The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (41 page)

‘Actually, Sir, it is an ordinary cat with two flaps of felt glued to its back,’ our latest visitor sounded sour. ‘But in the dim light of a pub and being sold by this false vicar, let us just say that the world is full of gullible fools.’

‘So you obviously believe,’ my master said quietly. ‘By the way, I am also an Inspector Thompson and I think I would have known if there was another man of that name at Scotland Yard.’

Both my master and Short moved forward intent on restraining the impostor, who jumped to one side and swearing loudly produced a revolver from his pocket. There was a sudden crack and only my master’s own rapid movement saved him from being shot. The brandy bottle, however, was less fortunate.

‘Keep still or I’ll shoot the vicar,’ Williamson shouted, his voice wavering with his intense emotions.

‘Just drop your gun,’ my master’s voice was calm and reasonable. ‘As far as I know you have yet to commit a capital offence. Give yourself up and I promise that I will do everything I can to mitigate your sentence.’

‘All I want is the cat,’ our new visitor glanced round and gesturing with his gun at Cook snarled. ‘You fetch it and place it in the bag or I’ll shoot you.’

‘If you want to steal this gentleman’s cat,’ Mrs Short replied, folding her arms across her chest, ‘you will have to put it in the bag yourself.’

Our unwanted guest stepped towards Reverend Bullock and pushed the muzzle of the pistol into his neck. I do not know if he intended to shoot or if he was just trying to force my humans to obey him. There was a small meow of anguish from Tiger Moth as she witnessed the rough handling of her pet and I could see her gathering herself to spring.

‘Be still!’ I woofed frantically as the villain spun round and looked searchingly at the dresser.

Realising that the time had come for action Fielding emitted a faint meow and moved his head slightly so that the firelight just reflected off his eyes.

‘There it is!’ Williamson exulted, kicking the Gladstone bag towards the dresser. ‘All of you keep still while I secure my fortune.’

With a gesture of complete contempt, Williamson used his free hand to tuck a ten-shilling note into the Reverend Bullock’s pocket. He then stepped backwards and crouched by the dresser. Keeping his gun and most of his attention on us he opened the bag and then reached backwards under the dresser with his left hand.

An expression of triumph crossed his face as his fingers touched Fielding and he grabbed a handful of fur. His ensuing scream cut through the kitchen, shocking in its intensity after the nervous silence of the last few moments. Williamson lurched to his feet staring at his left hand in sheer, pained incomprehension. Fielding had sunk his teeth into the flesh between thumb and forefinger and I could tell from the way his neck was tensed that the teeth had met in the middle. The big cat’s large front paws were clamped onto the hand with the cruel sickle claws sunk deep into the villain’s flesh. Having achieved a good hold my friend had flexed his body and was using his powerful rear paws to scrabble away at Williamson’s wrist. Our unwanted guest had discovered his own private hell and I did not think that he would be using that hand properly for several weeks.

To my intense horror, I saw the villain start to bring up his pistol with the obvious intention of shooting my friend off his wrist. With a deep bark, I hurled myself forward and caught his right wrist in my mouth. My attack caused him to fall to his knees so I clamped down and started shaking my head to worry the wrist. Another scream rent the air and I heard the pistol fire once before it dropped to the floor

With a convulsive jerk, Williamson staggered to his feet and by flailing his arms managed to dislodge my grip. Unfortunately, I fell awkwardly at my master’s feet causing him to stagger. By the time your uncle had regained his balance Williamson had rushed across the kitchen and hurled himself through the area door and up the stairs to the road where he vanished into the swirling rain.

My master looked after the retreating figure with a certain amount of chagrin and then observed airily that Williamson should not prove too difficult to apprehend.

I looked round the kitchen and had to smile to myself at the soppy nature of cats. Tiger Moth was once more on her pet’s shoulder licking his face and crooning to him with one of the loudest purrs I have ever heard. Meanwhile, Fielding was lying on his back in Cook’s arms, for all the world like a very hirsute baby. He was unashamedly lapping up the attention. I was pleased to see that Short at least was still being practical and had bolted the door.

My master reached down and pulled my ear, a simple gesture of praise and trust. I suppose that cats, being inferior, need a more extravagant display of affection.

‘What should I do now, Inspector?’ Reverend Bullock asked with a small quaver in his voice.

‘You will stay here for as long as you need to recover from your injuries,’ my master said decisively. ‘Tomorrow I will send a constable to your hotel to collect your luggage and settle your account.’

‘And when I am better, where should I go?’

‘I will take you down to Arlesford,’ my master said in a tone that would accept no argument. ‘The General would love to meet Tiger Moth and I know that there are several empty properties on the estate that might suit you.’

That night I decided to sleep at the foot of our visitor’s bed, just in case we had any more trouble from Williamson. I doubted that he would come back quickly but it never hurts to take precautions.

For the next three days, while our visitor convalesced, my master searched diligently for Williamson. Although we found a doctor who had treated the villain’s wounds the trail went cold after that and we could not find any trace of him in the metropolis. The shipping line who had employed him told us that he had left their employ the day that Reverend Bullock had arrived in
England. My master was not at all dismayed because he thought that Williamson would come to us at Arlesford, wanting both Tiger Moth and revenge.

Towards the end of the week, we travelled down to Arlesford. My master arranged for a private carriage to be attached to the rear of the train so that we could travel down in privacy. I spent the time gently rumbling to Tiger Moth about the delights of the estate and was quite impressed when she expressed an interest in the fishponds.

We stayed for a few days at the house during which time the General and the retired cleric became fast friends and were soon riding round the estate together looking at Sir Henry’s changes. It was during one of these rides that the General showed his guest the Old Mill House. The Reverend Bullock decided that it was perfect for his needs and the two men agreed equitable terms for its rental.

It was several weeks before we returned to Arlesford and were delighted to receive an invitation to have dinner with the Reverend Bullock when we did. We found him happily installed in his new home and starting to enjoy a well-deserved retirement.

Mrs Harvey, a well-respected widow, had been engaged as the Reverend’s housekeeper and cook while her granddaughter had been employed as his maid. I noticed that Ben and Millie, two of the house pack, had also taken up residence with the retired cleric.

As you know, the Old Mill House stopped being used as a mill when the Rear Admiral built the Triple Mill. Although the wheel was removed when the mill was converted into a dwelling, the millpond and the sluices are still maintained as they form part of the head waters for the newer mill that stands about a hundred yards down stream.

The Triple Mill’s two undershoot wheels are still connected to milling equipment but the General has had the overshoot wheel converted so that it pumps water from a well to the water tower on Clerance Hill. The miller is Mrs Harvey’s son-in-law, which means that he is quite aware of anything that happens at the Old Mill House.

The General had also taken the precaution of telling the more prominent village residents that the Reverend Bullock had run into some trouble in
London and they were to be wary of any strangers who asked after him. It was obvious that the General had taken every step to ensure the Reverend’s security without taking ostentatious measures that would have only generated unhelpful gossip.

Unfortunately, we were not at Arlesford when Williamson and an accomplice attempted to steal Tiger Moth and, although we went down to the estate the following morning, the local Policeman, John Stockman, had already dealt with the incident in an exemplary fashion.

It was on a Tuesday afternoon when two men who called themselves Harris and Williams arrived in the village and took rooms at the Arlesford Spaniel. Harris told the landlord that they were successful businessmen from London who had come down for a few days fishing. As they had rod cases with them, the landlord accepted their story at face value.

After the evening meal, the landlord introduced his guests to the water bailiff who accepted their fees and explained which stretches of the Arle they could fish. Although the men were pleasant enough and bought a pint for the bailiff he was surprised at how little they asked him about the river. As he remarked to the landlord later that evening these were the first anglers he had met who were more interested in the estate than the fish.

The landlord kept an eye on the two men, as he would for any of his guests, throughout the evening. The longer he watched them the more uneasy he became. For a start they were not interested in any of the fishing memorabilia displayed on the walls of the inn, not even in the plaster model of the record trout that the vicar had caught a few years earlier and all genuine anglers wanted to know where that monster had been landed. Although they spoke with the villagers, the pattern of the conversation sounded wrong. After a while, the landlord realised that although the two men were buying drinks for some of the villagers, there were none of the bursts of laughter that you expect to pepper relaxed conversation. The landlord became convinced that they were fishing for information.

On the pretence of sorting out a problem in the cellar the landlord took the girl who was serving drinks for him to one side and asked her if she knew what it was that so interested their guests. She replied with a laugh that Harris was asking after an old friend of his wife’s, a Reverend Bullock who had retired to the Arlesford area; fortunately she had remembered the old man who had moved into the Old Mill and had been able to point them in the right direction.

Remembering the General’s warning, the landlord quietly left the inn and went to the Police House where he told Constable Stockman of his suspicions.  Our long-suffering policeman put his tunic on again and cycled to Arlesford House where he informed the General.

I am reliably informed by the house dogs that the General immediately sent several of the strongest servants to the Old Mill and had the Reverend Bullock and his household brought back to the big house on the grounds that an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure. Once his guests were safe, the General left the house and with the willing help of the Gamekeepers set up an ambush near the Old Mill.

Ben tells me that it was about four o’clock when the two ‘anglers’ made their appearance. The General waited until they had forced a window before springing his trap. I believe that it was a wild and quite nasty arrest with the Gamekeepers, who have come to like the Reverend Bullock, using unnecessary and quite reprehensible levels of violence to subdue the intruders.

Williamson, who gave his name as Williams, as if anyone would be misled by such a simple stratagem, was quite well armed and it is the General’s opinion that he intended to revenge himself on Reverend Bullock as well as stealing Tiger Moth.

The other man who called himself Harris turned out to be Nathaniel Holt, the proprietor of a well-known freak show. Both men were sentenced and sent to Dartmoor where they are enjoying long sentences with hard labour.

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‘Snuffles,’ I said when it was clear that he had finished speaking. ‘You said that Tiger Moth looked like a jungle cat but how exactly is she marked so that I will know her if she isn’t flying when I see her?’

My friend raised his head off his paws and looked at me for a few seconds while he considered my question.

‘It’s simple if you remember this little verse,’ he said eventually

‘With tiger stripes and leopard spots,

And markings like an ocelot’s,

A tail with seven lemur rings,

And soft and silky spotted wings.’

‘Come on, Snuffles,’ I laughed with simple pleasure and pulled myself to my feet. ‘I think that if we hurry we should get back in time for lunch and I do not want to keep my grandfather waiting for an answer.’

‘There is no need to hurry then,’ Snuffles said smugly as he headed towards the river for a quick swim. ‘He already knows that you will agree.’

‘How?’

‘He asked me what you would decide,’ Snuffles replied over his shoulder. ‘As you are a decent, straightforward puppy there never was any real doubt.’

An extract from a letter to Mr and Mrs Fraser of
Boston, Massachusetts, written by their daughter, Isobel, in London.

PA, I was very pleased to receive your recent letter and I am very glad that you have forgiven my outrageous childishness and are willing to allow me to come home. Your letter has left me in something of a quandary because I do not want to appear to be ungracious. I do not think, however, that I should hurry to return to Boston at the moment.

I discussed my problem with Great Aunt Emily and she agreed with me that it would be quite impolitic of me to remove myself from British Society at a time when we both feel that I have good prospects.

Sir Henry Thompson has informed the family that he is starting to feel his age and he, therefore, wants to pass on the day-to-day management of Arlesford to a younger man, while he concentrates on his Spaniels. Everyone expected the he would name Frederick, but his son has declined the honour and does not intend to return from India. This means that it is James who will inherit Arlesford on the death of his grandfather.

Yesterday James made a special trip up from Arlesford, ostensibly to have tea with his Aunt Mary. As he was leaving the house, James asked me if I would mind if he wrote to you,
Pa. I believe that he has another question in mind.