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

by Robert Warr

  I am a dog of action: to think is to do. I deliberately dropped back until the fog concealed me. Crossing the road, I ran as fast as I could, hoping that the fog would muffle the sound of my paws on the flagstones.

  You have to walk past a small builder’s yard before you reach the police station. The side fronting the road was protected by a stout wooden fence pierced by a gate. Our investigations had once taken us to this yard and I remembered that a second gate opened into a mews behind the property. The yard itself was cluttered and full of good hiding places. Quickly outdistancing my master, I reached the yard and raced through the gates.

  ‘Yes? Can I help you?’ asked a gruff, but not unfriendly, voice.

  I looked up to see a very large Bull Mastiff staring at me. I skidded to a stop and wagged my tail politely.

  ‘I have been tasked with keeping undesirable riffraff away from my master’s possessions,’ the behemoth continued. ‘Even though I can see that you are a dog of exquisite breeding I will have to chase you orf if you don’t have a good reason for being here.’

  I was debating what to say to him, when he growled to get my attention.

  ‘I don’t want to rush you, old boy, but you do have a reason for coming here, I hope? I would be extremely distressed if I had to resort to physical violence.’ The massive hound smiled, displaying teeth at least twice as long as mine.

  Suddenly I knew what to tell him. The truth. I quickly outlined the facts of the case, and my reasons for wanting to talk to my master. The mastiff looked a bit perplexed as he pondered my answer.

  ‘I can’t say that I entirely agree with speaking to a human, young feller, but if it is the only way to save Jamie, then you have no option. As far as I can see, it is my duty to help you trick your master. That being the case, while you talk, I will prevent him from entering the yard.’

  ‘Remember that my master is a police officer,’ I told this prince among dogs, ‘so please don’t bite him.’

  ‘Do not fret, old boy; there will be no biting.’ He smiled. ‘I may permit myself a small slobber, though.’

  I was about to offer him my heartfelt gratitude when I heard my master and Sergeant Allen approaching.

  ‘Go over to that corner.’ My new friend raised a paw to point at the part of the yard that my master would pass first. ‘It is somewhat cluttered there. Wait until your master has just walked past and then speak. As soon as you have finished, come over and hide near the gate. I will then pursue an imaginary person to the rear fence, which should distract your master sufficiently, don’t you think?’

  It is always very satisfactory when a member of the general public is willing to offer their wholehearted assistance to a police investigation. It was in a happy state of mind that I went over to the corner and concealed myself behind some old lumber and waited for my master to pass.

  ‘Evening, Inspector,’ I said in my gruffest voice. ‘Want to know who stole the widow’s dog?’

  ‘Who’s there?’ my master responded approaching the fence.

  ‘Never you mind. Just someone who knows something.’ I paused for a second, distracted as Sergeant Allen began a stealthy movement towards the gate.

  ‘What do you know?’ my master asked, peering through the fence in an attempt to see his interlocutor.

  ‘The cook’s son has the dog. Go round to Mrs Smith’s house and you’ll find him.’

  I heard my friend the Bull Mastiff start to growl and I realised that Sergeant Allen had reached the gate.

  ‘Who are you?’ your uncle asked. ‘I can’t act on the word of an anonymous informant. Why won’t you show yourself?’

  ‘I am known to someone involved in this matter and I want to avoid any unpleasantness,’ I replied truthfully, backing away.

  I went to ground again near the gate where I watched the mastiff delay both the men with one of the most effusive displays of welcome that I have ever seen. My new friend had managed to pin my master to the gate with his front paws while using his body to block the sergeant’s movement. I growled very quietly to let the big dog know I was hidden and watched in amazement as he switched instantly from friend to foe. With a deep echoing bark, he sprang away from my master and raced baying across the yard. The two police officers followed and I raced between them adding my own bark to the cacophony.

  I caught up with the mastiff as he threw himself against the rear gate. With a splintering noise, the bolt ripped from the wood and my friend charged through. I suppose that I can blame my instincts, but as soon as the mastiff shot barking through the gate, I followed also in full cry. I am ashamed to say that I ignored my master’s shouted commands.

  After about a hundred yards, the big dog stopped and waited for me to catch up.

  ‘How was that?’ he asked as I caught my breath. ‘They will all be certain that someone was in the yard after that performance.’

  In a companionable silence, the mastiff led me back to the yard. The fog was by now so dense that I heard my master talking to the builder before I could even see the fence.

  ‘You didn’t have that dog last time we were here, Mr Cowper.’

  ‘He’s new, Inspector. After the other business, I decided to take your advice and bought Henry. He may be a big softy but as you can see, he scares the crooks away.’

  Henry grinned.

  We continued on our way to the police station without any further interruptions. For the rest of the walk my master was deep in thought. I was starting to worry that I had said too little to persuade my master until it struck me that I might, in my enthusiasm, have said too much: I actually had no idea where Jamie was being held. What if my master went to the cook’s house and the dog wasn’t there? We were a very pensive party when we entered the little police station that served that part of London.

  Inspector Moore, who ran the station, invited us into his office. At first sight, he appeared to be a fussy, overweight little man who was more interested in his appearance than anything else. I had learnt, however, that he was, in fact, one of the finest intellects in the police service. He ordered tea and then settled himself behind his desk.

  ‘Well, Richard,’ he said with a self-deprecating smile, ‘what brings the great detective to my humble station?’

  ‘I have an interesting case in hand at the moment, and since it has occurred on your patch I thought I would share it with you,’ my master replied.

  Inspector Moore listened while your uncle ran through the facts of the case. I was intrigued to learn that I sounded like a consumptive old man with an educated but foreign accent. I must admit that I was rather offended. I’m an English Springer Spaniel and my master thinks I speak with a foreign accent. I was just about to give your uncle a piece of my mind when I remembered that I’m only a poor dumb animal. I settled down again to enjoy a low growl. Foreign, indeed!

  ‘Your problem is, I think,’ Inspector Moore interjected, ‘that you don’t trust this mysterious informant. He is another actor in this drama, an unexpected one who doesn’t fit the scene.’

  ‘Got it in one, Tom,’ my master agreed. ‘That is the very essence of the problem. I was hoping that you would see a pattern that I’ve missed.’

  ‘If there is a pattern, I can’t see it. Maybe when you solve this case the identity of the informant will become clear.’ Inspector Moore picked up his pipe and started to fill it. ‘We will probably find that one petty criminal has taken revenge on another.’

  Frankly, I couldn’t see how this conversation could get any worse. Firstly, my master described me as sounding foreign; then Inspector Moore suggested that I was probably a petty criminal. If this is what selfless dedication does for you, I can see why cats are so aloof.

  ‘Your description of a consumptive old man does suggest something.’ Inspector Moore paused for a second while he thought. ‘In the thirties there was an outbreak of dog-stealing in this part of London. Criminals would take a dog and then offer to find it for a fee. They eventually had to change the law to end this practic
e. One of the worst offenders, or so I’ve been told, was old Albert Wheeler, whose son now runs the White Horse. I reckon one of the young lads has been listening to the old man’s stories. It does at least give us another lead.’

  We were interrupted by a knock at the door and a burly constable entered, bearing a tray. My nose twitched as I recognised his scent from the butcher’s shop. Constable Taylor, I presumed.

  My deduction was instantly verified when Inspector Moore introduced the newcomer to my master and Sergeant Allen.

  ‘Inspector Thompson is investigating a nasty little crime that occurred near your beat. It seems to be linked to the assault on the butcher’s lad that you reported this morning. As you know this area and people, I wonder if you can add to our knowledge.’

  Inspector Moore ran through the main facts of the case with a succinctness that impressed me. I watched the constable’s face during this retelling and it was obvious that he made one or two connections. This was starting to get very interesting.

  ‘I must admit that I agree with your informant, sir,’ Constable Taylor said when the inspector had finished. ‘Young Gordon Smith has been boasting about coming into some money. A few nights ago, he was drunkenly complaining about Mrs Baker and the pittance she paid his mother. At the time I thought nothing of it- the lad has always been a nobody made big by ale.’

  ‘Do you think that he might have the dog at his mother’s house?’

  ‘If young Smith has taken the dog, it will be at his mother’s house. The lad isn’t bright enough to take it anywhere else. I also think that he would be far too arrogant to believe anyone might suspect him.’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for the mystery informant I doubt if we would be having this conversation,’ Inspector Moore said rather dryly. ‘Do you have any thoughts about who our mysterious benefactor might have been?’

  Constable Taylor was silent for a few moments before replying. ‘No one comes to mind, sir. Perhaps when we question young Mr Smith, he’ll tell us.’

  Inspector Moore leaned forward and looked straight at my master.

  ‘Well, Richard,’ he asked, ‘what are we going to do?’

  ‘I think we should pay a call on the Smith residence. I would be obliged if you could supply two or three more constables and a few lanterns.’

  My master smiled and stood up. The game was, as they say, afoot.

  About half an hour later, seven of us were ready to set off for Mrs Smith’s house. As well as Inspector Moore and Constable Taylor, the party had been augmented by a sergeant and another constable.

  It was very foggy when we left the station and piled into two growlers. The drive was quite short and we soon stopped in a quiet road in front of a rather dull terrace.

  Inspector Moore spoke quietly to his sergeant who nodded and led one of the constables into the mouth of a narrow alley. Obviously, no one was going to be able to bolt out of the back door.

  As we waited for the sergeant to get into position, I looked around. It is an inevitable fact that a raid always attracts interested bystanders who watch every move. Already some of the local residents were standing in their doorways and a young man in a raincoat with his hat pulled low was leaning against a wall.

  My master knocked loudly on the door and demanded that it be opened. The house was silent. My master knocked again and we all heard a muted bark but there was no other response.

  ‘Open it!’ your uncle ordered.

  Sergeant Allen put his shoulder to the door and in very little time had forced the lock. The door flew open and we were in. The door opened directly into a small but very neat room. I sniffed and could smell a frightened dog. With a quick bark to attract the men’s attention, I followed my nose.

  I ran into a short hallway that obviously led to the kitchen. The smells and a faint whining noise seemed to come from behind a partially closed door in the left hand wall. I nosed the door opened and saw a flight of steps vanishing downwards into the dark.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I raced down the stairs. Calling for a lantern, my master followed more carefully.

  As I reached the bottom of the stairs, something in the farthest corner seemed to cringe. My nose told me that I had found Jamie. It was also apparent that he was very, very frightened.

  ‘Don’t worry lad,’ I said in my most reassuring tone. ‘We are here to rescue you.’

  An inarticulate whimper was my only answer. I was wondering if Jamie was still drugged when the beam from my master’s lantern found the little dog. A growl of outrage forced itself past my lips. Jamie was lying on his side. His legs had been cruelly tied together and a loop of the same cord had been wound round his muzzle in an obvious attempt to gag him. There was nothing in his eyes except fear. I vowed at that moment that someone was going to suffer.

  Your uncle put his lantern on the ground and very gently cut the cord. The little dog tried to stand but whimpered and fell back on his side.

  ‘Take your time,’ my master said soothingly as he started to rub Jamie’s legs. ‘Wait for your circulation to come back.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Jamie whimpered, a trace of panic in his voice.

  ‘Police,’ I answered, bringing my ears up in a friendly way. ‘My master is Inspector Thompson, and your mistress asked him to find you. People call me Snuffles.’

  My answer seemed to calm Jamie because he started licking at my master’s hand.

  ‘Well, Tom, did you catch him?’ your uncle asked Inspector Moore as that worthy came down the cellar stairs.

  ‘Not a sign of him. I’ve told my sergeant to check the local inns, but I think young Gordon saw us coming.’

  ‘Very well,’ my master responded, picking up Jamie. ‘I’ll take this little dog home. Sergeant Allen can drop me at Mrs Baker’s house and then return to the Yard to start a wider search for Gordon Smith. I would appreciate it if you could finish up here. I will come back tomorrow morning to discuss any progress.’

  ‘Certainly, Richard,’ agreed Inspector Moore. ‘If you don’t mind, I will send Constable Taylor with you to watch the house. Young Smith may feel that he has nothing to lose and could try something else.’

  My master nodded thoughtfully at this, and I could see that he had also had the same concerns.

  We left the house and took one of the growlers for the short trip to Mrs Baker’s villa. Jamie had started to relax so I thought I would ask for his account. It is often a good idea to ask victims and witnesses for their statements while the events are fresh in their minds and before their memories have been affected by other people’s views. You may call me cynical, but memory can play tricks on you. Take yourself for example: you will leave this room convinced that you have had a conversation with a Spaniel, something we both know is a patent absurdity.

  ‘What happened to you?’ I asked Jamie in my friendliest voice.

  ‘The cook’s boy came to see us this morning. He has always been very good to me and normally brings me a small gift.’ I raised my ears questioningly so the little dog elaborated: ‘A piece of chocolate or a dog cake, some times even a nice bit of meat.

  ‘I was surprised to see him on a day when his mother wasn’t working, but a friend is always welcome. It had already been a strange day with young Emily shortening my walk just because Gordon was hiding from her in the park.’

  ‘You saw the cook’s boy in the park this morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jamie said grinning, ‘it was very comical. He kept hiding behind trees whenever Emily moved in his direction. At the time I thought he was playing a trick on her.’

  ‘What exactly happened when he stole you?’ I thought that I already knew but it is good to have a statement confirmed.

  ‘I ran up to Gordon wagging my tail and he knelt as he always does. I wasn’t surprised when he gave me a lovely piece of fresh steak. Suddenly he grabbed me and thrust me into a horrible smelly basket. I took a deep breath to bark my displeasure. Everything went black and I remember falling. When I woke up I was in that aw
ful cellar, trussed up and helpless.’

  I could hear the betrayal in the little dog’s voice and a deep hurt.

  ‘A horrible experience,’ I said in a gruff but reassuring tone. ‘Truly frightening, but you are safe now, and I do think you’ve come through it very well. You didn’t cower once when you were rescued. A very good show indeed.’

  I have noticed that if you tell a victim that you think they have been brave during their ordeal, most of them will act courageously while they recover. Little Jamie was no different; he visibly pulled himself together.

  ‘Being stolen wasn’t the worst of it,’ he said in a much stronger voice. ‘He stood in the cellar and told me that he would drown me if my mistress didn’t pay. He then said that he would probably kill me anyway because he hated my mistress and loathed me.’

  I noticed that the little dog was looking at me with a rather wary expression. I must admit that this puzzled me until I realised that my lips had drawn back from my teeth. I forced myself to relax and wag my tail. Someone was going to be bitten. Normally I’m an easy-going dog and I leave justice to the humans, but this was one of those times when canine justice had to be served.

  You must understand that as a police dog I should really abide by the letter of the law. Unfortunately, human law doesn’t always consider the canine view. This sometimes leaves me with a problem if I am going to see justice served. To bite or not to bite, that is the question.

  I was still pondering this dilemma when we arrived back at Mrs Baker’s villa and alighted from the growler. I heard a loud gasp on the other side of the road and turned to see an indistinct figure in the fog.

  ‘It’s him,’ Jamie whimpered and jumping from Sergeant Allen’s arms raced for the safety of his home.

  Suddenly, I caught the scent. It was indeed the cook’s lad. Enough thought: it was time for action. I quickly barked a view-hallo and took off after the figure. Naturally, he saw me coming and turned to run.