The Booby Illustration

Image created using ChatGPT

‘Katie, bar the door. No one is leaving here until it is found,’ barked Gordon.

His assistant, with her bag on her shoulder, ready to go home, looked longingly at the summery world outside the musty second-hand bookstore before flipping the sign to closed and leaning against the door.

Satisfied that his diminutive assistant would stop any fleeing thief, he shouted into his shop, ‘Everyone out here. Now!’

From within the warren of book stacks, a lanky teenage boy emerged clutching a battered copy of Crime and Punishment. After him came a primly dressed woman, cracking open the spine of a book on marriage counselling. The last to arrive was a short gentleman, wearing a bowler hat, a Pokémon Christmas jumper and carrying a black leather briefcase. Gordon focused his attention on him, eyes narrowed.

‘I say,’ said the gentleman, ‘what’s going on?’

‘Someone has stolen my Booby,’ said Gordon. The teenager sniggered.

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ said Gordon, rounding on the boy. ‘I discovered the illustration of the Blue-Footed Booby on a piece of paper torn out of a notebook in a first edition of Origin of the Species. I’ve had it authenticated. It’s by Darwin. That Booby is unique; it’s worth thousands. And now it’s missing!’

‘And what has that got to do with us?’ asked the prim woman, closing the book and crossing her arms.

‘It was hanging up behind the counter the last time that bell rang.’ Gordon pointed to the shop door. ‘So one of you must have taken it whilst I was out back. You’re not leaving here until I get it back.’

‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ said the woman.

‘Who’s Darwin?’ asked the boy.

‘Charles Darwin was a naturalist, geologist, and biologist who is widely known for his contributions to evolutionary biology,’ said the gentleman.

‘You seem to know a lot about him,’ demanded Gordon, bearing down on the gentleman.

‘It’s common knowledge, isn’t it?’ said the gentleman, shrinking back.

‘Obviously not,’ Gordon said, nodding to the boy. ‘You’re a scientist, aren’t you? You’re always in here reading my books and never buying any.’

‘I’m a professor of theoretical physics. Darwin isn’t my area,’ squeaked the gentleman, cowering as Gordon came nose to nose with him.

‘What’s in the briefcase?’ Gordon demanded, reaching out to take it.

‘That’s none of your business.’ The professor stepped back and hugged the briefcase to his chest.

‘Show me what’s inside. Or do I need to call the police?’ Gordon growled.

‘Mr Herriot,’ said Katie, standing away from the door. ‘Is it all right if I go? Only my Mum’s carer will be leaving soon.’

‘You can go,’ said Gordon, not taking his eyes off the professor.

Katie was straight out of the door. She walked down the road, staring straight ahead. At the corner of the road, she glanced back at the bookshop. Seeing no one following her, she did a pirouette and hurried home, the illustration safely tucked away in her bag.

© Sarah Goldsmith 2025

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