And the horse, eh? Where are they now?'Inspector Sussworth opened his mouth to answer but shut it again immediately as the DAC held up his hand for silence.'Escaped, that's what, escaped.' The DAC's voice was pointed and half-transparent, like shards of bone china. Two months ago I was assured that you had these Borribles all cooped up in Wandsworth. Sussworth was in serious trouble and the District Assistant Commissioner was making sure that he knew it.'It's not good enough,' said the DAC, 'just not good enough.

He was standing to attention before a large leather-topped desk, his lips tightly clenched and his postage stamp of a moustache humming with indignation. This was the life.Inside the office, Sergeant Hanks's superior, Inspector Sussworth, was not enjoying himself. As the curved nail of his index finger dug into something soft and spongy his eyes closed with the joy of an exquisite physical pleasure, and when, at last, the moist and luxuriant bogey was pulled reluctantly away from its tenacious root and coaxed out into the light, Hanks just half opened a single eye and examined his trophy with a close and professional interest.'Hmm,' he said, 'first class that one, looks like a well-fed whelk.' And he stuck it under his chair and crossed his fat ankles in utter contentment. He had excavated very successfully for ten minutes in the left nostril and he was now delving in the right one. 1Sergeant Hanks of the Metropolitan Police and second in command of the Special Borrible Group sat on a chair outside the office of the District Assistant Commissioner and picked his nose in a state of unalloyed rapture.

The Borribles by Michael de Larrabeiti