June 9, 2025 • 37 mins
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.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter fifteen of Malcolm's Age Detective by Herbert George Jenkins.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by
Anossimon Chapter fifteen, The Missing heavy Weight One mister Dalton,
Sir very important Rogers had carefully assimilated his master's theory
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of the economy of words, sometimes even to the point
of obscuring his meaning. Taking the last piece of toast
from the rack, Malcolm's Age, with great deliberation, proceeded to
butter it. Then, with a nod to the waiting Rogers,
he poured out the last cup of coffee the pot contained.
A moment later, the door opened to admit a clean
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shaven little man of about fifty, prosperous in build in appearance,
but obviously laboring under some great excitement. His breath came
in short, spasmodic gasps. His thin, sandy hair had clearly
not been brushed since the day before, whilst his chin
and upper lip bore obvious traces of a night's growth
of beard. He seemed on the point of collapse. Is
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gone disappeared, he burst out as Rogers closed the door
behind him. Malcolm Sage Rose motioned his caller to a
chair at the table and resumed his own seat. Had breakfast,
he inquired quietly, resuming his occupation of getting the toast
carefully and artistically buttered. Good guard man exploded mister Dalton,
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almost hysterically. Don't you understand burns a disappeard. I gathered
as much, said Malcolm Sage calmly, as he reached for
the marmalade pon telephone from Stainton continued mister Dalton, I
was unfed, I got dressed and came round here at once.
I he stopped suddenly as Rogers entered with a fresh
relay of coffee. Without a word, he proceeded to pour
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out a cup from mister Dalton, who, after a moment's hesitation,
drank it greedily. Rogers glanced interrogatingly from the dish that
had contained eggs and bacon to Magham Sage, who no
when it withdrawn. Mister Dalton opened his mouth to speak,
then closed it again and gave the Malcolm's Age, who,
having superimposed upon the battle a delicate amber film of marmalade,
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proceeded to cut up the toast into a series of triangles.
Apparently it was the only thing in life that interested him.
For weeks past, the British and American sporting world had
thought and talked of nothing but the forthcoming fight between
Charlie Burns and Bob Jefferson for the heavyweight championship with
the world. The event was due to take place two
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days hence at the Olympia, for a pairs of forty
thousand pounds offered by mister Montague Dalton, the Prince of Impresarius.
Never had a contest been looked forward to with greater
eagerness than the Burns versus Jefferson match. A great change
had come over public opinion in regard to prize fighting.
Thanks to the elevating influence of mister Dalton. It was
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no longer referred to as brutalizing and the basing refined
and nice minded people found themselves mildly interested and patriotically
hopeful that Charlie Burns, the British champion, would win. In
two years, mister Dalton had achieved what the National Sporting
Club had failed to do in a quarter of a
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century long, and patiently had labored to bring about this match,
which many thought would prove the keystone to the arch
of Birds's fame insolently to that of the impresario himself.
And now he's disappeared, clean gone. Mister Dalton almost sobbed,
tell me Malconsege looked up from his plate, the last
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triangle of toast poised between finger and thumb. In short,
thecatoed sentences like bursts from a machine gun. Mister Dalton
proceeded to tell his story. That morning, at six o'clock,
when alf Pond, Burns's trainer, had entered his room to
warn him that it was time to get up, he
found it unoccupied. At first, he thought that Burns had
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gone down before him, but immediately his eye fell on
the bed and he saw that it had not been
slept in. He became alarmed. Going to the bedroom door,
he had shouted to the sparring partners, and soon the
Champion's room was filled with men in various stages of
the sabbelle. Only for a moment, however, had they remained
inactive at alf Pond's word of command. They had spread
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held the skelter over the house and grounds, causing the
early morning air to echo with their shouts for Charley.
When at length he became assured that Burns had disappeared.
Alf Pond telephoned first to mister Dalton and then to
mister Pep with Burns's backer. I told Pond to do
nothing and tell no one, said mister Dalton in conclusion.
And when I left my rooms, my man was trying
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to get through the Pep with to ask him to
keep the story to himself. Malcolm Sage nodded approval. Now
what's to be done? He looked at Malcolm Sage with
the air of a man who has just told the
doctor of his alarming symptoms, and almost breathlessly awaits the verdict. Breakfast, shave,
then will motor down to Stainton, and Malcolm Sage proceeded
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to fill his brier, his whole attention absorbed in the operation.
A moment later, Rogers entered with a fresh supply of
eggs and bacon. Mister Dalton shook his head instinctively. His
hand had gone up to his unshaven chin. It was
probably the first time in his life that he'd set
at table without shaving. He prided himself upon his personal appearance.
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In his younger days, he'd been known as Dandy Dalton.
The car In half an hour, Rogers said Malcolm Sage
as he rose from the table. When you've finished, he said,
turning to mister Dalton, Rogers will give you hot water,
a razor and anything else you want. By the time
you have shaved, I shall be ready. But don't you
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see think what it began, mister Dalton. An empty stomach.
Neither seas nor things was Malcolm Sage's oracular retort, and
he went over to the window and seated himself at
his table. For the next half hour he was engaged
with his correspondence and in telephoning instructions to his office.
By the time Missir Dalton had breakfasted and shaved, the
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car was at the door. During the run to Stainton,
both men were silent. Mister Dalton was speculating as to
what would happen at the Olympia on the following night
if Burns failed to appear, whilst Malcolm's Age was occupied
with thoughts, the object of which was to prevent such
a catastrophe. They're sure to say it's a yellow streak.
Mister Dalton burst out on one occasion, but as Malcolm's
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Age took no notice of the remark, he subsided in
the silence and the car hummed its way along the
Portsmouth Road. Burns's training quarters were situated at Stainton, near Guildford. Here,
under the vigilant eye of alf Pond, and with the
help of a large retinue of sparring partners, he was
getting himself into what had come to be called Burns's condition,
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which meant that he would enter the ring trained to
the minute. Never did athlete work more conscientiously than Charlie Burns.
As the car turned into a side road flanked on
either hand by elms, mister Dalton tapped on the window
screen and Tims pulled up. Malcolm Sage had requested that
the car be stopped a hundred yards before it reached
the grove where the training quarters were situated. Wait for
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me here, he said, as he got out. It's the
first gate on the right, said mister Dalton, walking slowly
away from the car, Malcolm's age examined with great care
the road itself. Presently he stopped, and taking from his
pocket the steel spring measure, he proceeded to measure a
portion of the surface of the dusty roadway. Having made
several entries in a note book, he then turned back
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to the car, his eyes still on the road, instructing
Tims to remain where he was. Malcolm Sage motioned to
mister Dalton to get out. This way, said Malcolm Sage,
leading him to the extreme left hand side of the road,
turning into the gates of the grove. They walked up
the drive towards the house. In front stood a group
of men in various and nonsense script costumes. As Malcolm's
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Age and mister Dalton approached, a man in a soiled
white sweater and voluminous gray flannel trousers generously turned up
at the extremities, detached himself from the group and came
towards them. He was puffy of face, with pouched eyes
and a moist skin. Yet in his day alf Pond
had been an unbeatable middle weight and the greatest master
of the ring craft of his time, but that was
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nearly a generation ago. In agonized silence, he looked from
mister Dalton to Malcolm's Age, then back again to mister Dalton.
There was in his eyes the misery of despair. The
preliminary greetings over, alf Pond led the way round to
a large coach house in the rear, which had been
fitted up as a gymnasium. Here were to be seen
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all the appliances necessary to the training of a boxer
for a great contest, including a roped ring at one end.
He was here only yesterday. There was a world of
tragedy and pathos in alf Pond's tone, something like a
groan burst from the sparring partners. With a quick, comprehensive glance,
Malcolm's Age seemed to take in every detail. It's a
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bad business, Pond, said mister Dalton, who found the mute
despair of these hard living, hard hitting men rather embarrassing.
What I'd better do, queried alf Pond. I've put the
whole matter in miss Sage's hands, said mister Dalton. He'll
find them if anyone can. A score of eyes were
turned speculatively upon Malcolm's Age, and none was there the
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least ray of hope. All had now made up their
minds that Jefferson would win the fight by default. Slowly
and methodically, Malcolm Sage drew the story of Burns's disappearance
from alf Pond, the sparring partners occasionally acting as a chorus.
When all had been told, Malcolm Sage gazed from some
moments at the finger nails of his left hand. You
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were confident he would win, he asked at length. Confident
There was incredulity and wonder in alf Pon's voice. Then
with a sudden inspiration, look at Kit, he cried, Look
at him, and he indicated with a nod of fair
haired giant standing on his right. Malcolm Sage looked. The
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man's face showed the stress and strain of battle. His
nose had taken on something of the quality of cubism,
His right eye was out of commission, and there was
an ugly purple patch on his left cheek, and his
right ear looked as if a wasp had stung it.
He did that in one round, and him the third
Kit asked for it, and he got it, same as
Jeff would, explained alf Pond proudly, a momentary note of
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elation in his voice. There was also something of pride
in the grin with which Kit stood the scrutiny of
the others. Do you know of any reason why Burns
should have left his room? Malcolm Sage looked from one
to the other, interrogatingly. There wasn't any, was alf Pond's response,
and the others nodded their concurrence. He knew no one
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in the neighbor, no one to speak of, a few
local gents would drop in occasional to see how he
was getting on, and then a lot of newspaper chaps
came down from London. There was that in alf Pond's
tone which seemed to suggest that, in his opinion, such
questions were foolish. Did he receive any letters or telegrams? Yesterday?
Was the next question? Letters, alf Pond laughed sardonically, shoals
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of him. He turned em all over to Sandy Lane,
indicating a red headed man on the right. He wasn't
much at writing letters, said Sandy Lane by way of explanation.
His hands were made for better things, cried alf Ponds scornfully,
and the sparring partners nodded their agreement. Did he turn
over to you the whole of his correspondence, asked Malcolm Sage,
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turning to Sanney Lane. Sometimes he'd keep a letter broken,
alf Pond, but not often. Sort of personal, he added,
as if to explain the circumstance from a woman, perhaps,
suggested Malcolm Sage, taking off his head and stroking the
back of his head woman, cried alf Ponce, calmfully. Charley
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hadn't no use for women, or he wouldn't have been
the boxer he was. He was quite himself, quite natural yesterday,
asked Malcolm Sage. Quite himself, repeated alf Pont deliberately, Then,
once more, indicating Kit, he added, look at Kit, that's
what he's done in one round. There was, with a tone,
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all the contempt of knowledge for ignorance. Malcolm Sage resumed
his hat, and, taking his pipe from his pocket, proceeded
to stuff it with tobacco, as if that were the
only problem in the world. On everything he did, he
seemed to concentrate his entire attention to the exclusion of
all else. No smoking here, if you please, said alf
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Ponce sharply. Malcolm Sage returned his pipe to his pocket
without comment. Now what are you going to do? There
was challenge in alf Ponn's voice as he eyed Malcolm
Sage with disfavor. In his world, men with bold, conical
heads and gold lined spectacles did not count for much.
How many people know of their disappearance, inquired Malcolm Sage,
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ignoring the question. Outside of us here, only mister Pepwick
was the response for fully a minute. Malcolm Sage did
not reply. At length, he turned to mister Dalton, can
you arrange to remain here to meet mister pepp with
he inquired, I propose doing so? Was the reply. You
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want to find Burns, I suppose, Malcolm Sage asked of
alf Pond in low level tones. Elf Pond and his
colleagues eyed him as if he had asked a most
astonishing question. You bar me, demanded the trainer, putting into
words the looks of the others. You will continue with
the day's work as if nothing had happened, continued Malcolm Sage.
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No one outside must know that. But how there, how
are we going to do that? With Charlie gran Broke
in alf Pond taking a step forward with clenched fists.
You're a friend here, indicated kid Campose as Burns, was
Malcolm Sage's quiet reply, as he looked into the trainer's
eye without the flicker of an eyelash. You, mister Dalton,
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I'll ask to remain here with mister Pepwick until I
communicate with Hugh. On no account leave the training quarters,
even if you have to wait here until tomorrow evening.
But began alf Pond. Then he stopped and gazed at
the sparring partners, blinking his eyes in stupid bewilderment. Have
I your promise, inquired Malcolm Sage of mister Dalton. As
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far as I am concerned, yes, was the response. And
I think I can answer for pep with He's very inconvenient,
though not so inconvenient as having to explain things of
the Olympia tomorrow night, remarked Malcolm Sage dryly. Now he continued,
turning once more to elf Pond. I suppose you've all
got something on this fight, something on it, cried alf Pond.
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Then turning to the sparring partners, he cried, he asks
if we've got something on it? My god, he groaned,
You got our shirts on it, That's what we got
on it, our shirts, and his voice broke in something
like a sob. You had better post someone at the
gate to tell all inquirers that Burns is doing well
and it's confident of winning, said Malcolm Sage to mister Dalton,
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And keep an eye on the telephone. Tell anyone who
rings up the same. In fact, and he turned to
the others, As far as you are concerned Burns is
still with you? Do you understand? They looked at one
another in a way that was little suggestive of understanding.
Did Burns wear the same clothes through rather day, asked
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Malcolm Sage with a trainer. Course, he didn't. Alf Pond
made no effort to disguise the contempt he felt. In
the daytime he used to wear flannel trousers and a sweater,
same as me, except when he's sparring. Then he put
on drawers or its would have everything same as it
was going to be with Charlie. Seconds are free timekeeper said,
it made him feel at home when the time came
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quaint he was in some of his ideas. Then from
the time he got up until bedtime he wore the
same clothes, quired Malcolm Sage, without looking up from the
inevitable contemplation of his finger nails. No, he didn't. Elf
Ponds pat his boredom at this useless question into a
far corner. He was always a bit of a nib,
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was Charlie. After he'd finished the day's work, he'd put
on a suit of dark DUTs, a white collar, a
watch on his wrist and all that bunco and we'd
play poker or billiards till half past eight, when we'd
all turn in. The look with which alf Pond concluded
this itinerary plainly demanded, if there were any more a
dam silly questions coming now, I should like to see
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Burns's room. Malcolm Sage and mister Dalton followed elf Pond
upstairs to a large room on the first floor, as
destitute of the attributes of comfort as a guard room.
A bed, a washhand stand, and a chest of drawers
comprised the furniture. A few articles of clothing were strewn about,
and in one corner lay a pair of dumbbells. The
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windows were open, top and bottom. Malcolm Sage passed from
one to the other and looked out. He examined carefully
each of the window ledges. Are these the clothes he
wore when he got up? He inquired, indicating a sweater
and a pair of flannel trousers that lay on a chair.
Alf Pond nodded swiftly. Malcolm Sage felt in the pockets.
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There was nothing there. A minute later he left the room,
followed by the others. Descending the stairs, he passed along
the hall and out onto the short drive, accompanied by
mister Dalton and Elf Pond. Half way towards the gate,
Malcolm Sage stopped. You will hear from me some time
to day or to morrow, he said. Do exactly as
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I've said, and if I don't telephone before tomorrow evening,
go to the Olympia. As if Burns were to be there,
you might have sent out to my car a pair
of drawers and boots in case I find him. You're
going to find him. Then Alf Pond suddenly gripped Malcolm
Sage's arm with was almost ferocity. Malcolm Sage shrugged his shoulders.
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If you do as I tell you, it will help.
By the way, he added, if you have time, you
might put twenty five pounds on Burns for me. Mister
Dalton will be responsible for the amount. Now I want
to look about me, and with that, Malcolm Sage walked
a few steps down the drive, leaving two men staring
after him as if it either solved or propounded the
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riddle of the universe. For some minutes, he stood in
the center of the drive looking about him. Stepping to
the right, he glanced back at the house and then
towards the road. Finally, he made for a large clump
of rhododendrons that lay between the road and house, Motioning
the others to remain where they were on the gravel drive,
he walked to a clear space of short grass, putteen
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the rhododendrons and the hedge bordering the road. Going down
upon his knees, he proceeded to examine the ground with
great care and attention. For nearly half an hour, he
crawled from place to place, absorbed in grass, shrub and
flower bed. Finally, he penetrated half into the privet hedge
that bordered the road. The sparring partners had now joined
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the other two on the drive, and the group stood
watching the strange movements of the man, who, in their opinion,
had already shown obvious symptoms of insanity. Presently, Malcolm's age
emerged from the hedge in his hand a long cigar,
round the center of which was a red and gold band.
For fully a minute he stood examining this with great care. Then,
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taking a leather case from his pocket, he carefully placed
the cigar in the hinge, returned the case to his pocket,
and rejoined the group of wide eyed spectators. Found anything
inquired alf Pond eagerly several things, replied Malcolm Sage. What
The men grouped themselves round him, breathless with interest. By
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the way, said Malcolm Sage, turning to alf Pond. Thus,
Burns happened to smoke long Havana's cigars with a red smoke,
yelled alf Pond, in horror him. Smoke You blinking will barme,
he demanded, looking Malcolm Sage up and down, as if
meditating an attack upon him. I'd like to see the
man who'd so much as dared to strike a match here,
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Nick glared about him angrily, whilst despairing partners shoveled their
feet and murmured among themselves. There was just the suspicion
of a fluttering at the corners of Malcolm Sage's mouth.
I am afraid Pond is rather excited just at present,
said mister Dalton tactfully. By now he'd entirely regained his
own composure. Burns is a great lover of tobacco, and
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Pond takes no risks. You were saying that you're discovered
several things. Again, the group of men drew closer to
Malcolm's Age, their heads thrust forward as if fearful of
missing a word for one thing, Burns left his room
last night to meet a woman by It's a lie,
cried alf Pond heatedly. It's a damp lie. I don't
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believe it. A rather dainty creature, small and well dressed.
She was accompanied by several men, one of them rather stout,
very careful of his clothes, and an inveterate smoker. The
others were bigger, rougher men. They all came in a car,
which arrived after the motor bicycle, which in turn arrived
later than the small car. The sparring partners exchanged glances
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whilst alf Pond stared. Subsequently, they drove off in a
very great hurry. Incidentally, they took Burns with them, but
against his will. On the way down the girl was
in the tonneau, but on the return journey she sat
beside the driver as Burns was in the tonneau. It was,
no doubt a precaution. I don't believe a word, interrupted
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alf Pond. He's making it all up. Without appearing to
notice the remark, Malcolm's age turned and walked towards the gate.
Mister Dalton following a step in the rear liar, growled
alf Pond as he turned towards the house. Ready liar,
he added, as if finding consolation in the term he'll
never find Old Charley, tell me, Sage, Were you serious,
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asked mister Dalton as they reached the gate. Entirely. I'm
afraid poor Pond thought you were making game of us,
he added apologetically. Do you mind explaining how you arrived
at your conclusions? Behind that clump of rhododendrons began Malcolm's age.
There is written a whole history. The marks of boots
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or shoes with very high heels suggests a woman. The
sighs and daintenance of the footwear tell the rest. As
burns appeared, she stepped towards him. Her very shred steps
indicate both fashionable clothes and smallness of stature. And the
man who was careful about his clothes. He stood behind
a holly bush with an umbrella, But how did you know?
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He'd been leaning upon it? And there was the mark
where it had sunk into the soft turf, up to
the point where the silk joins the stick. A man
who carries an umbrella on a kidnapping adventure must be
habitually in fear of rain. None but a well dressed
man would fear rain. Then, as he had a cigar
in his hand with the end bitten off, it shows
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the habitual smoker. He was only waiting for the end
of the drama before lighting up. His height I get
from his stride and his size by the fact that,
like Humpty Dumpty, he had a great fall. I'll tell
you the rest later. I'm afraid it's an ugly business.
But the girl riding beside the driver burst out. Mister
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Dalton bewilled by the fact that Malcolm Sage had deduced
from so little. At the edge of a side road
there is invariably a deposit of dust, and the marks
where they all got out and in are clearly visible.
The hurry of departure is shown by the fact that
the car started before one of the men had taken
his place, and his footsteps running beside it before jumping
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on to the running board are quite clear. I'll bring
you up later. I cannot stay now, And with that
he hurried away back along your own tracks, Tims said
he on reaching the car. He then walked onto the
main road withoothead over right shoulder. Tims carefully backed the car,
Malcolm Sage signaling that he was to turn to the right,
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instructing Tims to drive slowly. Malcolm Sage took a seat
beside him, keeping his eyes fixed upon the off side
of the road. He stopped the car at each cross
road and walked down it some twenty or thirty yards,
his eyes bent downwards, as if in search of something.
At the end half an hour, he instructed Tims to
drive back to London at his best speed. Two that afternoon,
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in his office, Malcolm Sage worked without cessation. Both telephones
incoming and outgoing were continually in use. Telegraph girls and
messenger boys came and went. Gladys Norman had ceased to
worry about the shininess of her nose, and William Johnson
was in process of readjusting his ideas as to the
lack of the dramatic element at that Malcolm Sage Bureau
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as compared with detective fiction in the films. About three o'clock,
a tall, clean shaven man was shown into Malcolm Sage's room.
He had a hard mouth, keen, alured eyes, and an
air suggestive of the fact that he knew the worst
there was to be known. About men and acted accordingly.
With a nod, Malcolm Sage motioned him to a seat.
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Six months before he had saved Dick Lintler from the
dock by discovering the real criminal in whose stead Lindler
was about to be chock charged with a series of frauds.
Since then, Malcolm Sage had always been sure of such
insight information in the book making world as he required.
How's the betting now, inquired Malcolm Sage. Nine to two
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on Jefferson offered and new takers was the reply. There's
something up, missus Sage. I'll take my dying oath on it,
he said, leaning across the table and dropping his voice.
Any big amounts, inquired Malcolm Sage. Ah, that's what troubles me.
My money's being spread about. So the funny thing is
that a lot of it's being put on by letter
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I've had a dozen myself to day. Malcolm Sage nodded
slowly as he filled his pipe, which with great deliberation
he proceeded till light, until the whole surface of the
tobacco glowed. Then, as if suddenly realizing that Lindler was
not smoking, he pulled open a drawer drew out a
cigar box and pushed it across, watching him closely from
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beneath his eyebrows as he did so. Lindler opened the box,
then looked interrogatingly at Malcolm's Age. Didn't now you smoked
the same poisoned sticks as the downy one, he said,
picking up a long cigar with a red and gold
band and examining it. Who's he old? Nathan Goldsmith, the
stinking jew. I am sorry, said Malcolm Sage. That should
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not have been there. Try one or the others. Lindle
looked across at him curiously. Personally myself, he said, I
believe he is at the bottom of all this heavy
backing of Jefferson. Malcolm Sage continued to smoke, as if
the matter did not interest him, whilst Lindler bit off
the end of the cigar he had selected and proceeded
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to light it. Several of his crowd had been around
this morning trying to load me up, he continued presently.
When the cigar was drawing to his satisfaction, Master stayed
up all night to be in time, he added, scathingly.
Have you seen Goldstrom it himself? Not since yesterday afternoon?
And does he usually carry an umbrella. Lindler laughed. The
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boys call him Jampy Goldschmidt, he said, You really think
that the Goldschmidt gang is backing Jefferson. They've been at
it for the last week, was the response. They know something,
mister Sage. Somebody's going to do the dirty otherwise they
wouldn't be so blasted. Clever about it, clever putting on
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all they can on the q T was the response.
Find out all you can about Goldschmidt and his friends.
Keep in touch with me here if you'll learn anything. Incidentally,
keep on the water wagon until after the fight, right oh,
said Lindler, rising. But I wish you'd tell me. I
have told you, said Malcolmziege, and with that he took
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the proffered hand, and a moment later, Dick Lindley passed
through the outer door. As he did so, he almost
collided with Thompson, who had just jumped out of Macmzage's
car and was dashing towards the door. Thompson rushed across
the outer office through the glass panel door and passed
swiftly into Malcolm Sage's room. It's the car, right enough, Chief,
he said, making an effort to control his excitement. I
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picked it up outside Jimmy Dilk's. There are three men
in it, Malcolm Sage nodded, then, opening a drawer, produced
a sealed packet. If I'm not back here by half
past four, he said, ring up Inspector Wensdale and ask
him to come round at once with a couple of
men and wait in the outer office. Give him this
packet has a letter inside. If he's not there, get
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any one else you know, Thompson stared. In spite of
long association, Malcolm Sage there were still times when he
failed to follow his chief's line of reasoning. If I
telephone or write, canceling these instructions ignore anything I say.
Do you understand? I understand, Chief, said Thompson. Malcolm Sage
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picked up his hat and stick and left the room. Tims,
who had been waiting at the outer door, sprang to
his seat, and almost before the door of the car
had closed, it jerked forward and was soon threading its
sinuous way towards Coventry Street. Five minutes later, Malcolm Sage
pressed a bell push on the fifth floor of a
large block of flats known as Coventry Mansions, the door
(30:16):
was opened by a heavily built, ill favored man in
response to Malcolm Sage's request to see mister Goldschmid. He
was told that he couldn't tell him. Said Malcolm Sage,
fixing his still gray eyes upon the man in a
steady gaze, that mister Malcolm Sage wishes to see him
about something that happened last night, and about something more
(30:37):
that is to happen to morrow night. He'll understand. A
sudden look of apprehension in the man's eyes seemed to
suggest that he at least understood. He hesitated for a moment, then,
with a gruff wait here, shut the door in Malcolm
Sage's face. Three minutes later, he opened it again, and
inviting him to enter, led the way along a passage,
(30:59):
at the end of which was a door which the
man threw open. Malcolm Sage found himself in a darkened
room from which the light was excluded by heavy curtains.
For a moment, he looked about him, unable to distinguish
any object. When his eyes became accustomed to the gloom,
he saw, seated in an arm chair, a man with
a handkerchief held to his face. Mister Goldsmith, he interrogated
(31:21):
as he seated himself in the center of the room. Well,
what is it, was the thickly spoken retort. I came
to ask your views on the fight to morrow night,
and to inquire if you think the odds of nine
to two on Jefferson are justified. There's an exclamation from
the arm chair. If you've got anything to say, said
(31:42):
the thick voice angrily, get it off your chest and
go to hell. He added, as an afterthought, what do
you want, the voice demanded, as Malcolm Sage remained silent.
I want you to take a little run with me
in my car, said Malcolm Sage evenly. Fresh air will
do your nose good. What the the man broke off,
(32:04):
apparently choked with passion, then, recovering himself, added here, cover
it up, or else I'll have you thrown out into
the street. What is it? I want either you or
one of your friends to come with me to where
Charley Burns has been taken. There was a stifled exclamation
from the chair, then a howl of agony as the
(32:24):
hand holding the handkerchief dropped. At the same moment, three
men burst into the room. Malcolm Sage's back was to
the door. He did not even turn to look at them.
Somebody switched on the light, and Malcolm Sage saw before
him the puffy face of a man of about sixty,
in the center of which was a hideous purple splotch
that had once been a nose. A moment later, the
(32:45):
handkerchief obscured the unsavory sight. What hell's all this about,
shouted one of the men, advancing into the room, the
others remaining by the door. Slowly, Malcolm Sage turned and
regarded the three men, whose appearance proclaimed their predilistic calling.
I was just asking mister Goldschmidt to be so good
as to accompany me to where Charley Burns is. He
(33:09):
was interrupted by exclamations from all three men. What hell
do you mean? Demanded he who had spoken A dark,
ill favored fellow with a brow lugger rainy sky. I
will tell you, said Malcolm Sage. Last night mister Goldschmidt,
accompanied by certain friends, went to Burns's training quarters to
keep an appointment made in the name of a girl
(33:32):
friend of Burn's. He came out quite unsuspectingly, was overpowered
and subsequently taken in mister Goldschmid's car to a place
with which I am unacquainted, so that he shall not
appear at the Olympia to morrow night. He drew his
pipe from his pocket and proceeded to fill it. His
air was that of a chess player who knows that
he can mate his opponent in two moves. It's a
(33:55):
damn lie, roared one of the men, whilst Goldschmid shrieked
something that was an intelligible. You drove out by way
of Putney Hill, Esher and Clannon cross Roads. You backed
the car to within two hundred yards of the grove,
where you all got out, with the exception of the driver.
You then entered the grove, taking cover behind a large
(34:16):
clump of rhododendrons. It's a damn lie, choked Goldsmith, by
the way, continued magham Sage. Your fair friend drove out
in the torneau, but returned seated beside the driver, and
one of you was nearly left behind, and entered the
car after it had started. The man looked at one
(34:36):
another in bewilderment. You Goldschmidt carried an umbrella, continued Magham Sage,
and took cover behind the holly Bush. But you came
out a little too soon, hence that nose. Burns was
playing possum. You are rather anxious for a smoke too.
I am a smoker myself. A stream of profanity burst
(34:57):
from Goldschmidt's lips. You see, I am in a position
to prove my points, said Malcolm Sage, calmly. Oh you
are are you? Sneered the spokesman as he moved a
little closer to Malcolm's age. And I am in a
position to prove that we're four to one, three to one,
corrected Malcolm Sage quietly, Your friend, indicating Goldschmidt with a nod,
(35:21):
is scarcely. He was interrupted by his stifled oath from
the arm chair. Good old nigger, murmured one of the
men by the door. Well and what about it, demanded nigger.
If Burns is delivered over to me within two hours,
unharmed and in fighting trim, and a check for one
thousand pounds is paid to Saint Timothy's Hospital by noon
(35:44):
to morrow, there will be no prosecution and I will
not divulge your names. If not, during the next twenty
four hours, London will probably have its first experience of
lynch law. With that, Malcolm Sage struck a match and
preceded the light his pipe. That all sneered. The man
ain't doing nothing else, you like, I cannot recall anything
(36:07):
else at the moment, said Malcolm Sage imperturbably, as he
looked across at the fellow over the top of the
burning match. You doady knock, burst out the man by
the door, who had hitherto remained silent. A pretty sort
of stool pigeon. You are spy onness, wasn't you, demanded
Nigger edging nearer to Malcolm Sage. It's ten minutes past four,
(36:28):
remarked Malcolm Sage coolly, as he glanced at his wrist watch.
Oh it is is, it was the retort. And in
another hour it'll be ten minutes past five. I have
to be back at my office by half past four.
Malcolm Sage looked about for some receptacle in which to
throw the spent match. You don't say so again, Nigger
(36:52):
edged a little nearer, but Malcolm Sage appeared not to
notice it. Well, I may as well tell you that
you don't leave here until eleven o'clock tomorrow night. See,
there were murmurs of approval from the others. Then perhaps
you will send out and buy me a toothbrush, was
Malcamsite's quiet rejoinder end of chapter fifteen.
Chapter fifteen of Malcolm's Age Detective by Herbert George Jenkins.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by
Anossimon Chapter fifteen, The Missing heavy Weight One mister Dalton,
Sir very important Rogers had carefully assimilated his master's theory
(00:20):
of the economy of words, sometimes even to the point
of obscuring his meaning. Taking the last piece of toast
from the rack, Malcolm's Age, with great deliberation, proceeded to
butter it. Then, with a nod to the waiting Rogers,
he poured out the last cup of coffee the pot contained.
A moment later, the door opened to admit a clean
(00:42):
shaven little man of about fifty, prosperous in build in appearance,
but obviously laboring under some great excitement. His breath came
in short, spasmodic gasps. His thin, sandy hair had clearly
not been brushed since the day before, whilst his chin
and upper lip bore obvious traces of a night's growth
of beard. He seemed on the point of collapse. Is
(01:04):
gone disappeared, he burst out as Rogers closed the door
behind him. Malcolm Sage Rose motioned his caller to a
chair at the table and resumed his own seat. Had breakfast,
he inquired quietly, resuming his occupation of getting the toast
carefully and artistically buttered. Good guard man exploded mister Dalton,
(01:26):
almost hysterically. Don't you understand burns a disappeard. I gathered
as much, said Malcolm Sage calmly, as he reached for
the marmalade pon telephone from Stainton continued mister Dalton, I
was unfed, I got dressed and came round here at once.
I he stopped suddenly as Rogers entered with a fresh
relay of coffee. Without a word, he proceeded to pour
(01:48):
out a cup from mister Dalton, who, after a moment's hesitation,
drank it greedily. Rogers glanced interrogatingly from the dish that
had contained eggs and bacon to Magham Sage, who no
when it withdrawn. Mister Dalton opened his mouth to speak,
then closed it again and gave the Malcolm's Age, who,
having superimposed upon the battle a delicate amber film of marmalade,
(02:12):
proceeded to cut up the toast into a series of triangles.
Apparently it was the only thing in life that interested him.
For weeks past, the British and American sporting world had
thought and talked of nothing but the forthcoming fight between
Charlie Burns and Bob Jefferson for the heavyweight championship with
the world. The event was due to take place two
(02:33):
days hence at the Olympia, for a pairs of forty
thousand pounds offered by mister Montague Dalton, the Prince of Impresarius.
Never had a contest been looked forward to with greater
eagerness than the Burns versus Jefferson match. A great change
had come over public opinion in regard to prize fighting.
Thanks to the elevating influence of mister Dalton. It was
(02:56):
no longer referred to as brutalizing and the basing refined
and nice minded people found themselves mildly interested and patriotically
hopeful that Charlie Burns, the British champion, would win. In
two years, mister Dalton had achieved what the National Sporting
Club had failed to do in a quarter of a
(03:17):
century long, and patiently had labored to bring about this match,
which many thought would prove the keystone to the arch
of Birds's fame insolently to that of the impresario himself.
And now he's disappeared, clean gone. Mister Dalton almost sobbed,
tell me Malconsege looked up from his plate, the last
(03:39):
triangle of toast poised between finger and thumb. In short,
thecatoed sentences like bursts from a machine gun. Mister Dalton
proceeded to tell his story. That morning, at six o'clock,
when alf Pond, Burns's trainer, had entered his room to
warn him that it was time to get up, he
found it unoccupied. At first, he thought that Burns had
(04:00):
gone down before him, but immediately his eye fell on
the bed and he saw that it had not been
slept in. He became alarmed. Going to the bedroom door,
he had shouted to the sparring partners, and soon the
Champion's room was filled with men in various stages of
the sabbelle. Only for a moment, however, had they remained
inactive at alf Pond's word of command. They had spread
(04:22):
held the skelter over the house and grounds, causing the
early morning air to echo with their shouts for Charley.
When at length he became assured that Burns had disappeared.
Alf Pond telephoned first to mister Dalton and then to
mister Pep with Burns's backer. I told Pond to do
nothing and tell no one, said mister Dalton in conclusion.
And when I left my rooms, my man was trying
(04:44):
to get through the Pep with to ask him to
keep the story to himself. Malcolm Sage nodded approval. Now
what's to be done? He looked at Malcolm Sage with
the air of a man who has just told the
doctor of his alarming symptoms, and almost breathlessly awaits the verdict. Breakfast, shave,
then will motor down to Stainton, and Malcolm Sage proceeded
(05:06):
to fill his brier, his whole attention absorbed in the operation.
A moment later, Rogers entered with a fresh supply of
eggs and bacon. Mister Dalton shook his head instinctively. His
hand had gone up to his unshaven chin. It was
probably the first time in his life that he'd set
at table without shaving. He prided himself upon his personal appearance.
(05:28):
In his younger days, he'd been known as Dandy Dalton.
The car In half an hour, Rogers said Malcolm Sage
as he rose from the table. When you've finished, he said,
turning to mister Dalton, Rogers will give you hot water,
a razor and anything else you want. By the time
you have shaved, I shall be ready. But don't you
(05:48):
see think what it began, mister Dalton. An empty stomach.
Neither seas nor things was Malcolm Sage's oracular retort, and
he went over to the window and seated himself at
his table. For the next half hour he was engaged
with his correspondence and in telephoning instructions to his office.
By the time Missir Dalton had breakfasted and shaved, the
(06:09):
car was at the door. During the run to Stainton,
both men were silent. Mister Dalton was speculating as to
what would happen at the Olympia on the following night
if Burns failed to appear, whilst Malcolm's Age was occupied
with thoughts, the object of which was to prevent such
a catastrophe. They're sure to say it's a yellow streak.
Mister Dalton burst out on one occasion, but as Malcolm's
(06:32):
Age took no notice of the remark, he subsided in
the silence and the car hummed its way along the
Portsmouth Road. Burns's training quarters were situated at Stainton, near Guildford. Here,
under the vigilant eye of alf Pond, and with the
help of a large retinue of sparring partners, he was
getting himself into what had come to be called Burns's condition,
(06:52):
which meant that he would enter the ring trained to
the minute. Never did athlete work more conscientiously than Charlie Burns.
As the car turned into a side road flanked on
either hand by elms, mister Dalton tapped on the window
screen and Tims pulled up. Malcolm Sage had requested that
the car be stopped a hundred yards before it reached
the grove where the training quarters were situated. Wait for
(07:16):
me here, he said, as he got out. It's the
first gate on the right, said mister Dalton, walking slowly
away from the car, Malcolm's age examined with great care
the road itself. Presently he stopped, and taking from his
pocket the steel spring measure, he proceeded to measure a
portion of the surface of the dusty roadway. Having made
several entries in a note book, he then turned back
(07:38):
to the car, his eyes still on the road, instructing
Tims to remain where he was. Malcolm Sage motioned to
mister Dalton to get out. This way, said Malcolm Sage,
leading him to the extreme left hand side of the road,
turning into the gates of the grove. They walked up
the drive towards the house. In front stood a group
of men in various and nonsense script costumes. As Malcolm's
(08:02):
Age and mister Dalton approached, a man in a soiled
white sweater and voluminous gray flannel trousers generously turned up
at the extremities, detached himself from the group and came
towards them. He was puffy of face, with pouched eyes
and a moist skin. Yet in his day alf Pond
had been an unbeatable middle weight and the greatest master
of the ring craft of his time, but that was
(08:24):
nearly a generation ago. In agonized silence, he looked from
mister Dalton to Malcolm's Age, then back again to mister Dalton.
There was in his eyes the misery of despair. The
preliminary greetings over, alf Pond led the way round to
a large coach house in the rear, which had been
fitted up as a gymnasium. Here were to be seen
(08:45):
all the appliances necessary to the training of a boxer
for a great contest, including a roped ring at one end.
He was here only yesterday. There was a world of
tragedy and pathos in alf Pond's tone, something like a
groan burst from the sparring partners. With a quick, comprehensive glance,
Malcolm's Age seemed to take in every detail. It's a
(09:08):
bad business, Pond, said mister Dalton, who found the mute
despair of these hard living, hard hitting men rather embarrassing.
What I'd better do, queried alf Pond. I've put the
whole matter in miss Sage's hands, said mister Dalton. He'll
find them if anyone can. A score of eyes were
turned speculatively upon Malcolm's Age, and none was there the
(09:31):
least ray of hope. All had now made up their
minds that Jefferson would win the fight by default. Slowly
and methodically, Malcolm Sage drew the story of Burns's disappearance
from alf Pond, the sparring partners occasionally acting as a chorus.
When all had been told, Malcolm Sage gazed from some
moments at the finger nails of his left hand. You
(09:53):
were confident he would win, he asked at length. Confident
There was incredulity and wonder in alf Pon's voice. Then
with a sudden inspiration, look at Kit, he cried, Look
at him, and he indicated with a nod of fair
haired giant standing on his right. Malcolm Sage looked. The
(10:14):
man's face showed the stress and strain of battle. His
nose had taken on something of the quality of cubism,
His right eye was out of commission, and there was
an ugly purple patch on his left cheek, and his
right ear looked as if a wasp had stung it.
He did that in one round, and him the third
Kit asked for it, and he got it, same as
Jeff would, explained alf Pond proudly, a momentary note of
(10:36):
elation in his voice. There was also something of pride
in the grin with which Kit stood the scrutiny of
the others. Do you know of any reason why Burns
should have left his room? Malcolm Sage looked from one
to the other, interrogatingly. There wasn't any, was alf Pond's response,
and the others nodded their concurrence. He knew no one
(10:59):
in the neighbor, no one to speak of, a few
local gents would drop in occasional to see how he
was getting on, and then a lot of newspaper chaps
came down from London. There was that in alf Pond's
tone which seemed to suggest that, in his opinion, such
questions were foolish. Did he receive any letters or telegrams? Yesterday?
Was the next question? Letters, alf Pond laughed sardonically, shoals
(11:24):
of him. He turned em all over to Sandy Lane,
indicating a red headed man on the right. He wasn't
much at writing letters, said Sandy Lane by way of explanation.
His hands were made for better things, cried alf Ponds scornfully,
and the sparring partners nodded their agreement. Did he turn
over to you the whole of his correspondence, asked Malcolm Sage,
(11:46):
turning to Sanney Lane. Sometimes he'd keep a letter broken,
alf Pond, but not often. Sort of personal, he added,
as if to explain the circumstance from a woman, perhaps,
suggested Malcolm Sage, taking off his head and stroking the
back of his head woman, cried alf Ponce, calmfully. Charley
(12:06):
hadn't no use for women, or he wouldn't have been
the boxer he was. He was quite himself, quite natural yesterday,
asked Malcolm Sage. Quite himself, repeated alf Pont deliberately, Then,
once more, indicating Kit, he added, look at Kit, that's
what he's done in one round. There was, with a tone,
(12:27):
all the contempt of knowledge for ignorance. Malcolm Sage resumed
his hat, and, taking his pipe from his pocket, proceeded
to stuff it with tobacco, as if that were the
only problem in the world. On everything he did, he
seemed to concentrate his entire attention to the exclusion of
all else. No smoking here, if you please, said alf
(12:49):
Ponce sharply. Malcolm Sage returned his pipe to his pocket
without comment. Now what are you going to do? There
was challenge in alf Ponn's voice as he eyed Malcolm
Sage with disfavor. In his world, men with bold, conical
heads and gold lined spectacles did not count for much.
How many people know of their disappearance, inquired Malcolm Sage,
(13:13):
ignoring the question. Outside of us here, only mister Pepwick
was the response for fully a minute. Malcolm Sage did
not reply. At length, he turned to mister Dalton, can
you arrange to remain here to meet mister pepp with
he inquired, I propose doing so? Was the reply. You
(13:33):
want to find Burns, I suppose, Malcolm Sage asked of
alf Pond in low level tones. Elf Pond and his
colleagues eyed him as if he had asked a most
astonishing question. You bar me, demanded the trainer, putting into
words the looks of the others. You will continue with
the day's work as if nothing had happened, continued Malcolm Sage.
(13:56):
No one outside must know that. But how there, how
are we going to do that? With Charlie gran Broke
in alf Pond taking a step forward with clenched fists.
You're a friend here, indicated kid Campose as Burns, was
Malcolm Sage's quiet reply, as he looked into the trainer's
eye without the flicker of an eyelash. You, mister Dalton,
(14:19):
I'll ask to remain here with mister Pepwick until I
communicate with Hugh. On no account leave the training quarters,
even if you have to wait here until tomorrow evening.
But began alf Pond. Then he stopped and gazed at
the sparring partners, blinking his eyes in stupid bewilderment. Have
I your promise, inquired Malcolm Sage of mister Dalton. As
(14:42):
far as I am concerned, yes, was the response. And
I think I can answer for pep with He's very inconvenient,
though not so inconvenient as having to explain things of
the Olympia tomorrow night, remarked Malcolm Sage dryly. Now he continued,
turning once more to elf Pond. I suppose you've all
got something on this fight, something on it, cried alf Pond.
(15:07):
Then turning to the sparring partners, he cried, he asks
if we've got something on it? My god, he groaned,
You got our shirts on it, That's what we got
on it, our shirts, and his voice broke in something
like a sob. You had better post someone at the
gate to tell all inquirers that Burns is doing well
and it's confident of winning, said Malcolm Sage to mister Dalton,
(15:30):
And keep an eye on the telephone. Tell anyone who
rings up the same. In fact, and he turned to
the others, As far as you are concerned Burns is
still with you? Do you understand? They looked at one
another in a way that was little suggestive of understanding.
Did Burns wear the same clothes through rather day, asked
(15:50):
Malcolm Sage with a trainer. Course, he didn't. Alf Pond
made no effort to disguise the contempt he felt. In
the daytime he used to wear flannel trousers and a sweater,
same as me, except when he's sparring. Then he put
on drawers or its would have everything same as it
was going to be with Charlie. Seconds are free timekeeper said,
it made him feel at home when the time came
(16:12):
quaint he was in some of his ideas. Then from
the time he got up until bedtime he wore the
same clothes, quired Malcolm Sage, without looking up from the
inevitable contemplation of his finger nails. No, he didn't. Elf
Ponds pat his boredom at this useless question into a
far corner. He was always a bit of a nib,
(16:33):
was Charlie. After he'd finished the day's work, he'd put
on a suit of dark DUTs, a white collar, a
watch on his wrist and all that bunco and we'd
play poker or billiards till half past eight, when we'd
all turn in. The look with which alf Pond concluded
this itinerary plainly demanded, if there were any more a
dam silly questions coming now, I should like to see
(16:56):
Burns's room. Malcolm Sage and mister Dalton followed elf Pond
upstairs to a large room on the first floor, as
destitute of the attributes of comfort as a guard room.
A bed, a washhand stand, and a chest of drawers
comprised the furniture. A few articles of clothing were strewn about,
and in one corner lay a pair of dumbbells. The
(17:17):
windows were open, top and bottom. Malcolm Sage passed from
one to the other and looked out. He examined carefully
each of the window ledges. Are these the clothes he
wore when he got up? He inquired, indicating a sweater
and a pair of flannel trousers that lay on a chair.
Alf Pond nodded swiftly. Malcolm Sage felt in the pockets.
(17:38):
There was nothing there. A minute later he left the room,
followed by the others. Descending the stairs, he passed along
the hall and out onto the short drive, accompanied by
mister Dalton and Elf Pond. Half way towards the gate,
Malcolm Sage stopped. You will hear from me some time
to day or to morrow, he said. Do exactly as
(17:59):
I've said, and if I don't telephone before tomorrow evening,
go to the Olympia. As if Burns were to be there,
you might have sent out to my car a pair
of drawers and boots in case I find him. You're
going to find him. Then Alf Pond suddenly gripped Malcolm
Sage's arm with was almost ferocity. Malcolm Sage shrugged his shoulders.
(18:21):
If you do as I tell you, it will help.
By the way, he added, if you have time, you
might put twenty five pounds on Burns for me. Mister
Dalton will be responsible for the amount. Now I want
to look about me, and with that, Malcolm Sage walked
a few steps down the drive, leaving two men staring
after him as if it either solved or propounded the
(18:44):
riddle of the universe. For some minutes, he stood in
the center of the drive looking about him. Stepping to
the right, he glanced back at the house and then
towards the road. Finally, he made for a large clump
of rhododendrons that lay between the road and house, Motioning
the others to remain where they were on the gravel drive,
he walked to a clear space of short grass, putteen
(19:07):
the rhododendrons and the hedge bordering the road. Going down
upon his knees, he proceeded to examine the ground with
great care and attention. For nearly half an hour, he
crawled from place to place, absorbed in grass, shrub and
flower bed. Finally, he penetrated half into the privet hedge
that bordered the road. The sparring partners had now joined
(19:28):
the other two on the drive, and the group stood
watching the strange movements of the man, who, in their opinion,
had already shown obvious symptoms of insanity. Presently, Malcolm's age
emerged from the hedge in his hand a long cigar,
round the center of which was a red and gold band.
For fully a minute he stood examining this with great care. Then,
(19:50):
taking a leather case from his pocket, he carefully placed
the cigar in the hinge, returned the case to his pocket,
and rejoined the group of wide eyed spectators. Found anything
inquired alf Pond eagerly several things, replied Malcolm Sage. What
The men grouped themselves round him, breathless with interest. By
(20:11):
the way, said Malcolm Sage, turning to alf Pond. Thus,
Burns happened to smoke long Havana's cigars with a red smoke,
yelled alf Pond, in horror him. Smoke You blinking will barme,
he demanded, looking Malcolm Sage up and down, as if
meditating an attack upon him. I'd like to see the
man who'd so much as dared to strike a match here,
(20:33):
Nick glared about him angrily, whilst despairing partners shoveled their
feet and murmured among themselves. There was just the suspicion
of a fluttering at the corners of Malcolm Sage's mouth.
I am afraid Pond is rather excited just at present,
said mister Dalton tactfully. By now he'd entirely regained his
own composure. Burns is a great lover of tobacco, and
(20:55):
Pond takes no risks. You were saying that you're discovered
several things. Again, the group of men drew closer to
Malcolm's Age, their heads thrust forward as if fearful of
missing a word for one thing, Burns left his room
last night to meet a woman by It's a lie,
cried alf Pond heatedly. It's a damp lie. I don't
(21:16):
believe it. A rather dainty creature, small and well dressed.
She was accompanied by several men, one of them rather stout,
very careful of his clothes, and an inveterate smoker. The
others were bigger, rougher men. They all came in a car,
which arrived after the motor bicycle, which in turn arrived
later than the small car. The sparring partners exchanged glances
(21:41):
whilst alf Pond stared. Subsequently, they drove off in a
very great hurry. Incidentally, they took Burns with them, but
against his will. On the way down the girl was
in the tonneau, but on the return journey she sat
beside the driver as Burns was in the tonneau. It was,
no doubt a precaution. I don't believe a word, interrupted
(22:04):
alf Pond. He's making it all up. Without appearing to
notice the remark, Malcolm's age turned and walked towards the gate.
Mister Dalton following a step in the rear liar, growled
alf Pond as he turned towards the house. Ready liar,
he added, as if finding consolation in the term he'll
never find Old Charley, tell me, Sage, Were you serious,
(22:28):
asked mister Dalton as they reached the gate. Entirely. I'm
afraid poor Pond thought you were making game of us,
he added apologetically. Do you mind explaining how you arrived
at your conclusions? Behind that clump of rhododendrons began Malcolm's age.
There is written a whole history. The marks of boots
(22:49):
or shoes with very high heels suggests a woman. The
sighs and daintenance of the footwear tell the rest. As
burns appeared, she stepped towards him. Her very shred steps
indicate both fashionable clothes and smallness of stature. And the
man who was careful about his clothes. He stood behind
a holly bush with an umbrella, But how did you know?
(23:13):
He'd been leaning upon it? And there was the mark
where it had sunk into the soft turf, up to
the point where the silk joins the stick. A man
who carries an umbrella on a kidnapping adventure must be
habitually in fear of rain. None but a well dressed
man would fear rain. Then, as he had a cigar
in his hand with the end bitten off, it shows
(23:36):
the habitual smoker. He was only waiting for the end
of the drama before lighting up. His height I get
from his stride and his size by the fact that,
like Humpty Dumpty, he had a great fall. I'll tell
you the rest later. I'm afraid it's an ugly business.
But the girl riding beside the driver burst out. Mister
(23:58):
Dalton bewilled by the fact that Malcolm Sage had deduced
from so little. At the edge of a side road
there is invariably a deposit of dust, and the marks
where they all got out and in are clearly visible.
The hurry of departure is shown by the fact that
the car started before one of the men had taken
his place, and his footsteps running beside it before jumping
(24:20):
on to the running board are quite clear. I'll bring
you up later. I cannot stay now, And with that
he hurried away back along your own tracks, Tims said
he on reaching the car. He then walked onto the
main road withoothead over right shoulder. Tims carefully backed the car,
Malcolm Sage signaling that he was to turn to the right,
(24:44):
instructing Tims to drive slowly. Malcolm Sage took a seat
beside him, keeping his eyes fixed upon the off side
of the road. He stopped the car at each cross
road and walked down it some twenty or thirty yards,
his eyes bent downwards, as if in search of something.
At the end half an hour, he instructed Tims to
drive back to London at his best speed. Two that afternoon,
(25:08):
in his office, Malcolm Sage worked without cessation. Both telephones
incoming and outgoing were continually in use. Telegraph girls and
messenger boys came and went. Gladys Norman had ceased to
worry about the shininess of her nose, and William Johnson
was in process of readjusting his ideas as to the
lack of the dramatic element at that Malcolm Sage Bureau
(25:31):
as compared with detective fiction in the films. About three o'clock,
a tall, clean shaven man was shown into Malcolm Sage's room.
He had a hard mouth, keen, alured eyes, and an
air suggestive of the fact that he knew the worst
there was to be known. About men and acted accordingly.
With a nod, Malcolm Sage motioned him to a seat.
(25:52):
Six months before he had saved Dick Lintler from the
dock by discovering the real criminal in whose stead Lindler
was about to be chock charged with a series of frauds.
Since then, Malcolm Sage had always been sure of such
insight information in the book making world as he required.
How's the betting now, inquired Malcolm Sage. Nine to two
(26:14):
on Jefferson offered and new takers was the reply. There's
something up, missus Sage. I'll take my dying oath on it,
he said, leaning across the table and dropping his voice.
Any big amounts, inquired Malcolm Sage. Ah, that's what troubles me.
My money's being spread about. So the funny thing is
that a lot of it's being put on by letter
(26:35):
I've had a dozen myself to day. Malcolm Sage nodded
slowly as he filled his pipe, which with great deliberation
he proceeded till light, until the whole surface of the
tobacco glowed. Then, as if suddenly realizing that Lindler was
not smoking, he pulled open a drawer drew out a
cigar box and pushed it across, watching him closely from
(26:56):
beneath his eyebrows as he did so. Lindler opened the box,
then looked interrogatingly at Malcolm's Age. Didn't now you smoked
the same poisoned sticks as the downy one, he said,
picking up a long cigar with a red and gold
band and examining it. Who's he old? Nathan Goldsmith, the
stinking jew. I am sorry, said Malcolm Sage. That should
(27:20):
not have been there. Try one or the others. Lindle
looked across at him curiously. Personally myself, he said, I
believe he is at the bottom of all this heavy
backing of Jefferson. Malcolm Sage continued to smoke, as if
the matter did not interest him, whilst Lindler bit off
the end of the cigar he had selected and proceeded
(27:40):
to light it. Several of his crowd had been around
this morning trying to load me up, he continued presently.
When the cigar was drawing to his satisfaction, Master stayed
up all night to be in time, he added, scathingly.
Have you seen Goldstrom it himself? Not since yesterday afternoon?
And does he usually carry an umbrella. Lindler laughed. The
(28:05):
boys call him Jampy Goldschmidt, he said, You really think
that the Goldschmidt gang is backing Jefferson. They've been at
it for the last week, was the response. They know something,
mister Sage. Somebody's going to do the dirty otherwise they
wouldn't be so blasted. Clever about it, clever putting on
(28:27):
all they can on the q T was the response.
Find out all you can about Goldschmidt and his friends.
Keep in touch with me here if you'll learn anything. Incidentally,
keep on the water wagon until after the fight, right oh,
said Lindler, rising. But I wish you'd tell me. I
have told you, said Malcolmziege, and with that he took
(28:49):
the proffered hand, and a moment later, Dick Lindley passed
through the outer door. As he did so, he almost
collided with Thompson, who had just jumped out of Macmzage's
car and was dashing towards the door. Thompson rushed across
the outer office through the glass panel door and passed
swiftly into Malcolm Sage's room. It's the car, right enough, Chief,
he said, making an effort to control his excitement. I
(29:11):
picked it up outside Jimmy Dilk's. There are three men
in it, Malcolm Sage nodded, then, opening a drawer, produced
a sealed packet. If I'm not back here by half
past four, he said, ring up Inspector Wensdale and ask
him to come round at once with a couple of
men and wait in the outer office. Give him this
packet has a letter inside. If he's not there, get
(29:35):
any one else you know, Thompson stared. In spite of
long association, Malcolm Sage there were still times when he
failed to follow his chief's line of reasoning. If I
telephone or write, canceling these instructions ignore anything I say.
Do you understand? I understand, Chief, said Thompson. Malcolm Sage
(29:56):
picked up his hat and stick and left the room. Tims,
who had been waiting at the outer door, sprang to
his seat, and almost before the door of the car
had closed, it jerked forward and was soon threading its
sinuous way towards Coventry Street. Five minutes later, Malcolm Sage
pressed a bell push on the fifth floor of a
large block of flats known as Coventry Mansions, the door
(30:16):
was opened by a heavily built, ill favored man in
response to Malcolm Sage's request to see mister Goldschmid. He
was told that he couldn't tell him. Said Malcolm Sage,
fixing his still gray eyes upon the man in a
steady gaze, that mister Malcolm Sage wishes to see him
about something that happened last night, and about something more
(30:37):
that is to happen to morrow night. He'll understand. A
sudden look of apprehension in the man's eyes seemed to
suggest that he at least understood. He hesitated for a moment, then,
with a gruff wait here, shut the door in Malcolm
Sage's face. Three minutes later, he opened it again, and
inviting him to enter, led the way along a passage,
(30:59):
at the end of which was a door which the
man threw open. Malcolm Sage found himself in a darkened
room from which the light was excluded by heavy curtains.
For a moment, he looked about him, unable to distinguish
any object. When his eyes became accustomed to the gloom,
he saw, seated in an arm chair, a man with
a handkerchief held to his face. Mister Goldsmith, he interrogated
(31:21):
as he seated himself in the center of the room. Well,
what is it, was the thickly spoken retort. I came
to ask your views on the fight to morrow night,
and to inquire if you think the odds of nine
to two on Jefferson are justified. There's an exclamation from
the arm chair. If you've got anything to say, said
(31:42):
the thick voice angrily, get it off your chest and
go to hell. He added, as an afterthought, what do
you want, the voice demanded, as Malcolm Sage remained silent.
I want you to take a little run with me
in my car, said Malcolm Sage evenly. Fresh air will
do your nose good. What the the man broke off,
(32:04):
apparently choked with passion, then, recovering himself, added here, cover
it up, or else I'll have you thrown out into
the street. What is it? I want either you or
one of your friends to come with me to where
Charley Burns has been taken. There was a stifled exclamation
from the chair, then a howl of agony as the
(32:24):
hand holding the handkerchief dropped. At the same moment, three
men burst into the room. Malcolm Sage's back was to
the door. He did not even turn to look at them.
Somebody switched on the light, and Malcolm Sage saw before
him the puffy face of a man of about sixty,
in the center of which was a hideous purple splotch
that had once been a nose. A moment later, the
(32:45):
handkerchief obscured the unsavory sight. What hell's all this about,
shouted one of the men, advancing into the room, the
others remaining by the door. Slowly, Malcolm Sage turned and
regarded the three men, whose appearance proclaimed their predilistic calling.
I was just asking mister Goldschmidt to be so good
as to accompany me to where Charley Burns is. He
(33:09):
was interrupted by exclamations from all three men. What hell
do you mean? Demanded he who had spoken A dark,
ill favored fellow with a brow lugger rainy sky. I
will tell you, said Malcolm Sage. Last night mister Goldschmidt,
accompanied by certain friends, went to Burns's training quarters to
keep an appointment made in the name of a girl
(33:32):
friend of Burn's. He came out quite unsuspectingly, was overpowered
and subsequently taken in mister Goldschmid's car to a place
with which I am unacquainted, so that he shall not
appear at the Olympia to morrow night. He drew his
pipe from his pocket and proceeded to fill it. His
air was that of a chess player who knows that
he can mate his opponent in two moves. It's a
(33:55):
damn lie, roared one of the men, whilst Goldschmid shrieked
something that was an intelligible. You drove out by way
of Putney Hill, Esher and Clannon cross Roads. You backed
the car to within two hundred yards of the grove,
where you all got out, with the exception of the driver.
You then entered the grove, taking cover behind a large
(34:16):
clump of rhododendrons. It's a damn lie, choked Goldsmith, by
the way, continued magham Sage. Your fair friend drove out
in the torneau, but returned seated beside the driver, and
one of you was nearly left behind, and entered the
car after it had started. The man looked at one
(34:36):
another in bewilderment. You Goldschmidt carried an umbrella, continued Magham Sage,
and took cover behind the holly Bush. But you came
out a little too soon, hence that nose. Burns was
playing possum. You are rather anxious for a smoke too.
I am a smoker myself. A stream of profanity burst
(34:57):
from Goldschmidt's lips. You see, I am in a position
to prove my points, said Malcolm Sage, calmly. Oh you
are are you? Sneered the spokesman as he moved a
little closer to Malcolm's age. And I am in a
position to prove that we're four to one, three to one,
corrected Malcolm Sage quietly, Your friend, indicating Goldschmidt with a nod,
(35:21):
is scarcely. He was interrupted by his stifled oath from
the arm chair. Good old nigger, murmured one of the
men by the door. Well and what about it, demanded nigger.
If Burns is delivered over to me within two hours,
unharmed and in fighting trim, and a check for one
thousand pounds is paid to Saint Timothy's Hospital by noon
(35:44):
to morrow, there will be no prosecution and I will
not divulge your names. If not, during the next twenty
four hours, London will probably have its first experience of
lynch law. With that, Malcolm Sage struck a match and
preceded the light his pipe. That all sneered. The man
ain't doing nothing else, you like, I cannot recall anything
(36:07):
else at the moment, said Malcolm Sage imperturbably, as he
looked across at the fellow over the top of the
burning match. You doady knock, burst out the man by
the door, who had hitherto remained silent. A pretty sort
of stool pigeon. You are spy onness, wasn't you, demanded
Nigger edging nearer to Malcolm Sage. It's ten minutes past four,
(36:28):
remarked Malcolm Sage coolly, as he glanced at his wrist watch.
Oh it is is, it was the retort. And in
another hour it'll be ten minutes past five. I have
to be back at my office by half past four.
Malcolm Sage looked about for some receptacle in which to
throw the spent match. You don't say so again, Nigger
(36:52):
edged a little nearer, but Malcolm Sage appeared not to
notice it. Well, I may as well tell you that
you don't leave here until eleven o'clock tomorrow night. See,
there were murmurs of approval from the others. Then perhaps
you will send out and buy me a toothbrush, was
Malcamsite's quiet rejoinder end of chapter fifteen.
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