by Robert Warr
As the good lady handed her package to the assistant, I dodged round the counter and through the door into the back of the shop.
‘I collected it only yesterday and the chimes don’t work properly.’ The woman’s voice rose to an impressive volume that easily covered any slight sounds I might make. ‘My mother had a quick look and says there is some type of paper jammed into the mechanism. If I pay good money…’
I saw Canary waiting for me and followed her through an open door and down a steep staircase into the cellar; a turn in the stairs finally cut off the diatribe behind me.
The shop had smelt of sickness and fear compounded with smells of wood, glue, oil and potato soup. The cellar on the other paw smelt of damp earth and sweat with a faint tang of something I now know to be dynamite.
The cellar was lit by a faint light that came through a couple of small dirty windows high up on the back wall, below them the dark mouth of a low narrow tunnel yawned. Earth and spoil had been piled against the front wall of the cellar, easily filling half the available space. Several packing cases had been pushed together to form platforms on which two men were sleeping.
I crept down the rest of the stairs and into the cellar. I had to find out where the tunnel ran but the closer I got to it, the more it resembled a mouth waiting to swallow me. I told myself not to be a silly pup and walked into the excavation.
There was no light but trusting to my ears and nose, I managed to negotiate the tunnel, which was so low that at times the roof brushed against my back, with relative ease. The tunnel sloped slightly downwards and after a short distance opened out into some type of small chamber. The chemical smell was more apparent here and I soon sniffed it down to its source; a box full of short sticks wrapped in straw. Knowing that they might be important I decided to take one to show my master.
I had reached the top of the stairs when I heard a small gasping cry from a room towards the back of the building.
‘Shall I kill the dog, Mr O’Neil?’ A cold voice asked and my heart fell.
‘No Sean. We need her to ensure our host’s further co-operation.’ A more cultivated, but infinitely colder man replied with a cruel sarcasm, ‘anyway the poor dog didn’t write the note we just found jammed in the clock and I think the guilty should suffer.’
‘What are you going to do then?’ There was an air of gloating anticipation in the first voice.
‘Nothing much,’ O’Neil replied. ‘I think I’ll just cut off the end of a finger, just so he knows I mean what I say.’
Beside me, Canary gave a small shocked meow and glancing at her I saw her claws extend.
‘Not now, little one,’ I spoke reassuringly. ‘This is dog’s work. When I’ve finished they won’t be interested in hurting your human.’
I looked round the doorjamb to see a middle-aged man struggling against a tough, labouring type who was trying to lay his victim’s hand flat on a table. The dapper man, O’Neil, stood with his back to the door a large vicious knife dangling loosely in his right hand.
On the other side of the room a sash window was propped about a quarter open and seemed to look out on a dingy yard. I needed a distraction so I threw the dynamite, as one would toss a dead rat, over the head of O’Neil and, to my complete amazement, watched it fly straight through the window: when good luck breaks cover you should always seize it quickly lest it escapes you.
I threw myself towards O’Neil and bit him very hard just below the back of the knee. It was a bite to be proud of; I felt my teeth shear through trousers, skin and flesh until they grated on bone. He screamed, the sound shocking in that small room and, straightening suddenly, overbalanced backwards before falling through the door into the passage, his cruel knife flying from his hand.
I am not a terrier and know that when you are outnumbered it is better to bite and run rather than just keep savaging your first target. I gathered myself and jumped for the window. It was a tight fit, but I managed to squeeze through but not before something heavy cracked down on my right hip and I fell into the rough yard outside.
‘Get that dog,’ I heard O’Neil scream, his voice distorted into a pained falsetto. ‘It had a name tag. I want to know who owns it.’
‘You want us to bring the dog?’ a new voice asked, somewhat sleepily.
‘No, you fool, just the tag. Leave the dog in a gutter somewhere.’ The voice paused, then continued. ‘I’ll give a guinea to whichever one of you brings me its tail.’
To stay was to die! I snatched up the dynamite and looked around. A gate, which was fortunately ajar, gave onto a narrow alleyway. I hobbled towards it on three legs because my right rear leg seemed to have been paralysed by the blow I had received.
There was only one thing to do and that was run. Dogs can run quite well on only three legs but we do lose a bit of speed and by the time I reached the end of the alley two of the toughs were bearing down on me. Thinking about it now, I instinctively ran for my own territory rather than for the nearest police station. By now I was tired of being chased through London. Even though I was faster than the men my advantage was wasted because I had to keep dodging all the well-meaning busybodies who have nothing better to do than attempt to stop a fleeing dog.
By the time I reached the park I was just about exhausted. I was trying to reach the water, hoping that I could outdistance them by swimming across when I heard a voice calling me. I looked up and to my incredulous delight saw Miss Fraser. Calling on my last reserves of strength, I ran to her and then turned at bay standing to her right.
Miss Fraser was magnificent, although it was obvious that she was scared I doubt if many humans would have sensed her fear. After a short altercation one of the thugs struck her on the side of the head with his stick and as she fell readied himself for another more telling blow. I forgot the pain in my hip and launched myself for his right arm. For the second time that day I had the intense satisfaction of administering a well-deserved bite. It wasn’t as good as my first attempt as the villain was wearing a thick jacket but I had to go for the right arm.
This was a case where I felt it was better not to let go, and as the bard says ‘emulate the actions of the terrier.’ The man dropped his stick and tried to shake me off. This isn’t a good idea because all it does it make the bite worse. He was spinning me in a circle when I heard a shout and saw a horse galloping towards me. At that moment I fell off and landed rather awkwardly.
By the time I had collected my wits about me, a rather flashily dressed cavalry officer was doing the knightly bit with Miss Fraser and our assailants were nowhere to be seen. I looked at our noble rescuer and, from the way he was looking at Miss Fraser, perceived that there might be more of Lancelot than Galahad about his personality.
He never even glanced my way being too interested in Miss Fraser. It was only when he saw the dynamite that he leapt into impressive but woefully tardy action.
The rest you know.
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‘You don’t seem to like Lieutenant Vaughn,’ I observed while offering Snuffles a biscuit.
‘A bigger purse than brains,’ my friend replied with an unusually caustic tone.
‘Have you decided how you are going to tell my uncle of your discoveries?’
‘No, not yet,’ Snuffles replied, raising his ears in exasperation. ‘I cannot think of any believable way that I can tell him. In fact I was hoping for your suggestions.’
Being a great believer in the beneficial properties of tea, I rang for my man and ordered a pot for me and a large piece of cake for Snuffles. While we were waiting for our refreshment and through the whole of the first cup I pondered the problem. Finally, after dreaming up and discarding one wild scheme after another, I leant back in my chair.
‘I can think of only one practical solution to the problem,’ I said at last. ‘I am going to have to tell my uncle.’
‘But, how do you know about all this in the first place?’ Snuffles raised the obvious objection. ‘You cannot tell him the truth, now can you?�
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‘Of course not, my simple hound,’ I replied with a smile, remembering all Snuffles’ superior comments of the past. ‘I will tell him some small fiction that will give him the basic facts.’
‘You mean you’ll lie to your uncle,’ Snuffles snorted, a look of outrage on his face.
‘Of course I will, you puritanical Spaniel.’ I had to grin at his look of shocked disbelief, like a maiden aunt who had heard something racy. ‘It won’t be a lie anyway, just an acceptable truth.’
‘I would expect sophistry like that from a cat,’ Snuffles allowed himself one final sniff. ‘You are probably right, however. What do you propose to do?’
‘This evening, just before I take you back to your master, we will go for a walk past the clockmaker’s shop,’ I elaborated. ‘This will give me the address in human terms. Once we have done this we will have a quick drink in the local public house. We will then proceed to my uncle’s house where I will tell him that I saw several rough labouring men outside the shop, one of whom seemed to be inordinately interested in you.
‘Fearing that I was being followed I will say that I ducked into the inn and heard about some rough men who had moved into the shop. I will also say that one of the neighbours hasn’t seen the clockmaker for some time but has heard odd digging noises in the cellar. Even if your master doesn’t totally accept the story he will at least look into it.’
Snuffles snorted but not having any better ideas refrained from talking.
It was about six o’clock that evening when we left my house and I let Snuffles lead me towards the clockmaker’s shop. It was a pleasant evening and I enjoyed the walk. I was managing to walk at quite a brisk pace although my wounded leg was starting to ache quite badly.
I looked about me as we walked along and appreciated again London’s infinite variety. Broad prosperous streets were paralleled in some places by mean little roads where poverty was prevalent. This was changing as strong efforts were made to improve living conditions for the poor, but there were still places where a wise man did not venture without some protection.
We turned into a road lined with houses and a small parade of shops that obviously served a moderately prosperous neighbourhood. The shops included a draper’s and a clockmaker’s whose window displays indicated that the residents wanted the trappings, albeit cheaper versions, of the higher classes. I didn’t need Snuffle’s whispered ‘we’re here’ to identify the clockmaker’s as our goal because a rough looking man, whose clothes were below the pretensions of the area, was putting up the shutters on the shop. Poorly dressed and unkempt men might possibly be customers of these shops but no proprietor would employ a navvy with earth-stained garments if they wanted to attract their more prosperous clientele.
The man glared at me as we passed and I could feel him looking at me until I turned the next corner. It was my intention to walk round the block and see which building backed onto the clockmaker’s. I would then be able to identify the dynamiters’ target. The side road we had entered joined another larger street and I turned left again.
The buildings on this new street were much larger and more imposing and I knew exactly where I was and also more importantly the identity of the intended target. There, a short distance up the road, was the entrance to Nocks, a rather select gaming club to which I had the honour of belonging.
‘Come on boy,’ I said to Snuffles. ‘Let’s get home.’
Having solved the problem I decided to make my way directly to my Uncle’s Barker Street address. Having seen the man putting up the shutters I felt I could persuade my uncle without any further fabrications on my part. I had never been happy with the thought of lying to my uncle; not only was it likely that he would have found a flaw in the story but there was a good risk that I would have had to perjure myself if the case came to trial.
I had turned down a quiet alleyway that provided a convenient shortcut when I heard hurrying footsteps behind us, Snuffles turned round suddenly and growled deeply. I stopped and placing my back against a convenient doorway looked behind me. Through the evening gloom I could make out two dark shapes coming towards me. I could have kicked myself; I had unthinkingly turned away from the light crowded streets and to the type of dark, secluded place that any assassin would have chosen.
The sensible action would have been to try to outrun my pursuers but, with my old injury, flight was not an option. The only good thing about my situation was that the very narrowness of the alley prevented them from attacking me together.
‘Who sent you?’ the lead tough grated, his Irish accent blurred by an American twang. ‘Tell us or we’ll have to make you. I don’t think anyone will come down here, even if they do hear any shouts.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I blustered, while changing my stance so that my right shoulder was half turned towards them and my weight was back on my left leg. Snuffles moved so that he was behind me and to my right.
‘Don’t lie to us, Sir,’ the tough continued with a gloating parody of servility. ‘It’s the dog see, it stole something from us and attacked both the boss and I. We want to know who owns it and how much they know, and you are going to tell us.’
The tough put his hand into his pocket and produced a large knife. ‘It’s your choice,’ he continued. ‘Speak freely or I’ll have to hurt you and, as you’re English, nothing would give me greater pleasure.’
With that he lunged towards me so I brought the end of my stick up and rapped him firmly over the knuckles. The knife fell clattering to the ground and he crouched to recover it. I flicked my stick out again and caught him a stinging blow on the side of the head.
‘Damn you’ he growled as he regained his feet. ‘You’ll pay for that.’
Once more he lunged forward, this time in a more controlled manner. I parried and was not surprised when he caught my stick with his left hand. I rotated my wrist until I felt the catch release. The tough suddenly pulled sharply on my stick with the obvious intention of pulling me off balance and maybe depriving me of my weapon. It was my assailant who stumbled backwards, suddenly unbalanced, as the lower part of the stick pulled cleanly off revealing the sword blade concealed within.
I lunged forward smoothly, and ran the triangular blade of my swordstick through his right shoulder. As I recovered, I twisted my wrist so that the blade would not become trapped. I came back on guard as the second thug pushed past his falling companion.
His sudden move caught me slightly unawares and rather than a controlled lunge, I hurriedly slashed the sword point over his face. This caused him to flinch and his own knife, rather than catching me squarely in the chest, scored along a rib.
I backed off two paces and set myself again. Fortunately, my two assailants seemed to have lost their martial zeal and, with some imprecations and muttered threats, they retreated down the alley. Snuffles retrieved the other part of my swordstick and, having cleaned the blade, I restored it to its inconspicuous covering.
I wadded my silk scarf against my injury and, holding it in place with my arm, started for my uncle’s house. Fortunately, it wasn’t that long a walk and before too long I found my self sitting in my uncle’s kitchen, sipping a brandy while his cook, who is an eminently practical woman, expertly bandaged the tear.
It was only after she had finished her ministrations and I was seated in front of my uncle’s study fire with one of his dressing gowns draped round me that he asked me what had happened.
‘I was taking Snuffles for an evening walk and had decided to go via Nocks to check if any messages had been left for me during my recent trip,’ I began. ‘I decided to go the long way round to maximise Snuffles chances of running and so I approached the club via the road that runs behind it.
‘Half way along that road there is a clockmaker’s shop and as I approached it a very rough man came out and started putting up the shutters. His clothing looked out of place being far too shabby for an employee of that type of business. As we went past I noticed that he was very earth s
tained and that he was staring fixedly at Snuffles.
‘We continued round the block and came to the club. As I approached its door I realised that not only must the clockmaker’s back onto club, but that Nocks itself was a likely target for dynamiters.’
‘Why?’ my uncle asked succinctly, leaning forward in his chair and scrutinising my face.
‘Every Friday night there is a high stakes card game at the club,’ I replied. ‘It is normally attended by a Royal Duke, a foreign prince and several other prominent men including, when the House sittings allow, a government minister. Having seen the earth-stained man, my engineering experience suggests that someone might be driving a tunnel under Nocks from the clockmaker’s cellar with the intention of planting a mine. A supposition that could explain not only Snuffles’ dynamite but the reason why two Irish-Americans attacked me on the way here.’
I proceeded to tell my uncle the rest of my adventure repeating verbatim the comments of my assailants and the details of the fight.
‘Was the man you saw outside the shop one of the men who attacked you?’
‘Yes, Uncle Richard,’ I responded with a smile. ‘I ran him through the shoulder. I have no doubt that it is the same man.’
‘James,’ my uncle said sitting back in his chair. ‘I do believe that through chance you have solved a problem that looked like beating all my professional resources. There is a chance that our birds might take flight but if act tonight I may still catch them red handed.
‘I intend to raid the shop about an hour before dawn,’ he said after a short pensive silence. ‘As there are explosives I will need an expert. Are you fit enough to come?’
‘Yes, of course I am.’ I replied with almost childish haste.
‘Good,’ he continued. ‘Go upstairs and get some rest while I organise the raid. My man will wake you in good time to get ready.’
Although I did not think that it would be possible for me to sleep I had seemingly no sooner lain down on a spare bed before I was shaken awake and handed a hot cup of tea.