The Detective Wore Silk Drawers

“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