The Book of Extraordinary Amateur Sleuth and Private Eye Stories

by Maxim Jakubowski

  “None of my employees would dare to double-cross me.”

  “Not even for money?”

  “Money won’t mend a broken back.”

  Nicely put, I thought. “Who would benefit most if the dog didn’t run?”

  “Why, that’s easy. Titch Martindale. His mutt, Rainbow Lady, is second favorite.”

  In the same way I knew of Harry Blackledge, I knew of Titch Martindale. They were both from the same dodgy side of the street. In the whimsical way these types have of adopting inappropriate nicknames, Titch was actually a giant of a man, well over six feet and weighing around eighteen stone. He was certainly no titch, unless, of course, this appellation referred to a specific part of his anatomy.

  “Have you challenged Titch about this?”

  “No. What would be the point? He would simply deny it and laugh up his sleeve at the same time.”

  “I’d better take a look at your kennels and have a chat with the staff.”

  I could see that old Harry-boy wasn’t too happy about letting me snoop around his secret premises, but he was sensible enough to realize that it was a necessary part of my investigation.

  “I’ll get Raymond to run you over there.”

  “Fine. How many people work at the kennels?”

  “There’s just old Charlie Pearson, my trainer, and his daughter Gloria. I’d trust both with my life.”

  ***

  It turned out that Raymond was Harry’s son. However, he was far from being a chip off the old, rather unpleasant, Blackledge block. He was a young, fresh-faced lad, smartly dressed in a well-cut double-breasted suit and possessing a rather shy demeanor.

  I engaged him in conversation as he drove me in a very smart sedan over to the Warwick Road kennels in Battersea. It seemed that he had hoped to join the army this year, but his father was not keen on the idea and had prevented him. “He wants me to stay in civvy street. I suppose he’s just concerned that I might get hurt. Ever since my mother died two years ago, he has become very protective.”

  “Overprotective?” I ventured.

  He smiled nervously. “You could say that. It’s natural in fathers, I guess. The trouble is, he won’t let me grow up. He won’t let me take any responsibility or make any decisions on my own. I suppose he just doesn’t want to accept that I’m not his little boy any more. I’ve only just managed to get a place of my own, because he wanted me to stay at home. Was it the same with your dad?”

  If only, I thought. “Not really,” I said quietly. I didn’t really want to open the file of John Hawke, the orphan who never knew his parents. It wouldn’t help the lad, and it certainly wouldn’t help me, so I decided to change the subject. “Have you any ideas who might have taken Silver Lining?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “Can’t say I have. It all seems strange.”

  “What can you tell me about Charlie Pearson and his daughter?”

  “Oh, well, Charlie has worked for my dad forever. They knew each other from their school days. Apparently Charlie has always had a way with greyhounds. It’s his passion in life.”

  “What about his daughter?”

  At the mention of the girl, young Raymond’s face colored. “Gloria,” he said softly. “Why, she wouldn’t harm a fly.”

  Eventually, the car turned down a cinder track and parked outside a low wooden building, situated within a stretch of wooden fencing with barbed wire trimming the top. I could see that it wouldn’t take a master crook to prop a ladder up against the fencing and gain entry to the kennels.

  Raymond unlocked the door of the premises and we entered, passing through the building to a stretch of ground which was set out like a small racing track. This was obviously where the hounds were put through their paces.

  A tall gray-haired man wearing brown overalls approached us. “Hello, lad. Come to see our Gloria?”

  Poor Raymond looked decidedly uncomfortable. “No, I’ve brought Mr. Hawke. He’s investigating the disappearance of Silver Lining.”

  The man gave me a canny glance. “I wish you luck, cause I’ve no idea what’s happened.”

  “When did you see the dog last?” I asked.

  “Late last night. I live nearby, and I always come around ten o’clock to see if the dogs are all right, especially if there’s an air raid on. The noise upsets them. All four hounds were fine. Then this morning, when I turns up with their feed and to give ’em a run, Silver was gone.”

  “Can you show me her kennel?”

  “Certainly. Much good it may do you.”

  Leading the way, he took us to the far end of the track, to an old brick structure that from the outside resembled a restroom block. Inside, however, were four kennel runs, each with a padlocked iron gate. In three of the runs were dozing, indolent greyhounds who cast a dreamy disinterested eye in our direction as we stared in. One run was empty.

  “As you see,” said Charlie, tugging at the padlock, “it’s still locked. I’m the only one with the key, and it’s here on my belt. But nevertheless, the dog has bleeding well vanished.”

  I nodded, appreciating his succinct assessment of the situation. I examined the lock and the outside of the kennel very closely. It didn’t look like the lock had been picked; there were no telltale scratches around the keyhole.

  “Not got your magnifying glass with you today, Sherlock?” observed Charlie sarcastically.

  “Can you open up?” I said evenly, ignoring the taunt.

  “You want to go inside?”

  I nodded.

  For some reason, my trainer friend thought this was amusing, but nevertheless he opened up the kennel and I scrutinized the interior. There was some straw and the remains of Silver Lining’s evening meal in a metal bowl. I picked up the bowl and sniffed it.

  “I’ve got some sandwiches in the office if you’re hungry,” chimed in the comical trainer.

  “Hungry dogs, greyhounds, aren’t they?” I asked. “All that running, using up so much energy.”

  “Certainly are,” replied Charlie. “Bite your hand off sometimes to get at their grub.”

  “And yet this dish of dog food is nearly full. It seems that Silver Lining has hardly touched it.”

  “What! Let me see.” There was no whimsy in his behavior now.

  I handed Charlie the metal dish and he examined the contents. “This isn’t her usual mash. This is something else.” He sniffed it. “Gah, this is not right.”

  Raymond, who had been standing back in the shadows, came forward. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s been tampered with,” snapped the trainer.

  “The dog was probably drugged,” I said. “It’s easier to deal with a sleeping dog than with one who is ready to bark. Who prepares the feed?”

  “I do,” snapped Charlie. “But this isn’t the usual stuff that I give to Silver. Someone else has done this!”

  “Any ideas who?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I’ve no more idea about that than I have how the blighters opened the gate.”

  “Oh, that,” I said with a grin. “That was easy. Although I don’t have my magnifying glass with me, I was able to spot that the mortar had been loosened between the bricks where the gate brackets are fixed to the wall. If you look down, you can see the grayish powder on the floor. It’s quite easy, I suspect, to pull out the bricks where the fastenings are. Let me see…”

  So saying, I tugged at one of the bricks by the top fastening and, with some encouragement, it slipped out. I repeated the process with the lower brick, and thus was able to pull the gate open, by easing it outward from its moorings.

  “Whoever took the dog didn’t need a key. He got in this way and then replaced the bricks after the deed was done.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful, Mr. Hawke.” Charlie gave me a congratulatory pat on the back. “So, now you know how the thing was
done, perhaps you can tell us who did it?”

  There was still a kind of sarcastic belligerence in Charlie Pearson’s attitude which I took to be a defensive response. After all, he was responsible for the dog’s welfare and he had failed, and this rankled with him. As a result, I was on the receiving end of some of his deflected anger. However, I wasn’t about to rise to his taunts—not yet, at least.

  “What I’d like to do now is have a word with your daughter.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am a detective.”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting…”

  I shook my head. “I’m suggesting nothing. Now, where is your daughter?”

  “I expect she’ll be in the office filing.”

  She was in the shabby little office filing. Filing her nails. She looked up with surprise as we entered. She hadn’t expected visitors. She was a pretty blonde girl—pretty in an obvious, well-made-up way—and wore a tight angora sweater which brought out her prominent features. A copy of Film Star Weekly was propped open against the typewriter.

  Before her father could say anything, I introduced myself and explained the reason for my visit.

  “A private investigator? Like in the pictures?” she said in a slightly soppy voice.

  I smiled at her naivete. “Not quite—but I do try to solve crimes.”

  “Crimes… Oh. What crimes?”

  “Well, in this instance, the theft of Silver Lining.”

  “Oh,” she said, crestfallen. Her ideas of dark intrigue, danger, and excitement had evaporated. It seemed that the theft of a dog did not rate on her scale of glamorous criminal activity.

  “What do you know about Silver Lining’s disappearance?”

  “Well, nothing, really. We exercised her as usual last evening, and Dad took over her mash about ten last night. And then this morning she was gone.”

  “Did you come to the kennels with your father last night?”

  She shook her head, her bright pretty earrings shaking. “No, I went to the pictures to see that Rebecca. Ooh, it was really good. That Maxim de Winter… Have you seen it?”

  I nodded and smiled. As I did so, I observed Raymond staring at Gloria with unabashed passion. The lad was obviously smitten.

  I was about to ask Gloria who had accompanied her to the pictures when the telephone rang. Charlie snatched up the receiver. He listened for a moment and then glanced at me.

  “It’s Harry—Mr. Blackledge. He wants a word with you.”

  I took the receiver. “John Hawke,” I said.

  “You’d better get back to my office straightaway. There have been developments.” The tinny, angry voice resonated in my ear.

  “What kind of developments?”

  “I’ve had a ransom note.”

  The note was typewritten and concise: “If you want your dog back it will cost you £500. We’ll be in touch.”

  Harry Blackledge sounded concerned, a great deal of his bluff arrogance having evaporated. “What the hell do I do now?” he asked.

  “Wait until they get in touch. In the meantime, I’ll continue my investigations.”

  “Doing what?”

  I smiled and touched my nose with my index finger. “I’ll let you know later.”

  In the outer office, I caught up with Raymond and took him to one side. “Excuse me for being personal,” I said gently, “but I couldn’t help noticing that you had a thing for Gloria.”

  Raymond reddened and stuttered a little, not quite able to deny the observation, and then at length he nodded. I felt sorry for this shy cuckoo in the Blackledge nest. “Have you told her how you feel?” I asked, in a tone which I hoped suggested that I was a man of the world with a vast experience of women.

  “Not exactly. We have been out dancing a couple of times and to the pictures, but I think she likes boys who are…flashier than me. She’s seeing someone else at the moment.”

  “Do you know him?”

  Raymond shook his head. “I’m just hoping she’ll get tired of him and then come back to me.”

  From what I had seen of Gloria, I was sure she would get tired of her new flame—she was that type—but then she would move on to a different bloke. She sought excitement: tough, dangerous men like Maxim de Winter, not simple, honest lads like Raymond.

  I patted Raymond on the arm. “I hope it works out for you.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Hawke.”

  I was about to leave the office when Raymond came hurrying after me. “Dad says I’m to chauffeur you wherever you want to go while you’re on the case.”

  I grinned. “Well, that’s a treat I can’t refuse.”

  When we reached the street, I realized I had left my hat behind on Raymond’s desk. I apologized and returned to retrieve it. Or at least that’s what I told him. I had an idea that was just in the embryo stage, but it needed a little feeding.

  ***

  We drove to Titch Martindale’s place a few miles away. It had the appearance of a warehouse, but inside it was split up into smart offices. I asked Raymond to stay in the car. I told him I’d get further if I didn’t have the son of Titch’s deadly rival by my side.

  After much chatting with the pretty little secretary on reception, I eventually found my way into Titch’s office.

  “You’ve got five minutes,” he said, puffing on a large cigar. He was indeed a huge man, with wild red hair, startling blue eyes, and a pork sausage for a nose.

  I told him who I was, and of the disappearance of Silver Lining, but not about the ransom note. He seemed genuinely surprised.

  “There’s no love lost between Harry Blackledge and me, but I think this is terrible.” He paused and then, as though the penny had dropped, his demeanor and complexion changed. “Hang on a minute, mister, I hope you aren’t suggesting that I had anything to do with the job. I can tell you, I’ve got no need to go half-inching his bleeding mutt. My Rainbow Lady will leave Silver Lining standing.”

  “I just wondered if you had any idea who might have wanted to snatch the dog. You have a reputation for keeping your ear to the ground, having your finger on the pulse.”

  Titch tossed me a sarcastic grin. “You’re a sweet-talking fellow, aren’t you?”

  I returned the grin. “I try.”

  “Well, let me tell you, Mister Hawke, despite rumors to the contrary, on the whole the greyhound racing fraternity are straight. It’s a sport, for Christ’s sake. Where’s the sport in nobbling your opponent? I know nothing.”

  Strangely, I believed him. I rose to go, but he held up his hand to delay me.

  “Let me tell you this. Go back to Harry Blackledge and give him my deepest sympathies. I hope the dog turns up so it’s able to run on Saturday. I want the satisfaction of seeing his face when my little beauty leaves Silver Lining standing in the traps.”

  When I returned to the car, Raymond was on the pavement outside, pacing up and down.

  “Any joy?” he asked as I approached.

  “Could be,” I replied.

  He looked surprised, and then expectant, as though I was about to divulge my thoughts. I ignored the invitation.

  “Where to now?” he said at length.

  “I’ve finished for the moment, Raymond. I need to do some thinking on my own. I do that best when I’m walking. Do you have your home number where I could contact you?”

  Raymond looked hesitant, and then produced a card with his address and telephone number.

  “Are you sure I can’t drop you anywhere?”

  “Certain. You go back and tell your dad that things are coming along fine.”

  I watched the shiny sedan disappear into the distance and lit a cigarette. I pulled a sheet of paper from my pocket and looked at it. I had a theory. It was built of twigs and cardboard and bits of straw and would probably fall down at the slightest puff of win
d, but it was all I had and, rare for me, I believed in it. In order to strengthen its foundations, I needed to have a chat with Gloria.

  I walked for a while until I caught sight of a taxi and flagged it down. In less than half an hour, I was back in the untidy office where Gloria spent her time. She had finished filing her nails. Now she was painting them.

  I asked if I could chat with her for a while, and she seemed glad of the company. There didn’t seem to be any pressing business to attend to, apart from applying the nail polish.

  “Have you any ideas or suspicions about Silver Lining’s disappearance?” I said, sitting back on a battered old armchair near the noisy little gas fire, which kept popping at irregular intervals.

  Gloria rolled her pretty blue eyes. “Not a clue. It’s a real mystery.”

  “It certainly is,” I agreed with a wry smile. “But you like mysteries, don’t you, like Rebecca? Good film, that. Did you guess the ending?”

  Her face lit up at the mention of the movie. “Oh, no. I thought Maxim was a wife murderer, a sort of Bluebeard, y’know.”

  I grinned. “Where is it on? I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.”

  “At the Astoria.”

  “You go with a friend.”

  “My boyfriend, yes.”

  “Raymond, d’you mean?”

  She laughed. “No, not Raymond. With my feller, Rod. He’s a boxer. A real hunk.”

  “Oh, I thought that you were seeing Raymond.”

  “We went dancing a couple of times, but it was nothing serious. On my part anyway. I think he was keen, but he’s just a kid. No more than a lapdog for his dad. I go for real men like Rod.”

  “I think that Raymond still carries a torch for you.”

  “Well, he’s wasting his time. He’s a nice enough lad, but he’s still in short pants as far as I’m concerned. I told him he’d have to prove to me he was a real man before I looked at him again.”

  Whatever else Gloria was, she was a straight talker.

  Strangely, my interview had disheartened me, because it had only strengthened my theory. Certainly, if my hunch was right, I was very close to finding Silver Lining.

  It was late afternoon by now and, before taking the investigation further, I popped into a bar to wet my whistle and have a little think. I played about with the pieces of the puzzle in my mind and, no matter how I arranged them, they still presented the same picture. Hey ho, I thought, as I drained my pint, let’s get this over with.