The Detective Wore Silk Drawers

CHAPTER 9

Constable Thackeray reported early at the Waterloo Road Police Station on Monday morning. Whatever happened that day, he was resolved not to offend Cribb. The Constable’s impish pleasure in his sergeant’s predicament after the fight had drained away rapidly. Prometheus unchained was no more alarming than Cribb humiliated.

Mercifully, Sunday had provided time for the fury to subside. So far as police duties were concerned, Cribb was a strict Sabbatarian. He arrived as jaunty as ever, tossing his bowler and umbrella deftly onto the stand.

“Well, Thackeray. What has Monday brought?”

The breezy manner was encouraging.

“One letter from Rainham, Sarge-Jago’s handwriting.

And a young lady to see you. Miss Boltover, daughter of Colonel Boltover.”

“Don’t know her,” said Cribb, raising his eyebrows.

“What does she want?”

“She won’t say, Sarge. She is rather agitated. She’s a handsome-looking lass, too.”

“Red-headed?”

“Why, yes,” confirmed Thackeray in surprise.

“Ask the constable on duty to make some cocoa. Women with hair that colour have temperaments to match, Thackeray.

She’ll need calming down before we ask her in here.”

Calming down with cocoa? Was this the intrepid Cribb?

Possibly his recent experience had taken its toll. Thackeray went on his errand.

When he returned, Cribb was deep in Jago’s letter, which seemed a long one.

“Self-pity,” he said at last, putting it down. “Very regrettable in a police officer. I thought young Jago was stouter-hearted. This could present problems.” He tapped his nose with a penholder. “You saw him after the fight. What sort of shape was he in?”

“He looked tired, Sarge, and no wonder. He didn’t appear to be injured much, except for a slight limp. The second- the big one with the fingers missing-”

“D’Estin.”

“-got him into a trap and drove him away as soon as we came up from the cellar. He looked somewhat startled when the landlord told us you and Vibart were arrested.”

“Startled me, too,” admitted Cribb, ready apparently to relate the painful incident. “Took me till almost midnight to get myself released.”

“How did you possibly manage it?” asked Thackeray, primed to flatter. “It was an appalling situation, Sarge.”

“Most certainly was. I couldn’t say anything while Vibart was there. Had to wait while he talked himself out of it. A deuced long time he took, too.”

“What did you say when you were alone with the village bobby, Sarge? Did you admit you were in the force?”

“Good Lord, no! He’d have checked with the Yard. If Jowett heard I’d been arrested, that would be the end of our investigations. Possibly a public inquiry. We’re in a very delicate position, Constable. Don’t you forget it.”

“How did you get away, then?” asked Thackeray, honestly rather baffled.

“I took the measure of the man as he questioned Vibart.

Fine officer, in his way. Pertinent questions. Two things were clear, though. First, he hadn’t meant to break up the prize fight; he didn’t know it was on. Second, he didn’t want to lose the respect the locals held him in. So I planned my strategy, and waited for him to release Vibart.”

“Vibart thought of an alibi, did he, Sarge?”

“Nothing so grand as that. He got sent home eventually, though.”

“I expect he would, being a local man,” remarked Thackeray, following Cribb’s theme most attentively.

“Exactly. I was different, though. A stranger, you see. No one in Rainham was going to shed tears over me if I landed in the courts. So I couldn’t simply rely on an alibi. I had to go on the offensive.”

“Attack his weak points?”

“Yes. I said I was from the Illustrated Sporting-down from London to report the fight. I asked him what his name was- took the questioning over before he’d begun, you see?”

Thackeray could well believe it.

“I told him he’d figure in the headlines in my newspaper. ‘Prize Fight at Rainham Stopped by Police.’ That delighted him. I could see him picturing his inspector at the County Office reading it. Then I told him what the report would say-that one spectator was arrested, and about a hundred, including the main participants, walked away.”

“That must have made him reconsider,” said Thackeray, feeling for the man.

“Not sufficiently, though,” continued Cribb. “He was a stubborn cove. I told him my newspaper could stop all prize fighting in the district. We had only to announce that the blues were keen to make arrests there. That finally defeated him. The fury of his drinking friends was a bigger threat than an angry inspector. He made me promise not to print a word and let me go.”

“Incomparable!” said Thackeray, and meant it.

Cribb turned to other matters.

“Miss Boltover. Let’s see what she wants. I hope she’s calmer after her Cadbury’s.”

Thackeray ushered her in. She was pale and her eyes darted nervously about the room, but she composed herself sufficiently to arrange her dress as she sat in the chair Cribb provided. Thackeray took her parasol.

“My father contacted Scotland Yard,” she began when the introductions were made, “and Inspector Jowett said that you could be found here.”

Thackeray gulped.

“You wished to find me in particular?” inquired Cribb.

She was on the verge of tears. “Henry Jago-Constable Henry Jago-is a close acquaintance of ours. Can you tell me where he is?”

“I fear not at present,” said Cribb at once. “Are you concerned on his behalf? I think he is quite well.”

She took a folded newspaper from the bag on her lap.

“Read that, please-the part I have marked.”

Cribb glanced at the headline “INCONCLUSIVE MILL IN THE SOUTH ESSEX DISTRICT BETWEEN LUKE JUDD AND HENRY JAGO, A NOVICE.” He read it twice more before pushing the newspaper to Thackeray. It was nightmarish.

“How did you find this?” he asked, his mind racing through the implications.

“It is my father’s newspaper-”

“He knows? The Colonel!”

“I don’t think so. He only reads the cricket scores. I saw the newspaper lying on a table, and Henry’s name seemed to leap at me from the page. It is my Henry, isn’t it?”

Cribb confirmed that it was. “He hasn’t deserted, miss.

We know all about this. He’s doing important work.”

Lydia’s eyes dilated. “You know! But it’s barbarous, this fighting with bare fists! It’s illegal!”

“I’ll thank you to modulate your voice, miss. Not many in this office are privy to this investigation. We wouldn’t want to place Jago-Henry, that is-in a difficult spot.”

“It is in the newspaper. I should think everyone has seen it by now.”

Cribb coughed awkwardly. “No disrespect to your father, miss-not everyone reads Bell’s Life. Besides, there’s few that will associate this with our Jago.”

She snatched the paper from Thackeray. “There’s no doubt who it is if you read this. ‘Jago, alias D’Estin’s novice, is certainly the largest twelve-stone man we ever saw, especially his arms, which are literally full of muscle; his attitude is very good, and particularly easy; perhaps, however, too slender loins, and is very slim on his understandings.’ That is Henry, Sergeant!”

“I don’t deny it, miss,” said Cribb. “You recognize him from the description and so do we. So does his doctor, I expect, if he reads Bell’s. But there ain’t many others who can tell a man from the shape of his arms and legs.”

She coloured.

“You’ll have watched him swimming in the Serpentine, I dare say,” said Cribb, with prompt tact. “The truth of the matter is, miss, that he’s sending us reports on certain suspicious persons. He does the knuckle fighting to give himself a reason for being there, so to speak. Pugilism’s as harmless as tin soldiers to a man of his experience.”

“Harmless!” Lydia went back to the newspaper and began to read aloud, “ ‘Round one-The attitude of the men being struck, they sparred long for an opening until Judd dashed in his left on the body. Jago retaliated with a flush hit to the ribs, which caused Judd to commence business in earnest, and within seconds the novice’s neck and shoulders were as red as pickled cabbage. A spanking hit with the dexter mauley on Jago’s left listener had him staggering. Then a stinger with the left on the knowledge box completely knocked him off his pins to mother earth.’

Harmless!”

“Capital writing, though!” cried Cribb. “What do they say about the other rounds?”

Lydia tossed the paper aside. “It was too revolting to read. I simply cast my eyes to the foot of the column to ensure that Henry was not killed.”

Thackeray had now got the paper. “This is a more refreshing bit, miss. ‘Round six-Jago at once planted a right with terrific force on the masticator. It was a staggerer and so bothered Judd that he was unable to escape a clinker on the ivories, bringing “first blood,” the crimson tide soon flowing copiously. A nasty one on the bridge of Judd’s smelling bottle caused the cork to be drawn there. Good counterhitting to a close, when Judd got to grass.’ ” He beamed at Lydia.

She grimaced.

“He’s well able to protect himself, Miss Boltover,” Cribb assured her. “Nor was he hurt in the least. When he comes back, there won’t be a mark on him, and with any luck he’ll have tracked down a”-he checked himself-“suspected person.”

“But how long does he have to persist with this dreadful pose as a prize fighter?”

“Not long now.” Cribb suddenly had an inspiration. “You want to get in touch with him, I expect?”

“Please, oh, yes!”

The Sergeant leaned forward confidentially. “If I let you write to him, he might be able to reply. I couldn’t give you his address, of course. But you could write a letter, and we would see to its delivery.”

Her face fell a little. “Just a letter?”

“Nothing else would be safe at this stage, miss. And I shall have to read the letter, you understand.”

“Oh.”

“And you won’t mind me including a few lines of my own? You could write ’em for me, you see. It’s a way of getting a message to him.”

Minutes later, Lydia sat with pen and paper in another room. At the desk opposite was a young constable with walrus moustache and eyes more sinister than any on the “Wanted” notices behind him. “As tender a letter as you can write,” Cribb had ordered. “And don’t mind us, miss.”

Thackeray read Jago’s report.

“He sounds uncommon depressed, Sarge. Seems to think he’s done all he can at Rainham. It’s my belief that he’s missing the company of a certain young woman.”

Ascribing motives was a favourite occupation with Thackeray. Cribb might have been more impressed if he had not earlier noticed his assistant’s eyes straying to a partially uncovered ankle.

“Miss Boltover doesn’t really come into it,” he declared with a tinge of reproof. “Jago’s too smart a bobby to let sentiment spoil his work. What worries him is what the Ebony told him on Saturday night after the meal in the Indian room. If the black really plans to quit Radstock Hall, Jago becomes the principal fighter. Everything is centred on him, you see-training, matches. Possibly the widow’s attention in other respects.”

“Do you believe that, Sarge? Why should the Ebony want to leave? He’s well-looked-after where he is. The training couldn’t be more lavish.”

“Financial considerations,” said Cribb. He picked up the letter and read: “ ‘Morgan (The Ebony) told me he was not going to stay much longer at Radstock Hall and if I was wise, I would not remain either. He said that evil things were liable to happen here. He had made his plans to leave, and Edmund Vibart was helping him. Mrs. Vibart wasn’t the only backer of knuckle fighters, and others were willing to pay handsomely for a star performer.’ From which I deduce that Vibart has acted as agent for the Ebony with another group of backers.”

“The roughs that managed Meanix?”

“Quite possibly. There aren’t that many parties interested in managing knuckle fighters.”

“Why should Vibart cheat his sister-in-law?” asked Thackeray.

“You did read the letter?” snapped Cribb. “The man is short of money. Someone will pay him well for seducing the black away from Mrs. Vibart. He promised the Ebony larger rewards and more regular fights. It doesn’t require any more persuading than that to get him away from Radstock Hall.”

Put that way, it made sense to Thackeray.

“As for Jago’s low spirits,” continued Cribb, “Miss Boltover’s letter will raise them if it’s spiced with a few sharp instructions from me. He stays at Rainham for at least another week. I need evidence, and a shakeup at Radstock Hall may provide it.”