The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (17 page)

We rejoined the sergeant before your uncle examined the bottle.

‘Ether’, he said, identifying the smell. ‘It must have been used to keep Jamie quiet. The label says that it came from Richard’s, which is apparently a local pharmacy. I think we will visit Richard’s after seeing the butcher.’

As a Spaniel I have never minded getting wet
; in fact it’s a condition that I positively enjoy. Water makes you wet, clean and happy; fog, on the other paw makes you damp, cold and very miserable. In the country, fog can be a lot of fun; but in town, it only serves to hide the ungodly and to coat one in soot. I therefore trudged morosely behind my master as he led off towards the local shops.

I must admit that I was starting to think longingly of my warm hearth
-rug, when my master turned into a lighted shop. My mood was much improved when I realised that we had entered a butcher’s shop. I gazed at all the plaster models of the joints that this butcher sold and realised that I was somewhat hungry. It was the work of a moment to sit down and adopt the most pathetic physiognomy that I could manage. Keeping my eyes firmly on the butcher’s face, I essayed a small wag of the tail whenever he glanced in my direction. Given enough time, this tactic always earns some scraps.

The butcher was a cheerful man in his late forties who seemed to be generally pleased to see us, an attitude that persisted when he discovered that my master was a policeman rather than a customer.

‘I would like to have a quick word with your delivery boy,’ my master began, after we had finished the usual greetings.

‘I am really impressed. Constable Taylor told me that the police would investigate, but I didn’t think that the crime would rate so famous an inspector.’ The butcher rubbed his hands on his apron
. ‘But as I told the constable this morning young Paul is still recovering at home.’

I very rarely see my master at a loss for words and this wasn’t one of those times.

‘In that case, I would appreciate it if you could go through what you told the constable this morning. Assume that I know nothing about the incident; in that way you will tell me everything.’

You have to admit it, but my master is good. He manages to project an air of confidence and knowledge even when he is completely baffled. I have seen criminals break down and admit to things that we weren’t even investigating just because the villain assumed that your uncle already knew.

‘My son, Paul, is learning the butchery trade and will hopefully join me in my business. He does general work around the shop and makes all the deliveries.

‘Early this morning, Paul had just left to make his first deliveries. He was taking a short cut through the al
leyway at the end of the parade when he heard someone coming up behind him. As it was very foggy, he was initially concerned and turned round to see who was approaching. A young man loomed out of the fog and said, “Good morning, Paul.” My son, naturally reassured, even though he could not recognise the man, who was wearing a muffler, responded in kind and turned to continue on his way.

‘As far as he remembers
, someone then hit him across the back of the neck. He woke up a short while later to find that someone had stolen his cap, apron and basket. The strange thing was that most of the parcels of meat had been tipped out before the thief made off with the basket.’

‘Paul gathered up the parcels and was making his way back to the shop when my brother-in-law saw his predicament and came to his aid.’

‘Your brother-in-law?’ interjected my master quietly.

‘Tom Ashton
- he’s the grocer two doors down. He brought my son back to the shop and arranged for his boy to do my deliveries as well as his own. I closed the shop for a short while and took Paul, home where his mother is looking after him.’

‘Can you think of anyone who might attack your son?’

‘No, inspector, it’s a complete mystery to me. The only explanation I can think of is that it was a prank by one of the local lads that went wrong.’

‘Thank you. I may need to come back and talk to Paul tomorrow.’ My master shook the butcher’s hand. ‘I will keep you informed of any progress that we make.’

We left the shop and my master decided that we would walk to the local police station to see if we could find Constable Taylor and a good cup of tea. As we walked, your uncle and Sergeant Allen discussed the case. It was obvious that they were baffled and I realised that the magpie’s evidence was crucial if we were going to save Jamie. I was going to have to tell my master.

This is a major problem for me. I would like to discuss matters openly with him but I promised my mother that I would never tell anyone that I could talk. It leads to work. Consider me now
: in a moment of anger I let slip the fact that I can speak, and rather than sleeping by the fire, I am forced to tell you stories. However, I digress. Back to the case.

Quickly I ran through the possibilities and a solution to the problem occurred to me. I would have to be quick and there was a chance that my master would realise what was happening. I looked across the road and realised that I couldn’t see the pavement on the other side. For the first time that day, I blessed the fog, without
which I would have been forced into a direct conversation.

I am a dog of action
: to think is to do. I deliberately dropped back until the fog concealed me. Crossing the road, I ran as fast as I could, hoping that the fog would muffle the sound of my paws on the flagstones.

You have to walk past a small builder’s yard before you reach the police station. The side fronting the road was protected by a stout wooden fence pierced by a gate. Our investigations had once taken us to this yard and I remembered that a second gate opened into a mews behind the property. The yard itself was cluttered and full of good hiding places. Quickly outdistancing my master, I reached the yard and raced through the gates.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’ asked a gruff, but not unfriendly, voice.

I looked up to see a very large Bull Mastiff staring at me. I skidded to a stop and wagged my tail politely.

‘I have been tasked with keeping undesirable riffraff away from my master’s possessions,’ the behemoth continued. ‘Even though I can see that you are a dog of exquisite breeding I will have to chase you orf if you don’t have a good reason for being here.’

I was debating what to say to him, when he growled to get my attention.

‘I don’t want to rush you, old boy, but you do have a reason for coming here, I hope? I would be extremely distressed if I had to resort to physical violence.’ The massive hound smiled, displaying teeth at least twice as long as mine.

Suddenly I knew what to tell him. The truth. I quickly outlined the facts of the case, and my reasons for wanting to talk to my master. The mastiff looked a bit perplexed as he pondered my answer.

‘I can’t say that I entirely agree with speaking to a human, young feller, but if it is the only way to save Jamie, then you have no option. As far as I can see, it is my duty to help you trick your master. That being the case, while you talk, I will prevent him from entering the yard.’

‘Remember that my master is a police officer,’ I told this prince among dogs, ‘so please don’t bite him.’

‘Do not fret, old boy; there will be no biting.’ He smiled. ‘I may permit myself a small slobber, though.’

I was about to offer him my heartfelt gratitude when I heard my master and Sergeant Allen approaching.

‘Go over to that corner.’ My new friend raised a paw to point at the part of the yard that my master would pass first. ‘It is somewhat cluttered there. Wait until your master has just walked past and then speak. As soon as you have finished, come over and hide near the gate. I will then pursue an imaginary person to the rear fence, which should distract your master sufficiently, don’t you think?’

It is always very satisfactory when a member of the general public is willing to offer their wholehearted assistance to a police investigation. It was in a happy state of mind that I went over to the corner and concealed myself behind some old lumber and waited for my master to pass.

‘Evening, Inspector,’ I said in my gruffest voice. ‘Want to know who stole the widow’s dog?’

‘Who’s there?’
my master responded approaching the fence.

‘Never you mind
. Just someone who knows something.’ I paused for a second, distracted as Sergeant Allen began a stealthy movement towards the gate.

‘What do you know?’ my master asked, peering through the fence in an attempt to see his interlocutor.

‘The cook’s son has the dog. Go round to Mrs Smith’s house and you’ll find him.’

I heard my friend the Bull Mastiff start to growl and I realised that Sergeant Allen had reached the gate.

‘Who are you?’ your uncle asked. ‘I can’t act on the word of an anonymous informant. Why won’t you show yourself?’

‘I am known to someone involved in this matter and I want to avoid any unpleasantness,’ I replied truthfully
, backing away.

I went to ground again near the gate where I watched the mastiff delay both the men with one of the most effusive displays of welcome that I have ever seen. My new friend had managed to pin my master to the gate with his front paws while using his body to block the sergeant’s movement. I growled very quietly to let the big dog know I was hidden and watched in amazement as he switched instantly from friend to foe. With a deep echoing bark, he sprang away from my master and raced baying across the yard. The two police officers followed and I raced between them adding my own bark to the cacophony.

I caught up with the mastiff as he threw himself against the rear gate. With a splintering noise, the bolt ripped from the wood and my friend charged through. I suppose that I can blame my instincts, but as soon as the mastiff shot barking through the gate, I followed also in full cry. I am ashamed to say that I ignored my master’s shouted commands.

After about a hundred yards, the big dog stopped and waited for me to catch up.

‘How was that?’ he asked as I caught my breath. ‘They will all be certain that someone was in the yard after that performance.’

In a companionable silence, the mastiff led me back to the yard. The fog was by now so dense that I heard my master talking to the builder before I could even see the fence.

‘You didn’t have that dog last time we were here, Mr Cowper.’

‘He’s new
, Inspector. After the other business, I decided to take your advice and bought Henry. He may be a big softy but as you can see, he scares the crooks away.’

Henry grinned.

We continued on our way to the police station without any further interruptions. For the rest of the walk my master was deep in thought. I was starting to worry that I had said too little to persuade my master until it struck me that I might, in my enthusiasm, have said too much: I actually had no idea where Jamie was being held. What if my master went to the cook’s house and the dog wasn’t there? We were a very pensive party when we entered the little police station that served that part of London.

Inspector Moore, who ran the station, invited us into his office. At first sight, he appeared to be a fussy
, overweight little man who was more interested in his appearance than anything else. I had learnt, however, that he was, in fact, one of the finest intellects in the police service. He ordered tea and then settled himself behind his desk.

‘Well, Richard,’ he said with a self
-deprecating smile, ‘what brings the great detective to my humble station?’

‘I have an interesting case in hand at the moment, and since it has occurred on your patch I thought I would share it with you,’ my master replied.

Inspector Moore listened while your uncle ran through the facts of the case. I was intrigued to learn that I sounded like a consumptive old man with an educated but foreign accent. I must admit that I was rather offended. I’m an English Springer Spaniel and my master thinks I speak with a foreign accent. I was just about to give your uncle a piece of my mind when I remembered that I’m only a poor dumb animal. I settled down again to enjoy a low growl. Foreign, indeed!

‘Your problem is, I think,’ Inspector Moore interjected, ‘that you don’t trust this mysterious informant. He is another actor in this drama, an unexpected one who doesn’t fit the scene.’

‘Got it in one, Tom,’ my master agreed. ‘That is the very essence of the problem. I was hoping that you would see a pattern that I’ve missed.’

‘If there is a pattern, I can’t see it. Maybe when you solve this case the identity of the informant will become clear.’ Inspector
Moore picked up his pipe and started to fill it.  ‘We will probably find that one petty criminal has taken revenge on another.’

Frankly, I couldn’t see how this conversation could get any worse. Firstly, my master described me as sounding foreign; then Inspector Moore suggested that I was probably a petty criminal. If this is what selfless dedication does for you, I can see why cats are so aloof.

‘Your description of a consumptive old man does suggest something.’ Inspector Moore paused for a second while he thought. ‘In the thirties there was an outbreak of dog-stealing in this part of London. Criminals would take a dog and then offer to find it for a fee. They eventually had to change the law to end this practice. One of the worst offenders, or so I’ve been told, was old Albert Wheeler, whose son now runs the White Horse. I reckon one of the young lads has been listening to the old man’s stories. It does at least give us another lead.’