yard

In the first four chapters, Mr Codie helps Inspector Catchum with a problem in code.

But the Inspector does not tell you what the answer to the problem is. You must decode it yourself!

(If you can’t, you will find the solutions in the Key on page 79).

Chapter One

INSPECTOR CATCHUM’S COFFEE

Inspector Catchum was a very good policeman but a very bad bridge player. From Monday morning to Friday evening, and sometimes at night and at the weekend, he went after criminals, and he caught every one. But on Saturday nights he played bridge with Professor Nowall, Dr Cureham and the Reverend Hymspray. And he always lost. If the doctor was his partner, then he did not lose much because the doctor was the best player. The professor was quite good, too, but Hymspray was almost as bad as the Inspector and when they played together, then the Inspector got angrier and angrier. On Saturday nights Mrs Catchum went to bed early. Every Sunday morning she went to church, and when she arrived home again her husband was quite normal. In this way they were very happy together.

At Scotland Yard, Inspector Catchum kept a diary. Every day, at the end of work, he sat down at his desk and wrote down his day’s work. He now had twenty-eight diaries. All the other detectives had computers in their offices, but Inspector Catchum hated computers. He did not even like typewriters. He had very good handwriting. He always used a real pen, and he bought the very best ink for it. He liked to see the letters as they appeared on the paper.

The Inspector did not write about the weather, or his birthday or wedding anniversary. He only wrote about his work, and he only wrote facts. Once, he spent two-and-a-half years on one criminal, Fast Fingers Furguson. Nobody could get into a building, open a safe and get out of the building again as quickly as Fast Fingers. The public was very angry, because the police couldn’t catch him. Fast Fingers Furguson worked in Liverpool, Manchester and other large towns in that part of England, and he knew every policeman there. So Scotland Yard sent Inspector Catchum up to help. Inspector Catchum was not very happy, because he couldn’t take his wife with him, and because he couldn’t get home every weekend to play bridge, but orders are orders, so he went. It was his first visit to that part of England, and he didn’t even know the main streets when he arrived. In one month, he knew every side-street. He worked like a Trojan, and so every other po-lice-man with him worked hard, too. But it was more than two years later when they caught Furguson. The day they caught Fast Fingers, Inspector Catchum took his diary, opened it at the right page, took his pen, filled it with top quality ink, and wrote: 14.38. Caught FFF.

Nothing else. Inspector Catchum never wrote more when he caught a criminal. He worked at his job like a good bridge player. He had a very good memory, and he was very methodical. He tried to be as scientific as he could. He found out the most he could about the criminal he wanted to catch, and about the policemen he worked with. He hated television crime stories, which were full of fast cars and guns and where the police caught the criminal in a few hours or a few days, and where there was so much luck. He knew that this was not the way to catch criminals.

“You cannot get your man if you wait for luck,” he told young detectives. “A detective’s work is a science. First you use your eyes and your ears, but then you must use that thing in the middle of your head.”

This was not an original speech. Most of the words were the doctor’s.

“You can’t play good bridge if you wait for luck. Bridge isn’t a card game – it’s a science. First you use your eyes and ears, but then you must use your brain.” But when he played cards, Inspector Catchum always waited for luck. That was why he always lost.

One Saturday night he was playing bridge at the professor’s house. His partner was Hymspray, so he was losing even more than usual. The others were enjoying the evening. The professor always had very good wine, he and the doctor were winning, and Hymspray didn’t mind if he lost or won. Catchum never drank alcohol. He liked to keep a clear head. Scotland Yard could telephone him at any time, night or day.

Maybe the Inspector didn’t drink alcohol, but he drank gallons and gallons of coffee. Just outside his office at the Yard, there was a hot drinks machine. You put your money in a slot at the top, and pressed a button. There were three buttons, one for coffee, one for tea, and one for hot cocoa. Not many of the people who worked on that floor used the machine. They said that all three drinks tasted the same: bad. But Inspector Catchum liked the coffee. It was very weak, so he could drink lots of it. At the end of the day his office was full of plastic cups.

Early on the Sunday morning after his very bad bridge night, the telephone rang. It was Scotland Yard.

“Inspector Catchum?”

“Speaking.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you on a Sunday morning sir, but…”

“All right, all right.” The Inspector remembered his very bad bridge night. “What is it?”

“The Chief Inspector would like you to come down to the Yard straight away.”

“I’m on my way.”

Catchum didn’t ask for any information. He put the telephone receiver down, and started to dress, quickly but methodically. He found a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote, quickly but tidily: At the Yard.

He put the piece of paper in the middle of the kitchen table, and went out of the house. He locked the front door, and walked across to the garage, where his twenty-eight year-old Vauxhall Victor stood. As he drove the car out of the garage, the chrome shone brightly in the sun. The Inspector loved his old car, and kept it in perfect condition.

“I’m really quite a lucky man,” he thought as he started the motor. “I have this lovely old car, a good wife, I like my job, I have a nice house with a pretty little garden, quiet neighbours and the right number of friends…” He remembered his three bridge-playing friends. All he wanted now, he thought, the only thing he didn’t have in his life, was just one really good night of bridge. Just one.

At the police station, he parked his car in its usual place far away from the others, got out, locked it, and went into the building and up the stairs to his office. At the top of the stairs he took a coin out of his pocket and walked to the drinks machine. He put the coin in the slot, pressed the button, and waited. There was a funny sound, like water going out of a bath, but nothing came out of the machine. He hit the side of the machine with his open hand. Still nothing. Then he pressed another button, and his coin came out of the machine, landed on the floor, and rolled along the corridor. The Inspector went after it, and put his foot on it to stop it. He picked it up, and went back to the machine to try again. This time there was no noise at all. It was empty. He pressed the button to get his coin back, but this time it did not come out of the machine.

The Inspector was very angry.

“What kind of a machine is this?” he said to himself. “It steals your money right in the middle of Scotland Yard!”

He went into his office, sat down at his desk, and picked up the phone. He dialled two numbers: 07.

“Hello. Catchum here. Tell the Chief I’m in my office, and tell the people downstairs to come up and mend the drinks machine. Thanks.”

He put down the receiver. Almost at once the phone rang. He picked the receiver up again.

“The Chief wants you right away.”

“All right, I’m coming.”

“And Codie’s on his way up.”

“Who’s Codie?”

“The man who mends the machines.”

“Oh. Good.”

Inspector Catchum put down the receiver again, and went up to the Chief Inspector’s office. He knocked on the Chief s door. “Come in,” called the Chief from inside.

Catchum opened the door and went in. The Chief was sitting behind his desk, a beautiful mahogany piece of antique furniture. The Chief looked up.

“Ah, morning Catchum. Sorry to call you in on a Sunday, but I need a good man with experience. It’s drugs again, I’m afraid.”

Nobody in Scotland Yard liked drugs. They hurt silly little teenagers, and the men who sold the drugs, the ones at the top of the drugs mafia, were nearly always very important men in society. Now Inspector Catchum knew why the Chief wanted him to come in today. After he caught Fast Fingers Furguson in a small village near Manchester, the policemen who worked with him gave him a new name: Bulldog. When a bulldog fights another dog, he waits until he can bite the other dog in a good place, and then he never lets go. Sometimes he has to wait for a long time, and the other dog runs round and round him, but in the end the bulldog nearly always wins, even when the other dog is much bigger. Inspector Catchum was just like that.

“Have we got any information, sir?”

“Well, yes and no, Catchum.”

“Sir?”

“Well, there was a strange telephone call about an hour ago. An anonymous one. A man’s voice, a young man’s.”

“What did he say, sir?”

“Let’s listen to the cassette recording. I don’t want you to think I’m old and senile.”

The Chief switched on the cassette recorder.

“If you want to know about the drugs mafia, look on the second floor of Scotland Yard,” said the voice.

“Your office is on the second floor, isn’t it?” asked the Chief.

“Yes, sir. All the rooms are detectives’ offices, and there’s a washroom and toilet at each end. We are the only people with keys, except the cleaning woman. She’s Detective Ryan’s mother, she’s sixty-three years old and she thinks she is a better detective than all the rest of us together. But information is information: most of the offices are empty at this time of day, so I can start work with a quiet look down there.” The Inspector thought silently, “and I hope the coffee machine is working now.”

But when Catchum got down to the second floor, there was a sign on the drinks machine: OUT OF ORDER. DO NOT USE!

Beside the machine, there was a chair and a table. There was a man in the chair. He was wearing overalls, and he was reading a piece of paper. Inspector Catchum was sure that this was the man who mended the machines.

He wanted to tell him not to sit and read, but to get up and start the machine. He couldn’t think if he didn’t have some coffee.

The man looked up.

“Hello, Inspector,” said the man, just like an old friend.

“Who are you?” asked the Inspector.

“I’m Codie, the man who mends the machines here,” answered the man.

“Why isn’t this one working?” asked the Inspector.

“Because the water in it isn’t hot yet,” said Codie.

“There wasn’t any water in it this morning. And it didn’t give me back my money.”

“Well, there’s water in it now. And it didn’t give you back your money because this piece of paper was inside the machine. It’s quite interesting.”

He gave the piece of paper to Inspector Catchum. The Inspector looked at it.

This is what he read:

rfufmudfm xzmkbbf ru

dmdwdo ejeudfm chh

csthr ndfsjmh

“What’s this?” asked the Inspector, “a joke?”

“No, Inspector, it’s a code. It’s very simple. My brother and I had the same one when we were children.”

“What does it say? It doesn’t look simple.” Inspector Catchum didn’t like codes. He never did crossword puzzles. He was hopeless at Sudoku. He couldn’t remember the right things to say at the beginning of a game of bridge.

“All you do,” said Codie, “is to go one letter up or one letter down the alphabet. r-f-u-f-m-u-d-f-m is then seventeen. After that it’s easy. I think the water’s hot now. Here’s the money you put in last time. I must go now. The chocolate machine in the cafeteria isn’t working. Bye, Inspector.”

Inspector Catchum forgot everything else when he heard the word coffee. He put the coin in the machine. Out came a plastic cup, and then the weak, watery coffee that he liked so much. He took the cup out, and carried it into his office. Then he saw that the piece of paper was still in his hand. He looked at it, and then said “Stupidity!” aloud and threw the paper into the waste-paper basket under his desk. He sat down and began to think about the drugs mafia. Then he put his coffee down. He looked down at the waste-paper basket. Slowly, his hand went down to the basket, took the piece of paper out, and put it on the desk in front of him. The Inspector took a new piece of paper and wrote, r-f-u-f-m-u-d-f-m. Under it, he wrote s-e-v-e-n-t-e-e-n. Then he wrote down the rest of the code, and under it he tried to finish the rest in the same way. It was hard work for him, and when at last he finished there were three plastic cups on his desk, all empty. Then he picked up the telephone.

„Detective Inspector Catchum speaking. I want ten good men in my office at nine o’clock exactly, with guns.”

„Guns, sir?” British policemen don’t normally carry guns.

„Yes, guns. And I want three fast police cars.”

„Fast cars, sir?”

“Yes. Shall I say it again, or did you understand first time?” Everybody knew he hated guns and fast cars, but he didn’t want to make any mistakes tonight. Fast Fingers Furguson was a criminal, but he was a traditional criminal. He stole money in a very professional way, but he didn’t hurt people. The drugs mafia were very rich people, and they hurt young teenagers so that they could become richer.

“I understood, sir. Is there anything else?”

“Nothing else.”

He waited for the policeman at the other end to put his receiver down, and then he rang his own number.

“Dorothy, is that you?”

“Yes, dear. I read your note. Is something the matter?”

“You know I can’t tell you anything, dear.” Dorothy always asked him the same question, and he always gave her the same answer. “Look, I’m afraid I can’t come home until very late. Go to bed and don’t wait for me to come home tonight. All right, dear?”

“All right, Eddie dear. Do be careful, won’t you?” She always said that, too.

“I’m always careful, Dorothy. It’s part of my job.”

“Of course, dear. Bye, then.”

“Bye. Don’t forget to give the dog his supper.”

“I won’t. See you later, then.”

“Yes. And don’t stay up. Promise?”

“I promise, dear.”

“Bye, then.”

He didn’t wait for his wife to say anything else. It was very difficult to finish a telephone conversation with her. The only way was to put down the receiver.

He took a map out of his desk drawer and began to make a plan. The time went very quickly. At nine o’clock exactly the ten policemen arrived.

“Sit down, men.” This was not very easy. They were all big men, and the room was not a big one. And there were only five chairs, anyway.

“Now listen carefully. This is what we do…”

On Monday morning, when the Chief Inspector arrived at his office, there was a complete report of the police action at 17, Wallace St. It was not long, because Inspector Catchum never used many words, but it was complete. It was also in beautiful handwriting.

The Chief Inspector picked up his phone.

“Miss Titworth, please come into my office.”

He put the phone down. A second later, the door opened and his secretary walked in.

“Miss Titworth, please take Inspector Catchum’s report and type it.”

Miss Titworth went out with Inspector Catchum’s report. Fifteen minutes later she came back.

“Here you are, sir. The original is in the usual place.”

“Thank you, Miss Titworth.”

“Poor old Catchum,” thought the Chief Inspector when he was alone again. “He’s one of my best men. But he can’t move with the times. All the other Inspectors write their reports on their own computers, and the information goes into the central computer automatically. But Catchum still uses a pen and paper.”

The Chief Inspector picked up the phone again. He dialled Inspector Catchum’s office number.

“Catchum.”

“Hello, Edward. Thank you for your report. You did some very good work last night.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Catchum put down his phone. He was very pleased with last night’s action. “But,” he thought, “there’s a lot of hard work to do today.” Down in the cells there were two important politicians, three international businessmen, and an aristocrat. The heads of the drugs mafia.

“They can wait. First, I’m going to have a coffee.”

The Inspector went out to the coffee machine. It was working, thank goodness. Then he remembered Mr Codie, the man who mended the machines. He went back to his office with the coffee and picked up the phone.

“I want to speak to Mr Codie.”

“Who, sir?”

“Codie, the repair man.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll send him up, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Inspector Catchum was a very fair man. He knew that he was a very good detective, but he also knew that he could not work alone. He always thanked everybody who helped him.