The Peculiar Predicament of Percival Pringle

My name is Nigel. I dabble in the literary arts—one might say I'm a wordsmith of moderate repute. The other day, quite by happenstance, I stumbled upon my old acquaintance Reginald-Thornton-Woods. He manages a rather lucrative enterprise with his younger sibling, Bartholomew—though everyone affectionately calls him "Tolly." Their trade? Cryptocurrency consultancy. They advise the wealthy on digital asset acquisition, blockchain investments, and the occasional foray into NFTs. They operate primarily from their pied-à-terre in Shillong, though their clients span from Mumbai to Monaco.

After the customary exchange of pleasantries and the consumption of a rather passable Darjeeling, Reginald leaned forward with an expression of profound consternation.

"Nigel, old boy," he began, stroking his chin with theatrical gravity, "might I enquire whether you're acquainted with any individuals of the detective persuasion?"

"Detective persuasion?" I echoed, my eyebrow ascending of its own accord. "You mean someone who deduces things? The sort who wears a deerstalker and mutters about the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime?"

"Precisely! The C.I.D. variety. Fellows who lurk in shadows, sniffing about one's financial affairs with all the subtlety of a bloodhound at a bacon factory."

I confess I am nonplussed. "Good heavens, Reggie. Have you been embezzling? Cooking the books? Engaged in some peculiarly creative accounting?"

It was at this juncture that Tolly, who had been lurking in the corner with the air of a man harbouring a particularly juicy secret, interjected with a conspiratorial wink.

"We're not the cooks, Nigel—we're the ones being cooked!"

Reginald shot his brother a look that could have curdled milk at twenty paces. But Tolly, undeterred by fraternal displeasure, pressed on with evident relish.

"I'm simply stating facts, Reggie! There's a chap who's been shadowing us for weeks. Materialised from the ether, as it were. He watches, he listens, he hovers about the premises with all the grace of a bad smell."

"And who might this spectre be?"

"Ah, there's the rub! We haven't the foggiest. But the fellow's conversation is positively deranged. When we enquired about his persistent presence, he announced he'd 'come about the bonus.' Then he launched into the most preposterous monologue—"

"Bonus?"

"Oh, you must hear this. Reggie, do be a dear and relay the encounter. Your impression is rather spot-on."

And thus Reginald commenced that most peculiar dialogue which caused my ears to prick up like those of a terrier who's heard the biscuit tin opening.

"We provide it, naturally. All reputable firms do. But they distribute it annually—three months' worth, if you can believe the parsimony—whereas I dispense it on a monthly basis."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Month in, month out, I furnish an additional trimester of remuneration. How else would the poor devils manage? Have you observed the inflationary spiral? Goods have appreciated threefold, I'll have you know!"

At this point, our mysterious visitor—one Percival Pringle, as I would later discover—appeared genuinely nonplussed. His countenance suggested a man who had just been informed that gravity was taking a holiday.

"Look here, old sport," Tolly chimed in, "this recurring bonus business has transformed all our technicians into 'bonai.'"

"Transformed them into what?"

"Bonai! From bonus to bonai—surely you grasp the linguistic progression? When Bacillus multiplies, it becomes Bacilli. Are you entirely unacquainted with the English tongue? What, pray, constitutes the plural of bonus? Just as a single genius becomes multiple genii, so too does one bonus become several bonai. Elementary, my dear fellow!"

Tolly glanced my way, seeking validation.

"Grammatically speaking," I offered, "one cannot fault the logic."

"You see? And as our bonai proliferated, our spinsterish sisters finally found themselves matrimonially situated. The bridegrooms materialised as if summoned by advertisement! Naturally, they congregated to partake of the bonus through their newly acquired wives—every last one of them from your side of the family, I might add."

"Eureka!" exclaimed Pringle, slapping his forehead with such vigour I feared for his cranial integrity. "Then a substantial portion of this surplus remuneration remains unaccounted for! Where do you secrete this treasure? In a banking establishment? Beneath the mattress? For even accumulated by infinitesimal degrees, it must eventually amass into a veritable fortune—that astonishing wealth of yours..."

"Their wealth resides in the cloud!" I interjected, attempting to redirect the conversational current. "Is wealth truly sequestered within domestic walls? The entire digital landscape IS their treasury. Preserved in virtual form. Mined cryptocurrency IS money manifested." I elucidated further with an illustrative parallel: "Just as repetitive chanting of 'mora mora' eventually yields 'Ram,' so too does crypto-mining transmute computation into currency! The blockchain is, to extend the metaphor, a money tree."

"I follow your drift," Pringle nodded, his eyes acquiring a predatory gleam. "And that establishment in Shillong you referenced—that's where the servers reside? The majority of the Northeast is, after all, replete with hydropower and data centres. One might reasonably infer that somewhere in proximity to those facilities—perhaps in some deeply clandestine server farm—your wealth is virtually stored. Am I warm?"

Reginald responded not a syllable. He merely emitted a noncommittal "Hmm" and subsided into a silence more profound than the Marianas Trench. Despite Pringle's evident enthusiasm, the dam of fraternal reserve remained steadfastly unbreached.

"Well then," Pringle announced, rising with the air of a man who has accomplished his mission, "I shall take my leave. I'd heard your name mentioned in certain circles, and our acquaintance has been most edifying. Ta-ta!"

After his departure, Reginald finally unburdened himself: "That fellow's discourse is decidedly peculiar. He's attempting to ferret out our financial secrets!"

"Indeed, Reggie. Inscrutable to a fault."

It fell to me to illuminate the situation. "That, my dear fellows, was no ordinary civilian. That was Percival Pringle, a detective of considerable cunning. The authorities are currently conducting surveillance on black money operations—crypto assets accumulated through questionable means, undeclared digital holdings..."

"Black money?" Reginald looked genuinely bewildered. "But we're legitimate consultants! We advise on blockchain technology! We haven't—"

"These days, one doesn't simply leave illicit funds in accessible accounts. One converts them to stablecoins, buries them in hardware wallets, hides them in decentralized exchanges. The government suspects you've amassed considerable wealth through—shall we say—creative cryptocurrency acquisitions. Timber's old hat; crypto's where the clever money hides."

"Then the man has a blazing hot trail!" Tolly wailed. "We're done for!"

"You've ruined us, Nigel!" Reginald's voice approached a keening wail. "You've practically gift-wrapped Shillong and handed it to him on a silver platter!"

At that fortuitous moment, the telephone emitted its strident summons. Reginald answered, then extended the receiver toward me with an expression of profound mystification.

"For me? Who on earth—"

"Good afternoon, Nigel speaking."

"Percival Pringle here. I'm telephoning from a nearby clinic. Observing you through the window, I recognized your distinctive physiognomy. You probably didn't place me—I have one of those faces. But I've a proposition for you. I'm catching the night train to Shillong and wondered if you'd care to accompany me. Assam's natural beauty would, I'm certain, provide splendid inspiration for a man of letters. A few days of sylvan exploration—a change of scene, as it were. What say you?"

"Sylvan exploration?" I responded with perhaps excessive haste. "Most kind, but I must decline. My own residence in Ghatshila is positively surrounded by arboreal splendour. I spend more time in forests than a foraging badger. The very notion of travelling to Shillong specifically to observe trees strikes me as carrying coals to Newcastle. Frankly, I've developed a positive aversion to chlorophyll. And between us, though I occasionally commit literature to paper, I'm scarcely a nature enthusiast."

Upon disconnecting, I relayed the conversation's substance to my anxious companions. "That was your detective friend. He's bound for Shillong on tonight's express."

"The devil he is!" Reginald's complexion assumed an interesting shade of puce. "Then we're thoroughly undone! This is the finale, Tolly!"

"Undone? I've just saved your bacon! Had he conducted a thorough investigation of your premises here, he'd have discovered your entire crypto portfolio. I've deftly redirected his attention, haven't I? Let him roam the Khasi Hills until he's blue in the face!"

"He'd have found precious little here, Nigel. A few lakhs, perhaps—petty cash for daily requirements! Do you imagine we store our wealth in this place? Have we no fear of burglars? Since that unfortunate incident at the office, we've adopted rather more sophisticated security protocols. All our significant holdings are converted to hardware wallets and transported to Shillong—where we deposit them in a safety deposit box at a particularly obscure branch of the State Bank."

"Safety deposit box! But you mentioned burying things under trees!"

"That, my dear Nigel, was an allegorical flourish! We're cryptocurrency consultants, not pirates! Though I confess the imagery appealed to my dramatic sensibilities. The tree in question is a metaphorical construct—a private key, if you will."

"A metaphorical tree?" I confess to feeling somewhat foolish. "But I've been operating under an entirely arboricultural misapprehension!"

"Quite so. Though Tolly's subsequent commentary about trees being indistinguishable was rather amusing, wasn't it?"

"Nevertheless," Tolly interjected, "if our detective friend descends upon Shillong and begins scrutinising every financial institution..."

"He'll discover nothing without the requisite legal authorisation! But I take your point. The man's persistence is remarkable."

"Then let's beat him at his own game!" Tolly's eyes sparkled with sudden inspiration. "We'll take the same train tonight. Turn the tables! Engage in counter-surveillance! I've read enough detective literature to know all their tricks—I'm practically a consulting detective myself!"

This assertion piqued my curiosity. "And what, precisely, constitutes your literary curriculum?"

"You'd be surprised! I've consumed the entire canon—from those vintage police procedurals to contemporary masters of deduction. The Blake Series, the Mohan Series, everything! From Jayantakumar to Byomkesh, no detective's methodology escapes my scrutiny. After such comprehensive study, I've become something of a detective myself!"

"Really, now?"

"Who apprehended the miscreant during that unfortunate office incident? This very intellect! Employed a bay leaf as enticement, dangled suitable temptations, and caught our thief red-handed. Recovered every paisa of Reggie's losses. Isn't that so, Reggie?"

Reginald nodded grudgingly. "I've perused some of his collection myself. The accumulated wisdom suggests that detectives are, for all practical purposes, immortal. They resemble the soul itself—ageless, indestructible, utterly impossible to eliminate."

"Indestructible?"

"Quite. Bullets pass them by as though repelled by sheer force of personality. You observe them apparently eliminated in one chapter, only to find them resurrected in the next. Indestructible, inviolable, and—as Tolly so memorably phrases it—inedible."

"Then our course is clear!" Tolly declared. "We'll board that train incognito. Rather than violence, we'll employ misdirection—lead him on a merry chase through the hills while our assets remain safely sequestered!"

Reginald, for the first time, appeared marginally reassured. "Very well. But we must ensure he remains entirely oblivious to our presence."

Upon their arrival at Shillong station, the brothers immediately registered that Pringle had spotted them. They, in turn, noted his observation but maintained expressions of studied nonchalance, proceeding to engage a taxi with the air of men who hadn't a care in the world.

Pringle, equally subtle, secured his own vehicle and commenced following at a discreet distance.

But Reginald's taxi did not proceed toward any financial district. Instead, it wound its way to the base of a rather imposing hill, where the brothers alighted, dismissed their conveyance with extravagant gratuity, and began ascending.

Pringle followed on foot, maintaining what he considered an unobtrusive distance.

Glancing casually backward, Reginald murmured to his sibling: "He's attached himself like a particularly persistent limpet. Whatever you do, don't look directly at him."

"Have you lost your senses? I wouldn't dream of it!" Tolly's demeanour had acquired a distinctly sinister cast. "Right here, Reggie. We'll conclude this charade permanently. No witnesses, no evidence. The local fauna can concern itself with the aftermath."

"This is rather extreme, you know," Reginald protested feebly. "But what alternative presents itself? While he draws breath, our peace of mind evaporates. And since our continued existence is, from our perspective, rather paramount... Still, I harbour doubts about the feasibility of permanently disabling a detective. Literary precedent suggests they're remarkably tenacious."

"But every detective has a detective of his own," Tolly observed sagely. "And that superior intellect stands before you! Today, I shall demonstrate that there are sleuths and then there are supersleuths."

Despite this bravado, the brothers concealed themselves behind a convenient outcropping, awaiting Pringle's approach with the patience of predators.

Pringle, discovering their apparent disappearance, advanced to the cliff's edge and peered into the abyss below. When he turned, the brothers had materialised behind him as though born of the mountain itself.

"Hands where we can see them, Mr. Pringle."

The detective complied, turning to face two double-barreled pistols and two expressions of considerable determination.

"You're quite within our power now, Pringle. We've got you cornered rather neatly. Observe this instrument!" Reginald brandished his weapon with theatrical flourish. "This concludes our mutual discomfort—yours and ours alike."

"I fear you're labouring under a misapprehension, Thornton-Woods. Haven't you heard? We detectives never expire. Incombustible, impenetrable, immortal—that's us."

"I'm acquainted with the literature, thank you. You're unassailable, indestructible, and apparently inedible. But that doesn't render you immune to gravitational misfortune. Kindly advance two paces and observe—a rather substantial chasm awaits your acquaintance. The drop is, I'm informed, quite irreversible. You may possess many admirable qualities, but invulnerability to falling isn't among them."

"We shall treat you with complete impartiality regarding your falling capacity," Tolly added helpfully. "Like so many fathers who precipitate their offspring's demise while ostensibly nurturing them, we shall deposit you at the mountain's base. All of you, in one convenient location."

"Step forward now," Reginald commanded. "Position yourself precisely at the edge. I doubt you possess the fortitude to leap voluntarily, so we shall provide the necessary impetus. Advance, advance... or receive a bullet instead!"

Thus constrained, Pringle approached the precipice and stood upon its brink. He consulted his wristwatch with apparent casual interest.

"Your timepiece provides scant comfort now, old man! Your moments are distinctly numbered." Reginald addressed his brother: "Tolly, survey the vicinity. Any signs of constabulary or casual observers?"

Standing atop the eminence, Tolly conducted a thorough reconnaissance. "Nothing, Reggie. No police, no pedestrians, not even a curious insect within four miles."

"And the chasm's depth?"

"Five hundred feet, at minimum."

"Any protruding vegetation, convenient outcroppings, or potentially life-saving protuberances? Anything that might interrupt his descent?"

"Absolutely bare. This cliff face is smoother than a diplomat's protestations."

"Splendid. I'll maintain my aim while you search his person. He hasn't concealed a parachute or balloon about his person, has he?"

"A revolver in one pocket, Reggie!"

"Confiscate it immediately. The other?"

"A handkerchief."

"Take that as well. For all we know, he might inflate it and employ it as an improvised glider. These detective types are capable of absolutely anything."

Tolly chuckled while appropriating the handkerchief. "One scarcely needs to transform linen into aviation equipment, Reggie!"

"There'll be no seismic disturbance, I trust? No conveniently timed earthquake?"

"Absolutely not. This region's been geologically somnolent for decades."

"Then you maintain your aim while I charge forward and administer the decisive push."

"I wouldn't recommend that approach, Reggie. He'll seize you as he falls, and in descending, execute some aerial manoeuvre that deposits you beneath him. Your physique, if I may observe delicately, would provide rather inadequate cushioning. You'd be reduced to paste while he bounced merrily away. I'd prefer not to become an only brother, if it's all the same to you."

"Sound reasoning! You've clearly read more extensively than I. Very well, fetch me a substantial branch. I'll administer the fatal shove from a safe distance."

Thus armed with arboreal instrument, Reginald advanced and, with considerable exertion, propelled Pringle into the void.

"Gone to his reward, Reggie! Thanks to your exertions!"

"One miscreant subtracted from the world's population. I feel quite the public benefactor."

"Shall I examine the base? Observe the extent of his dissemination?"

"Entirely unnecessary. From this altitude, his remains will be comprehensively pulverised. Nothing recognisable remains. Come, let us descend and locate transportation back to civilisation."

Proceeding along the mountain path, the brothers congratulated themselves upon their efficient resolution of an inconvenient complication.

Then, from behind them, a voice: "Hands elevated, if you please. Both of you."

They turned to discover—impossibly, incredibly—Percival Pringle, very much alive and armed.

"You overlooked my secondary weapon," the detective explained with evident satisfaction. "Spare revolver, trouser pocket. Elementary preparedness."

"But... where were you?" Reginald's voice emerged as a strangled squeak.

"Where indeed! The sky, naturally. Have you heard of Halley?"

"Halley? The astronomer?"

"Halley's Comet, my dear fellow! Once every seventy-six years—though I confess to employing artistic licence with the traditional ninety-nine—it graces our vicinity. During its passage, its repulsive force temporarily neutralises Earth's gravitational pull. I'd been monitoring my timepiece in anticipation of precisely this phenomenon. You propelled me at the exact moment of cometary adjacency! Rather than plummeting, I remained suspended. And while your backs were turned, I simply... swam through the atmosphere and regained the summit. I've been shadowing you ever since. Now, if you'd be so good as to discard those weapons. After that, hands raised and proceed directly to the police station."

"Halley's Comet neutralizes gravity?" Reginald's expression suggested a man struggling to reconcile this information with everything he'd ever learned about physics. "I was unaware..."

"Well, you're aware now. Your shove coincided with the comet's arrival—two forces, cancellation, et cetera. Comprehensible?"

Tolly, ever the enthusiast for dramatic pronouncements, delivered the final observation: "This, Reggie, is what one might term the seventy-six-year shock!"