Twenty four hastily collected Masterminds sat, stood and leaned against the green velvet wallpaper in the front salon, the majority of them staring down the four police officers in front of the hearth with intimidatingly blank or creepily unfocused gazes. Some drooled, some faked infernal itches and a few stared at the walls and made faces.

Such tactics weren't Society policy as such, but it was standard procedure with gate crashers and other unwanteds who attempted to gain access to Society rooms without a legitimate sponsor. Especially protected were the basement laboratories and the sauna, which were defended tooth and nail. In the case of the labs, with blowtorch and chains, with the sauna, naked and armed only with a flimsy towel, if need be.

The four Metropolitans in their black uniforms and peaked helmets with the cog-and-lion emblem held their ground with their own fierce, guilt-inducing stares they'd practiced to proficiency in the unit "intimidation of witnesses" in police training. But even they knew when they were beat, because in a real staring contest, they wouldn't have stood a chance against the crowd in front of them.

The entire room was unmistakably full of lunatics.

Internally they all breathed a sigh of relief that they were on official police business and not in a public house. Otherwise they all would have picked up their tankards and fled to the other side of the room, or perhaps even out onto the pavement, sharpish.

Inspector Gusset cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Good evening, my name is Inspector Hieronymus Gusset. I'm sure you all are wondering why we have interrupted your...society activities. As you will no doubt have heard, a popular exhibit at London Zoo has escaped from its—"

"Not another one," shouted Robbie McCringle from the back where he stood clutching his pint glass and glaring at the youngest of the officers. "First they lose a bloody huge octopus and now? A herd of sloths? A particularly cunning turtle?"

Titters rose here and there, accompanied by a few snorts and a sharp cackle from Harriet that was quickly smothered with a braid of hair.

Inspector Gusset drew a deep breath. He'd known this wouldn't be easy. 

"No, sir, not that we're aware of. Our visit concerns the original octopus. As some of you may have read in the papers, we have unfortunately been unable to locate the beast. We are here to ask you for your kind assistance."

"We don't have it, if that's what you mean," Millie Goldwalken said. "Where'd we put it? I dare say none of us got a bathtub that big and it didn't look like it would be satisfied with a helping of herring every other Saturday afternoon for tea. More like that herd of sloths."

Gusset shook his head and gripped his peaked helmet, which he held in the crook of his arm, more tightly. "No, madam, we are not accusing anyone here. We have merely come to ask for ideas, hints or tips, which would aid us in its capture. You are after all the famed Mastermind Society, noted for your inventors, your skilled mechanics and other creative...individuals."

A reddish tinge crept up Gusset's neck and flushed his stern features.

In the crowd, he'd just spotted the leering visage of an individual he knew to have operated a posh flying pasty booth whose cheese-and-beef special had once had him squatting in the station loo for an entire afternoon. 

Gusset shoved down the hot urge to loudly arrest the man right then and there for deliberately tampering with the lunch of an officer of the Metropolitan Police Brigade before dragging him back to the station and forcing him to drink six pots of filthy station tea until he was the one squatting in the loo for hours.

Calling himself to order, Gusset straightened his shoulders. Personal grievances could wait. He had more important business to attend to: namely not looking like a fool to his superiors and the general public because he couldn't find one mangy, cat-gobbling sea monster.

Godwin and Amelia, who were standing with the rest of the plotters at the back near the doors, exchanged a glance.

"If they're asking us, they don't know anything," whispered Amelia. "Just as I suspected. We're miles ahead." Godwin gave a weak smile and nodded before turning his attention back to the inspector, who, judging by his complexion and the way he was clutching his helmet, looked like he was being prodded with a coal bucket full of very prickly burrs.

"We have been unable to locate the creature thus far, however--" he said.

"Haven't you used dogs?" called Stephen Clanker, who was curled in a wing chair placidly stroking Bobby. "No mention was made in the papers and dogs are very good at sniffing out other animals. Bobby here can smell a cat from all the way down the road, can't you, Bobby?"

The inspector stared at the man's hand for a few moments until he realised that it was meant to be petting a small dog lying on his lap. He suppressed the urge to laugh and said instead, "yes, sir, that we have. Unfortunately, they are not as talented as your Bobby. They could pick up no trail."

Stephen frowned. "No trail? How peculiar."

"That was it!" exclaimed Amelia. 

Several heads turned in her direction. "Sorry, nothing. Continue, please," she mumbled and moved to partially hide behind Andrew Highbottom.

Inspector Gusset's eyes narrowed. He recognised the woman.

While waiting for the loonies to assemble, he'd taken the opportunity to inspect the photographs and official-looking notice above the ample salon hearth. 

Like many other clubs in London, the Mastermind Society seemed to hold a yearly contest for their members. The studio portrait of last year's winner, one Amelia Tooting-Spur -- who resembled nothing as much as a disoriented ostrich in a lumpy hat and misbuttoned jacket -- hung next to the photographic proof of her winning entry.

Gusset had stepped closer and fitted his monocle for a better look.

Award for the Best Public Flying of a Flag read the golden lettering that stretched over the image of Chelmsworth Castle, the Duke of Somerset's long underpants fluttering in the early morning breeze from the flagpole atop the gatehouse.

At the bottom of the pole, two blurry servants in their pyjamas attempted to simultaneously retrieve the garment and apprehend Amelia, who, dressed in men's shirt and trousers, made her escape rappelling down the side of the castle on a grappling hook and rope.

Gusset vaguely remembered the news item, but far more how much gaiety it had induced among certain inspectors and constables, who had found it terribly funny and expressed a desire to invite the lady out for pie and mash.

The stunt had had grievous legal repercussions, he recalled, as Miss Tooting-Spur had been imprisoned at the Duke's insistence, ostensibly to deter stunts of the same ilk. Everyone had known, however, that the real reason was the embarrassment of having a photo of the incident, and thus his underpants, in all the major papers for the amusement of the general public.

Her trial and incarceration clearly hadn't been effective. An elegantly printed paper announced that this year's Mastermind contest would be the Best Placing of an Aubergine in a Public Space. Inspector Gusset refused to think of how many illegal and headache inducing ways that challenge might be interpreted. 

And now here she was in the flesh, having involuntarily yelped a piece of information possibly informative to his case!

"Do speak up, Miss Tooting-Spur!" he called. "Do you have a tip for us?" Several heads swivelled automatically towards Amelia, but then remembered themselves and darted back to stare and/or drool at the constables. Godwin looked up at the ceiling, hands folded behind his back.

"Errrr...no, said Amelia, shaking her head and feigning cluelessness. "Not that I can think of."

"You just said that was it. What was it, madam, if I may enquire?"

"Did I? Oh, yes. Well, um, Stephen just mentioned dogs, didn't he? And I remembered that...you see we have a dog at home...and I just recalled that I had forgotten to get it a bone from the butcher's. That's what I meant. I knew I'd forgotten something and that was it." Amelia smiled what she hoped was her most winning smile. 

Or perhaps not as the officers stared at her even harder, if that was possible.

"A bone?" asked the inspector, suspicion lurking under the words. 

"Yes."

"For your dog."

"For my sister's dog."

"I see. Well, I'll accept that for now. Does anyone else have an idea or a tip for us as to how the octopus may be captured? We would appreciate anything, even the slightest notion. It is the duty of every citizen to aid the police as much as they are able, and we call on you now to do just that." He turned to his assistants and nodded. The constables reached into their pockets, pulled out notebooks and wetted pencils against tongues.

To Amelia's surprise, Godwin raised his hand and called out, "what about a pit? You could dig a pit in the road and the next time it appears, just herd it in and Bob's your missing parakeet."

Missing Parakeet was a popular Society card game and had become a code word among the more extroverted members for look like you're helping but spout nothing but pure rubbish.

The entire Mastermind side of the room paused mid-stare...and rearranged tactics. 

"Splendid idea!" wheezed Peter Redlinkum. "How about a series of them placed at strategic intervals along major roads?"

"Stakes!" screeched Harriet Kroening, "line the insides of the pits with sharp stakes! One slip and WHAM! End of problem!"

"We would like to capture the creature alive, if that--," began Gusset, but was interrupted with more suggestions. 

Flood the back garden of Buckingham Palace so it thinks it's found the ocean!

Build a giant cage and set it out where it is likely to appear! Works with cockroaches.

Is it male? Release a hoard of females and by gum, the devil'll turn up sooner or later!

String huge nets over streets that are set to release if it crawls under them! 

Have you tried the fish mongers' union? They may have already caught it and hacked it up for cat food!

Inspector Gusset allowed himself to be pelted with the most outrageous notions for longer than a casual observer would have thought possible,  then held up his hands.

"Thank you, thank you. You've been quite helpful. I believe that's all the questions we have for you at this time. A pleasant evening." 

The Masterminds hopped up and streamed out of the salon and the constables, who had only managed to scribble down a few of the tips, flipped their notebooks closed with visible relief.

Once the room had completely emptied, one of Gusset's men asked in a muffled voice, "was that just a load of bollocks or are they  genuinely mad? I mean, flood the garden at Buckingham Palace? Pits and nets? What kind of shoddily welded cobblers is that?"

"Whoever can answer that definitively will get a gold sovereign from me," remarked Inspector Gusset, chewing on his lower lip and scowling. "Was worth a shot, anyway."