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

by Robert Warr

  -----

  Snuffles finished speaking and laid his head down on his paws. There were in my mind a couple of loose ends.

  ‘Why did Mr Littleton drown?’ I asked.

  ‘He was carrying a lot of money in his saddlebags as well as having sewn quite a few coins into his clothes. The doctor who examined his body was of the opinion that he hit his head on the bridge as he fell into the river and stunned himself.’

  ‘There is one other thing I don’t understand.’

  Snuffles raised one ear in a way that suggested that the limits of my ignorance were far wider than I had suggested.

  ‘What is that?’ he asked.

  ‘Why did Mr Littleton cut the skin off Fred Field’s hands?’

  Snuffles raised both ears and replied, ‘Honest work causes calluses, something of which you have no experience.’

  The Ball

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

  LUCY, I am once more at Arlesford, this time for a Hunt Ball that both Aunt Emily and Uncle Graham seem to regard as the social high point of the summer. I mentioned this to Aunt Mary and she was good enough to describe some of the delights of previous balls. Apparently, in fine weather the General arranges for a small orchestra to play on the terrace, and the guests dance on the lawn in the light of multicoloured lanterns. When this happens, the main ballroom is dedicated to a buffet supper of a most impressive size.

  Today is perfect, the sun shining in a clear blue sky with the lightest of cooling winds blowing from the river. I spent a happy hour this morning throwing a stick into the lake for Inspector Thompson’s Spaniel. While I was engaged in this pursuit, the General joined me with several other Spaniels from his kennels and I found myself discussing their breeding and finer points.

  All the servants are exceedingly busy and having seen the intricacy of the preparations that are taking place, I know that I will have a most memorable night. I intend to rest for a few hours so that I can properly enjoy tonight’s revelry.

  -----

  Lucy, I am writing this while sitting in one of the small arbours in the maze. This is partly for privacy; but mainly because I do not want to see anything at all of that brute James Thompson. You may ask why I feel so strongly about a man whom I was mistaken enough to call ‘charming’ in an earlier missive. This man- the term gentleman does not apply in his case- has turned a magical evening into the most embarrassing nightmare.

  I went downstairs with Aunt Emily and Uncle Graham and we were introduced to several local worthies by Lady Amelia; I found myself promising dances to most of the gentlemen. I noticed James Thompson in deep conversation with the General and could see that he was rather put out. It occurred to me that his leg injury might make a ball more of a purgatory than a pleasure for him. I was about to speak to him when the local vicar engaged me in conversation.

  We had eaten supper when Aunt Mary came up to me and asked if I would sit with her for a few minutes. She told me that James was causing her some concern. Apparently he had been expecting a certain ‘Lady Victoria’ to come to the ball. Reading between the lines I imagine that the family felt that she was ‘eminently suitable’ and were hoping for an engagement but Aunt Mary did not really like her.

  The one small problem was that she had neither turned up nor sent word to explain her absence. James, as a result, was walking round morosely, casting a blight on the festivities. Would I mind, she asked, renewing our acquaintance and seeing if I could cheer him up?

  I agreed with a certain amount of alacrity because I had previously found him to be a charming man with a wealth of good anecdotes. Aunt Mary therefore led me over to where he was standing with a glass in his hand and asked him if he remembered me.

  He muttered something about having had the pleasure so Aunt Mary suggested that we become reacquainted while she went and talked with Aunt Emily. It was then that it all went wrong and it became apparent that James was completely drunk.

  He told Aunt Mary that he knew what she was up to and just because Lady Victoria had not come did not mean that he was going to chaperone any pale and uninteresting girls. ‘Who’, he said in a very loud voice, ‘would want to dance with someone like her, having known perfection?’ He then went on about my shortcomings as compared to his paramour in such insulting detail that I burst into tears and wanted the floor to swallow me.

  The next thing I knew was Aunt Mary putting her arms round me while the General, who had bustled up, told James that he was drunk and a total embarrassment before ordering him to his room.

  The General apologised to me and said that he thought that it wasn’t only James’ leg that had been permanently injured in the cave-in.

  The charm had gone from the night so I made some excuse and fled to my room where I cried myself to sleep.

  I hear footsteps coming towards me and fear that it will be someone who wishes to talk.

  The Widow’s Mite.

  I was in a very foul mood when I walked into my grandfather’s library and strode over to the fireplace. After taking a final glance at Lady Victoria’s letter, I threw the offending missive into the fireplace.

  Looking round for a distraction, I saw the whisky decanter on a side table and decided to seek some liquid solace.

  ‘A simple “Good morning old boy” would probably have been sufficient,’ Snuffles said from his position by the windows. ‘I thank you, however, for your ebullient greetings, and respond in the same happy manner.’

  One thing I cannot tolerate when I am feeling sorry for myself is a sarcastic Spaniel. I rounded on Snuffles to give him a piece of my mind but stopped when I saw the concerned expression on his face.

  ‘I gather that the young lady has sent a note explaining why she failed to come, even though she accepted the invitation weeks ago.’

  ‘Damn bitch,’ I said with feeling.

  ‘So was my mother,’ Snuffles observed with a slight edge to his voice that may have been either laughter or mayhem.

  ‘Snuffles, I have been most cruelly treated,’ I declared in my most long suffering tone.

  The Springer gave me one of his pitying looks.

  ‘Stop being a silly puppy. A young lady has been rude, but I think that you’ll live. If you sit down calmly, I’ll tell you about some real cruelty.’

  ‘I am not a silly puppy,’ I said obstinately.

  ‘What would you call someone who tries to burn a letter in an empty grate?’ He paused for a moment. ‘In July.’

  With that rather withering observation, Snuffles settled himself more comfortably and began.

  -----

  We had just returned to your uncle’s office at the Yard on a rather grey and depressing November day, following a quick meat pie and beer for lunch. My master was reading case documents and I expected to do nothing more exciting than sleep by the fire.

  I had no sooner curled up than Sergeant Allen entered the room and informed my master that Miss Thompson was waiting to see him. Aunt Mary is a very pleasant lady, but not the type of person who would enter the Yard to make a social call. Your uncle asked the sergeant to show her in and then bring some tea.

  ‘Aunt Mary,’ my master greeted her as she entered the room, ‘to what do I owe this pleasure?’

  He took her umbrella from her and helped her into a chair. I looked at her from my position by the fire: it was obvious that she was extremely upset. I wagged my tail reassuringly, but she ignored me, so I settled down to listen. You may find my placid behaviour somewhat odd, but Aunt Mary is a very particular lady, who will only tolerate quiet, well-behaved dogs.

  ‘I am so sorry to disturb you, Richard,’ she began, ‘but this is not a social call. Someone I know is in dreadful trouble, and you are the only person I could think of who might be able to help.’

  ‘I will do my best; but first tell me the whole story.’ Your uncle seated himself at the desk and picked up a pencil.

  ‘For the last few years, Mrs Worthingto
n has been my companion and during that time we have become very great friends. It is, therefore, not unknown for her friends and relatives to call.’ While she was speaking, Aunt Mary opened her bag and extracted an envelope. She looked at it for a few seconds before continuing.

  ‘This morning, sometime after eleven o’clock, the maid entered the sitting room to say that Mrs Baker, who is my companion’s sister, had arrived and seemed to be distraught. Even before I could ask the maid to show her in, Mrs Baker pushed into the room and rushed sobbing to her sister.

  ‘I have known Mrs Baker since she was widowed two years ago, and have always found her to be most quiet and proper in her demeanour. You can appreciate how shocking I found this uncharacteristic behaviour.

  ‘It took some minutes before she was calm enough to tell her story. Apparently, she had just finished a late breakfast when the door bell rang. Her maid answered the door and from what she heard Mrs Baker believes that a boy came with this letter’.

  Aunt Mary paused and opened the envelope, taking out a single sheet of paper.

  ‘I have your dog,’ she read. ‘I want fifty guineas. I will send a message tomorrow telling you where to bring the money. If you don’t pay, I’ll drown the dog.’

  Aunt Mary passed the note to my master and shushed him as he started to speak.

  ‘Mrs Baker is not a rich woman,’ Aunt Mary continued. ‘Although her husband left her comfortably provided for and she has managed her finances well, I am assured that she could not raise fifty guineas in time. However, I have heard from my companion that Mrs Baker’s neighbours believe that she is indeed very wealthy.

  ‘Her dog, Jamie, is a little Dandie Dinmont, a present from her late husband. Mrs Baker does not know what to do, so she asked me to help.

  ‘I told Mrs Worthington to take her sister home. Will you please go and talk to her?’

  My master went to the office door and called for Sergeant Allen, before returning to his desk.

  ‘Of course we will help,’ my master said as Sergeant Allen entered the room. ‘In fact, this is now an official police matter and I will ensure that Mrs Baker receives all the help she requires. Will you be accompanying us?’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I think that would be intrusive. I would appreciate it, however, if you would do me the courtesy of keeping me informed.’

  ‘I will either send you a note or come and see you,’ my master promised.

  Your uncle helped Aunt Mary to her feet and politely escorted her from his office. I followed quietly.

  During the drive to Mrs Baker’s house, your uncle ran through the details of the case for Sergeant Allen. The two men then discussed the problem. Unfortunately we did not have enough information and this conversation proved to be as productive as worrying a dry bone. I, therefore, made the most of this opportunity for a quick nap, reserving my own intellectual effort until we received further intelligence.

  Mrs Baker’s house proved to be one of those pleasant new villas, which have become quite fashionable in some parts of London. The area itself was a mix of new developments with some rows of older housing.

  Sergeant Allen rang the bell and while we waited for the maid to open the door, I had a quick sniff round. Jamie, it appeared, was an excitable little chap. It was also apparent that Mrs Baker spoilt him rotten, with plenty of cakes and biscuits. Unfortunately, there were just too many sets of human smells for me to be able to form any coherent theory about the identity of the villain. There was also a faint chemical smell that I could not instantly identify.

  A rather pretty red-headed, young woman answered the door and, having asked for our names, showed us through into a small but pleasant sitting-room where two middle-aged women were deep in conversation, They were, as I had surmised, Mrs Worthington and her sister. After the usual introductions, my master asked Mrs Baker to describe her domestic arrangements and then to run through the events of that morning. I will summarise her evidence because she was extremely upset and it took some careful questioning by your uncle, interspersed with comforting remarks from her sister, to get a coherent account. In fact, Mrs Baker was so upset that I went over and placed my head in her lap. It wasn’t much, I know, but playing with my ears did seem to quiet her, and I hope that I was a comfort.

  Mrs Baker’s late husband had been a reasonably successful doctor before ill health had forced him to retire early. He had managed to sell his practice for a significant sum. Prudent financial planning had ensured that he could sponsor his two sons, one into the medical profession and the other into a reasonable regiment. He also left investments that provided his widow with an income of eighty guineas a year. A large proportion of his money had been spent on his own medical treatment in the last years of his life, leaving Mrs Baker almost completely dependent on her eighty guineas. Mrs Baker’s neighbours were, however, convinced that she was very wealthy and something of a miser.

  Mrs Baker’s household consisted of Emily, the maid, and of course her dog, Jamie. A Mrs Smith, who lived locally, came in during the day and acted as cook and housekeeper. It transpired that Mrs Smith was not in the locality at present, having gone to supervise the care of a new grandchild.

  Mrs Baker was adamant that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that morning. No visitors had arrived at the house and she had not been aware of any strangers in the area. It had therefore been a great shock when she had received the note. Initially she had thought that it was a rather nasty practical joke, but when she and Emily had failed to find Jamie, she was forced to accept that the note was genuine.

  When asked by my master Mrs Baker could not think of anyone who would steal Jamie or send her such a vicious note.

  Your uncle then asked the maid to enter the room. She was very self-assured and did not exhibit any of the nervousness that one usually observes when servants are questioned in their employer’s presence.

  ‘I need to ask you a few questions,’ my master began. ‘Would you please tell me your full name and how long have you been in Mrs Baker’s employment?’

  ‘My name is Emily Clarkson, sir,’ the girl began. ‘I have worked for Mrs Baker for the last five years, ever since I finished my schooling. The school-mistress recommended me to Mrs Baker when her last maid married.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened this morning?’ my master asked. ‘Please mention anything out of the ordinary, however trivial it may appear.’

  ‘I came downstairs at about six o’clock this morning as normal and laid the fires ready for lighting.

  ‘I then took Jamie for his normal morning walk. We go down to the park and he runs around for a short time before coming home. As it was very foggy this morning, I didn’t linger very long, but brought Jamie home before he could catch a cold.’

  The girl paused for a second and looked at my master. He was just about to say something when she continued.

  ‘I may be being silly, but I didn’t feel happy this morning. I had the strange feeling that someone was following me. I probably was imagining things because I couldn’t see anyone else in the park. All the same, I was, convinced that there was some one watching me, who meant me no good at all.’

  My master leaned forward and smiled reassuringly at the girl.

  ‘Did you see anyone at all while you were walking Jamie this morning?’

  ‘No one of any consequence,’ the girl replied. ‘Only the normal tradesmen. Outside the park, I met Constable Higgins, who was on his way back to the station. He very kindly walked me home when I told him of my fears.’

  ‘That could be very important,’ your uncle said. ‘I may need to talk to you about this again after I have spoken to the constable. Please continue with your account from the time that you reached home, concentrating on callers and any exceptions to your usual domestic routine.’

  ‘I had a very busy morning, sir. When Mrs Smith is away, I take over her duties as cook. The usual deliveries were made during the morning. The milkman had called while I was out walking Jamie and I wa
s in the kitchen when the postman arrived for the first delivery.

  ‘I made my own breakfast about eight o’clock and fed Jamie at the same time. I took Mrs Baker’s morning tea up to her at about nine o’clock and she told me that she wanted a cooked breakfast at ten thirty.

  ‘I was working in the kitchen before Mrs Baker came downstairs and I took two deliveries from the grocer’s boy and the coal man.

  ‘Nothing else happened until just after eleven when the front door bell rang. When I opened the door, a rather disreputable urchin handed me an envelope addressed to Mrs Baker. After she had read the note we searched frantically for Jamie but could not find him anywhere.’

  ‘Did you let Jamie out at all?’ my master asked.

  ‘You must understand, Inspector, that Jamie can be a very demanding dog. If you’re not careful, you’re always opening and closing the door so that he can have free passage into the garden or kitchen. Mrs Smith props the back door slightly open; which she says gives Jamie his freedom and takes cooking smells out of the house. I did the same thing this morning without giving it a moment’s thought.’

  For the first time the girl seemed to be worried. She had obviously realised that Mrs Baker might blame her for Jamie’s loss. More servants have been dismissed for taking the easy option than have lost their jobs for dishonesty. Personally I thought that it was Mrs Baker’s fault: Jamie was obviously a very spoilt little dog, used to getting his own way. Frankly, I always blame the owner. While I was thinking these thoughts, Mrs Baker lent forward and lightly touched the girl’s hand.

  ‘Go on, Emily,’ she said. ‘When did you last see Jamie?’

  ‘I know that Jamie was in the kitchen when the grocer’s boy arrived. John normally has a few biscuits in his pocket that he gives to his favourite dogs. Jamie never misses one of his visits. I think that was about twenty past nine and I can’t recall seeing Jamie after that.’