Hilda Hopkins, The Day Of The Mobots #7

By Vivienne Fagan

Hilda Hopkins is back with a vengeance in this hilarious seventh adventure. From scaring her driving instructor half to death to going all the way with twisted security staff at a secret laboratory, our machine knitting undercover assassin is pitted against evil scientists and their killer creations. Of course she uses her wet skills as well as her knitting to help make her mission a success!

• Language: English
• Publisher: StreetWise Publications
• Release date: Apr 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476444505

Vivienne Fagan

Vivienne Fagan lives in London and is a retired Civil Servant and former serving member of the Intelligence Corps. She is an award winning machine knitter and mother of three who knows just how to do away with Hilda's next victims!

Book preview

Hilda Hopkins, The Day Of The Mobots

A Hilda Hopkins Crime Thriller

Vivienne Fagan

StreetWise Publications

Published by StreetWise Publications

Suite 1/22 Waikanda Cres, Whalan, NSW 2770 Australia

All Rights Reserved.

http://streetwiseworldpublications.info

http://lulu.com/spotlight/perrygamsby

Hilda Hopkins, The Day Of The Mobots, first published 2012

Copyright Vivienne Fagan 2012

Fagan, Vivienne 1948-

Cover Illustration by V.Fagan

ISBN 9781476444505

Other Hilda Hopkins Crime Thrillers:

Murder, She Knit #1

Bed And Burial #2

Domi Knit Rix #3

M.I. Knits #4

For Queen And Country #5

Hilda Hopkins, Saints And Sinners #6

Smashwords Edition, License Statement

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional. The publisher, author and their officers and assigns assume no responsibility for the misuse of wool or knitting machines. No yarn was harmed in the writing of this story.

Chapter 1

I am extremely displeased with you, Woolley.

Sir Ambrose Possnet-Meysey sat back in his chair sternly regarding the squat figure standing in front of his desk.

Hilda Hopkins, aka Minx Bernhilda Woolley, shuffled her feet and looked defiantly at her boss.

Three times you have taken the Driving Theory Test, and three times you have failed it. You are not a stupid woman, Woolley. If you applied yourself properly there is no reason why you should not pass it.

Hilda Hopkins shrugged her shoulders.

It just doesn’t seem to sink in, Sir Ambrose, she replied, I can’t think why not.

It doesn’t sink in because you haven’t bothered to learn it properly. He examined the dour figure standing moodily in front of him. I am going to impound your knitting machines. They are being put into storage as we speak. When you pass the Theory Test, they will be returned to you.

Hilda staggered as if the man had struck her.

You’ve taken my knitting machines? How dare you?

Enough! Sir Ambrose raised his hand, otherwise I will give orders for them to be dismantled.

Hilda bit her lip and gazed resentfully at him.

You will retake the test on Wednesday, continued Sir Ambrose, that gives you two days for revision as there are no XPD operations on at the moment. If you pass, your knitting machines will be returned to you. You may go.

Hilda spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. The door slammed to with an almighty crash, it actually shuddered on its hinges. Hilda Hopkins was not a woman who let her feelings remain hidden.

Sir Ambrose sighed. Hilda was overdue for a driving course, but until she passed the Department of Transport’s Driving Theory Test and received a provisional licence she would be unable to start doing the lessons.

Sir Ambrose was perfectly aware that Hilda had deliberately set out to fail the Test in order that she could not take the course. Well, he would just see what removing her precious knitting machines from her room in the Section Boarding House would accomplish. She would be desperate to get them back!

And so indeed it proved. Hilda retook the Theory Test on the Wednesday and passed with a very creditable 87%. Sir Ambrose was extremely pleased. He hit the intercom button on his desk,

Arrange some driving lessons for Minx Woolley, would you Clarice? Six I think, just to teach her the basics before she takes the MI Zero course.

***

Wait Clive, you’ve overshot.

Barbara Grey glanced back at the small rutted track partly hidden by overgrown bushes. Clive Barcroft put the police car into reverse before turning and driving along the narrow lane through a cluster of trees. They emerged into a clearing barely two cars wide. Barbara could just glimpse a house through the foliage.

OK let’s go and see what’s to do, muttered Barcroft, switching off the engine.

They approached the front door. The house was large and sprawled lazily beside a substantial lawned garden. Barbara hammered on the knocker, a large ornate affair depicting a fox’s head. The sound echoed hollowly down the hall. There was no response.

Let’s have a look around the back, suggested Barcroft, turning on his heel and disappearing around the side of the house. There was another door almost on the corner of the house. He tried the handle. It turned easily and he pushed his way inside calling out,

Police, hello, Police. Is there anybody here?

Barbara followed him and found herself in a small lobby. In front of her were several shelves. A pair of Wellington boots stood smartly at attention, held together neatly by a clothes peg. A pair of outdoor shoes, polished almost to a mirror shine, lay on the shelf above them next to a checked rain hat. Beyond the lobby was a small scullery containing a washing machine, tumble dryer and a long low chest freezer. This is turn led to the kitchen proper, stark in its pristine neatness. Every surface was clear of clutter and gleamed in the bright sunlight which poured through the windows.

Barbara glanced out and stood stock still as she took in the panorama. The front of the house might be surrounded by trees, but this window looked out over rolling meadows, down to the village nestling in the valley below. Barbara could see the square tower of the Norman church rising proudly above the other roofs. She nudged Barcroft and pointed towards the view.

Nice, commented Barcroft, I read somewhere that it’s a hangover from Stone Age days. To survive you needed the cave with the best view around your camp!

Very romantic, replied Barbara, Police, hello, anyone there?

She glanced into a large sitting room. Beautifully neat, nonetheless it had all the personality of a hotel room. A dining room situated just through an archway off the sitting room was equally immaculate, but characterless. Barbara moved across to a large glass fronted unit which appeared to serve as both sideboard and drinks cabinet. She gave an audible gasp as she peered into it.

Barcroft hurried across to her.

What have you found?

Wordlessly Barbara pointed at a knitted effigy of a middle aged man dressed in cricket whites.

Doesn’t that remind you of the dolls from Merrydown Crescent? she asked, you don’t think Hilda Hopkins has passed this way?

Barcroft looked closely at the doll.

I dunno. It’s good, but do you think it really has the finesse of the Hopkins woman’s efforts? Anyway, we’ve not had any reports about her being anywhere near Midchester again have we?

There’s been nothing since she escaped from the Convent after our little misadventure, she shuddered, before adding, although I bet that old buffer Possnet-Meysey knows where she is. He ought to be arrested for harbouring her.

We’d better try upstairs.

The staircase was quite a grand affair, rising and turning round on itself, flanked by an ornate carved banister. The two police officers went up quickly, calling out as they went. A long landing ran the length of the house. Barbara opened the first door. It was fitted out as a study. Floor to ceiling bookshelves took up two walls, while a desk was set in the corner by the window, overlooking the view to the village.

Monarch of all he surveys, Clive muttered.

The next door turned out to be a bathroom. A huge bath, mounted on four pedestal feet took up the centre of the room. Various male