Ben Hansen
Three and a half weeks later, Ben and Hugh staggered back into their office.
"If I never see an envelope or a parcel again, it'll be too soon,"
Hugh murmured.
"What does that mean?" Ben asked. "If you never see an envelope, then
WHAT'S too soon?"
Hugh was spared the indignity of replying to this asinine question by
the soft sound of an envelope being punched through the slot by a
mailman who bore a strange resemblance to the hideous bellboy who had
worked in the Chad hotel Graham Brooks had died in.
"Dear detectives," it read, "Thank you for delivering those letters.
If not for you, I would still be dead. Enclosed is your cheque." And
it was.
"It wasn't all bad then," Hugh said.
"Meh," Ben replied. "I still prefer draughts."
"But we got lots of money, and we got to see a bit of the world."
"Whatever. Just promise me we never have to do it again without at
least knowing why."
"What was wrong with it?"
"Are you kidding?" Ben shot back. ""What was RIGHT with it?"
"Well, we got to go on a river cruise."
"We almost drowned on a leaky raft we built ourselves."
"You got a free first-aid class."
"I had to perform surgery on myself, just because you thought standing
over me with a scalpel would look a bit gay. I'm just lucky the
natives thought we were gods and decided to rescue me before I bled to
death."
"Yes, it'll be some time before I want to sacrifice a goat again."
"But enough about Queensland, let's go to bed."
And they did.
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