The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (23 page)

By the time I had collected my wits about me, a rather flashily dressed cavalry officer was doing the knightly bit with Miss Fraser and our assailants were nowhere to be seen. I looked at our noble rescuer and, from the way he was looking at Miss Fraser, perceived that there might be more of Lancelot than Galahad about his personality.

He never even glanced my way being too interested in Miss Fraser. It was only when he saw the dynamite that he leapt into impressive but woefully tardy action.

The rest you know.

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‘You don’t seem to like Lieutenant Vaughn,’ I observed while offering Snuffles a biscuit.

‘A bigger purse than brains,’ my friend replied with an unusually caustic tone.

‘Have you decided how you are going to tell my uncle of your discoveries?’

‘No, not yet,’ Snuffles replied, raising his ears in exasperation. ‘I cannot think of any believable way that I can tell him. In fact I was hoping for your suggestions.’

Being a great believer in the beneficial properties of tea, I rang for my man and ordered a pot for me and a large piece of cake for Snuffles. While we were waiting for our refreshment and through the whole of the first cup I pondered the problem.  Finally, after dreaming up and discarding one wild scheme after another, I leant back in my chair.

‘I can think of only one practical solution to the problem,’ I said at last. ‘I am going to have to tell my uncle.’

‘But, how do you know about all this in the first place?’ Snuffles raised the obvious objection. ‘You cannot tell him the truth, now can you?’

‘Of course not, my simple hound,’ I replied with a smile, remembering all Snuffles’ superior comments of the past. ‘I will tell him some small fiction that will give him the basic facts.’

‘You mean you’ll lie to your uncle,’ Snuffles snorted, a look of outrage on his face.

‘Of course I will, you puritanical Spaniel.’ I had to grin at his look of shocked disbelief, like a maiden aunt who had heard something racy. ‘It won’t be a lie anyway, just an acceptable truth.’

‘I would expect sophistry like that from a cat,’ Snuffles allowed himself one final sniff. ‘You are probably right, however. What do you propose to do?’

‘This evening, just before I take you back to your master, we will go for a walk past the clockmaker’s shop,’ I elaborated. ‘This will give me the address in human terms. Once we have done this we will have a quick drink in the local public house. We will then proceed to my uncle’s house where I will tell him that I saw several rough labouring men outside the shop, one of whom seemed to be inordinately interested in you.

‘Fearing that I was being followed I will say that I ducked into the inn and heard about some rough men who had moved into the shop. I will also say that one of the neighbours hasn’t seen the clockmaker for some time but has heard odd digging noises in the cellar. Even if your master doesn’t totally accept the story he will at least look into it.’

Snuffles snorted but not having any better ideas refrained from talking.

It was about six o’clock that evening when we left my house and I let Snuffles lead me towards the clockmaker’s shop. It was a pleasant evening and I enjoyed the walk. I was managing to walk at quite a brisk pace although my wounded leg was starting to ache quite badly.

I looked about me as we walked along and appreciated again London’s infinite variety. Broad prosperous streets were paralleled in some places by mean little roads where poverty was prevalent. This was changing as strong efforts were made to improve living conditions for the poor, but there were still places where a wise man did not venture without some protection.

We turned into a road lined with houses and a small parade of shops that obviously served a moderately prosperous neighbourhood. The shops included a draper’s and a clockmaker’s whose window displays indicated that the residents wanted the trappings, albeit cheaper versions, of the higher classes. I didn’t need Snuffle’s whispered ‘we’re here’ to identify the clockmaker’s as our goal because a rough looking man, whose clothes were below the pretensions of the area, was putting up the shutters on the shop. Poorly dressed and unkempt men might possibly be customers of these shops but no proprietor would employ a navvy with earth-stained garments if they wanted to attract their more prosperous clientele.

The man glared at me as we passed and I could feel him looking at me until I turned the next corner. It was my intention to walk round the block and see which building backed onto the clockmaker’s. I would then be able to identify the dynamiters’ target. The side road we had entered joined another larger street and I turned left again.

The buildings on this new street were much larger and more imposing and I knew exactly where I was and also more importantly the identity of the intended target. There, a short distance up the road, was the entrance to Nocks, a rather select gaming club to which I had the honour of belonging.

‘Come on boy,’ I said to Snuffles. ‘Let’s get home.’

Having solved the problem I decided to make my way directly to my Uncle’s Barker Street address. Having seen the man putting up the shutters I felt I could persuade my uncle without any further fabrications on my part. I had never been happy with the thought of lying to my uncle; not only was it likely that he would have found a flaw in the story but there was a good risk that I would have had to perjure myself if the case came to trial.

I had turned down a quiet alleyway that provided a convenient shortcut when I heard hurrying footsteps behind us, Snuffles turned round suddenly and growled deeply. I stopped and placing my back against a convenient doorway looked behind me. Through the evening gloom I could make out two dark shapes coming towards me. I could have kicked myself; I had unthinkingly turned away from the light crowded streets and to the type of dark, secluded place that any assassin would have chosen.

The sensible action would have been to try to outrun my pursuers but, with my old injury, flight was not an option. The only good thing about my situation was that the very narrowness of the alley prevented them from attacking me together.

‘Who sent you?’ the lead tough grated, his Irish accent blurred by an American twang. ‘Tell us or we’ll have to make you. I don’t think anyone will come down here, even if they do hear any shouts.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I blustered, while changing my stance so that my right shoulder was half turned towards them and my weight was back on my left leg. Snuffles moved so that he was behind me and to my right.

‘Don’t lie to us, Sir,’ the tough continued with a gloating parody of servility. ‘It’s the dog see, it stole something from us and attacked both the boss and I. We want to know who owns it and how much they know, and you are going to tell us.’

The tough put his hand into his pocket and produced a large knife. ‘It’s your choice,’ he continued. ‘Speak freely or I’ll have to hurt you and, as you’re English, nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

With that he lunged towards me so I brought the end of my stick up and rapped him firmly over the knuckles. The knife fell clattering to the ground and he crouched to recover it. I flicked my stick out again and caught him a stinging blow on the side of the head.

‘Damn you’ he growled as he regained his feet. ‘You’ll pay for that.’

Once more he lunged forward, this time in a more controlled manner. I parried and was not surprised when he caught my stick with his left hand. I rotated my wrist until I felt the catch release. The tough suddenly pulled sharply on my stick with the obvious intention of pulling me off balance and maybe depriving me of my weapon. It was my assailant who stumbled backwards, suddenly unbalanced, as the lower part of the stick pulled cleanly off revealing the sword blade concealed within.

I lunged forward smoothly, and ran the triangular blade of my swordstick through his right shoulder. As I recovered, I twisted my wrist so that the blade would not become trapped. I came back on guard as the second thug pushed past his falling companion.

His sudden move caught me slightly unawares and rather than a controlled lunge, I hurriedly slashed the sword point over his face. This caused him to flinch and his own knife, rather than catching me squarely in the chest, scored along a rib.

I backed off two paces and set myself again. Fortunately, my two assailants seemed to have lost their martial zeal and, with some imprecations and muttered threats, they retreated down the alley. Snuffles retrieved the other part of my swordstick and, having cleaned the blade, I restored it to its inconspicuous covering.

I wadded my silk scarf against my injury and, holding it in place with my arm, started for my uncle’s house. Fortunately, it wasn’t that long a walk and before too long I found my self sitting in my uncle’s kitchen, sipping a brandy while his cook, who is an eminently practical woman, expertly bandaged the tear.

It was only after she had finished her ministrations and I was seated in front of my uncle’s study fire with one of his dressing gowns draped round me that he asked me what had happened.

‘I was taking Snuffles for an evening walk and had decided to go via Nocks to check if any messages had been left for me during my recent trip,’ I began. ‘I decided to go the long way round to maximise Snuffles chances of running and so I approached the club via the road that runs behind it.

‘Half way along that road there is a clockmaker’s shop and as I approached it a very rough man came out and started putting up the shutters. His clothing looked out of place being far too shabby for an employee of that type of business. As we went past I noticed that he was very earth stained and that he was staring fixedly at Snuffles.

‘We continued round the block and came to the club. As I approached its door I realised that not only must the clockmaker’s back onto club, but that Nocks itself was a likely target for dynamiters.’

‘Why?’ my uncle asked succinctly, leaning forward in his chair and scrutinising my face.

‘Every Friday night there is a high stakes card game at the club,’ I replied. ‘It is normally attended by a Royal Duke, a foreign prince and several other prominent men including, when the House sittings allow, a government minister. Having seen the earth-stained man, my engineering experience suggests that someone might be driving a tunnel under Nocks from the clockmaker’s cellar with the intention of planting a mine. A supposition that could explain not only Snuffles’ dynamite but the reason why two Irish-Americans attacked me on the way here.’

I proceeded to tell my uncle the rest of my adventure repeating verbatim the comments of my assailants and the details of the fight.

‘Was the man you saw outside the shop one of the men who attacked you?’

‘Yes, Uncle Richard,’ I responded with a smile. ‘I ran him through the shoulder. I have no doubt that it is the same man.’

‘James,’ my uncle said sitting back in his chair. ‘I do believe that through chance you have solved a problem that looked like beating all my professional resources.  There is a chance that our birds might take flight but if act tonight I may still catch them red handed.

‘I intend to raid the shop about an hour before dawn,’ he said after a short pensive silence. ‘As there are explosives I will need an expert. Are you fit enough to come?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’ I replied with almost childish haste.

‘Good,’ he continued. ‘Go upstairs and get some rest while I organise the raid. My man will wake you in good time to get ready.’

Although I did not think that it would be possible for me to sleep I had seemingly no sooner lain down on a spare bed before I was shaken awake and handed a hot cup of tea.

‘Come downstairs when you are ready sir,’ my uncle’s man said. ‘He’s waiting for you in the study. Cook repaired your shirt and washed the blood from it.’

‘Thank you,’ I said with genuine gratitude. The married couple who do for my uncle are priceless. The husband, Albert Short, used to be my uncle’s servant when he was an officer in the Indian Army. When my uncle came home to take up his police duties, Short accompanied him.

I washed and dressed quickly and went downstairs to find my Uncle and two other officers talking in the study. They were drinking tea and eating bacon sandwiches, a couple of which I instantly appropriated. When we had finished our simple breakfast, my uncle led the way down into the kitchen where the rest of the raiding party was enjoying a similar satisfying meal. I gathered that the raiding party had mustered at my uncle’s house because there was a risk that the villains might be watching the police stations.

My uncle made the introductions emphasising that as a result of my military experience I would make any decisions concerning the dynamite and any other explosives that we found.

The plan was quite simple: we would leave Barker Street in three groups and head for Nocks. Most of the party would proceed quietly through the club and out through a rarely used back door into an alley that served the rear of most of the properties. While this party was assembling, two smaller groups would proceed on foot in both directions round the block towards the shop but would stop before they came into the view of any lookouts.

After five minutes, my uncle would blow his whistle. Sergeant Allen, who had equipped himself with an impressive sledgehammer, would open the shop’s rear door as the two flanking parties moved in. While others searched the shop, I was to accompany my uncle into the cellar to secure the explosives.