The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (19 page)

I was watching the knife and listening to the sounds of the growler approaching when I heard a familiar voice.

‘Hello again, young fellow; you do seem to have an exciting time of it. I don’t want to ruin your fun but do you need some slight assistance with this young gentleman?’

With that, Henry emerged from the fog.

‘Well met,’ I replied, adding a tail wag to show my sincerity. ‘Please feel free to join in.’

‘Please correct me if you have a better plan,’ Henry said after a moment’s thought. ‘It occurs to me that we can minimise the chance of anyone being hurt if we co-ordinate our actions. To that end, I am going to bark twice. On the second bark, by which time our friend should be watching me, I will charge him down. I would be quite grateful if you could get a strong grip on his knife wrist before he manages to stab me.’

I agreed with this plan: it was simple, straightforward and would probably work. In any case, I wanted to deal with this particular villain before my master arrived.

Henry barked for the first time. A bark loaded with menace. The cook’s lad turned towards Henry and waved the knife threateningly.

Henry barked again and we threw ourselves forward. For an instant the lad froze. For one vital, beautiful moment, he just stood there watching Henry charge. I seized my opportunity and his wrist in that same split second.

The next moment the side of my head slammed into the cobbles as the cook’s lad collapsed backwards as Henry hit him. Instinctively I tightened my bite as my vision blurred.

When full consciousness returned I was lying on the ground with the young villain’s wrist firmly in my teeth. The cook’s lad was lying flat on his back with Henry standing on his chest, barking gleefully. The lad seemed to have been winded by Henry but even so, he was managing to gasp out some vile imprecations. Suddenly, with a strength born of despair, he started bucking his body while trying to reach his knife with his left hand.

‘Be still
, lad,’ Henry cautioned him, clearly and in English. ‘I am not going to let you up. Lie quietly and I won’t be forced to hurt you. I am a gentle soul and not inclined to violent behaviour. Indeed, I believe, in common with an ancient philosopher, that violence is the last resort of the incompetent. In your case, however, I am inclined to make an exception and show you how competent my teeth can be.’

With a despairing shriek young Gordon collapsed into a dead faint; he was still lying very docilely when my master arrived.

We handed the miscreant over to Inspector Moore before calling in to put Mrs Baker’s mind at rest.

-----

Snuffles finished his tale and stretched out on the mat.

‘What happened next?’ I asked.

‘We went home and had supper,’ Snuffles answered, deliberately taking my question literally. ‘I can’t recall what it was, but I don’t believe that it would be of interest to you anyway.’

‘No, I meant what happened to the cook’s lad? It would be cruel not to finish the story properly’

‘I would much rather talk about you,’ Snuffles said with a growl in his voice. ‘You dare to prattle on about cruelty, but last night you allowed yourself to get beastly drunk, and, I am ashamed to say, behaved with monstrous rudeness towards Miss Fraser.’

The events of the previous night rose unbidden in my memory and my first thought was to leave the house at once.

‘You are not going to run,’ the dog continued, with iron in his voice. ‘You are going to walk with me into the maze, where the young lady is pretending to write. If you do not tender a sincere and handsome apology for your oafish behaviour I will refuse to converse with you again.’

‘You can’t mean that
, Snuffles,’ I exclaimed despairingly.

‘Woof,’ he replied intractably.

An extract from the journal of Miss Isobel Fraser, written for her sister, Lucy, in
Boston.

THE footsteps did indeed belong to someone who wanted to talk to me: the one person at Arlesford whom I least wanted to see. You can surely imagine my feelings when I glanced up to see James Thompson entering my little haven of peace. Initially I considered gathering my possessions and returning to the house, but realised that since he had stopped exactly in the arbour’s entrance I would be forced either to speak to him or to push past him.

My quick glance had shown me that he was accompanied by Snuffles, though why such a well
-bred dog should accompany such a brute as James escaped me. The presence of the dog reassured me and I decided to ignore the boor until he departed.

James coughed, and I pretended to write. He coughed again
, and I twisted slightly on my seat so that the back of my head was towards him. There was silence for several minutes; I know, because I was counting the seconds.

A touch on my knee startled me and I glanced down with some apprehension
, but was relieved to see that the dog had come over and had put his head on my leg. Gratefully I fondled his ears; by concentrating on the dog I could legitimately ignore the man.

After a while
, I heard James shift and thought that he was leaving. At that moment, a small querulous bark from Snuffles informed me that I had stopped stroking him. Unfortunately, the dog’s bark seemed to stiffen James’ resolution because he took a pace towards me.

‘Miss Fraser, I want to apologise,’ he said.

I ignored him. Surely even the most stupid of men would give up after a while.

‘Miss Fraser. Please look at me,’ he said again. ‘I am not leaving this spot until you let me apologise.’

There was a certain note of determination in his voice that led me to believe that he would stand there all day. His closer position brought the unmistakable scent of whisky. Even though it was still only morning, the brute had already been drinking. In frustration, I dug my fingers into the dog’s coat, eliciting a yelp. I lent my head down and apologised to the noble animal.

‘Miss Fraser, since you will not listen to my apology
, I have no option but to imitate your good example. I find that I must explain myself to Snuffles. Once I have finished here, I intend to leave Arlesford and return immediately to London, as my presence seems to be causing you some distress.’ 

I almost looked at him then, but checked my natural instinct. He intended to explain his behaviour to a dog. This was almost as silly as the arguments we had as children
, when we would address our dolls rather than each other- you remember them? Of course, they were always variations of ‘Molly, you go tell Lucy that she cannot play with us.’ Was the man absolutely mad, I wondered?

‘Snuffles,’ he began, in a voice that sounded both sincere and embarrassed
, ‘last night I was a complete and utter fool. I allowed a minor disappointment to cloud my good sense and rather than cheering myself up by participating in the ball, I started to drink.

‘If all I had don
e was to get quietly inebriated before falling asleep in some quiet corner, at worst I would have embarrassed only myself. I was stupid, though, and as soon as I finished one drink I immediately started another. Unwisely I remember mixing my drinks, hoping to find a happy state of intoxication; unfortunately, all I did was make myself beastly drunk.

‘I was upset because Lady Victoria,
to whom I had become somewhat attached, failed to come down to Arlesford this weekend. I was insulted and began to think that she had deliberately mocked me. It seemed to me then that everyone in the room was party to this joke and that any laughter was directed at me.

‘When Aunt Mary brought Miss Fraser over
, I thought that she was patronising me, and, feeling deeply wounded, I wanted to hurt someone else. Unfortunately, my victim was my American cousin, a young lady who has never done me any harm.

‘A drunkard has no sense and I said some truly horrid things to Miss Fraser, things that I knew to be untrue even as the bile poured from my mouth. The only thing that mattered was hurting someone else
, and it seemed to be more satisfying that my target was someone charming.

‘What happened last night was totally my fault. I let my own self
-doubts fuel a drinking spree and then indulged in a public tantrum worthy of a five-year-old. I have embarrassed myself in front of most of society and will no doubt be reminded of my folly for years to come. It is no more than I deserve.

‘My only regret, and it is one that I hold sincerely, is that I publicly humiliated someone who deserved only my friendship
- a person whom I was pleased to know.’

With that he turned and I heard him moving away. I glanced up and for some unaccountable reason found my vision blurred.

‘James, please don’t go,’ I said, much to my own surprise. ‘I would like a few moments of your time.’

He returned to the arbour and
, at my invitation sat at the other end of the bench.  Snuffles sat a few feet away and looked at the two of us, almost as if he was a chaperone sent by my aunt.

For a short while
, there was an uncomfortable silence, and then James began talking in a quiet voice about the maze.  Apparently, his great-grandfather, a noted naval officer, had designed it at the same time as he rebuilt the house. The family’s recent fortunes are founded on the prize money gained by the great-grandfather and there are references to his naval actions, in the form of engraved flagstones, at various parts of the maze. Each of the arbours is named after one of the Rear Admiral’s ships, a representation of which is carved into an octagonal flagstone set into the grass; James pointed out the picture of HMS Sprite, the cutter which had been his great-grandfather’s first command.

From a conversation about the maze it was easy to come round to him. The Thompsons have a tradition of military service and James had always assumed that he would follow his father and brother into the Army. As he has always enjoyed building things
, James had decided to join the Royal Engineers, a decision that was met with some disbelief in a family with a strong cavalry tradition. He held true to his choice and in due course was commissioned.

He recounted how pleased he
had been to be sent to a unit at Gibraltar, which is Britain’s great natural fortress at the mouth of the Mediterranean. The main feature of Gibraltar is apparently a massive outcrop of stone called the ‘rock’. This landmark is honeycombed with tunnels that serve gun positions, magazines and other military necessities.

James
had been given the task of enlarging one of the batteries to take modern guns; apparently it had been cut for Napoleonic cannon and was far too small. The easiest way to complete the task was to use several small charges to blast out the rock walls. The very last charge went wrong and exploded prematurely, trapping James and killing his Sergeant.

The injury left James crippled and he resigned his commission as he felt he could no longer perform his duties properly. He now holds the position of an Inspector of Her Majesty’s Coastal Fortifications and
, I think, bitterly regrets the loss of his chosen career.

Having spoken to James
, I am of the opinion that he is very self-conscious about his injury and feels that it has disfigured him in some way. It is true that he walks relatively slowly and has to rest quite often but I later gathered from the General that he is gradually improving.

Lucy, I was wrong. James was drunk and acted in a monstrous fashion towards me. He is not a brute, however, but a charming man who has undoubtedly endured many disappointments and reverses.

‘HERE you are at last,’ said Snuffles. ‘I perceive that rather than having a sensible amount of sleep, you spent the better part of last night drinking in a rather disreputable gaming club with a man called Palmer.’

It was bad enough to be chided for my lateness by my uncle’s dog without him accurately stating the cause of my sloth. Snuffles had been delighting in showing off his powers of deduction ever since my uncle and I had discussed the merits of one of Conan Doyle’s stories in the
Strand magazine. Although we dismissed the powers of Holmes as a neat plot device, Snuffles later claimed that they were ‘elementary’.

‘What type of tale are you telling me today?’ I asked while settling into a chair, ‘a good murder or a daring theft?’

‘Today,’ said Snuffles, after some consideration, ‘I am going to tell you about a young man who is serving a life sentence in solitary confinement, and how he figured in one of your uncle’s cases.’

Snuffles settled himself more comfortably and began.

-----

My master had been invited to spend
Friday to Monday with his old school friend Peter Harys at Stroon Castle. Peter was hosting a party to celebrate his brother John's coming of age and, although the bulk of the guests were his brother’s friends, he had invited a few of his own to provide adult conversation. We duly arrived at Stroon Castle one Friday afternoon and, having changed, my master went downstairs to meet the rest of the party, already gathered for pre-dinner drinks.

Your uncle’s entry caused a brief lull in the conversation as people turned to look at the famous detective. The conversation then returned to its previous level. However, I did catch more than one reference to some of my master’s more famous cases.

Peter escorted us around the gathering, which consisted of the people staying for the whole weekend; the rest of the guests would arrive the following night for the ball. We were introduced to people whom my master did not know although fortunately there were several old friends.

One small group caught my attention. There was a young man of about twenty sitting in a wheeled chair. He sat there ignoring the people around him while repeatedly nodding his head. Sitting on his right hand was a striking lady in her late forties. Behind the chair sat another woman who, from her dress, was the young man’s nurse.

‘That’s my Aunt Sophie, Lady Gough,’ said Peter as we approached. ‘I do not believe that you have ever met her or her son David.’

Checking to ensure that we were out of earshot, my master asked what was wrong with the lad.

Speaking in a quiet voice Peter continued. ‘Something apparently went wrong when David was born, and although he has grown physically, his mind never developed. It is a great shame because my aunt is one of the most pleasant women you could hope to meet.’

My master was introduced to Lady Gough and they started to discuss the Maygrove tragedy. While I sat and listened to them, I felt a hand on my ear. I turned in that direction and looked straight into David’s face. I was instantly struck by the intelligence and suffering in his eyes. He spoke to me, and although I heard a meaningless collection of sounds, I knew from his body language that he had said something like ‘good boy.’ I wagged my tail and licked his hand in response and was gratified to see a smile light up his eyes.

The nurse chose that moment to intervene. Roughly pushing between us, she wiped David’s hands. She then walked round the chair and took hold of the pushing bar at the back.

‘My Lady,’ she said, ‘I will take Master David to his room. We don’t want him catching anything from a dirty animal do we?’

She began pushing David away, paying not the slightest attention to his clearly-voiced protest.

‘I am so sorry about that,’ said Lady Gough, gently patting me. ‘My son becomes tired so very easily. I am fortunate that Miss Blanchard is such a caring woman. She just does not like any animals near her patients.’

I was very surprised by this because I have noticed that sick people always seem to recover faster when there is an animal in the house. Indeed, whenever I have been recovering from any injuries, I have found Fielding’s company to be extremely soothing.

The events of Friday night were somewhat dull as my master refused to let me chase the ducks. I am perfectly happy to go to sleep while still damp, as I soon dry off on my master’s bed. His concern is rather touching, but if I don’t mind, why should he? There are, however, two small vignettes that I must share with you before we deal with the events of Saturday.

The nurse, Miss Blanchard, came in to the drawing room just before we went in to dinner and spoke to Lady Gough. She was on her way to have her supper and had left Molly feeding David.  Miss Blanchard said that she would relieve her after she had eaten and then put David to bed.

As I followed my master upstairs to bed, I caught a glimpse of one of the young gentlemen holding onto a maid’s wrist while speaking urgently to her. He appeared to be somewhat drunk and started guiltily when he heard us pass. I do not think that your uncle saw them but the girl used the distraction to pull away.

The first part of Saturday morning passed peacefully enough and by ten, most of the party had arisen and breakfasted. One of the guests, a young man called Jasper Yorke, was apparently somewhat unwell, and had decided to spend the morning in bed. According to gossip, he had drunk a large amount of brandy the night before and had become beastly drunk. I think his absence was more welcome than his presence, as he had spent the early parts of the evening asking friends, acquaintances and even strangers for the loan of a few pounds.

Peter had arranged a drag hunt for the morning. One of the gardeners had been sent out early with a very smelly lure. The idea behind this hunt was for the party to charge around the estate while a motley pack, comprising of the housedogs and a few visiting pets, attempted to follow the scent. Peter called this ‘a bit of healthy exercise to build a spot of appetite’.

On these occasions most of the people walk, although some of the older guests did ride. We gathered in front of the main entrance to the house, full of pleasant expectation.  Peter blew an old hunting horn and we were off.

I really enjoyed myself that morning.  We raced across the lawn and out into the park. You must try to imagine the scene; there were about a dozen dogs, seven riders and nearly twenty people on foot. It was fortunate that it was a drag hunt because the cacophony of shouts, calls, yaps and barks would have driven any self-respecting quarry far away.

After the first mile, we had opened up from a tight group to a long straggling line. The gardener had thrown the lure over fences and gates and only several delays while the lead dogs cast around for the scent kept us together.

It was during one of these delays that I unwittingly caused one of the riders to come to grief. We were crossing a field when we lost the scent. I sat by your uncle and indulged in a good pant while looking casually around. There was a young rabbit browsing by one of the hedges that appeared not to have noticed our arrival so I leapt to my feet and raced towards it.

‘Look, everyone!’ someone shouted behind me. ‘The Spaniel has the scent. Tally ho!’

The shout startled the rabbit and it looked up to see me bearing down on it. For a second it froze and I was within three feet when it shook itself and took to its heels, fleeing straight for a hole in the hedge. I looked at the gap it had chosen and decided that there was enough room for me, so I continued my pursuit. The rabbit did a sharp turn to the right and vanished into a hole. I was still looking at the hole when I broke through the hedge and tumbled down a bank into a large stream.

As I fell down the bank, a horse crashed into the hedge and stopped suddenly. With a despairing shriek, a rather portly gentleman shot from his saddle and landed near me in the water.

We looked at each other. I wagged my tail and ventured a friendly little woof. He glared at me and then waved a riding crop that he still held gripped tightly in his right hand. This gesture, coupled with an almost inarticulate growling noise, led me to believe that he wasn’t very pleased with me. I decided, therefore, that discretion was the better part of valour and fled back through the hedge to my master.

The trail started to lead back toward the house so it came as no real surprise when we found the lure hanging from a hook in the stable yard. We were all a bit dishevelled, but it had been good fun. It was in a spirit of contentment that we re-entered the house. Laughing and joking we went to our rooms to change for lunch.

Your uncle had just opened our door when we heard an outraged shout from the floor below. The shout was followed by some very loud imprecations. When other voices joined in, my master turned and headed towards the staircase. No real policeman can ever ignore a disturbance. There was a confusion of noise as various angry voices tried to speak at once. Then Peter’s voice cut through the din.  He was obviously placating several angry people. Rounding a bend in the stairs, we saw him standing on a landing surrounded by five of his guests.

Peter saw your uncle coming and came towards us with relief on his face.

‘Richard, we have a problem,’ Peter began. ‘Apparently these gentlemen have been robbed. I know that you are a guest here, but I would be greatly obliged if you could look into this.’

‘Certainly,’ your master agreed. He addressed the aggrieved guests. ‘I need to know what has been stolen and how you discovered the theft.'

The story that emerged was simple and unpleasant. Each of the guests on entering the room had seen their wallets lying open on their beds. All the notes had been removed. Your uncle then examined each of the victims’ rooms. It became apparent that only money had been stolen
, although there were several small valuable items easily to hand. Because I was still slightly wet, Peter absentmindedly stopped me entering the rooms. This was a pity: had I been allowed in, my sense of smell would have enabled me to identify the thief.

By this time, most of the other guests had gathered to see what was happening. Your uncle waved for silence.

‘As you are all now aware,’ he began, ‘several items have been stolen. I want all of you to check your possessions and to tell me if anything is missing. While you are doing that, Peter and I will start looking for the culprit. I intend to resolve this unfortunate incident without causing any unnecessary disruption to tonight's event. To that end I would like to ask for your co-operation.’

While my master was speaking, Jasper Yorke pushed himself to the front of the group. He waited until your uncle had finished and then coughed for attention.

‘I think I know who the thief is, inspector,’ Jasper said, pitching his voice so that all the onlookers were included in his confidence. ‘I was somewhat indisposed this morning and decided to take some laudanum to settle things. I was lying half-asleep when my bedroom door opened and a maid entered the room.  I think she must have thought that I was asleep because she moved over to my dressing table. I naturally assumed that she had come to tidy the room and, not wanting to be disturbed, I told her to come back later. She apologised and, as she left my room, she seemed to put something in her apron pocket. It was only when I dressed that I noticed that my cuff links were missing.’

‘Do you know who this maid was?’ Your uncle asked.

‘I don’t know her name,’ Jasper said, ‘but it was the girl who took the idiot’s supper up last night.’

‘Molly?’ Lady Gough exclaimed in amazement
. ‘I just do not believe it.’

‘Do you know where she is now?’ my master asked. ‘There may be a perfectly simple explanation.’

‘She is with my son in his room, helping Miss Blanchard to get him ready for lunch,’ Lady Gough replied. ‘I have absolutely no doubt that she is not a thief. Come with me and we’ll put these ridiculous accusations to her.’

My master asked Peter and Jasper to accompany Lady Gough and himself to David’s room.

Lady Gough ushered us into her son’s room. We found Molly brushing David’s hair and talking to him. Miss Blanchard was not present. Although she was surprised by our entrance, Molly did not show any fear.

‘Molly,’ Lady Gough said
, ‘this gentleman is Inspector Thompson and he wants to ask you a few questions.'

‘Certainly Ma’am
.’ The girl smiled at her employer and then turned to my master. ‘How can I help you, sir?’

‘There have been some thefts of the guests’ property this morning,’ your uncle said. ‘Have you anything you wish to tell me?’

‘Nothing has been stolen from Master David or Lady Gough, Sir.’ She smiled at your uncle before continuing, ‘either Miss Blanchard or myself have been in here with David since Lady Gough left to join the hunt.’

It was obvious to me that Jasper had been mistaken. I did not think that Molly was a thief. If she was guilty, then she was a very good actress.

My master motioned Jasper forward while stepping back so that he could watch the two of them and then said, ‘Molly I want you to listen to this gentleman’s story. When he has finished tell me if there is anything you want to add to your account.’

With seemingly far too much pleasure, Jasper repeated his tale. As he spoke the girl started to say something but your uncle told her to let him finish. She stood there in silence with her hands over her mouth. I saw a look of genuine shock in her eyes. This time, when Jasper reached the end of his account, he was certain that he had seen the girl take his cuff links. He pointed dramatically to her apron pocket. The girl instinctively brought her hand down and as she touched her pocket, she went white.