It was a bright and breezy morning in the city. Inspector Septimus Summer-Garden, renowned for his impeccable moustache and an uncanny talent for tripping over his own feet, was already late for his morning briefing at the police station. Today, however, his usual clumsiness was about to lead him into a rather explosive adventure. As he hurried down the cobbled streets, Inspector Summer-Garden’s oversized boots caught on a loose paving stone, sending him tumbling headfirst into Mrs. Dottle’s bakery. Flour clouds billowed around him as he staggered to his feet, cheeks reddening.
“Sorry, Mrs. Dottle! I’m in a bit of a rush,” he mumbled, brushing flour from his trousers.
But what caught his eye was not the mess he’d made but a peculiar sight: a pair of trousers lying suspiciously on the bakery floor, smoking gently around the turn-ups.
“Now, what’s this?” he muttered, kneeling down. The trousers seemed ordinary enough, except for the tiny scorch marks and a faint hissing sound emanating from the pocket. Before he could investigate further, a loud POP! echoed through the street. Sparks flew from the trousers, and in a flash, they burst into a tiny fireball, scattering bits of fabric and singed threads everywhere.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Summer-Garden, leaping back just in time to avoid the fiery debris.
Mrs. Dottle gasped.
“My trousers! I just bought those yesterday!”
Inspector Summer-Garden rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“This… this appears to be some sort of small explosive device in the trousers. But who would do such a thing?”
His mind raced. Was it a prank? Or perhaps sabotage? The clues were scant, but one thing was certain: someone was deliberately tampering with clothing to cause chaos. As he examined the remains of the smoking trousers, he inadvertently stepped into a puddle, slipping and landing in an awkward heap.
“Aha!” he exclaimed, standing up with a grin. “Clumsy as ever, but clever enough to see the pattern!”
Suddenly, a small, scruffy boy darted past, clutching a strange device that looked like a mini fireworks launcher.
“Stop right there, young man!” Inspector Summer-Garden called out, trying to regain his dignity as he stumbled after the boy.
The chase led him to the town square, where he finally cornered the boy behind the fountain.
“Now, young sir,” said Summer-Garden, dusting himself off. “Care to explain what you’re up to with that contraption?”
The boy looked sheepish.
“It’s just a joke, sir. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I found an old firework and thought it’d be funny to make those trousers go bang.”
Inspector Summer-Garden sighed, scratching his head.
“A joke that nearly burned down Mrs. Dottle’s bakery? Not funny at all. But I suppose it’s better than intentional sabotage.”
He gently confiscated the device and patted the boy on the shoulder.
“Next time, try a joke that doesn’t involve explosions, eh?”
As order was restored, Summer-Garden reflected on the day’s adventure. His clumsiness had once again led him to uncover a mischievous plan, albeit through a series of hilarious mishaps. And so, with a shrug and a chuckle, Inspector Septimus Summer-Garden continued his day, ready for whatever explosive, or not so explosive trouble came next.
Lazarus Carpenter - Author 