The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog

by Robert Warr

  ‘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, ‘you 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.

  The Thompsons of Arlesford

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

  Monday

  Aunt Emily informed me this morning that we are travelling down to Hampshire on Friday to visit with her sister for the weekend. The place we are going to is called Arlesford House and belongs to a family called Thompson. Having questioned Aunt Emily on the proposed trip I am of the opinion that I will be trading one old barn for another while enduring ‘a jolly company’. At least it is only for the weekend and I can, if necessary, feign some small illness and remain in my room.

  A positive note today was a visit by Aunt Emily’s couturière to measure me for some ‘appropriately fashionable gowns’ as if we Americans have no idea of fashion or style. On my saying something of this kind, the couturière told me that the cut of clothes was subtly different this season and my aunt did not want me to be ‘disadvantaged in society’. In truth, I think that she does not want to be embarrassed by my wearing something unfashionable.

  My ire at what I took to be a patronising attitude soon melted when the couturière showed me sketches of the proposed dresses. They are truly beautiful and I will endeavour to draw them in this journal. I was told that one of them, in a pale blue silk, would be ready by Thursday so that I can wear it this weekend.

  Friday

  We travelled down to Hampshire on a special train hired by Uncle Graham for our party. This train consisted of the engine and its tender, what we would call a saloon car for the family, an ordinary coach for the servants and our luggage and a horse car. I had expected us to go on a normal train but apparently, Uncle Graham always hires a special when he travels.

  At lunchtime, some of the servants laid out a magnificent cold meal that had been packed in several hampers. There were only three of us eating this feast but there was easily enough food for three time
s our number. According to Aunt Emily, the extra food would be shared by the servants ‘as a special treat’.

  Lucy, we have always lived in privileged circumstances but we do not live in this style. It was probably worth insulting Pa to experience this way of life. I do wonder though whether part of our relatives’ easy spending is a result of their having no surviving children.

  We arrived at Arlesford in the late afternoon to be met by a carriage from the house and were soon driving out through some really beautiful country. I was admiring some swans on a river that ran by the road when Uncle Graham asked the coachman to stop, then called out to a tall, distinguished looking man and inquired whether he wanted a lift to the house. The man declined the offer stating that he wanted to exercise ‘Snuffles’, who I presume is a dog, after his journey.

  As soon as we were politely out of earshot, I asked Uncle Graham about the man. I was told that he is Richard Thompson and is one of my relations, through Aunt Emily’s side of the family. He is apparently a famous Scotland Yard detective.

  We turned off the road through a set of very impressive iron gates and onto a driveway through parkland. There, in front of us, was Arlesford House. The building is at least twice the size of Heron Court and is of the Palladian style. It is without doubt the most beautiful house I have ever seen and I will sketch it for you. According to Aunt Emily, the grounds contain several follies in the form of small classical buildings and there is a large maze. If the company proves to be tedious, I shall enjoy myself sketching this wonderful place.

  Saturday

  My dear Lucy, much to my surprise I have thoroughly enjoyed myself and have found the party to be excellent company. Aunt Emily has shown herself to be a first-class conspirator because I had no idea until I went down to dinner that this whole party had been arranged so that I could be introduced to our relatives. I will take a few minutes to describe some of them for you.