The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (21 page)

‘Why did you attempt to pass the blame onto Lady Gough’s maid?’ Peter’s voice had become harder.

‘I knew there would be an uproar when you discovered that some money was missing, but I realised that if you had a culprit then you wouldn’t look any further.’ Jasper paused, ‘after all it is better for one of her class to be shamed than one of ours. It’s well known that they don’t have finer feelings like we do.’

‘You are lying to me,’ Peter shouted. ‘She refused your advances and you wanted a petty revenge.’

‘Yes, I'm sorry.’ Jasper blushed and looked at the floor obviously completely defeated. After a short embarrassed silence he asked in a quiet voice, ‘what happens now? Am I to be arrested?’

Peter waited until Jasper looked up.

‘I want to avoid any unpleasantness. To this end, I am writing to your father describing the events of this weekend. I am certain that your father will pay off your debts to avoid a scandal. I will suggest that he arranges for you to go abroad, for at least five years. If you stay in London I will personally ruin you in polite society.’

Jasper looked ashen and then nodded. Wordlessly he gathered his property and left.

-----

Snuffles stopped speaking and looked at me.

‘You mentioned life imprisonment at the start of your story. Did Jasper commit another crime?’

‘For a promising pup, you can be rather stupid.’ Snuffles said, with a pitying look. ‘I was referring to David’s condition as life imprisonment. Can you imagine having a mind as alert and sharp as your own but not being able to express your thoughts and desires? 

‘You have never learnt to read because everyone has always assumed that you are far too stupid to learn. Then you find yourself being treated as either an object or a wilful child. Whenever you protest about your treatment, or even rage at the injustice of it all, you are subjected to brutal treatments for your own good. This goes on every day of your life. No iron bars or stone walls can make as effective a cell as your own skull.

‘Your grandchildren will look back on this as a barbarous age, full of suspicion and quackery. I expect that the march of science will lead, a century from now, to a society where people like David are no longer treated as less that human.’

I saw what Snuffles meant and I thought, rather guiltily, about my own behaviour towards people like David. I decided to change the subject.

‘How did you know that I went gambling with Palmer last night?’

‘It's all in the nose,’ Snuffles said smugly.

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

LUCY, I have just had a most singular and frightening experience. If you can credit the notion, I have had to fight off two unspeakably crude toughs while protecting Inspector Thompson’s Spaniel from harm.

I had gone, as is my custom, for an afternoon constitutional and since the weather was good chose, to walk through Hyde Park.

Having found an empty bench with a good view of an ornamental garden, I decided to do a small sketch of the scene for your amusement. While I was engaged in this manner
, I became aware of a disturbance that quite shattered the tranquillity of the afternoon.

Being curious
, I stood up and looked towards the source of the noise. I saw two roughs chasing a Spaniel while vociferously, and quite foully, calling upon the dog to stop and imploring bystanders to catch it for them. I must admit there was a certain comic element to the scene that brought a smile to my face.

Humour quickly changed to concern when I saw that the poor dog seemed to be running on three legs and looked just about plum tuckered out. Suddenly I realised that the dog was Snuffles and I knew that I had to do something.

‘Snuffles,’ I called and saw him turn in my direction. You can imagine my consternation when I saw that he had a stick of dynamite clasped in his mouth. This is not an item that you habitually associate with a London park especially not on a pleasant afternoon.

As soon as he reached me
, Snuffles dropped his burden at my feet and I stepped forward so that my skirts covered it. The dog continued round me so that he ended up standing on my right side facing the men and as they closed, he growled in a deep and menacing fashion.

‘Sorry to bother you
, miss,’ said the first ruffian, reaching for Snuffles’ collar. ‘I’ll just grab me dog and we’ll be away with no more bother.’

‘Be gone, you verminous reprobate!’ I cried slapping at his outstretched hand with my furled parasol. ‘This is not your dog!’

‘Says you, Missy,’ the second thug joined in. ‘Sean, you seize the dog and if little Miss Yankee doesn’t pipe down and mind her own business, I’ll deal with her proper.’

As he spoke
, he slapped his boot with a stick he was carrying. The implications were obvious. Now I don’t like being threatened, especially by such an odious wretch, so I screamed loudly for help and jabbed with my parasol at the other man, who was once more trying to grab Snuffles.

The second man swore angrily and swung his stick at my head. Fortunately I saw it coming and managed to twist slightly
, so that, rather than connecting solidly with my temple, he hit me a glancing blow to the side of the face. The impact knocked me to the ground and for a second or two I could not fully comprehend my predicament or clearly see my assailants. I did hear, however, a menacing growl followed by a scream and a curse.

At the same time I felt a hand on my right leg so I kicked out with my left and was rewarded with a grunt of pain.

When my vision cleared, I saw the man who had struck me dancing around in circles trying to dislodge Snuffles, who was clamped very firmly onto his forearm. The stick, I was pleased to see, was lying on the ground. The other thug was sitting back on his haunches with blood streaming from his nose.

‘Damn you,’ he hissed at me, and produced a rather wicked knife from under his coat. ‘I’ll show you what happens when you interfere, sure and I will. I’ll do for both you and the dog.’

Things were looking quite desperate, so I screamed again, praying there was someone in the park who would help me. I needn’t have worried: at that moment I heard a man shout and then the sound of a horse galloping towards me.

The dog must have been distracted by the shout
, because the first thug managed to throw him off and, pausing only long enough to snatch up his stick, ran like a frightened rabbit towards a stand of trees.

‘I’ll be seeing you later, Missy,’ my would-be assassin snarled before racing off towards the park gates and the busy road.

I was just preparing to rise to my feet when a most beautiful black horse came to a halt by me. The rider, an immaculately turned out young officer from one of the cavalry regiments, dismounted with a dexterity which I would have believed impossible in such tightly cut riding breeches and offered me a hand.

‘I say, Miss, are you all right? I saw your predicament so shouted to get the bounders’ attention and then charged old
Shelton here to your rescue. I’m dashed annoyed that they ran like that because they looked as though they needed a damn good thrashing.’ This paladin then had the decency to blush slightly and continued in a slightly less energetic tone, ‘I am so terribly sorry, Miss; I do hope you will forgive my language. I got somewhat carried away, don’t you know.’

My rescuer grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me quite unceremoniously to my feet. Releasing me
, he stepped back and gave me an appraising look; it may just be my feminine vanity, but I do declare that he was quite taken with me.

This modern Galahad
smiled and sketched a small bow. ‘I know that we have not been properly introduced, but as these are special circumstances, Lieutenant Reginald Vaughn at your service.’

Good manners d
ictated that I return the compliment in as pretty a fashion as I could muster, as these Europeans are just so courtly. Accordingly, I made my best curtsy and told him my name. I must say that my opinion of the man then dropped quite badly because he was staring at my ankles. I had heard of the licentious nature of the British Army but I had expected gentlemanly conduct from an officer.

I was just about to upbraid him when he muttered another curse and stooped down. I was drawing in my breath to scream when he straightened up with the stick of dynamite in his hand.

‘Oh I say, dynamite,’ he said somewhat unnecessarily. ‘Did one of those thugs drop this, Miss Fraser?’

‘Yes,
’ I replied, although it wasn’t strictly true: I thought that explaining how an acquaintance’s Spaniel had dropped it at my feet would probably take far too long.

‘Excuse me,’ he said
, turning towards his horse and gathering its reins into one hand, ‘I really do think I should see if I can run one of your assailants to earth.’

With that
, he reached up to hold the saddle so that he could mount, and finding his hand encumbered with the dynamite, he tossed it at me with the request that I give it to a policeman.

As he rode off Snuffles nudged against me and whined slightly
, bringing me back to my senses. As I was close to Aunt Mary’s house, I decided to go straight there and ask her to accompany me to the nearest police station.

That proved to be a very good idea
, as that redoubtable old lady refused to let me go to the police but sent a telegram to Scotland Yard summoning her nephew. After all, as it was his dog that had somehow precipitated my adventure, it seemed only right that he should become involved.

While we were waiting for Inspector Thompson to arrive, we examined Snuffles and I was gratified to learn that
, although he seemed to have been hit or kicked on the right hip and was in some discomfort there was no serious injury.

I have only seen Inspector Thompson when he has been off duty and had formed the impression of a quiet, rather sad man; on duty he is totally different. I must have recounted my story five times before he was satisfied. Each time
, however, he asked me gentle questions and I found myself remembering more details about my assailants.

I was not sorry when he eventually left, taking Snuffles with him, and Aunt Mary suggested a light supper followed by an early night.

‘JAMES, have you heard about your cousin Isobel’s misadventure in
Hyde Park?’ my uncle asked me, passing the port decanter.

Indeed not,’ I replied. ‘I only returned to
London this afternoon after a fortnight in Plymouth. As you waited until now before raising the matter, I assume that she was not hurt.’

‘She was shaken, rather scared but only bruised,’ he answered
, fishing his cigar case from his pocket. ‘I was summoned by Aunt Mary and found myself interviewing Isobel soon after the events. I would be interested in your comments.’

The great man was silent for a few moments as he lit his cigar. Once it was burning to his satisfaction he lent back in his chair and began his account.

‘Two days ago your cousin went for an afternoon walk in the park and, finding the weather agreeable, sat down to sketch one of the ornamental gardens.

‘While she was sketching, she was distracted by a commotion; looking up she saw what she described as two rough men, labourers of some kind, chasing a Spaniel through the park.

‘The sight had, she told me, a certain comical quality, as the men were floundering along in the dog’s wake, alternately imploring the good dog to stop and then threatening it most vilely. The humour faded when she realised that the dog was limping quite badly and was obviously very tired. Not only that, but she thought it was Snuffles.’

‘Snuffles? W
hat was he doing there?’ I interjected, glancing at my confidant where he was collapsed in front of the hearth. He slowly opened both eyes on hearing his name, looked fondly at his master and twitched his tail.

‘I only wish I knew,’ my uncle continued.
‘We were visiting one of the stations in that area when he suddenly took off. One of the constables pursued him but had to give up after he collided with a barrow.’ My uncle sighed. ‘If only he could talk, James, I would be able to ask him that very question.’

S
eeing that I was looking at him, Snuffles slowly winked and then sank comfortably back into his nap.

‘Isobel called Snuffles to her and was somewhat startled when he dropped a stick of dynamite at her feet.’ My uncle rubbed his chin
thoughtfully. ‘A moment later, the two men, whom she describes as being like navvies, came running up and tried to take Snuffles, claiming that he belonged to them. She defied them and a nasty little scuffle ensued during which one of the men clubbed her to the ground.

‘Sensibly, she kept screaming throughout the attack and fortunately attracted the attention of a Lieutenant Vaughn who was exercising his horse in the park. As he rode up
, the miscreants fled, and although the Lieutenant pursued them, they managed to escape. I rather think that he spent more than “the briefest moment” helping your cousin to her feet, and left his pursuit too late.

‘She took the stick of dynamite and went to see Aunt Mary. I was summoned in very short order.’ My uncle paused with a faintly rueful smile on his lips, an expression familiar to everyone who has fallen foul of Aunt Mary’s formidable organising talents. ‘Well, James, any comments?’

‘The presence of dynamite must be causing the Commissioner some disquiet,’ I said after a few moments’ thought. ‘According to your account, Isobel described her attackers as navvies. I would assume, therefore, that they had Irish accents. Are you expecting another Fenian outrage?’

‘We have had no intelligence pointing to such an attack, but considering the self
-contained nature of these groups, no news is not necessarily good news.’

‘One stick of dynamite could be thrown like a grenade,’ I
said. ‘I would have thought, however, that if one wanted to assassinate someone like that, it would be easier to get close enough to one’s victim if one looked like a man of consequence and not a labourer. Is it not possible that they intended to blow open a vault or a safe?’

‘I don’t think that is likely,’ my uncle responded. ‘In my experience
, the dynamite would remain in a safe place until they were ready to commit the robbery, which would probably not be in normal business hours.’

‘If the dynamite is unlikely to be used either in a robbe
ry or as a grenade,’ I remarked, ‘I would have to conclude that someone is preparing a larger bomb and most likely digging a mine, considering the men’s appearance.’

‘I agree with your assessment,’ my uncle responded while saluting me with his port glass. ‘Now my only problem is working out where exactly my dog stole the dynamite.’

‘Surely there are only a limited number of possible targets?’ I suggested. ‘If you can identify those, a search of the surrounding areas would possibly find the mine.’

‘A good practical suggestion,’ my uncle wearily replied. ‘Unfortunately for us
, this city is full of people who are either prominent enough to make good targets or who have earned the Fenians’ undying hatred. This, coupled with a relatively small number of men, renders any such undertaking almost impossible.’

With that, my uncle changed the conversation to other matters but not before I had promised to take Snuffles for a good walk the following day.

‘Well, Snuffles,’ I asked the following morning once we were alone in my study, ‘how did you come by that stick of dynamite?’

‘It’s rather a long story I’m afraid,’ Snuffles replied. ‘I’ll tell you my part of the story and hopefully you will see some way of helping my master.’

He settled himself comfortably on the rug and began.

-----

I was lying in my master’s garden, enjoying an after dinner snooze, when Fielding meowed me awake. I opened my eyes, prepared to remonstrate, but saw that he was accompanied by another cat; she was a small black-and-white female, quite young and obviously very, very concerned about something. With a few faint twinges of disappointment I forgot about my nap; this was obviously duty.

‘Sorry to wake you
, Snuffles,’ Fielding began. ‘This is Canary. She went to her local parliament with a trouble and after some consideration they decided to refer it to you, since you were able to resolve Portia’s problem.

‘I take it
, then, that her problem will involve some effort by whoever solves it?’ I asked rather sarcastically. ‘Was it that consideration that made her cat parliament refer it to an already hard-working dog?’

‘Not at all,’ Fielding replied, with his usual unflappable equanimity. ‘The case involves a dog and we felt that your expert insight might be needed. However, as you have obviously been run off your feet
, I will leave you in peace. With my own limited abilities and extreme slothfulness, I will probably make a total mess of things.’

‘Al
l right, Fielding,’ I responded, with a deep sigh. ‘How can I help?’

Fielding sat down and wrapped his tail neatly around his feet before asking Canary to tell her story.  Rather than sitting down she started pacing
, as if her story agitated her.

‘Thank you for agreeing to hear me,’ she began. ‘I have been so worried for Sally and my human that I have not been able to eat or sleep.’

‘Sally?’ I interrupted. ‘Who is she and why are you worried?’

‘Sally?’
the little cat answered, a faint meow entering her voice, ‘Sally is my dog. She raised me from kittenhood. I think that the men are making my human poison her. Everyday she is a bit more listless and I don’t think that she will last much longer.’

The cat stopped talking and looked at me
, obviously expecting another question. Working with your uncle has been an education and I knew just how to question a worried witness.

‘Canary, please continue with your story,’ I spoke in my best firm, but gentle, voice. ‘Start by describing your family and home, then describe the problem.  If there is anything I don’t fully understand I will ask a few questions at the end.’

‘My human is a clockmaker, and we live in a few rooms above his shop.’ The little cat purred slightly under her voice as she spoke. ‘My human is not very wealthy but he always ensures that Sally and I are warm and well fed. He is a good man and I am a very lucky cat.

‘I was given to my human as a little kitten and used to sit on his bench and chirrup at him as he worked, a habit which led to my somewhat inappropriate name. Before I came, he and Sally lived alone as his work does not make enough for him to be able to afford a maid.

‘Sally is a beautiful golden coloured Labrador who looks after both of us. Although she wouldn’t hurt anyone I have seen her scare off petty villains who were trying to intimidate our human. She was given to him by a young member of the aristocracy who, having asked for his watch to be cleaned, couldn’t or wouldn’t pay the bill. The young buck was pleased to hand over a worthless puppy to settle the account. Apparently
yellow
Labradors are not
fashionable
so are normally culled.’

The little cat literally spat the last sentence out and glared at me as if I was responsible for this typical bit of human folly.

‘That is my family,’ she continued in a more controlled fashion. ‘We were living together perfectly happily until one morning about two weeks ago. That was when trouble arrived.

‘I was sitting on the shop counter when the door opened and a neatly dressed young man entered the shop. He looked around and smiled, almost like a cat who has found a good mouse hole. There was a predatory air about him that I did not like.

‘My human came through into the shop and having greeted the man asked how he could be of service. The stranger had, it transpired, recently arrived from America but had suffered the misfortune of having his watch stolen during the voyage and now needed a replacement.

‘The stranger showed a proper appreciation of my human’s wares and after some consideration settled on a very good half hunter. The two men were obviously enjoying each other’s company and even after the transaction was completed continued a lively conversation.

‘The stranger, who said his name was Michael O’Neil, told my human that he had secured a good position as the London representative for an American manufacturing company. I admit that most of this part of the conversation went right over my head but I could tell that my human was very impressed. As O’Neil turned to leave the shop my human told him that “as a stranger in this city, if you need any help or advice, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

‘It was a standard polite offer and one that my pet has sincerely made many times. The American stopped with his hand on the door and turned back to face my human. “I do have one small problem, on which you might be able to advise me,’ he said, a friendly smile on his face. ‘I have some cases of samples arriving tomorrow and I need to find somewhere secure that I can store them for a week or two.”

‘My human made several suggestions but they all proved to be unworkable, sometimes for seemingly quite facile reasons. Eventually my pet, who always likes helping people, suggested that Michael could use his cellar. The stranger agreed but only after my human agreed to accept a small rental. They shook hands on the deal and the stranger said that he would bring the cases late the next afternoon.

‘We spent a happy evening. The truth is that although my pet had initially refused the rent, the sum, small as it was, actually made a big difference to our well-being. That night was almost perfect; unfortunately the following afternoon our world was turned upside down.

‘Just after my pet had closed the shop Mr O’Neil arrived with three labouring men and a cart that was loaded with several crates and boxes. My human cheerfully led them to the cellar door and Sally, seeing the men coming through the door into the private rooms, started barking at them. She refused to quiet down and only became silent when our pet pushed her into the bedroom and closed the door.

‘The labourers started carrying the boxes into the cellar and after supervising the first few Mr O’Neil suggested to my pet that they returned upstairs so that he could pay the week’s rent in advance.

‘Once they were upstairs O’Neil’s attitude changed instantly and he pushed my pet into a chair and waved a very nasty knife under his nose.

‘“Do exactly as you are told, grandfather, and you won’t be harmed,” he grated, his voice containing none of its earlier good nature. “The lads and I are going to be staying with you for a few days.”

‘“No, you will not,” my pet exclaimed, struggling to his feet. “You will leave my shop right now or I will call the police.”

‘With that he turned his back on O’Neil and strode towards the door. It was magnificent, it really was. Unfortunately, he had no chance. One of the labourers seized him from behind in some kind of arm lock and forced him back. O’Neil carefully rolled up the sleeve of my pet’s shirt and then, with an awful calm detachment, slowly cut the word “no” into his arm.

‘Sally heard my pet cry out and threw herself against the bedroom door barking furiously. O’Neil lent close to my human’s ear. “We are staying and you cannot do anything about it,” a terrible false bonhomie in his voice. “In fact, if you do anything to attract attention or your fine dog doesn’t stop barking, I will kill it in front of you and then we’ll continue our writing practice.”’