by Lewis Hockley [Percy Longhurst].
Originally published in The Magnet Library (The Amalgamated Press, Ltd.) vol.1 #4 (07 Mar 1908).
One of Fortune's Queer Strokes.
Twenty minutes later Robert and Frank, all their worldly possessions packed into a couple of ancient bags they held, and with Grip, the terrier, sniffing wonderingly at their heels, found themselves walking along the street. Forty or fifty yards from Mrs. Williams' domicile they went, and then Dennis suddenly burst into a peal of hearty laughter. His friend looked round on him, somewhat surprised.
"Well," he observed, "what's the matter now?"
"We're sacked again!" Frank answered; and he laughed still more.
"Ay," Robert said, "we are; but we've got more money in our pockets this time than we had before!"
"Yes; thanks to you!"
"Thanks to Grip, you mean!" Lomax rejoined. "Didn't he find the purse?"
Somewhat aimlessly, the two young fellows made their way into Holborn, crossed over, and entered Staples Inn; the reason for going there being that it was the nearest place where they might find a free seat, And the bags they carried were not sufficiently light to keep a long perambulation with them from being uncomfortable.
"Well, old man," Dennis remarked, after the pair had sat some time in silence, "whet is it you're thinking of? Some way of making a start as "Maxennis, detective!" It's a rattling good idea, I'm quite sure, but I'm hanged if I can quite see how to make a beginning!"
"How did your magazine story detectives begin their careers?" asked Lomax, with a malicious smile curling his lips, He could not resist the opportunity of poking fun at his companion.
"Well, I don't know," Dennis answered, taking the question quite seriously; "they're general full-blown detectives when one first hears about 'em. The writers don't seem to worry much over their beginnings!"
"No; and shall I tell you why?" demanded the Yorkshireman.
"Well?"
"Because those writers blessed well don't know anything about the business!"
"While we do," was Dennis's flippant remark.
"What we don't know we precious soon shall!" his chum returned grimly. "You and I, Frank, are going to see this thing through; we're both see-it-outers—or I'm a fool—and we'll win through all right, mask my words! Detective stories are all right, no doubt, but they're a precious sight too romantic; there's a good deal of cold, hard realism in the actual fact, as we'll see; it's not the fairy tale business that writers represent it!"
"But there is some romance and adventure," urged Dennis; "it isn't all dull and monotonous slaving, like quill-driving in o cheeseparing solicitor's office!"
"“H'm!" grunted Lomax, whose nature was of the serious brand. "It's plain, honest, downright hard work!"
"Like finding that Yankee's purse, eh!" Dennis put in slily. "Strikes me that was more in the romantic than the hard work line!"
"It isn't all like that," Lomax declared obstinately, "Real detective work isn't the comic opera rot one sees in books, or in the theatre. A chap who wants that sort of work has to find it just like other jobs; it doesn't fall down en him out of the skies. Now, I've thought of half a dozen different ways of starting Maxennis on his career."
"Lets hear one."
"Here you are," began Lomax confidently; "I'm not talking out of the back of my neck. I've been thinking this over; one way. We take an office, put 'Maxennis, detective' on a board, or brass plate, and wait until someone comes to engage us."
"But I thought you said it was the sort of work,” objected Dennis, "that one has to—"
"Shut up!" interrupted Lomax. "Plan number two. We put advertisements in some of the daily and evening papers, offering our services—"
"And plan number three," interrupted his chum. "We buttonhole likely-looking folks, ask 'em if there's any mystery they'd like solved; and when they say there is, as, of course, they will, we wade in and do the trick!"
"Oh, shut up!" Lomax returned. "If you're going to act the giddy goat, Dennis—"
"But I'm not, old chap," Dennis broke in hurriedly, "Only one must have a bit of fun sometimes!"
"Strikes me you want to make fun of everything!" growled his chum. "You laugh—"
"Well, better than crying, isn't it? What is it you propose we shall do?"
"I'm thinking."
"First thing, I guess, is to find another lodging; unless we want to pass the night in the streets!"
"Might do worse than that. There's lots of queer things take place at night in the London streets—lots of queer things seen—and these are the things that might give us a helping hand for our start!"
"For my part," Dennis rejoined, I prefer sleeping in a bed. I don't want to roost under a railway arch, or be shoved off a seat on the Embankment by some bobby!"
Dennis, as yet, had scarcely begun to take seriously the advent upon the world of "Maxennis, detective," He had Irish blood in his veins, although his birthplace was in the west of England, and the light side of things had a wonderful attraction fer him. He could be serious enough when he pleased, but this was more often the outcome of necessity than of inclination. Yet, for all his frivolity, he was a clever and quick-witted fellow, with a rare stock of resolution and ability underlying his seeming shallowness and playful humour—a sterling, honest, dependable sort of chap—"real jannock," as Robert Lomax called him in the vernacular of his native place; and not only called him, but knew him to be so.
But Bob Lomax was very much in earnest; "Maxennis, detective," was to him something considerably more than an idea,—it was a living actuality, shortly to be put into motion, and made to do something. He talked to Dennis with e grim, sober enthusiasm of what and how they should do; and Frank listened, until a furious barking, intermingled with a human voice raised in angry exclamations, interrupted them.
"By Jove, H's Grip!" exclaimed Dennis; and he swung round.
It was Grip doing the barking; the other performer in the vocal line was a woman occupying the next seat around the semi-circle of railed-in grass.
The two young fellows had been sitting in Staple Inn garden longer than they imagined, and long enough for Grip—who was not the most patient-tempered of fox-terriers—to feel that he had enough of inaction, and required a little excitement. It was decidedly a new thing for him to be out thus, at this hour of the day, with his masters—for Lomax and Dennis had a joint ownership in him—but after a while the novelty wore off.
While "Maxennis" had been engaged in conversation he had sat under the seat, his nose between his forepaws, pretending to be asleep, but in reality very much awake and alive to what was going on around him. His masters did not take any heed of him; so absorbed were they that when Grip, having caught sight of a big, tortoiseshell cat, who had walked out to sun herself on the steps, made a sudden rush in between their feet and started off to demolish puss, they were unaware of his act.
The cat escaped with a fright, and Grip, feeling more or less satisfied with himself, walked slowly back to the seat, his eyes watchful for further adventures. And as luck—whether ill or good may be a matter of opinion—would have it, he didn't have to wait long or go far.
On the seat next to that on which Lomax and Dennis sat, and about twelve feet from it, was seated a stout lady of uncertain age, with grey hair, a bonnet that looked as if it would fall off every time she nodded her head, a red face, an umbrella, and a leather reticule. This last possession she held in her hand, and, from the time of her sitting down, had been taking from it and reading with an expression of intense anxiety postcard after postcard. Picture postcards they were, but it seemed to be the address, rather than the view on the opposite side, which interested her. Each separate one she studied intently as she drew it out, and soon she had quite a respectable number piled up on the lap of her dress.
Suddenly there was a gust of wind, and the topmost card of the pile was lifted up and fluttered gently to the ground, six feet in front of her. It was at this moment that Grip, returning from his cat-chase and on the look-out for something to do, drew near. He saw the coloured piece of pasteboard on the ground, and he went for it.
The lady discovered her loss at the same time as the terrier made his find. She looked up, with a cry of alarm, to see Grip trying to raise the card with his nose in order to get his teeth to work upon it. She screamed. Grip, perceiving that it was he who was the objective of the alarming yell, put his paws on the card, looked at the owner, and barked defiantly.
"Shoo! Shoo! Go away, you horrid dog! Shooh! Shooh!" cried the lady, brandishing her fist.
But though Grip acknowledged the remark, he did not move.
"Be off! Be off! Get away from my card!" the lady exclaimed, her voice rising to a scream.
Grip barked, the lady shouted, and at last Grip's masters' attention was attracted. The lady had risen from her seat, intent upon securing her card, but Grip frustrated her; he had succeeded in picking up his find, and, just as Frank Dennis was getting up to see what was the trouble, the terrier ran to him, the card in his mouth. This he dropped at Frank's feet, looking up into his face and wagging his stump of a tail as much to say "See what a clever fellow I am! Aren't you going to pat me?"
Dennis was looking at Grip, and Lomax had just picked up the card, when the owner swept up to their seat like a whirlwind.
"Give me my card--give me my card!" she vociferated. "What does your brute mean by stealing my card? Give it to me, I say; it's worth thousands of pounds--thousands!"
"I'm very sorry madam," began Dennis apologetically. But his words were overwhelmed by a furious torrent of demands, protestations, and accusations, that left the speaker breathless and gasping.
What did they mean by setting the dog on her? Had they taught the horrid wretch to steal? Were they, too, in league with the wretches who were trying to drive a poor, defenceless woman into her grave and steal her money? She could see that they were; it was no use them denying it! She would call the police; they should be given in charge! She would not be worrited and frightened out of her life, if there was the law and justice in England! They would see! If they thought they could threaten her into giving up her money, they were very much mistaken!
There were not many persons about, but such as were quickly gathered around the excited and voluble lady, who left no chance for either of the young men to get in edge-ways a word of explanation or apology. As for Grip, the cause of the sudden disturbance, he had retreated under the seat, whence he was adding his own voice to the fearful clamour.
"Give me that card!" shrieked the lady; and she snatched away the coloured pasteboard which Lomax had held in his fingers.
"We're really awfully—"
But Lomax cut short his friend's utterance and got on his legs. Astonished as he was, he had kept his head cool; he had heard every word the lady had said, and a sudden inspiration came to him. Stepping quickly to the lady's side, in a low, hurried, awe-inspiring voice, he said:
"We are detectives, madam. You are in trouble of some sort. May we help you? There is no need to be frightened!"
Whether it was what he said; whether there was something in his face impressed the lady; or that in the excited condition of her mind she was unable to think or act normally, does not matter, but her manner underwent an entire change. The anger died out of her eyes, to be replaced by wonder, and then an expression of relief came into her face.
She stood undecided, the while the little crowd--composed mostly of boys--opened its eyes still wider.
Dennis had heard his chum's words, and he rose to the occasion, seconding him nobly. Quick-witted, he had divined what was in Bob's mind as much from a glance he had encountered as from his words.
"Yes, yes, madam, don't be alarmed," he said, springing forward and taking the old lady by the arm. "We're detectives, and, so far from being against you, will be very happy to help you if you let us! Sit down for a bit, and recover yourself, and then tell us all about it. The dog's all right, madam; he wouldn't hurt a fly!"
The lady's broad, red face showed hesitation and indecision in every line. She sat down, assisted by Dennis; and Lomax, with threatening gestures and hard words, drove the crowd of boys away, advising them not to come back unless they had a particular desire for very unpleasant consequences. Then the old lady, observing that "She was that flustered and put out, she really didn't know whether she was standing on her head or her heels; and her poor head was so shaky," dived into the reticule, and, producing a small, black flask, placed it to her lips, and sipped the contents.
Having declared faintly that though her nerves were all upset she was feeling a bit better, she turned to Lomax and observed: "So, you young men are detectives!"
"Yes," Dennis said hurriedly, and if you'll entrust us with the matter that's worrying you, you'll find that we'll rid you of your trouble."
The last piece of information evidently touched the lady, for she immediately plunged into a long and complicated recital of her troubles, and helped by further assistance from her flask, concluded that she might safely place herself in their hands. With this assurance, and a statement from Lomax that she was to consider them and their skill entirely at her service, the lady and the budding geniuses of the detective profession parted company for the time being.