08 - Malcolm Sage, Detective by Herbert George Jenkins

Delve into the intriguing world of Malcolm Sage as this collection of short stories unravels his first year at the helm of his own Detective Bureau. This captivating series serves as a sequel or companion piece to the gripping tale of John Dene of Toronto.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter eight of Malcolm Sage Detective by Herbert George Jenkins.
This liprivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by
Anno Simon. Chapter eight, Gladys Norman dines with Thomson one
Tommy remarked, Miss Gladys Norman one day as Thomson entered
her room through the glass panel door. Have you ever

(00:21):
thought what I shall do fifty years? Hence darn my Socks,
replied the practical Thomson. I mean, she proceeded with withering deliberation,
What will happen when I can't do the hundred and
ten seconds? Thomson looked at her with a puzzled expression.
My cousin Will says that if you can't do the

(00:42):
hundred yards in ten seconds, you haven't earthly, she explained.
It's been worrying me. What am I to do when
I'm old and rheumaticky and the chief there's three in
the buzzer. He's bound to notice it, and he'll look.
Malcolm Sage's look was the slight widening of the eye
as he gazed at the delinquent. It was his method

(01:03):
of conveying rebuke that Luke would cause Thompson to swear
earnestly under his breath for the rest of the day
whilst on gladys Norman. That had several distinct effects, the
biting of her lower lips, the snubbing of Thompson, the
merciless banging of her typewriter, and a self administered rebuke
of gladys Norman, You're a silly little ass. Being the

(01:24):
most noticeable for a moment, Thomson thought deeply, Then with
sudden inspiration he said, why not move your table near
his door? What a brain, she cried, regarding him with
mock admiration. You must have been waving it with hind's curlers. Yes,
she added, you may take me out to dinner to night.

(01:47):
Tommy Thompson was in the act of waving his hat
wildly over his head when Malcolm's age came out of
his room. For the fraction of a second, he paused
and regarded his subordinates. It's not another war, I hope,
he remarked, and without waiting for a reply, he turned,
re entered his room and closed the door. Gladys Norman

(02:09):
collapsed over her typewriter, where with heaving shoulders she strove
to mute her mirth with a ridiculous death of pink Cambric.
Thomson looked crestfallen. He turned just in time to see
Malcolm Sage re enter his room. Three sharp bursts on
the buzzer brought lettys Norman to her feet. There was
a flurry of skirt, the flash of a pair of

(02:30):
shapely ankles, and she disappeared into Malcolm Sage's room. Two.
It's a funny old world, remarked gladys Norman that evening,
as she and Thomson sat at a sheltered table in
a little Soho restaurant. It's a johny nice old world,
remarked Thompson, looking up from his plate. And this chicken

(02:52):
is it? Chicken? First? Gladys Norman also ran. She remarked
scathingly Thomson, and returned to his plate. Why do you
like the chief, Tommy, she demanded. Thomson paused in his eating,
resting his hands still holding knife and fork upon the
edge of the table. The suddenness of the question had

(03:14):
startled him. If you must sit like that, at least
close your mouth, she said severely. Thomson replaced his knife
and fork upon the plate. Well, why do you, she queried,
Why do I what? He asked, She made a movement
of impatience like the chief, of course. Then, as he

(03:35):
did not reply, she continued, why does tims like him
and the innocent and Sir James and Sir John Dene
and the whole blessed lot of is? Why is it? Tommy? Why?
Thomson merely gaped, as if she had propounded some unanswerable riddle.
Why is it? She repeated, Then, as he still remained silent,

(03:56):
she added, there's no hurry, Tommy, dear, just go on
listening with your mouth. I quite realized the compliment. I'm
blessed if I know, he burst out at last. I
suppose it's because he's ms. He returned to his plate. Yes,
but why is it? She persisted, as she continued mechanically

(04:17):
to crumble her bread. That's what I want to know.
Why is it? Thomson looked at her a little anxiously.
By nature, he was inclined to take things for granted,
things outside his profession. That is, it's a funny old world, tommikins,
she repeated at length, picking up her knife and fork.
Funnier for some them for others. Thomson looked up with

(04:39):
a puzzled expression on his face. There were times when
he found Gladys Norman difficult to understand for a girl.
I mean, she added, as if that explained it. Thompson
still stared. The remark did not strike him as illuminating.
It may be, she continued meditatively, that I like doing
things for the Chief because he was my haven of

(05:01):
refuge from a wicked world. But that doesn't explain why
you and Tims you're a haven of refuge, repeated Thomson,
making a gulp of a mouthful and once more laying
down his knife and fork as they looked across at
her curiously. Before I went to the ministry, I had
one or two rather beastly experiences, she paused, as if

(05:25):
mentally reviewing some unpleasant incident. Tell me, Gladys Thomson was
now all attention. Well. I once went to see a
man in Shaftesbury Avenue who had advertised for a secretary.
He was a funny old bean, she added, reminiscently, all
eyes and no waste, and more curious as to whether
I lived alone or of my people than about my speeds.

(05:48):
So I told him my brother was a prize fighter
and bad. You haven't got a brother, broke in Thomson.
I told him that for the good of his soul, Tommy,
and of the girls who came after me, she said
a little grimly. It was funny, she continued, after a pause.
He didn't seem a bit eager to engage me after
that set my speeds, which I hadn't told him, were

(06:10):
not good enough. But to show there was no ill feeling,
he tried to kiss me at parting. So I boxed
his ears, slung his own ink pot at him, and
came away. Ah, it's a great game. Tommy played slow,
she added as an afterthought, and she hummed the snatch
of a popular foxtrot, the Swine. Thomson had just realized

(06:30):
the significance of what he had heard. There was an
ugly look in his eyes. I then got a job
at the Ministry of Economy, and later at the Ministry
of Supply, and the chief lifted me out by my
bobbed hair and put me into the department'sette. That's why
I call him my haven of refuge. See dearest, what's
the name of the fellow in Shatterbury Avenue? Demanded Thomson

(06:52):
his thoughts centering round the incident she had just narrated.
Naughty Tommy, she cried, making a face at him. Mustn't
get angry and vicious. Besides, she added, the Chief did
for him. You told him, cried Thomson incredulously, his interest
still keener than his appetite. I did, she replied airily,

(07:14):
and he dropped a hint at Scotland Yard. I believe
the gallant gentleman in Shaftsbury Avenue has something more than
a smack and an inky face to remember a little
gladys By. He doesn't advertise for secretaries. Now Thomson gazed
at her, admiration in his eyes. But that doesn't explain
why I always want to please the Chief, does it?

(07:34):
She demanded? In Romance, the knight kills the villain from
making love to the heroine and then gets down to
the same dirty work himself. Now, the Chief ought to
have been bursting with volcanic fires of passion for me.
He should have crushed me to his breast with merciless force,
I beating against his chest protector with my clenched fists. Finally,

(07:55):
I should have lain passive and unresisting in his arms.
Whilst he covered my eye. Is news and transformation with
fevered passionate kisses, not pecks like yours, Tommy, but the
real thing, with a punch in them. What on earth?
Began Thompson. When she continued, there should have been a
fearful tempest on the other side of his ribs. I

(08:17):
should don't talk rot, Gladys broke in Thomson. I'm not
talking rot, she protested. I read it all in a
novel that sells by the million. Then, after a moment's pause,
she continued, he saved me from the dragon, yet he
doesn't even give me a box of chocolates. And everybody
in Whitehall knows that chocolates and kisses won the war.

(08:39):
When I fainted for him and he carried me into
his room, he didn't kiss me even then. You wouldn't
have known it if he had, was Thomson's comment. Oh
wouldn't I, She retorted, that's all you know about girls,
mister funny Thompson. He stared across at her, blinking his
eyes in bewilderment. He doesn't take me out to dinner

(09:00):
as other chefs do, she continued, and yet I hop
about like a linnet when he buzzes from me. Why
is it? She gazed across, said Thomson challengingly. A look
of anxiety began to manifest itself upon his good natured features.
Psychoanalysis was not a strong point. In a vague way,
he began to suspect that Gladys Norman's devotion to Malcolm's

(09:21):
age was not strictly in accordance with trade union principles. There,
get on with your chicken, you poor dear, she laughed,
and Thompson, picking up his knife and fork, proceeded to
eat mechanically. From time to time, he glanced covertly across
at Gladys. As to the chief's looks, she continued, His

(09:41):
face is keen and taut, and he is a strong
silent man. Yet can you see his eyes hungry and tempestuous?
Tommy pi car'd. Why is it? She demanded that when
a woman writes a novel, she always stunts the strong
silent man. Thomson shook his head with the air of
a man who has given up guessing. Imagine getting married

(10:04):
to a strong silent man, she continued, with only his
strength and his silence, and perhaps a cheap gramophone to
keep you amuse in the evenings. She shuddered. No, she said,
with decision, give me a regular old rattle box without
a chin like you, Tommy. Mechanically, Thompson's hand sought his chin,
and Gladys laughed. Anyway, I'm not going to marry in

(10:27):
spite of the tube furniture posters. Uncle Jake says it's
all nonsense to talk about marriages being made in Heaven.
They're made in the Tottenham Court Road. Thompson had, however,
returned to his plate in her present mood. Gladys Norman
was beyond him, realizing the state of his mind. She continued,
He's got a head like a piero's cap, and it's

(10:48):
as bald as a fivepenny egg, when it ought to
be beautifully rounded and covered with crisp, curly hair. He
wears glasses in front of eyes like bits of slate,
when they ought to be full of slumbrous passion. His
jaws all right, only he doesn't use it enough in books.
The strong silent man is a regular old chin wag,
and yet I fall over myself to answer his buzzer.

(11:10):
Why it is? I repeat? She looked across at him.
Mischievously enjoying the state of depression to which he had
reduced him. Thomson merely shook his head. For all that,
she continued, picking up her own knife and fork, which,
in the excitement of describing Malcolm's age, should lay down.
For all that he would make a wonderful lover once

(11:31):
she could get him started, and she laughed gleefully, as
if at some hidden joke. Thomson gazed at her over
a fork piled with food, which, her remark, had arrested
half way to his mouth. He's jovalous, she continued, Look
at the way he always tries to help up the
very people he is downed. T'says the game with him, No,
it's not burst out. Thomson threw a mouthful of chicken

(11:53):
and sowted potato. She gave my look of disapproval that
caused him to swallow rapidly. Chief doesn't look on it
as a game, he persisted. He's out to stop crying,
and but that's not the point, she interrupted. What I
want to know is why do I bounce off my
chair like an India rubber ball when he buzzes? She
demanded relentlessly. Why do I want to please him. Why

(12:17):
do I want to kick myself when I make mistakes? Why? Oh, Tommy,
she broke off, if you only had a brain as
well as a stomach, and she looked across at him reproachfully.
Perhaps it's because he never complains, suggested Thomson, as he
placed his knife and fork at the old clear angle
and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of contentment.

(12:39):
You don't complain, Tommy, she retorted, but you could buzz
yourself to blazes without getting me even to look up.
For fully a minute, there was silence. Gladys Norman continued
to gaze down at the debris, to which had reduced
her ull. No, she continued, presently, there is something else
I've noticed the others they're just the same, she paused, Then,

(13:03):
suddenly looking across at him, she inquired, what's loyalty, Tommy
standing up and taking off your hat when they play
God Save the King, he replied glidly. She laughed and
deftly flicked the bread pill she had just manufactured, catching
Thomson beneath the left eye and causing him to blink violently.
You're a funny old thing, she laughed, You know, quite

(13:24):
well what I mean, Only you're too stupid to realize it.
Look at the innocent. For him, the Chief is the
only man in all the world. Then there's Tims. He'd
get up in the middle of the night and drive
the Chief to blazes and hang the petrol. Then there's
you and me. Thomson drew a cigarette case from his pocket.
I think I know why it is, she said, nodding

(13:45):
her pretty head wisely. She paused, and as Thompson made
no comment, she continued, it's because he's human, warm flesh
and blood. But I'm warm flesh and blood, objected Thomson
with corrugated brow. You tell me not to be silly.
Your idea of warmth, my dear man, was learned on

(14:06):
the upper reaches of the Thames after dark, was the
scathing retort, Yes, but he began when she interrupted him.
Look what he did for miss Blair had her at
the office and then then looked after her, and afterwards
got her a job, remarked Thomson. But that's just like
the Chief, he added. Where did you meet him first, Tommy,

(14:27):
she inquired, as she leant forward slightly to light her
cigarette At the match he held out to her in
a bath, was the reply, as Thomson proceeded to light
his own cigarette. You're not a bit funny, she retorted,
but it was, he persisted, was what in a bath?
He hadn't had one before, and not had a bath,

(14:48):
she cried, if you try to pull my leg like that, Tommy,
you'll let up my stockings. But I'm not protested, Thomson.
I met the Chief in a Turkish bath, and he
went into the hottest room and crumpled. So I looked
after him, and that's how I got to know him.
Of course, you couldn't have happened to mention that it
was a Turkish bath, Tommy, could you? She said? That

(15:09):
wouldn't be you at all. But what makes him do
things like he did for miss Blair? I suppose because
he's the chief, was Thomson's reply. Gladys Norman sighed elaborately.
There are moments, James Thompson, she said, when your conversation
is almost inspiring, and she relapsed into silence. For the

(15:29):
last half hour, Thompson had been conscious of a feeling
of uneasiness. It at first manifested itself when he was
engaged upon a lightly grilled cutlet had developed as he
tackled the lower joint of a leg of chicken, and
become an alarming certainty. When he was half way through
a plate of apple tart and custard, Gladys Norman's interest
in Malcolm's age had become more than a secretarial one. Mentally,

(15:52):
he debated the appalling prospect. By the time coffee was finished,
he'd reached an acute stage of mental misery. Suddenly life
had become not only tinged, but absolutely impregnated with wretchedness.
It was not until they had left the restaurant and
were walking along Shaftesbury Avenue that he summoned up courage
to speak. Gladys, he said, miserably, you're not. Then he paused,

(16:17):
not daring to put into wards his thought. He's so magnetic,
so compelling, She murmured dreamily. He knows so much any
girl might. She did not finish the sentence, but stole
a glance at Thomson's tragic face. They walked in silence
as far as Piccadilly Circus. Then in the glare of light,
she saw the misery of his expression. You silly old thing,

(16:41):
she laughed, as she slipped her arm through his you
funny old thing, and she laughed again. That laugh was
a body life belt to the sinking heart of Thomson.
End of Chapter eight