Following an exhausting first morning of sewage-related workery – mopping walls, steam-cleaning tunnels, shovelling muck, admin – Detective Pilchard and Crumpet-Hands Man found a secluded alcove beside a picturesque stream of trickling slurry. Here they set themselves down, took stock, a breather. Paddling their bare feet in the passing poop, the detective having adjusted his hat so conversation (and exposition) could be initiated (otherwise this chapter would be impossible) they shared their impressions of life working underground, and a well-deserved lunchtime crumpet.

  “Phew,” the detective phewed, the sweat from his brow having caused his cartoon eyes to run all streaky. (Much to the bemusement of the other sewage workers, the detective now resembled a badly forged Picasso in an oversized Soviet hat.) “I tell you, Crumpet-Hands Man, this is all a lot tougher than I expected.”

  “Tis,” our hero replied in an ill-fitting Edwardian brogue for no reason. He cupped a few cooling handfuls of sewage across the back of his neck, massaged it. “Tough indeed, say I. But we must maintain our resilience, detective. If we show our fellow sewage workers any sign of weakness, then integrating ourselves into their collective will be–”

  “I meant the crumpet,” the detective chewed and chewed like his life depended on it. “It be reet tough, like. It's as tough as an elephant's bot-bot, say I!”

  “Oh. My apologies. It must be the atmospheric stank which is toughening the dough,” our hero blushed, for he hated to disappoint. “I would birth you a fresh one from my palms, butter and all, but I dare not risk removing my gloves and exposing myself.”

  “That's okay. Think nout of tough. I'm just grateful for the sustenance,” the detective chewed with reverent burden, cracking a tooth in the process.

  “But as I was saying,” our hero resumed his saying, “it is imperative that we remain enthusiastic, if only for the sake of appearances. We mustn't appear incapable, lazy, lethargic,” he said firmly, striking the obligatory pose. “If there's one trait these sewage workers distrust more than anything,” he yawned, “it's lethargy.”

  “Have you spotted anything which might lead us towards this mysterious underground group of pipe blockers?” the detective yawned back. Some more hero-yawning later:

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  “Perhaps, detective. I happened to notice that a group of workers down by the west pipes were chewing gum – with their mouths open.” The detective gasped; the hero continued. “This may seem like a perfectly normal habit for the working class, but the tingling in my crumpets tells me that this flagrant chewing is a secret code of some sort, a clandestine badge for an equally as clandestine group.”

  “What, like the Scouts?”

  Crumpet-Hands Man rolled his eyes – they bounced several times then plopped into the trickling poop-stream. The detective fished them out with his hat, handed them back.

  “Well, if this chewing is indeed a secret signal as you so say,” the detective so said, replacing his hat which was now so soggy, “then we must learn more about it and be seen to be chewing ourselves... Chewing on gum, I mean, not actually chewing ourselves,” the detective clarified, for he'd hate his friend to take a bite out of him. (Not for the first time...)

  “But where could we get hold of some chewing gum down here?” the detective wondered then asked, for the silence was excruciating. “I don't suppose you happen to have a packet of gum on you?”

  Alas, Crumpet-Hands Man did not. “What about under you?” the detective asked. Our hero shook his head. Once he'd regained his senses and replaced his hat, Detective Pilchard blah blah blahed, “Perhaps this particularly tough crumpet could be of use?” he offered, spitting a lump, along with several teeth, into his partner's hand.

  “Now that's the detective I know!” Crumpet-Hands Man rejoiced, stopping at kissing the toothless Puff on the lips. “Quickly,” he said, tearing off then popping a little nugget of chewy-carb into each of their mouths, “get chewing!”

  And get chewing our devious-duo so did! By the end of their shift they'd attracted the attention of a mean looking bunch of chewing, sewage workers.

  “Oi, you two,” the workers sidled up, enquired. “You part of the union?”

  “Ouch!”

  “He means yes.” explained Crumpet-Hands Man of the Very Highest Chew.

  “Good,” the sewage workers nodded, easily convinced. (And plot waiting time for no.) “Secret meeting, south cavern, later tonight,” the workers whispered. “Don't be late.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry,” the detective apologised to the hopping hero. “I mean...yes?”

  And so, just like that, our heroes were in.