with a kiss been posted here just now, for a man that I'm in search
of; and what I have to ask of you, is, that you will let me look at
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the direction of that letter." He was very civil - took a lot of
letters from the box in the window - shook 'em out on the counter
with the faces downwards - and there among 'em was the identical
letter with the kiss. It was directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post
Office, B-, to be left till called for. Down I went to B- (a
hundred and twenty miles or so) that night. Early next morning I
went to the Post Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that
department; told him who I was; and that my object was to see, and
track, the party that should come for the letter for Mr. Thomas
Pigeon. He was very polite, and said, "You shall have every
assistance we can give you; you can wait inside the office; and
we'll take care to let you know when anybody comes for the letter."
Well, I waited there three days, and began to think that nobody
ever WOULD come. At last the clerk whispered to me, "Here!
Detective! Somebody's come for the letter!" "Keep him a minute,"
said I, and I ran round to the outside of the office. There I saw
a young chap with the appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by
the bridle - stretching the bridle across the pavement, while he
waited at the Post Office Window for the letter. I began to pat
the horse, and that; and I said to the boy, "Why, this is Mr.
Jones's Mare!" "No. It an't." "No?" said I. "She's very like
Mr. Jones's Mare!" "She an't Mr. Jones's Mare, anyhow," says he.
"It's Mr. So and So's, of the Warwick Arms." And up he jumped, and
off he went - letter and all. I got a cab, followed on the box,
and was so quick after him that I came into the stable-yard of the
Warwick Arms, by one gate, just as he came in by another. I went
into the bar, where there was a young woman serving, and called for
a glass of brandy-and-water. He came in directly, and handed her
the letter. She casually looked at it, without saying anything,
and stuck it up behind the glass over the chimney-piece. What was
to be done next?
'I turned it over in my mind while I drank my brandy-and-water
(looking pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I couldn't see
my way out of it at all. I tried to get lodgings in the house, but
there had been a horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was
full. I was obliged to put up somewhere else, but I came backwards
and forwards to the bar for a couple of days, and there was the
letter always behind the glass. At last I thought I'd write a
letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what that would do. So I
wrote one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed it, Mr. John
Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what THAT would do.
In the morning (a very wet morning it was) I watched the postman
down the street, and cut into the bar, just before he reached the
Warwick Arms. In he came presently with my letter. "Is there a
Mr. John Pigeon staying here?" "No! - stop a bit though," says the
barmaid; and she took down the letter behind the glass. "No," says
she, "it's Thomas, and HE is not staying here. Would you do me a
favour, and post this for me, as it is so wet?" The postman said
Yes; she folded it in another envelope, directed it, and gave it
him. He put it in his hat, and away he went.
'I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter.
It was addressed Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, R-,
Northamptonshire, to be left till called for. Off I started
directly for R-; I said the same at the Post Office there, as I had
said at B-; and again I waited three days before anybody came. At
last another chap on horseback came. "Any letters for Mr. Thomas
Pigeon?" "Where do you come from?" "New Inn, near R-." He got
the letter, and away HE went at a canter.
'I made my inquiries about the New Inn, near R-, and hearing it was
a solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line, about a
couple of miles from the station, I thought I'd go and have a look
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at it. I found it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to
look about me. The landlady was in the bar, and I was trying to
get into conversation with her; asked her how business was, and
spoke about the wet weather, and so on; when I saw, through an open
door, three men sitting by the fire in a sort of parlour, or
kitchen; and one of those men, according to the description I had
of him, was Tally-ho Thompson!
'I went and sat down among 'em, and tried to make things agreeable;
but they were very shy - wouldn't talk at all - looked at me, and
at one another, in a way quite the reverse of sociable. I reckoned
'em up, and finding that they were all three bigger men than me,
and considering that their looks were ugly - that it was a lonely
place - railroad station two miles off - and night coming on -
thought I couldn't do better than have a drop of brandy-and-water
to keep my courage up. So I called for my brandy-and-water; and as
I was sitting drinking it by the fire, Thompson got up and went
out.
'Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn't sure it WAS Thompson,
because I had never set eyes on him before; and what I had wanted
was to be quite certain of him. However, there was nothing for it
now, but to follow, and put a bold face upon it. I found him
talking, outside in the yard, with the landlady. It turned out
afterwards that he was wanted by a Northampton officer for
something else, and that, knowing that officer to be pock-marked
(as I am myself), he mistook me for him. As I have observed, I
found him talking to the landlady, outside. I put my hand upon his
shoulder - this way - and said, "Tally-ho Thompson, it's no use. I
know you. I'm an officer from London, and I take you into custody
for felony!" "That be d-d!" says Tally-ho Thompson.
'We went back into the house, and the two friends began to cut up
rough, and their looks didn't please me at all, I assure you. "Let
the man go. What are you going to do with him?" "I'll tell you
what I'm going to do with him. I'm going to take him to London tonight,
as sure as I'm alive. I'm not alone here, whatever you may
think. You mind your own business, and keep yourselves to
yourselves. It'll be better for you, for I know you both very
well." I'D never seen or heard of 'em in all my life, but my
bouncing cowed 'em a bit, and they kept off, while Thompson was
making ready to go. I thought to myself, however, that they might
be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue Thompson; so I said
to the landlady, "What men have you got in the house, Missis?" "We
haven't got no men here," she says, sulkily. "You have got an
ostler, I suppose?" "Yes, we've got an ostler." "Let me see him."
Presently he came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was. "Now
attend to me, young man," says I; "I'm a Detective Office
r from
London. This man's name is Thompson. I have taken him into
custody for felony. I am going to take him to the railroad
station. I call upon you in the Queen's name to assist me; and
mind you, my friend, you'll get yourself into more trouble than you
know of, if you don't!' You never saw a person open his eyes so
wide. "Now, Thompson, come along!" says I. But when I took out
the handcuffs, Thompson cries, "No! None of that! I won't stand
THEM! I'll go along with you quiet, but I won't bear none of
that!" "Tally-ho Thompson," I said, "I'm willing to behave as a
man to you, if you are willing to behave as a man to me. Give me
your word that you'll come peaceably along, and I don't want to
handcuff you." "I will," says Thompson, "but I'll have a glass of
brandy first." "I don't care if I've another," said I. "We'll
have two more, Missis," said the friends, "and confound you,
Constable, you'll give your man a drop, won't you?" I was
agreeable to that, so we had it all round, and then my man and I
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took Tally-ho Thompson safe to the railroad, and I carried him to
London that night. He was afterwards acquitted, on account of a
defect in the evidence; and I understand he always praises me up to
the skies, and says I'm one of the best of men.'
This story coming to a termination amidst general applause,
Inspector Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on his
host, and thus delivers himself:
'It wasn't a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey, the man accused of
forging the Sou'-Western Railway debentures - it was only t'other
day - because the reason why? I'll tell you.
'I had information that Fikey and his brother kept a factory over
yonder there,' - indicating any region on the Surrey side of the
river - 'where he bought second-hand carriages; so after I'd tried
in vain to get hold of him by other means, I wrote him a letter in
an assumed name, saying that I'd got a horse and shay to dispose
of, and would drive down next day that he might view the lot, and
make an offer - very reasonable it was, I said - a reg'lar bargain.
Straw and me then went off to a friend of mine that's in the livery
and job business, and hired a turn-out for the day, a precious
smart turn-out it was - quite a slap-up thing! Down we drove,
accordingly, with a friend (who's not in the Force himself); and
leaving my friend in the shay near a public-house, to take care of
the horse, we went to the factory, which was some little way off.
In the factory, there was a number of strong fellows at work, and
after reckoning 'em up, it was clear to me that it wouldn't do to
try it on there. They were too many for us. We must get our man
out of doors. "Mr. Fikey at home?" "No, he ain't." "Expected
home soon?" "Why, no, not soon." "Ah! Is his brother here?"
"I'M his brother." "Oh! well, this is an ill-conwenience, this is.
I wrote him a letter yesterday, saying I'd got a little turn-out to
dispose of, and I've took the trouble to bring the turn-out down a'
purpose, and now he ain't in the way." "No, he ain't in the way.
You couldn't make it convenient to call again, could you?" "Why,
no, I couldn't. I want to sell; that's the fact; and I can't put
it off. Could you find him anywheres?" At first he said No, he
couldn't, and then he wasn't sure about it, and then he'd go and
try. So at last he went up-stairs, where there was a sort of loft,
and presently down comes my man himself in his shirt-sleeves.
'"Well," he says, "this seems to be rayther a pressing matter of
yours." "Yes," I says, "it IS rayther a pressing matter, and
you'll find it a bargain - dirt cheap." "I ain't in partickler
want of a bargain just now," he says, "but where is it?" "Why," I
says, "the turn-out's just outside. Come and look at it." He
hasn't any suspicions, and away we go. And the first thing that
happens is, that the horse runs away with my friend (who knows no
more of driving than a child) when he takes a little trot along the
road to show his paces. You never saw such a game in your life!
'When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a standstill
again, Fikey walks round and round it as grave as a judge - me too.
"There, sir!" I says. "There's a neat thing!" "It ain't a bad
style of thing," he says. "I believe you," says I. "And there's a
horse!" - for I saw him looking at it. "Rising eight!" I says,
rubbing his fore-legs. (Bless you, there ain't a man in the world
knows less of horses than I do, but I'd heard my friend at the
Livery Stables say he was eight year old, so I says, as knowing as
possible, "Rising eight.") "Rising eight, is he?" says he.
"Rising eight," says I. "Well," he says, "what do you want for
it?" "Why, the first and last figure for the whole concern is
five-and-twenty pound!" "That's very cheap!" he says, looking at
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me. "Ain't it?" I says. "I told you it was a bargain! Now,
without any higgling and haggling about it, what I want is to sell,
and that's my price. Further, I'll make it easy to you, and take
half the money down, and you can do a bit of stiff (1) for the
balance."
" Well," he says again, "that's very cheap." "I believe you," says
I; "get in and try it, and you'll buy it. Come! take a trial!"
'Ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive along the road, to
show him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in the publichouse
window to identify him. But the clerk was bothered, and
didn't know whether it was him, or wasn't - because the reason why?
I'll tell you, - on account of his having shaved his whiskers.
"It's a clever little horse," he says, "and trots well; and the
shay runs light." "Not a doubt about it," I says. "And now, Mr.
Fikey, I may as well make it all right, without wasting any more of
your time. The fact is, I'm Inspector Wield, and you're my
prisoner." "You don't mean that?" he says. "I do, indeed." "Then
burn my body," says Fikey, "if this ain't TOO bad!"
'Perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over with surprise. "I
hope you'll let me have my coat?" he says. "By all means." "Well,
then, let's drive to the factory." "Why, not exactly that, I
think," said I; "I've been there, once before, to-day. Suppose we
send for it." He saw it was no go, so he sent for it, and put it
on, and we drove him up to London, comfortable.'
This reminiscence is in the height of its success, when a general
proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer,
with the strange air of simplicity, to tell the 'Butcher's Story.'
The fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange air
of simplicity, began with a rustic smile, and in a soft, wheedling
tone of voice, to relate the Butcher's Story, thus:
'It's just about six years ago, now, since information was given at
Scotland Yard of there being extensive robberies of lawns and silks
going on, at some wholesale ho
uses in the City. Directions were
given for the business being looked into; and Straw, and Fendall,
and me, we were all in it.'
'When you received your instructions,' said we, 'you went away, and
held a sort of Cabinet Council together!'
The smooth-faced officer coaxingly replied, 'Ye-es. Just so. We
turned it over among ourselves a good deal. It appeared, when we
went into it, that the goods were sold by the receivers
extraordinarily cheap - much cheaper than they could have been if
they had been honestly come by. The receivers were in the trade,
and kept capital shops - establishments of the first respectability
- one of 'em at the West End, one down in Westminster. After a lot
of watching and inquiry, and this and that among ourselves, we
found that the job was managed, and the purchases of the stolen
goods made, at a little public-house near Smithfield, down by Saint
Bartholomew's; where the Warehouse Porters, who were the thieves,
took 'em for that purpose, don't you see? and made appointments to
meet the people that went between themselves and the receivers.
This public-house was principally used by journeymen butchers from
the country, out of place, and in want of situations; so, what did
we do, but - ha, ha, ha! - we agreed that I should be dressed up
like a butcher myself, and go and live there!'
Never, surely, was a faculty of observation better brought to bear
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upon a purpose, than that which picked out this officer for the
part. Nothing in all creation could have suited him better. Even
while he spoke, he became a greasy, sleepy, shy, good-natured,
chuckle-headed, unsuspicious, and confiding young butcher. His
very hair seemed to have suet in it, as he made it smooth upon his
head, and his fresh complexion to be lubricated by large quantities
of animal food.
' - So I - ha, ha, ha!' (always with the confiding snigger of the
foolish young butcher) 'so I dressed myself in the regular way,
made up a little bundle of clothes, and went to the public-house,
and asked if I could have a lodging there? They says, "yes, you
can have a lodging here," and I got a bedroom, and settled myself
down in the tap. There was a number of people about the place, and
coming backwards and forwards to the house; and first one says, and
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