The Detective Wore Silk Drawers

Once, though, when her flattery became obvious, his mouth twisted into a secret sneer.

“Next time I would like to watch you. I wouldn’t be the first of my sex to attend a prize fight. Plenty did in the past, when it was considered respectable. If I disguised myself, I could pass as a youth, couldn’t I?”

A meaningless grunt from the Ebony. His indifference was no discouragement to her. Using the jargon of sport with incredible naturalness, she talked on, her small hands probing the black surface of his back to isolate and caress the individual bands of muscle.

“The difficulty, Sylvanus, is to find another antagonist for you. You aren’t ready yet for the French or the Yankees, though you’ll poleaxe them when the time comes. We took the others into the top class too soon. I shall not make that mistake with you. Besides-” she leaned forward to whisper something into his ear and a strand of hair that had become loose fell on his shoulder.

Outside, Cribb froze, feeling himself within her line of vision. But she straightened and continued her work.

In those few seconds the Sergeant was able to study her face. They were certainly a young woman’s features, delicately fashioned, yet sharply defined. Dark, expressive eyes, elegant nose, cheeks flushed slightly, perhaps by the close heat of the Ebony’s body. All the character, though, was in her mouth. It was a fraction wider than perfect proportion asked. The upper line almost arrogant in its precision. Below it a fuller, rounded lip. Sensuousness underlying vestal coldness.

“I may arrange for Edmund to bring a fighter down from the north,” she continued. “He once told me of a group of fist fighters in Manchester. You’re not fighting any more farm boys, I promise you. Would you lift your arms? If you fold them above your head, I can soon be on your biceps.” She giggled slightly. “You’ll soon be my anointed one, Sylvanus. Handmaidens did this for kings in ancient times.”

Cribb was studying the Ebony’s face. Unmistakably it creased into an expression of contempt.

“These moths!” she said petulantly. “The lamp draws them. Now that the rain has stopped, it isn’t possible to have a light near an open window. I’ll draw the curtain. It’s time Edmund unleashed the dogs.”

Cribb ducked, flattening himself to the wall. Thackeray, rejoining him from behind, stiffened to a halt.

There was the sound of heavy curtains being drawn.

Cribb gestured to Thackeray to move away.

The glint in the Sergeant’s eye was more than moonshine. “I don’t know what you saw, Thackeray,” he whispered when they were sufficiently far away, “but I’ve learned enough in the last ten minutes to get us both a quick promotion.”

CHAPTER 5

Brilliant in red and green, it leaped and dived in the gusty air, a magnificent checkered kite, as large as its owners. In mid afternoon a breath of wind had disturbed the trees, causing leaves to gleam momentarily silver in the sunlight. By teatime you could call it a breeze and-splendid for kite flying-it varied in force from one moment to the next. Now, in early evening, the kite, after being quiescent in a playroom for months, swooped and shivered above Richmond Green, while two small boys and Henry Jago struggled to control its flight.

Waiting there to intercept Lydia on her way to post her father’s letters, he had found the kite impossible to resist. Clearly its elevation could be much improved with the help of strength and science. Soon the owners stood stiffly at a distance, occasionally paying out more cord. Jago, with his hands on the lifeline, tugged and raced to achieve even greater height.

Lydia must have been watching for several minutes before he realized she was there.

His hand slipped down the cord in an automatic movement. The kite swooped downwards. Its protesting owners rushed to take control again.

“I thought you policemen discouraged kites,” she scolded as he came sheepishly to her.

“Kites? Oh, yes. Very dangerous near roads, when they cause the horses to rear. Kites and hoops-the modern child will play with these dangerous toys. I’d have them banned myself.”

She smiled.

What a relief!

“Lydia, how can I apologize for your appalling disappointment yesterday evening? You did receive my letter in the afternoon? It was absolutely unavoidable. Short of disobeying orders and losing my job, I couldn’t possibly have come.”

“Yes, it was a disappointment, Henry.”

Said so tolerantly! She either had an unshakable affection for him, or she was unusually well-brought-up. Jago had known young ladies from good families who would have ended the acquaintanceship for less. Discarded him like last season’s bonnet. And not without a torrent of abuse.

“I hope you were able to warn Stella in reasonable time. She was coming as chaperone, wasn’t she?”

Lydia nodded. “Papa drove round to tell her we could not go.”

The Colonel. If it was possible, his opinion of Jago would have sunk still lower. Bad enough that a young fellow decently educated should be so ill-advised as to join the blasted police force. But when he had the sheer impertinence to break a promise made to a lady-a serving officer’s daughter-the bounder deserved cashiering at the very least.

“She was disappointed, too, I expect.” Jago said this without excessive sympathy. Stella, Lydia’s closest friend, invariably came as chaperone. She never said very much to him, but her eyes spoke. “You won’t make much impression, Henry Jago. There are things I could tell her about you, and I probably will.”

“Yes,” answered Lydia. “She was certainly looking forward to The Corsican Brothers. The Lyceum is her favourite theatre. Can you tell me what it was you had to do?”

Deuced awkward situation. She was being so charming about everything. He was bound to say something.

“I’m not officially permitted to say, but it was important work.” Stella, he was sure, would give her verdict on his activities. “Detective work! He is no detective, Lydia, believe me. Why doesn’t he wear his uniform when he takes you out, as any young subaltern does? He is ashamed, that’s why. And not just ashamed of being merely a constable. I once passed him in Northumberland Avenue and saw his uniform. The seat of his trousers, my dear! It gleams like a mirror! He sits on a chair all day and pushes a pen. You’ve seen the ink stains on his fingers, haven’t you?”

“I hope it wasn’t a policeman’s smoking concert, anyway,” said Lydia, smiling.

“Not at all!” he said almost too vehemently, for a memory of his performance in the Fox had flashed through his mind. “Quite the reverse. Strictly an evening on duty.” He looked about him and moved closer to her. “I can at least say this, but in heaven’s name, do not tell anyone-not even Stella-or I shall lose my job. Last night I was travelling in company with a group of men who may lead us to a most savage murderer. I was alone in a railway carriage with them.”

“Alone? But how dreadful, Henry! How did you prevent them from attacking you?”

“Ah. Disguise. In a manner of speaking. You see, I was dressed as I am now, like any ordinary member of the public.”

“How clever. What happened?”

He opened his palms in a gesture of helplessness. “I really cannot say. But this morning I was congratulated for the information I passed on.”

“Weren’t you in terrible danger?”

He basked in her concern.

“Possibly. That is part of my job.”

“Then they shouldn’t send you on such missions. I know you are an expert in boxing with gloves, but what chance would you have against a gang of desperate ruffians? They could have recognized you and thrown you out of the moving train, or worse!”

Jago enjoyed himself thinking of the unspeakable injuries he had escaped. “But here I am, Lydia, without a mark on me.” The moment he had said it, he realized how smug it sounded. “Tell me how you are. What have you