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

by Robert Warr

  ‘Isobel called Snuffles to her and was somewhat startled when he dropped a stick of dynamite at her feet.’ My uncle rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘A moment later, the two men, whom she describes as being like navvies, came running up and tried to take Snuffles, claiming that he belonged to them. She defied them and a nasty little scuffle ensued during which one of the men clubbed her to the ground.

  ‘Sensibly, she kept screaming throughout the attack and fortunately attracted the attention of a Lieutenant Vaughn who was exercising his horse in the park. As he rode up, the miscreants fled, and although the Lieutenant pursued them, they managed to escape. I rather think that he spent more than “the briefest moment” helping your cousin to her feet, and left his pursuit too late.

  ‘She took the stick of dynamite and went to see Aunt Mary. I was summoned in very short order.’ My uncle paused with a faintly rueful smile on his lips, an expression familiar to everyone who has fallen foul of Aunt Mary’s formidable organising talents. ‘Well, James, any comments?’

  ‘The presence of dynamite must be causing the Commissioner some disquiet,’ I said after a few moments’ thought. ‘According to your account, Isobel described her attackers as navvies. I would assume, therefore, that they had Irish accents. Are you expecting another Fenian outrage?’

  ‘We have had no intelligence pointing to such an attack, but considering the self-contained nature of these groups, no news is not necessarily good news.’

  ‘One stick of dynamite could be thrown like a grenade,’ I said. ‘I would have thought, however, that if one wanted to assassinate someone like that, it would be easier to get close enough to one’s victim if one looked like a man of consequence and not a labourer. Is it not possible that they intended to blow open a vault or a safe?’

  ‘I don’t think that is likely,’ my uncle responded. ‘In my experience, the dynamite would remain in a safe place until they were ready to commit the robbery, which would probably not be in normal business hours.’

  ‘If the dynamite is unlikely to be used either in a robbery or as a grenade,’ I remarked, ‘I would have to conclude that someone is preparing a larger bomb and most likely digging a mine, considering the men’s appearance.’

  ‘I agree with your assessment,’ my uncle responded while saluting me with his port glass. ‘Now my only problem is working out where exactly my dog stole the dynamite.’

  ‘Surely there are only a limited number of possible targets?’ I suggested. ‘If you can identify those, a search of the surrounding areas would possibly find the mine.’

  ‘A good practical suggestion,’ my uncle wearily replied. ‘Unfortunately for us, this city is full of people who are either prominent enough to make good targets or who have earned the Fenians’ undying hatred. This, coupled with a relatively small number of men, renders any such undertaking almost impossible.’

  With that, my uncle changed the conversation to other matters but not before I had promised to take Snuffles for a good walk the following day.

  ‘Well, Snuffles,’ I asked the following morning once we were alone in my study, ‘how did you come by that stick of dynamite?’

  ‘It’s rather a long story I’m afraid,’ Snuffles replied. ‘I’ll tell you my part of the story and hopefully you will see some way of helping my master.’

  He settled himself comfortably on the rug and began.

  -----

  I was lying in my master’s garden, enjoying an after dinner snooze, when Fielding meowed me awake. I opened my eyes, prepared to remonstrate, but saw that he was accompanied by another cat; she was a small black-and-white female, quite young and obviously very, very concerned about something. With a few faint twinges of disappointment I forgot about my nap; this was obviously duty.

  ‘Sorry to wake you, Snuffles,’ Fielding began. ‘This is Canary. She went to her local parliament with a trouble and after some consideration they decided to refer it to you, since you were able to resolve Portia’s problem.

  ‘I take it, then, that her problem will involve some effort by whoever solves it?’ I asked rather sarcastically. ‘Was it that consideration that made her cat parliament refer it to an already hard-working dog?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Fielding replied, with his usual unflappable equanimity. ‘The case involves a dog and we felt that your expert insight might be needed. However, as you have obviously been run off your feet, I will leave you in peace. With my own limited abilities and extreme slothfulness, I will probably make a total mess of things.’

  ‘All right, Fielding,’ I responded, with a deep sigh. ‘How can I help?’

  Fielding sat down and wrapped his tail neatly around his feet before asking Canary to tell her story. Rather than sitting down she started pacing, as if her story agitated her.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to hear me,’ she began. ‘I have been so worried for Sally and my human that I have not been able to eat or sleep.’

  ‘Sally?’ I interrupted. ‘Who is she and why are you worried?’

  ‘Sally?’ the little cat answered, a faint meow entering her voice, ‘Sally is my dog. She raised me from kittenhood. I think that the men are making my human poison her. Everyday she is a bit more listless and I don’t think that she will last much longer.’

  The cat stopped talking and looked at me, obviously expecting another question. Working with your uncle has been an education and I knew just how to question a worried witness.

  ‘Canary, please continue with your story,’ I spoke in my best firm, but gentle, voice. ‘Start by describing your family and home, then describe the problem. If there is anything I don’t fully understand I will ask a few questions at the end.’

  ‘My human is a clockmaker, and we live in a few rooms above his shop.’ The little cat purred slightly under her voice as she spoke. ‘My human is not very wealthy but he always ensures that Sally and I are warm and well fed. He is a good man and I am a very lucky cat.

  ‘I was given to my human as a little kitten and used to sit on his bench and chirrup at him as he worked, a habit which led to my somewhat inappropriate name. Before I came, he and Sally lived alone as his work does not make enough for him to be able to afford a maid.

  ‘Sally is a beautiful golden coloured Labrador who looks after both of us. Although she wouldn’t hurt anyone I have seen her scare off petty villains who were trying to intimidate our human. She was given to him by a young member of the aristocracy who, having asked for his watch to be cleaned, couldn’t or wouldn’t pay the bill. The young buck was pleased to hand over a worthless puppy to settle the account. Apparently yellow Labradors are not fashionable so are normally culled.’

  The little cat literally spat the last sentence out and glared at me as if I was responsible for this typical bit of human folly.

  ‘That is my family,’ she continued in a more controlled fashion. ‘We were living together perfectly happily until one morning about two weeks ago. That was when trouble arrived.

  ‘I was sitting on the shop counter when the door opened and a neatly dressed young man entered the shop. He looked around and smiled, almost like a cat who has found a good mouse hole. There was a predatory air about him that I did not like.

  ‘My human came through into the shop and having greeted the man asked how he could be of service. The stranger had, it transpired, recently arrived from America but had suffered the misfortune of having his watch stolen during the voyage and now needed a replacement.

  ‘The stranger showed a proper appreciation of my human’s wares and after some consideration settled on a very good half hunter. The two men were obviously enjoying each other’s company and even after the transaction was completed continued a lively conversation.

  ‘The stranger, who said his name was Michael O’Neil, told my human that he had secured a good position as the London representative for an American manufacturing company. I admit that most of this part of the conversation went right over my head but I could tell that my human was very impressed. As O’Ne
il turned to leave the shop my human told him that “as a stranger in this city, if you need any help or advice, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  ‘It was a standard polite offer and one that my pet has sincerely made many times. The American stopped with his hand on the door and turned back to face my human. “I do have one small problem, on which you might be able to advise me,’ he said, a friendly smile on his face. ‘I have some cases of samples arriving tomorrow and I need to find somewhere secure that I can store them for a week or two.”

  ‘My human made several suggestions but they all proved to be unworkable, sometimes for seemingly quite facile reasons. Eventually my pet, who always likes helping people, suggested that Michael could use his cellar. The stranger agreed but only after my human agreed to accept a small rental. They shook hands on the deal and the stranger said that he would bring the cases late the next afternoon.

  ‘We spent a happy evening. The truth is that although my pet had initially refused the rent, the sum, small as it was, actually made a big difference to our well-being. That night was almost perfect; unfortunately the following afternoon our world was turned upside down.

  ‘Just after my pet had closed the shop Mr O’Neil arrived with three labouring men and a cart that was loaded with several crates and boxes. My human cheerfully led them to the cellar door and Sally, seeing the men coming through the door into the private rooms, started barking at them. She refused to quiet down and only became silent when our pet pushed her into the bedroom and closed the door.

  ‘The labourers started carrying the boxes into the cellar and after supervising the first few Mr O’Neil suggested to my pet that they returned upstairs so that he could pay the week’s rent in advance.

  ‘Once they were upstairs O’Neil’s attitude changed instantly and he pushed my pet into a chair and waved a very nasty knife under his nose.

  ‘“Do exactly as you are told, grandfather, and you won’t be harmed,” he grated, his voice containing none of its earlier good nature. “The lads and I are going to be staying with you for a few days.”

  ‘“No, you will not,” my pet exclaimed, struggling to his feet. “You will leave my shop right now or I will call the police.”

  ‘With that he turned his back on O’Neil and strode towards the door. It was magnificent, it really was. Unfortunately, he had no chance. One of the labourers seized him from behind in some kind of arm lock and forced him back. O’Neil carefully rolled up the sleeve of my pet’s shirt and then, with an awful calm detachment, slowly cut the word “no” into his arm.

  ‘Sally heard my pet cry out and threw herself against the bedroom door barking furiously. O’Neil lent close to my human’s ear. “We are staying and you cannot do anything about it,” a terrible false bonhomie in his voice. “In fact, if you do anything to attract attention or your fine dog doesn’t stop barking, I will kill it in front of you and then we’ll continue our writing practice.”’

  The little cat stopped for a few moments, obviously quite distraught. I lent forward and gently nuzzled her while softly woofing my concern. She steadied herself and, with an admirable strength, returned to her narrative.

  ‘I think that it was the threat to Sally, rather than to himself, that has cowed our pet. He put a few drops of Laudanum into some milk and gave it to her. This dose has been repeated whenever she has shown any signs of returning alertness.

  ‘O’Neil told us that at least two of his party would remain in the building at all times. They would be working in the cellar every night and would sleep in shifts during the day.

  ‘My pet would be chained to his bed at night and during the day could pursue his trade in the workroom. O’Neil would deal with any customers or tradesmen who arrived while claiming to be a new assistant.

  ‘I put up with it as long as I could, watching both Sally and my pet suffer until I realised that only I could save them. So yesterday I waited for my opportunity and slipped out of the shop. The local tom took me to the parliament who, after some discussion, sent me to you.

  ‘Can you help us?’

  ‘I will do whatever I can to help you.’ I was instantly rewarded when the little cat’s face lit up with renewed hope. ‘What are the men doing in the cellar?’

  ‘They seem to be excavating a human sized mouse hole in the cellar wall.’ The cat pondered for a while. ‘I don’t know what it is for but I have noticed that they are working quietly and always have a lookout who tells them to stop if anyone walks past.’

  ‘The first thing is for me to come and have a look in the cellar for myself,’ I decided. ‘I will only have one chance to tell my master and I need to have all the facts straight.’

  ‘But what happens if the bad men catch you?’ Canary meowed, ‘who could I trust to tell your master?’

  ‘If anything happens to me,’ I responded in a gruff voice deliberately playing to the melodrama of the moment, ‘Fielding will tell my master’s nephew everything and we can rely on his sense and discretion to resolve this problem.’

  Fielding looked slightly rebellious for a moment then purred his assent. I must admit that I felt incredibly smug. I had finally manoeuvred him into an invidious position.

  I arranged with Canary that I would arrive the following afternoon and wait outside the shop until a customer entered. By following the customer nonchalantly I should be able to make everyone assume that I belonged to the other party.

  After the cats had left I returned to my nap: the following day was likely to be very busy and a wise dog always uses every opportunity for a good sleep, unless of course it clashes with food.

  As normal the following morning your uncle took me to his office at Scotland Yard. It was my intention to wait until after we had shared our morning tea before quietly taking myself for a walk. I’d decided to wait for midmorning because I thought that the villains would probably be at their most passive just before lunch, although I must admit the thought of my master having to eat all the biscuits did influence my decision; a good dog always puts his master’s happiness first.

  It was a good thing that I waited because Sergeant Allen brought my master a message from the officer running a station house near to the clockmaker’s shop. Apparently a man resembling the chief suspect in a particularly vicious murder of a pawnbroker had been serendipitously arrested at a cheap hotel in that district.

  I therefore was able to travel across town in a Hansom rather than walking. On arriving at the station I decided to accompany my master into the building, as I wanted to see the man we had been hunting most diligently for myself. Unfortunately, the visit produced nothing positive. The suspect was perfectly innocent and just had the misfortune of looking untrustworthy. To add to my disapproval there were no biscuits with the tea.

  As we left the police station I waited until my master was engaged in flagging down a Hansom then I deliberately turned and walked off down the road.

  I had only gone about ten yards before my master called me and I faked deafness while breaking into a trot.

  ‘Snuffles, come here! Now!’ my master shouted in rather terse voice from some distance behind me, and I was just congratulating myself on an easy escape when he called out again. ‘Constable, grab my dog please.’

  I looked up to see a young, burly and probably fast constable bearing down on me. As his hand dropped towards my collar, I broke into a run knowing that I could easily out distance any human. Rather than dropping behind wheezing like a punctured bellows the blighter managed to keep up. Not only was he pacing me but also the blighter was calling to other pedestrians to ‘stop that dog.’

  I knew that I could outrun him eventually but there were far too many people making grabs for my collar so I took a sharp right into an alleyway, pursued by the fleetest of the pedestrians, all no doubt hoping for some financial reward for catching me.

  A barrow loaded with fruit and vegetables was being pushed up the alley from the opposite end. It was apparent that I could gallop past it but my larger pursue
rs would have to slow. Once past the obstruction I could quickly lose the field.

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve done’, the man pushing the barrow called as I shot past. ‘But if the Peelers are after you, you’re alright with me.’ With that he made a feint at my collar and in doing so jammed the cart across the alleyway, causing the constable to collide with it. I trotted away with the sound of an altercation over the upset produce echoing from the alley walls.

  This must be the most embarrassing moment in my career as a police dog. If Punch ever gets hold of this incident I will be a laughing stock everywhere. However, as my mother used to say an offered biscuit should never be refused.

  I arrived outside the clockmaker’s shop about five minutes later and settled down to wait for a customer to arrive. A faint meow caught my attention and I looked up at the window to see Canary sitting among the clocks. She twitched her ears and then vanished back into the shop.

  As I waited, I looked round the area. The shops and houses were all neatly kept and showed a level of prosperity although no real riches. Some were like the clockmaker’s shop, neat but slightly shabby. I could not see anything that would justify the amount of effort the villains seemed to be making.

  The road I was in paralleled a much more prosperous thoroughfare and I determined that on my way home I would walk along it to see which buildings backed onto the clockmaker’s shop.

  I hadn’t been waiting very long before a rather busy woman approached the shop carrying a parcel in her arms. As she came up, I went to the door and whined softly. The woman smiled at me and held the door open so I could precede her into the building.

  The sound of the doorbell summoned a dapper looking man into the shop, and the woman seeing him approached like a frigate under full sail.

  ‘Young man,’ she began, in a voice that would brook no interruption. ‘I am most put out, indeed I am. I came into this shop last week and gave you my mother’s clock for Mr Cartwright to repair.’