13 - 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 thirteen of Malcolm's Sage Detective by Herbert George Jenkins.
This lipovox recording is in the public domain recording by Anossimon,
Chapter thirteen, The Gilston Slander. It's all very well for
the chief to sit in there like a five guinea palmist,
Gladys Norman cried one morning, as after interviewing the empteenth

(00:22):
caller that day, she proceeded vigorously to powder her nose
to the obvious interest of William Johnson. But what about
me if any one else comes, I must speak the truth.
I have the unused line left. Then you had better
let Johnson have a turn, said a quiet voice behind her.
She span round with flaming cheeks and white flagged nose

(00:46):
to see the still gray eyes of Malcolm's Sage gazing
on her quizzically through gold rimmed spectacles. There was only
the slightest fluttering at the corners of his mouth. As
his activities enlarged, Malcolm Sage's fame had increased. When he
was overwhelmed with the requests for assistance, clients bore down
upon him from all parts of the country, some even

(01:06):
crossing the Channel, whilst from America and the colonies. Came
a flood of letters, giving long, rambling details of mysteries, murders,
and disappearances, all of which he was expected to solve.
Those who wrote, however, were as nothing to those who called.
They arrived in various stages of excitement and agitation, only
to be met by Miss Gladys Norman with a stereotyped

(01:28):
smile and the equally stereotyped information that mister Malcolm's Age
saw no one except by appointment, which was never made
until the nature there would be Klein's business had been
stated in writing the Surrey Cattle Maaming Affair, and the
consequent publicity it gave to the name of Malcolm's Age
had resulted in something like a siege of the Bureau's offices.

(01:49):
I told you so, said Lady Dean Gaily to her husband,
and he had nodded his head in entire agreement. Malcolm
Sage's success was largely due to the very quality that
had rendered him a fitlier as a civil servant, the
elasticity of his mind. He approached each problem entirely unprejudiced,
weighed the evidence and followed the course it indicated, prepared

(02:10):
at any moment to retrace his steps should they lead
to a cul de sac. He admitted the importance of
the Roman judicial interrogation kuibono whom benefits it. Yet he
realized that there was always the danger of confusing the
pathological with the criminal. The obvious is the correct solution
of most mysteries, he at once remarked to Sir James Walton,

(02:32):
but there is always the possibility of exception. The Surrey
cattlemaming mystery had been a case in point. Even more
so was the affair that came to be known as
the Gilston Slander. In this case, Malcolm's age arrived at
the truth by a refusal to accept what, on the
face of it, appeared to be the obvious solution. It

(02:52):
was through Roger Frenes, the eminent k C, that he
first became interested in this series of anonymous letters that
had created considerable scandal in the little village of Gilston,
Tucked away in the northwest corner of Hampshire. Gilston was
a village of some eight hundred inhabitants. The vicar, the
Reverend John Crane, had held the living for some twenty years,

(03:14):
aided by his wife and daughter Muriel, a pretty and
high spirited girl of nineteen. He devoted himself to the
parish and in return enjoyed great popularity. Life at the
vicarage was an ideal of domestic happiness. Mister and Missus
Crane were devoted to each other and to their daughter,
and she to them. Muriel Crane had grown up among

(03:36):
the villages, devoting herself to parish work as soon as
she was old enough to do so. She seemed to
find her life sufficient for her needs. And many were
the comparisons drawn by other parents in Gilston between the
vigor's daughter and their own restless offspring. A year previously,
a new curate had arrived in the person of the
Reverend Charles Blade. His frank, straightforward personality, coupled with his

(03:58):
good looks and mass cland bearing, had caused him to
be greatly liked, not only by the vicar and his family,
but by all the parishioners. Suddenly, and without warning, the
peace of the vicarage was destroyed. One morning, mister Crane
received by post an anonymous letter in which the names
of his daughter and the curate were linked together in
a way that caused him both pain and anxiety. A

(04:21):
man with a strong sense of honor himself. He cordially
despised the anonymous letter writer, and his first instinct had
been to ignore that which he had just received. On
second thoughts, however, he reasoned that the writer would be
unlikely to rest content with a single letter, but would
in all probability make the same calumnious statements to others.

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After consulting with his wife, he had reluctantly questioned his daughter.
At first, she was inclined to treat the matter lightly,
but on the grave nature of the accusations being pointed
out to her, she had become greatly embarrassed and assured
him that the curate had never been more than ordinarily
attentive to her. The Vicar the decided to allow the
matter to rest there, and accordingly he made no mention

(05:03):
of the letter to Blade. A week later, his daughter
brought him a letter she had found lying in the
vicarage grounds. It contained a passionate declaration of love and
ended with the threat of what might happen if the
writer's passion were not reciprocated. Although the letter was unsigned,
the vicar could not disguise from himself the fact that
there was a marked similarity to the handwriting for two

(05:24):
anonymous letters and that of his curate. He decided therefore
to ask blade if he could throw any light on
the matter. At first the young man had appeared bewildered.
Then he had pledged his word of honor. Not only
they had not written the letters, but that there was
no truth in the statements they contained. With that, the
vicar had to rest content. But worse was to follow.

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Two evenings later one of the churchwardens called to the vicarage, and,
after behaving in what to the Vicar seemed a very
strange manner, he produced from his pocket a letter he
had received that morning, in which were repeated this scandalous
state contained in the first epistle. From then on the
district was deluged with anonymous letters, all referring to the

(06:07):
alleged passion of the curate for the Vicar's daughter and
the intrigue they were carrying on together. Some of the
letters were frankly indelicate in their expression, and as the
whole parish seethed with the scandal, the vicar appealed to
the police for aid. One peculiarity of the letters was
that all written upon the same paper known as Olympic script.

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This was supplied locally to a number of people in
their neighborhood, among others, the vicar, the curate and the schoolmaster.
Soon the story began to find its way into the newspapers,
and Blade's position became one full of difficulty and embarrassment.
He had consulted Robert Freynes, who had been at Oxford
with his father, and the k C. Convinced that the
young man's innocence had sought Malcolm Sage's aid. You see Sage,

(06:52):
Frain said, remarked, I'm sure the boy is straight and
incapable of such conduct, but it's impossible to talk to
that ass Murdy. He has no more imagination than a
tin linnet. Phrinz's reference was her chief Inspector Murdy of
Scotland Yard, who had been entrusted with the inquiry, the
local police having proved unequal to the problem. Although Malcolm's

(07:12):
Age had promised Robert Friends that he would undertake the
inquiry into the Gilston scandal, it was not until nearly
a week later that he found himself at Liberty Till
Motor down into Hampshire one afternoon. The Vicar of Gilston,
on entering his church found a stranger on his knees
in the chancel, notebook in hand. He was transcribing the
inscription of a monumental brass. As the vicar approached, he

(07:34):
observed that the stranger was vigorously shaking a fountain pen
from which the ink had evidently been exhausted. At the
sound of mister Crane's footsteps, the stranger looked up, turning
towards him a pair of gold rimmed spectacles, above which
a bald, conical head seemed to contradict the keenness of
the eyes and the youthful lines with the face beneath.

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You are interested in monumental brasses, inquired the vicar as
he entered the turncil and the stranger rose to his feet.
I am the Vicar, he explained. There was a look
of eager interest in the pale gray eyes that looked
out through a placid, scholarly face. I was taking the
liberty of copying the inscription on this, replied Malcolm Sage,

(08:16):
indicating the time worn brass at his feet. Only, unfortunately,
my fountain pen has given out. There is pen and
ink in the vestry, said the vicar, impressed by the
fact that the stranger had chosen the finest brass in
the church, one that had been saved from Cromwell's Puritans
by the ingenuity of the then incumbent, who had caused

(08:37):
it to be covered with cement. Then, as an afterthought,
the vicar added, I can get your pen filled at
the vicarage. My daughter has some ink. She always uses
a fountain pen. Malcolm Sage thanked him, and for the
next half hour the vicar forgot the worries of the
past few weeks in listening to a man who seemed
to have the whole subject of monumental brasses and Norman

(08:58):
architecture at his finger ends. Subsequently, Malcolm Sage was invited
to the vicarage, where another half hour was occupied in
mister Crane showing him his collection of books on brasses.
As Malham Stage made a movement to depart, the vicar
suddenly remembered the matter of the ink, apologized for his remissness,
and left the room, returning a few minutes later with

(09:18):
a bottle of fountain pen ink. Malcolm Sage drew from
his pocket his pen and proceeded to replenish the ink
from the bottle. Finally, he completed the transcription of the
lettering of the brass from her rubbing produced by the vicar.
Reluctant to allow so interesting a visitor to depart, mister
Crane pressed him to take tea, but Malcolm Sage pleaded
an engagement. As they crossed the hall, a fair girl

(09:41):
suddenly rushed out from a door on the right. She
was crying hysterically. Her hair was disordered, her deep violent
eyes rimmed with red, and her moist lips seemed to
stand out strangely red against the alabaster paleness of her skin.
Muriel Malcolm Sage glanced swiftly at the vicar. The look
of sk scholarly calm had vanished from his features, giving

(10:02):
place to a sad sternness that reflected the tone in
which he had uttered his daughter's name at the sight
of a stranger. The girl had paused, then, as if
realizing her tear stained face and disordered hair, She turned
and disappeared through the door from which he had rushed.
My daughter, murmured the vicar. A little sadly, Malcolm Sage
thought she has always been very highly strung and emotional,

(10:26):
he added, as if considering some explanation, necessary. We have
to be very stern with her on such occasions that
it's the only way to repress it. You find it answers,
remarked Malcolm Sage. She has been much better lately, although
she has been sorely tried. Perhaps you've heard. Malcolm Sage
nodded absently as he gazed intently at the thumb nail

(10:48):
of his right hand. A minute later, he was walking
down the drive, his thoughts occupied with the pretty daughter
of the Vicar of Gilstone. At the curate's lodgings, he
was told that mister Blade was away and would not
return until late that night. As he turned from the gate,
Malcolmsaate encountered a pale faced, narrow shouldered man with a
dark mustache and a hard, peevish mouth. To Makham Sage's

(11:11):
question as to which was the way to the inn,
he nodded in the direction from which he had come
and continued on his way. A man who has failed
in what he set out to accomplish was Makham Sage's
mental diagnosis of John Gray, the Gilston schoolmaster. It was
not long before macam Sage realized that the village of
Gilston was intensely proud of itself. It had seen in

(11:33):
the London papers accounts of the mysterious scandal of which
it was the center. A Scotland yard officer had been
down and had subjected many of the inhabitants to a
careful cross examination. In consequence, Gilston realized that it was
a village to be reckoned with. The tired traveler was
the center of all rumor and gossip. Here. Each night,

(11:54):
in the public bar or in the private parlor, according
to their social status, the inhabitants would forgather and discussed
the problem of the mysterious letters. Every sort of theory
was advanced, and every sort of explanation offered. Whilst popular
opinion tended to the view that the curate was the
guilty party, there were some who darkly shook their heads
and muttered, we shall see. It was remembered and discussed

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with relish that John Gray, the schoolmaster, had for some
time past shown a marked admiration for the vicar's daughter. She, however,
had made it clear that the cadaverous saturnine pedagogue possessed
for her no attractions. During the half hour that Malcolm
Sage spent at the tired traveler eating a hurried meal,
he heard all that was to be heard about local opinion.

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The landlord, a rubicunt old fellow whose baldness extended to
his eyelids, was bursting with information. By nature. Capable of
making a mystery out of a sunbeam, he reveled in
the scandal that hemmed around him. After a quarter of
an hour's conversation the Landlord's conversation, Malcolm Sage found himself
possessed of a bewildering amount of new material. A young girl.

(13:03):
Don't have them hysterics for nothing, my host remarked darkly,
as fits of them every now and then ever since
she was a flapper, sobbin and cryin fit to break
her heart and the vicar that crossed with her, and
that is considered the best way to treat hysterical people,
remarked Malcolm Sage, Maybe was the reply. But she's only

(13:24):
a gal, and a pretty one too, he added Inconsequently,
then there's the schoolmaster, he continued, eighth, se curate like poison.
He does. Shouldn't be surprised if it was him that
done it. He's always been a bit sweet in that
quarter himself, as mister Gray God talked about a good
deal one time, hanging about daughter Missus Muriel, added the

(13:45):
loquacious publican. By the time Malcolm Sage had finished his meal,
the landlord with well iness stride of scandalous reminiscence. It
was with obvious reluctance that he allowed so admirable a
listener to depart, and it was with manifest regret that
he was. Malcolm Sage's car disappeared round the curve in
the road A little way beyond the vicarage. An admonitory

(14:06):
triangle caused tims to slow up. Just by the band,
Malcolm Sage observed a youth and a girl standing in
the recess of a gait giving access to a meadow.
Although they were in the shadow cast by the hedge,
Malcolm Sage's quick eyes recognizing the girl the vicar's daughter.
The youth looked as if he might be one of
the lads of the village. In the short space of

(14:26):
two or three seconds, Malcolm Sage noticed the change in
the girl. Although he could not see her face very clearly,
the vivacity of her bearing and the ready laugh was
suggestive of her gaiety, contrasting strangely with the tragic figure
he had seen in the afternoon. Miya Crane was obviously
of a very mercurial temperament, he decided, as the car

(14:47):
swung round the bend. The next morning, in response to
a telephone message, Inspector Murdy called on Malcolm Sage. Well,
mister Sage, he cried as he shook hands, going to
have another try to teach us our job, and his
blue eyes twinkled good humoredly. The inspector had already made
up his mind. He was a man with many successes

(15:07):
to his record, but chiefed as a result of undoubted
astuteness in connection to the grosser crimes such as train murders,
post office hold ups and burglaries. He was incapable, however,
of realizing that there existed a subtler form of law breaking,
arising from something more intimately associated with the psychic than
the material plane. Did you see, mister Blade, inquired Malcolm

(15:30):
Sage saw the whole blessed lot, said cheery reply. It's
all as clear as milk, and he laughed. What did
mister Blade say, inquired Malcolm Sage, looking keenly across at
the inspector, just that he had nothing to say. His
exact words, can you remember them, queried Malcolm Sage. Oh yes,

(15:51):
replied the inspector. He said, Inspector Murdy, I've nothing to say,
and then he shut up like a real whitstable. He
was away yesterday, remarked Malcolm Sage, who then told the
inspector of his visit. How about John Gray, the schoolmaster?
He queried, He practically told me to go to the devil?
Was the genial? A reply Inspector Murdy was accustomed to rudeness.

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His profession invited it, and to his rough and ready
form of reasoning, rudeness meant innocence, politeness, guilt. He handed
to Malcolm Sage a copy of a list of people
who purchased Olympic script from mister Granger, the local whitely,
volunteering the information that the Curate was the biggest consumer.
As if that said of the question of his guilt,

(16:35):
And yet the Vicar would not hear of the arrest
of blade, murmured Malcolm Sage, turning the copper ashtray round
with his restless fingers. The Inspector shrugged his massif's shoulders
sheer good nature and kindliness, missus Sage. He said, he's
as gentle as a woman. I once knew a man,
remarked Malcolm Sage, who said that in the annals of

(16:58):
crime lay the master key to the world's mysteries past
present and to come a dreamer, Missusage, smiled the inspector.
We haven't time for dreaming at the yard, he added,
good temperately, as he rose and shook himself like a
Newfoundland dog. I suppose it never struck you to look
elsewhere than at the curates lodgings for the writer of

(17:20):
the letters, inquired Malcolm Sage quietly. It never strikes me
to look about for some one when I'm sitting on
his chest, laughed Inspector Maddie. True, said Malcolm Sage. By
the way, he continued, without looking up. In future, can
you let me see every letter as it is received?
You might also keep careful record of how they are delivered, Suddenly, Missusage,

(17:44):
anything that will make you happy Later, I may get
you to ask the vicar to seal up any subsequent
anonymous letters that reach him without allowing any one to
see the contents. Do you think he would do that
without doubt if I ask him, said the inspector surprised
in his eyes as he looked down upon the cone
of boldness beneath him, realizing what a handicap it is

(18:05):
to talk to a man who keeps his eyes averted.
He must then put the letters in a place where
no one can possibly obtain access to them. One thing more,
continued Malcolm Sage, will you ask miss Craine to write
out the full story of the letters as far as
she is personally is acquainted with it? Very well, Misster Sage,

(18:26):
said the inspector, with the air of one humoring a child.
I'll be going. He walked towards the door, then suddenly
stopped and turned. I suppose you think I'm wrong about
the curate. I'll tell you later, was the reply. When
you find the master key, laughed the inspector as he
opened the door. Yes, when I find the master key,

(18:48):
said Malcolm Sage quietly, and as the door closed behind
Inspector Murdy, he continued to finger the copper ashtray as
if that were the master key. End of Chapter thirteen.