The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (5 page)

‘The first thing this monster demanded was that I told absolutely no one about him. If anyone caught me carrying out his demands then I was to take any blame myself. One word about “our understanding” and he would maim me so badly that my adoring pet would throw me out to die alone in a gutter rather than look at the terrible ruin of my face.’

The little cat meowed gently to herself and stopped talking. I looked at her shivering with remembered fright and decided, there and then, that someone was going to get bitten, very hard. I growled protectively and after taking a minute to compose herself, she continued her narrative.

‘In the beginning I was asked to steal small items of food for the brute. Nothing that I could take from my own saucer
, you understand but prime treats of human food. Smoked oysters were a particular favourite. It wasn’t pleasant stealing from my pets without any benefit to myself, but I had to do it.

‘Two days ago I took my daily tribute out to Crumble, for that is the monster’s name, to discover that it had another job for me to perform. I was instructed to spend the following day sitting in the window of whatever room my people stored their most valuable toys. I was also to tell my tormentor how the toys were stored.

‘I may be a pampered kitten but I am not stupid. I have heard my pets discussing a series of daring robberies and I realised that we were next. It took me a day to pluck up some courage but I found I could not bear the thought of my pet losing her precious toys so I decided that I had to do something. To this end I sought an interview with Big Ginge, the dominant tom in my area, and he introduced me to Fielding.’

I must admit that I was very impressed with this little cat. It is so easy to condemn the whole species as hedonistic layabouts with the moral fibre of wet bread. However, every so often one is reminded that, except for the tragedy of their births, they might have been dogs, poor unfortunate creatures that they are.

‘Well done, Portia,’ I said, making sure that my voice was rich with admiration and respect. ‘It only remains for us to determine when this robbery will be attempted.’

‘The evening of the twenty-first, I believe.’ The little cat finished her story with a definite grin. ‘My pets are very careful and store their nicest toys in a bank, although I am not certain that burying them by a stream is safe, and they will only be in the house the night after my pets’ Christmas ball.

‘Crumble told me all about my jobs for that night. I was to hide in the hallway and wait until every one had gone to bed. As soon as everything was still, I was to jump onto the ledge of the window over the front door and wait. If any of the household heard a noise and investigated, I was to distract them by playing noisily on the stairs.’

We thanked Portia while praising her courage. I hope we sent her home with a sense of security and self-worth. Once she had gone, I quickly reviewed everything that we had learnt. The case was solved. It was obvious that Crumble’s pet was the human who entered the houses and then pawned or sold the jewellery.  I had jumped to my feet and was barking happily when Fielding brought me back to reality.

‘How will you tell the Inspector?’
he said.

This has always been my problem. I can’t really place my paw on his knee and tell him straight, dog to man. It just is not done that way.  I was resolved to try the voice in the fog again when I remembered that due to my weakened condition I was being walked on the lead during the day.

Worrying old sacking never makes it meat, as my mother used to say, and as there were two days before the Mortons’ ball, I put off solving my problem and joined Fielding in discussing what we could do to ensure that young Portia did not suffer for her courage.

The following day I accompanied your uncle to work. It was gratifying in the extreme to see how many of our colleagues were pleased to see me back. Several of them offered me choice bits of food to “build the strength up”.

It was therefore in a contented frame of mind that I settled down in front of my master’s fire to worry my problem while waiting for any further developments.

While I was half-asleep, one of my master’s senior colleagues entered the office to talk about the progress of various cases
, including the burglaries.  This conversation did not add any extra information or insights to what I already knew so when my master’s visitor got up to go I settled done to sleep until lunch.

‘I am convinced that your burglar must strike again over the Christmas season,’ the visitor said as he walked towards the door. ‘There are so many functions which will encourage people to get their best jewellery out of the bank.’

‘I am of the same mind. The only question is where and when, and in this large city that is a problem.’ With these words, my master turned slightly to gesture out of his window at a grey and dismal London.

‘Lady Morton’s ball,’ I said quickly
, having realised that they both had their backs to me and were slightly distracted.

Both men turned to look at each other, and I could see that they were both weighing this idea up.

‘A flash of inspiration,’ my master said slowly, ‘but it may very well be the right answer. If the target is the Morton’s ball it will be most convenient for us since both Assistant Commissioner Davis and myself have been invited. The ball is the biggest of the remaining festivities so I would wager that if the Mortons are not the intended victims, then one of their guests is. A small amount of subtle and judicious questioning and we may be able to determine where the robbers will strike.’

‘How on earth are you going to do that Thompson?’
our visitor asked with some incredulity.

‘Simplicity itself,’ my master answered, with a smile. ‘All
I have to do is ask Lord Morton if his household has been suffering from any thefts of luxury foods recently. If they haven’t, I will start checking up the guests. The inexplicable feature of this case may be its solution.’

I must admit that I breathed a sigh of relief when your uncle called in Sergeant Allen and asked him to send a message to Lord Morton at his club, which
, I was given to understand, he visited for lunch every day. I realised that speaking up like that had risked exposure but I also thought that the two men would each assume that the other had spoken. After all, the alternative explanation was simply unbelievable; whoever heard of a talking Spaniel?

We had come back from lunch and I had settled down for a nap when Sergeant Allen entered the office to say that Lord Morton had arrived and wished to see my master. Your uncle asked the sergeant to show up our noble visitor.

‘Thompson,’ that worthy said entering the office, angrily brandishing a sheet of paper, ‘what the devil did you mean by “Must see you urgently if expensive foods are being stolen”? A most irregular communication, don’t you know.’

‘Irregular it may be,’ responded my master showing his visitor to a chair. ‘I deduce, however, from your prompt response that you have experienced such thefts?’

‘My smoked oysters; but I don’t understand how you knew and I cannot see what it has to do with Scotland Yard. The papers have criticised you, young man, for wasting time on trivialities but as I have known you most of your life, I discounted the reports. Are there no serious criminals left to catch?’

‘That is precisely what we are trying to do,’ my master responded
good-humouredly. ‘As you have read the newspaper reports, you will probably recall that in the days before the burglaries at the properties of both Lord Harridge and Sir James, there were small thefts of food. It is my belief that you could be the next victim. If my assumptions are correct the robbery will be sometime in the hours following your ball.’

Your uncle ran over the facts we had gathered during our investigations and with the addition of some pieces of complete conjecture
, he produced a case that almost exactly matched the information I had learnt from Portia, even though he seemed to have missed the relevance of the feline involvement; something he dismissed as an ironic coincidence. By the time he had finished, Lord Morton was our keen conspirator.

As my master had already been invited to the ball, it was decided that
he would be solely responsible for ensuring that nothing untoward happened while the party was in progress. Although my master felt that it was extremely unlikely, there was always the chance that the criminal might make use of the confusion to enter the house during the ball with the intention of hiding for a few hours.

At the end of the evening when the last guests were departing, my master and I made ourselves comfortable in Lord Morton’s darkened study to await developments. The Assistant Commissioner was driven to the local police station to summon Sergeant Allen, who was waiting there with several constables dressed as young men about town who would ensure that our villain would not escape.

I do hate this type of waiting; the minutes stretch into hours with every small noise or stray scent causing one to become fully alert. At the same time, one can’t help worrying: in this case, that the villain might detect Sergeant Allen’s party, even though they were disguised, and be scared off.  Eventually Portia meowed softly in the hall and I knew that the waiting was over.

I got to my feet and moved cautiously to the door. My master and I have waited together too often for him not to recognise the signs. Quietly he joined me and kneeling by my side, we glanced into the hall.

A man was creeping delicately up the stairs, one at a time, keeping well to the sides of the treads. In front of him and a few risers higher, a large tabby was moving up the middle of the staircase. I noted that when the cat’s weight caused a stair to creak slightly the man stepped clear over it. This was a very clever villain.

The door to Lady Morton’s sitting room was directly opposite the head of the stairs with her dressing room being the next door along. We watched as the villain opened the second door and entering the room
, carefully pulled the door closed behind him.

He must have been facing the door when Lord Morton addressed him from an armchair in the corner of the room. The elderly gentleman had insisted on playing an active r
ôle in the night’s entertainment.

The door flew open and our intrepid villain rushed out of the room and, preceded by his cat, raced down the stairs. As he came level with the study, I shot out and raced in front of his legs. That
, coupled with my master’s own actions, resulted in the villain crashing to the ground. Before he could recover his senses my master and Sergeant Allen, who had followed the burglar in through the scullery window, had him adequately secured.

‘Mr Andrew Williams, I believe.’ My master said shining Sergeant Allen’s lantern into the miscreant’s face. ‘I was unaware that we had licensed pawnbrokers to run a late night home collection service.’

I had seen Crumble dart past Sergeant Allen and as soon as I had recovered my balance I set off after him. It goes against the grain to arrest only one when two of the ungodly are caught in a trap.

I have often bragged about my nose and my abilities as a tracker and I was in no doubt I would run the feline reprobate to earth quite quickly. As it transpired, I had no need to exert myself.

I had just left through the scullery window when I became aware of a disturbance issuing from the mews behind the property. In this instance the name was properly deserved, as there was such a hissing and meowing that I wanted to retreat. Sensible of my duty, however, I advanced through a partly open gate to a moonlit scene that I will remember for as long as I live. Crumble was crouched against the opposite wall, looking much smaller than I had expected. Around him in a half-ring were six cats: Fielding, Big Ginge, three of the other neighbourhood thugs and young Portia, who was transformed that night into a very formidable little beast.

Crumble, the monster, had been brought to bay.

Big Ginge must have heard me enter the mews because he glanced round and glared at me.

‘Go away dog,’ he hissed. ‘This is a feline problem and will be dealt with as such.’

Now I would not normally intervene with a private matter but I am a police dog and I do not hold with mob justice. I could also see how frightened Crumble was. At the end of the day, even the villains deserve to be treated justly.

‘No,’ I said in a very reasonable tone of voice. ‘Not until I have heard Crumble’s account of these robberies. There are still some aspects that intrigue me.’

‘Think again, dog!’ Big Ginge growled. ‘What can a spoilt pet like you do to stop me doing what I choose?’

‘Bleed, I suppose,’ I replied honestly, while bearing my own teeth. ‘But bleed ferociously and not on my own.’

Fielding, who was obviously getting worried by this turn of events, hissed something into Big Ginge’s ear. The larger cat considered it for a moment and then adopted a much less threatening posture.

‘On second thoughts,’ he purred, ‘I think you have a valid point. We will listen to what this creature has to say. Then having heard, I will consider. In return for this courtesy, you will then abide by my decision. Agreed?’

Crumble, the monster, had been brought to bay.

I stared into the blazing green eyes of the dominant tom and almost against my will wagged my tail.  When Big Ginge turned away, I sat down to listen carefully to the dispositions in what was, to all intents and purposes, a trial.

At a wave of Big Ginge’s paw, young Portia rose to her feet and with an air of gravitas that would not have been out of place in the High Court she described once more the way in which Crumble had terrified her. Heard for a second time it was still a very upsetting and damning tale and I was aware that the attitude of the court had hardened against the prisoner.

When Portia sat down again Big Ginge turned to me and asked if I had learnt anything in my investigations that was of any relevance to the case in point.

I found myself, therefore, telling the assembled cats about the drugging of Lord Harridge’s dog and the sheer terror evident in the behaviour of Lady Trimperton’s cat. As I spoke, I watched Crumble’s head sinking lower and lower. It is something I have seen in human cases; there comes a point where the weight of evidence becomes too compelling and a villain starts becoming an object of pity rather than fear.

At last I finished my evidence and sat back to see how the cats would handle the defence. It was done, as you would expect, in a typically robust and straightforward fashion. Big Ginge looked at the cowering wretch and asked politely if there was anything he wished to say before the court administered the justice that he so richly deserved. No one could ever accuse this tom of being indecisive.

With a somewhat submissive air, but still with a deep dignity, Crumble sat up straight and after quickly brushing his whiskers, began to speak.

‘I admit to everything that has been charged against me: I have not been a very nice cat. I would crave your indulgence because once you know my story you will see that everything that has happened is the result of a poor kittenhood.

‘I was born in an unredeemed hat in a small pawnbroker’s establishment by the docks. Due to my mother’s half-starved state, I was an only kitten and after several weeks, she went on her way
, leaving me in the care of the elderly shopkeeper.

‘For the first few months everything was good and I enjoyed my life. Practically everyone who came into the shop would stop and stroke me. This idyll unfortunately came to a sudden end when my pet became ill and sold out to his assistant, Andrew Williams.

‘Whereas my pet had been a kind man who had genuinely used his business to help the poor people of that area, Williams was after everything he could lay his hands on and the redemption fees began to get larger and larger. Where the shop had once been a happy place, it became a focus of misery.

‘Things went from bad to worse late one night when a drunken Williams suddenly grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pushed me into a bag. As I struggled in the bag, he swung it a few times into the wall until I was quiet and then carried it out of the shop.

‘The rough treatment had stunned me and the next thing I remember is the bag being opened and I was once again grabbed by the scruff of the neck and hauled out. Before I could run, I was trapped under his knee as he tied a length of cord tightly round my middle. Imagine my fear when I realised that we were on the side of a dock and a length of rusty chain was attached to the other end of the cord.

‘It was then that I did a terribly wrong thing and started the chain of events that has led to my current predicament. As the villain picked up the chain and prepared to hurl it into the water I screamed, “No please,” at the top of my voice.

‘Williams, looked round, obviously looking for another human, and seeing nothing threw the chain over the edge of the dock. “No!” I screamed again as I was dragged to my death. “Curse you, you cold-hearted monster!”

‘Suddenly he threw himself forward catching at the cord and I found myself unceremoniously stuffed, chain and all into the bag. A few minutes later, I could smell that we were home.

‘I was left in the bag overnight while I could hear him drinking and muttering to himself with references to circuses and freak shows causing me some concern. Obviously, he had decided to make money out of my ability to talk. Now that it was too late, I realised exactly why we are told never to talk to them in their own language. No good ever comes of it.

‘The next morning he let me out of my sack and hauling me up by the scruff of my neck he stared long and hard into my eyes. “Now Crumble,” he said
, “you and I are going to have a small talk, during which I am going to tell you how you will make me very wealthy. You will find that I can be very generous if you do what I tell you.” With that, he gave me a little shake. “Do you understand?”

Realising that some answer was required, and in the vain hope that he might put his memories down to the gin, I meowed.

‘He flung me against the wall and I felt a rib break, he then kicked me twice before picking me up again.

‘“Oh no you don’t, pussy
, my friend” he snarled at me. “I know you can speak English, and when we are alone together, that is all you will speak. Think on it.” Then he shut me in a crate for the rest of the day with no food or water.

‘That evening he told me how I was going to make his fortune. I was going to be used as a spy. First of all, I had to find out where his regular customers hid their few small treasures. Once he had the information, he would break in late at night to steal them. Some of the smaller items I was sent to fetch myself.

‘After a while, the pickings from this were too small for him and he sent me to befriend an old man who was reputed to be a miser. This poor man, who had only a few paltry valuables, was incredibly lonely and took to me instantly. Within a day I knew everything that Williams had told me to find out. I decided that I was not going to betray someone who had been good to me so I decided to escape.

‘I ran. Williams, however, offered a reward of two guineas for my safe return, a massive reward for a cat. This resulted in practically every cat in the area being captured and taken to him. Within a day, I was home.

‘I will not tell you about the next few days. Needless to say, I was starved, kicked, and treated in a most horrendous fashion. He was so sure of himself that he believed me when I said that the rumours of the old man’s wealth were just that. A small success and the only decent thing I have ever done.

‘I contemplated running away again but Williams told me that the next time he would kill me, and described
such a horrible way that I was utterly cowed.

‘The villain’s greed finally outgrew our small community and he hit upon the idea of using me to reconnoitre middle-class houses where the pickings were larger.  He realised about this time that we have a language of our own and insisted that I intimidated smaller cats into betraying their pets’ secrets.

‘We were nearly caught last January when a householder got up unexpectedly in the middle of the night. This scared Williams and for a while, he did nothing else. I was starting to think he had given up when he reached a new decision. The houses of the upper classes are bigger so they offer more chances of concealment. More people live in them so odd faint noises are less likely to be noticed and the pickings are much, much bigger.

‘I am very glad it is over. I have been extremely scared for a long, long time.’

Crumble finished his account and looked straight at Big Ginge. He was obviously pondering Crumble’s tale when young Portia got to her feet and approached the wretch. With a loud chirrup, she rubbed her forehead against his and then turned and walked from the mews.

‘If she has forgiven him,’ Big Ginge said solemnly, ‘I see no reason to pass a judgement. I charge you, dog, with removing this animal from my territory and finding him a home where he will never be tempted to go back to his old tricks.’

Having delivered his verdict this Solomon of the back alleys proudly stalked away followed by the other local toughs. I turned to have a word with Fielding only to see the tip of his tail vanishing over a wall. Cats. Typical.

I looked at Crumble and for the first time saw that, he was a very personable cat with highly acceptable tabby markings. Unfortunately, he was not a cute, little kitten but a somewhat battle-scarred tom. Finding him new quarters was not going to be one of my simplest tasks.

‘Come on Crumble, let’s go back inside,’ I said turning towards the house.

The cat hesitated for a few moments but by the time we had jumped through the scullery window, Crumble was walking easily by my side.

‘There you are,
old boy!’ my master exclaimed as I entered the hallway. Then, seeing my companion, he dropped to one knee and made a gentle clicking noise with his fingers. Crumble walked past me and rubbed his head against my master’s hand.

‘Sergeant,’ your uncle said, turning his head towards his assistant
, ‘I think this is the same cat that we saw on the counter in the pawnshop. Would you agree?’

‘Not only that, Sir,’ the sergeant replied.
‘I watched Williams put it through the window before he climbed through himself. I wonder if he had managed to train it in some way, perhaps, to warn him if anyone was around?’

‘We will have to ask our friend when we question him,’ my master replied, a bit ruefully. ‘But I expect we would get better answers from the cat if we asked him.’

Then my master picked up Crumble, who accepted being handled without a struggle. In fact, I thought I heard a gentle purr as a devious member of that most manipulative species started work on my owner.

Lord Morton opened the front door himself, while thanking my master for letting him take part in a good bit of ‘sport’. It had been I admitted to myself, with a happy wag, a completely satisfactory evening.

A growler was waiting outside the house and we piled into it quite happily for the short trip to the local station, where we would interview Mr Williams. My master has always found it useful to talk to prisoners soon after their capture. Sometimes in the shock of an arrest, they admit things that they wouldn’t say after calmly assessing their situation.

Entering the station, my master called one of the constables over to him.

‘Evans, could you look after this cat for me?’ he asked ‘Make sure it doesn’t run away.’

‘Certainly
, Sir,’ the constable agreed. ‘What’s he in for? Catching mice without a licence?’

That was the last bit of good cheer for over an hour. Williams knew that having been caught in the execution of a crime he would be convicted. Rather than showing any remorse, he was almost glorying in what he had done. This proved to be a bad mistake because the details that emerged allowed my master to procure a much harsher sentence for him when he came to trial.

On our way out of the station, my master paused to collect the cat. However, seeing Crumble sleeping in front of the office stove with a half finished saucer of milk by his side he told the sergeant that he would collect him later; and you never know, one day, he may.

-----

Snuffles finished talking and stretched.

‘Before you ask the obvious question, as you always do,’ Snuffles said seeing me opening my mouth. ‘Crumble is now called Bailey, and yes he is the cat who spends most of his time on the station desk, enjoying the company of one and all.’

As that had been the obvious question that I was going to ask, I decided, mendaciously, to attempt to wrong-foot my companion.

‘Actually Snuffles,’ I drawled, ‘y
ou implied that you know something about the Ripper.’

‘Did I?’
he responded. ‘My, what a fertile imagination you have.’

With that, he curled up and pretended to sleep and not another word could I get out of that obdurate Spaniel before my uncle arrived.