Extract from Chapter 17 of mystery-comedy novel, 'The Investigations of the Para-Usual':

‘So what is very para-usual about Two Swords?’ asked Woo, mispronouncing the waxworks founder’s name.

‘Tussauds,’ said Dr Pratt, pronouncing the name “Too-sor” in an exaggerated French accent, something approximating an Estuary Bordeaux.

‘You’re not French!’ rejoined Woo, testily.

‘Madame Tussaud’s museum would have been one of the first venues for public entertainment in Victorian England,’ ventured O’Singh, hopeful that a flashpoint had simmered down.

‘Indeed. People would come from all over London to see the waxworks of the French Revolutionaries,’ said Dr Pratt, unperturbed by Woo’s presumption over his national identity.

‘Like the nightclubs or discotheques – the modern entertainment spots – people would queue outside waiting to pay their admission.’

‘But, but, the difference is in the door policy – what the 19th Century doorman would allow to be brought into the premises.’

‘Allow us to demonstrate,’ offered O’Singh. ‘I will be a Victorian doorman new to the job. Dr Pratt, you can be the nightclub visitor, happens to be Madame Tussauds.’

O’Singh stood with his legs astride, rolled his shoulders and worked his jaws, pretending to chew gum, aloof to the approach of Dr Pratt’s madame.

‘Allow me please just to say at this juncture, that this is the very scene that I intended Dr Pratt to participate in using the mannequin head,’ qualified O’Singh, briefly stepping out of character.

Dr Pratt took his cue from O’Singh and approached as he had before. O’Singh’s doorman held out a hand and gestured for Dr Pratt’s Tussaud to stop and open up her imaginary bag.

‘“Uh, oh,” the bouncer thinks,’ said O’Singh, again withdrawing momentarily from his character. ‘Alarm bells go off in his head. Someone with a severed head in their bag. Looks like trouble.’

‘“Is this your head, madame?”’ asked O’Singh’s Victorian doorman, pretending to slowly lift one such body part from the bag.

‘Oui, oui, but er…,’ stammered Dr Pratt’s madame.

‘So our doorman turns to his superior, a senior doorman, who recognises Madame Tussaud,’ explained O’Singh, half-turning to assume the veteran’s guise, ‘and says: “She’s alright, mate”.’

‘He waves her on,’ interjected Dr Pratt, releasing himself from his waxy dame persona. ‘Permits madame entry.

‘Usually one would expect a person posing a security threat to be refused admission. But the para-usual situation here at Madame Tussauds was that the complete opposite was true – those deemed undesirable would have been welcomed in the 19th Century.’