The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (7 page)

I had no sooner heard your uncle shout for me and start in my direction than the injured man started stirring.

‘It’s all right, old boy,’ slurred the man in the river. As he spoke, he moved his left arm. I think he intended to pat me. With a horrible splash he collapsed face down in the water. He struggled for a second and then became still.

I lunged forward and grabbed his shoulder in my teeth.  I had intended to pull him to the bank but, for some reason or other, I only managed to roll him over. I had him on his back but I could not move him another inch. However, by pulling up on his jacket I found that I could keep both our noses out of the water, while still being able to make muffled barking sounds.

The strain on my neck was terrible and I soon realised that I would have to let go. I was trying to work out a way of getting the poor man on to the bank when my master arrived. It was the work of a minute for your uncle to lift the injured man by the shoulders and then to pull him to the top of the bank. He then knelt and listened to the unconscious man’s chest.

Caught in the branches of a low willow was the body of a man.

‘Well, Snuffles,’ he said, ‘this poor fellow’s alive, if only barely. Guard him while I go for help.’

With that, your uncle took off his jacket and placed it over the injured man before running off in the direction of the village. I looked at my master’s jacket before it occurred to me that my master thought that the injured man was cold. I therefore lay down beside him sheltering him from the faint summer breeze and waited for your uncle to return.

Now that the man was on the riverbank, I had an opportunity to reflect on his appearance. From his clothes, I perceived that he was in all likelihood a gamekeeper of some description. Looking at his face, I could see several scrapes and contusions.  In my opinion, he had been knocked unconscious by a blow to the back of the head. Once he was down his assailant had dragged him a short distance, by the feet, and then thrown him in the river. If I was correct, we were talking about an attempted murder. When you consider what I had heard only that morning, there was definitely some evil at work in this idyllic paradise.  The reason for the attack on this man was currently beyond me but I was certain that your uncle would be able to resolve this puzzle.

It wasn’t more than ten minutes later that your uncle arrived back with the innkeeper and an academic
-looking man who turned out to be the local doctor and went by the name of Wilson. The doctor instantly went to the injured man and started an examination.

‘Why it’s Fred Wallace,’ exclaimed the Innkeeper. ‘He’s Lord Arnston’s water bailiff. He was in the Lion
only last night.’ The innkeeper hesitated before continuing, ‘I can see what happened: he was walking home, rather the worse for wear, and fell into the river. This could have been a very tragic accident.’

Dr Wilson looked at the innkeeper and said, ‘Can you go to the Hall and let His Lordship know that one of his staff is hurt
? We shall require a cart to get him home and plenty of blankets. The quicker the better, if you don’t mind.’

It seemed to me that the innkeeper was reluctant to leave, but found that he had no real excuse for staying. When he was safely out of earshot, the doctor turned to your uncle and said
, ‘In my opinion this man was attacked.’

‘I agree with you
, doctor,’ said my master, ‘but do you have any idea who might have done this to him?’

‘Fred came to me recently and asked if I had treated anyone with shot wounds in the legs. Apparently, he had come on a gang netting the river and had let fly with his shotgun. He found some blood there the next morning but not enough to trail.’

‘Well, did you treat anyone, doctor?’ inquired my master.

‘I saw nobody with shot wounds. None of the villagers have been limping either, so I would say that it is not a local gang.’

The doctor and my master did what they could for Fred while waiting for more help to arrive. The doctor expressed his confidence that Fred would live, although he would have to keep to his bed for several days. When the cart arrived, the doctor supervised the loading of the patient and ensured that he was adequately wrapped in blankets.

Your uncle and I watched the cart depart in silence. He then reached down and pulled my ears.

‘Good lad,’ he said.

My master then examined the area where the body had rested and the surrounding bank very carefully. He then took a few pieces of stick, threw them into the river and watched them float by on the current. Taking a notebook from his pocket, he made a quick sketch of the area. Then, in companionable silence, we gathered the fishing gear and made our way back to the inn.

We returned to the inn and your uncle washed and changed. When he was ready, we went downstairs and he asked the landlady where he could find the local police constable. To our surprise we were told that he was in the yard talking to the landlord. After thanking the landlady for her help, we went in search of the constable. In the yard, we found the landlord talking to another man, who was dressed in his Sunday best. It was probably my imagination but I thought that the landlord started guiltily when he saw us approaching.

The landlord made the introductions. The constable’s name was Thomas Lee and he was, coincidentally, the landlord’s brother-in-law.

‘Evening, Inspector,’ said Constable Lee. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I
 want to report how I found Fred Wallace,’ your uncle replied. ‘I think that it is important to record the details while they are still fresh.’

‘Why would I want to do that,
sir?’ the constable sneered.

‘Fred Wallace was, in my professional opinion, attacked and then thrown unconscious into the river. Surely an attempted murder needs to be properly investigated?’

‘Well, sir,’ replied the constable, ‘I don’t know about any attack. The good landlord here was telling me that Fred had a right skinful last night. It wouldn’t be the first time that a drunk has fallen into the river. He was lucky you found him. There was no attack, in my professional opinion, and I’m not stirring up trouble in my village over a non-event.’

‘So,’ grated your uncle, ‘you are refusing to do your duty?’

‘Not at all, sir,’ replied the constable. ‘I will talk to Fred when he recovers. If he says he was attacked I will start questioning my neighbours. Until I have a complaint from him, I am not causing unnecessary trouble.’

With that the village policeman bade his brother
-in-law a good evening and strode from the yard in what he obviously believed was a commanding manner. Your uncle took out his notebook and made a few more notes.

The innkeeper watched the constable leave and then turned to your uncle.

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ he began, ‘I would be obliged if you could tell me what happened today. If you don’t tell me the truth of it now, I’ll hear a score of accounts before my last customer leaves tonight.’

My master readily agreed to tell him
, provided he could do so while sitting down with a drink in his hand. Once inside your uncle told the innkeeper the whole story as far as he knew it. I must admit I enjoyed hearing his version. He made sure that the innkeeper knew that I had found Fred Wallace.

While my master was enjoying his supper, which was a particularly fine piece of roast rib
-beef, a boy arrived at the inn carrying an envelope which was duly delivered to my master who opened it and read the contents.

‘Well boy,’ he said to me, ‘Lord Arnston has invited me to take luncheon with him. He has particularly requested that I bring you.’

We spent the rest of the evening in the inn. I noticed that my master was drinking moderately and listening intently to everything that was said. He was obviously interested in this case.  All in all, it was a good evening. Fred Wallace was apparently quite popular with some of the residents of the village.  By the time we went to go to bed the story of the rescue had grown. I had apparently pulled Fred single-pawed from the river and a certain watery grave.  To be totally honest, I enjoy being lionised. I love basking in the warm glow of people’s admiration. Modesty is not a Spaniel trait.

As my master started to walk up the stairs to bed, the landlady called me to her. She crouched down and started patting my head. Then she looked me straight in the eyes and I am sure that she was about to cry.

‘I like Fred,’ she whispered, ‘and I’m glad you saved him, whatever some others may think. I’ll not let anyone harm you either.’

With that surprising declaration, she kissed my forehead and went back to the kitchen. I followed my master up the stairs to bed. I believe I slept well because I do not remember anything more of that night.

Just before dawn, we ventured out and went down to the river for some more fishing. I spent my time lying by my master watching the dawn and marvelling at the sheer but transient beauty of the dew. Your uncle did not catch anything big enough to eat but it did not seem to dampen his spirits. For a while, I forgot all about the violent attack and the threats to my life.

Breakfast was a good meal. My master took his time while reading his way through a copy of
The Times
. I remember that meal well because the landlady slipped me a large piece of the best bacon that I had ever tasted. This country fare does make some of our city meals look bad.

At about ten thirty a smart trap arrived at the inn to convey us to Arnston Hall. We crossed the river and then drove along the boundary wall of the deer park until we reached an interesting gate with a pair of cottages. Turning up the drive we went through an area of semi-landscaped parkland. The house when we reached it was one of those imposing Palladian buildings.

We pulled up at the bottom of a shallow flight of stairs. Standing on the lowest one was a footman, dressed in clothes that echoed the fashions of previous years. This man, with the arrogance that only the servants of the real aristocracy can obtain, looked my master up and down with a faintly condescending sneer.

‘Inspector Thompson?’ the footman enquired. ‘His Lordship has asked me to show you to the library.’

Somehow this greeting, although polite and correct, implied that we should have gone to the servants’ entrance. Your uncle, however, thanked the footman and asked him to lead the way. I have never understood why some people look down on the police; I’ve never noticed much reluctance on their part to demand help when they are in trouble.

When we reached the library we found a distinguished man in his late sixties arranging papers on central table. The footman’s announcement of our arrival left us in no doubt that this was Lord Arnston. Lying under the table was an old and somewhat plump black Labrador. He struggled to his feet and came over to me.

‘Hello, young fellow,’ he said, ‘I’m William. We heard all about you yesterday. You are welcome to share my fireplace whenever you want. If you want anything on this estate, you just mention my name.’

With that, he returned to his place under the table, and his interrupted nap. I turned my attention back to my master and Lord Arnston.

‘I cannot thank you enough for your actions, Inspector.’ Lord Arnston was saying. ‘Fred served under me in India and has been with me ever since.’

Your uncle modestly brushed away the praise and pointed out that I had done most of the rescuing. At Lord Arnston’s insistence, he retold the whole story. The
noble lord said nothing but coughed disapprovingly when your uncle described his conversation with Constable Lee.

‘Inspector,’ Lord Arnston began, ‘yesterday
, when Fred was brought home, he regained consciousness and asked to talk to me. When I listened to what he had to say I decided to call in the police. To this end I asked Inspector Pendle, who is in the county constabulary at Martelton, to come over this morning.  Then I realised who you were and decided to ask for your assistance.

‘Fred is awake this morning, so when Inspector Pendle arrives I suggest that you come and listen to his story first hand.’

Your uncle readily agreed to this idea. The two men then fell to discussing the merits of the village church’s architecture. Although it was undoubtedly a learned conversation, it was not of any great interest to me. I passed the time discussing the local ditches, lakes and rivers with William. You can always trust a Labrador to know the best swimming places.