16 - 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 sixteen of Malcolm's Age Detective by Herbert George Jenkins.
This lipovox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Anossimum,
Chapter sixteen, The Great Fight of the Olympia One. Never
had the Olympia seen such a crowd as was gathered
to watch the fight between Charlie Burns of England and

(00:20):
Joe Jefferson of America. Never in its career of hybrid
ugliness had it witnessed such excitement. For thirty six hours,
the wildest rumors had been current. Charlie Burns broken down,
run away, committed suicide, and refused to fight. He had
broken a leg, an arm, a finger, and had torn
more tendons than he possessed. He'd sprained ankles, rung. Withers,

(00:43):
been overtrained, had contracted every known disease in addition to
manifesting a yellow streak. The atmosphere was electrical. The spectators
whispered among themselves, exchanging views and rumors. The most fantastical
stories were related, credited, and debated with gravity and concern.
If some ill advised optimist ventured to question a particularly

(01:05):
lugubrious statement, he was challenged to explain the betting, which
had crept up to six to one on Jefferson offered,
with no takers. The arrival of the Prince of Wales
gave a welcome vent for pent up excitement. Accustomed as
he was to enthusiastic acclamation, the Prince seemed a little
embarrassed by the warmth and intensity of his greeting. The
preliminary bouts ran their cause of interest only to those

(01:28):
who immediately concerned, who were more truly alone in the
midst of that vast concourse than some anchorite in the
desert of Sahara. The heat was unbearable, the atmospheres suffocating.
Men smoked their cigars and cigarettes jerkily, now indulging in
a series of staccatoed puffs, now ignoring them until they
went out slowly. The time crept on, as by the

(01:50):
bed side of death. If those were ridiculously bobbing figures
in the ring would only seize their caperings break break.
The voice of the free suddenly split through a pocket
of silence. Everyone seemed startled. Then the curtain of sound
once more descended and wrapped the assembly in its impenetrable folds.
The gong sounded, the beginning and the end of each drowned,

(02:13):
and so it went on. Mister Bapwith sat in the
front row near the Prince, smiling, smiling, forever smiling. He
was a dapper little man with a fiery, clean shaven
face and a fringe of grizzled hair above his ears
that gave the light to the oburned silkiness with which
its head was crowned. Next to him was mister Dalton,
who chattered and smiled, smiled and chattered, but his eyes

(02:36):
moved restlessly over the bazin of faces, as if in
search of an answer to some unattered question. At length,
the preliminary bouts were ended as the combatants had arrived unhralded,
so they departed unsung. Although no one appeared to be watching,
A sudden hush fell over the assembly. That dramatic moment
had arrived. A few minutes would see the rumors confirmed

(02:57):
or disproved. Men seasoned spackats of a hundred fights found
the tension almost unbearable. The m C climbed through the
ropes and looked fustily about him. He appealed to the
spectators for silence during the actual rounds and for the
discontinuance of smoking. A black carpbeard box sealed as if
it contained dueling pistols instead of gloves, was thrust into

(03:20):
the ring. Men took a last fond drawer at their
cigars and cigarettes before mechanically extinguishing them. All eyes were
directed towards the spot where the combatants would appear. The
referee turned expectantly in the same direction. A group of
men in flannels and sweaters was seen moving towards the ring.
Among them was a sleek, dark haired man in a

(03:40):
long dressing gown of bottle green. It was Joe Jefferson. Suddenly,
a great roar burst out, echoing and re echoing continuously
as the group approached the ring and Jefferson climbed through
the ropes. Then came another hush. A second group of
men was observed approaching the ring. There was a shout
as though nearest recognized elf Pond among them. It developed

(04:03):
into a roar, then died away as if strangled, giving
place to a hum of suppressed inquiry. Every one was
either asking or looking the same question, where is burns?
Alf Pond and his associates moved to the ringside as
if bound for a funeral. Their glooms seemed suddenly to
pervade the whole vast concours. Men talked to one another mechanically,

(04:26):
their eyes fixed upon the group. There was a strange hush.
The men reached the ringside and stood looking at one another.
The audience looked at them what had happened. None seemed
to notice three men moving down the opposite gangway towards
the ring. The man in the center was muffled in
a heavy overcoat that reached to his heels. A soft
felt head was pulled down over his eyes. One or

(04:48):
two spectators in their immediate neighborhood gave them a hasty,
curious glance. Suddenly, alf Pond gave a wild whoop, and,
breaking away from his fellows, dashed towards the three strangers.
In a moment, the overcoat and muffler were thrown aside,
and the hat knocked off, revealing the fair haired and
smiling Charley Burns. Gripping Burns's hand, alf Pond broke down.

(05:10):
Tears streamed down his battle seared features, and he sobbed
with the choking agony of a strong man. Then suddenly
everything became enveloped in a dense volume of sound. Men
and women stood on their chairs and waved frantically, madly
anything they could clutch hold off to wave. The whole
Olympia appeared to have gone mad. Noble peers, grave judges,

(05:31):
sedate generals, and austere philosophers acted as if suddenly bereft
of the restraining influences of civilization and decorum. Hurked and
fondled by his seconds, Burns reached the ring and climbed
into it. The black carpet box was opened, the man's
hands bandaged, the gloves dunned still, the panemonium raged, now
dying down, now bursting out again with increased volume. Jefferson

(05:55):
and Burns shook hands. They were free, stood in the
middle of the ring, and with arms extended aloft, appeared
to be imploring the blessing of heaven. The crowd, however, understood,
and the great uproar died down to a hum of sound. Then,
for the first time it was noticed that in place
of the habitual smile that had made Burns the idol
he was, there was a grim set about his jaw

(06:17):
that caused those nearest to the ring to wonder and
to speculate Charlie Burns' battle smile had become almost a tradition.
If he'd only fight more and box less, alf Pond
would say, complainingly, he'd beat the whole blinkin' whool one hand.
Suddenly a hush fell upon the assembly, a hush as
pronounced as had been the previous pandemonium. The referee took

(06:41):
a final look ground behind Burns, alf Pond could be
seen sponging his face over a small bucket. He was
once more himself. There were things to be done. Almost
before anyone realized it, the gong sounded. The fight had
begne God. The exclamation broke involuntarily from alf Pond as
he dropped the ponge and gazed before him with wide,

(07:01):
staring eyes. He's fighting, he cried, almost dancing with excitement.
Did ever you see the like Sandy? But Sandy's eyes
were glued upon the ring. His hands and feet moved convulsively.
He was a fighter himself. Discarding his traditional opening of
boxing with swift, defensive watchfulness, Charlie Burns had darted at
his man before anyone knew what was happening. His left

(07:25):
crashed between Jefferson's eyes, a blow that caused him to
reel back almost to the ropes. Before he could recover,
a right hook had sent him staggering against the ropes themselves.
For a second it looked as if he would collapse
over them. Putting himself together, however, he strove to clinge,
but Burns was too quick for him, Stepping back swiftly.
He fainted with his left and Jefferson, expecting our repetition,

(07:48):
at the first blow, raised his guard. A white right
arm shot out to the mark, and Jefferson went down
with a crash. The timekeeper's voice began to drone the
monotonous count. At a Jefferson gathered himself together. At nine
he was on his feet. Once more, Burns was upon him,
and Jefferson saved himself by clinging. It was clear that

(08:09):
he was badly shaken. Three times during the first round.
Burns floored his man. The onlookers were mad with excitement.
Back in his own corner, Charlie Burns was sitting a
hard set look in his eyes, his jaws square and firm.
Alf pond first about him like a hand over a chick.
Shut up, Alf, I know what I'm doing, said Burns sharply.

(08:31):
He knows what he's doing, repeated alf pond ecstatically. Here
that's Sandy. He knows what he's doing, and so does
jeff I'll lay a pony to a pink pill, he
added once more. The gong sounded once more. Burns sprang
up and darted at his man. Jefferson tried first to
dodge and then to clinch, but without avail. He was unnerved.
His strategy and tactics had been planned in view of

(08:53):
Burne's usual methods, but here was an entirely different man
to deal with a great fighter. Twice more, Jefferson went down,
taking account of nine. On each occasion, he seemed to
share with the spectators the knowledge that there would be
no third round. On rising the second time, he seemed
determined to change his tactics. He rushed forward, fighting gamely,

(09:15):
apparently in the hope of getting a lucky knockout blow
without giving an inch. Burns threw off the blows, and,
fainting with the left, crashed his right full on the
point of his opponent's jaw. Jefferson's hands fell, and for
a second he stood gazing stupidly before him. Then his
knees sacked and with a deliberation that seemed almost intolerable.

(09:35):
He crashed forward on his face, one arm outstretched as
if in protest. Again, the timekeeper's voice was heard monotonously counting.
Burns turned to his corner without waiting for the conclusion
of the count. He knew the strength behind that blow.
Two later that night, just as Big Ben was taking

(09:58):
breath preparatory to his supreme effort, Malcolm Sage was seated
in his big arm chair, smoking a final pipe before bed,
and turning over in his mind the happenings of the
day and the probable events of the morrow. His train
of thought was suddenly interrupted by a hammering at the
outer door of his chambers, followed by the sound of
loud and hilarious voices as Rogers answered the summons. A

(10:21):
moment later, the door of the sitting room burst open,
and there flowed into the room Charlie Burns and his entourage,
all obviously in the best of spirits. In the background
stood Rogers, with expressionless face, looking towards his master. Malcolm
Sage rose and shook hands with Burns, mister Dalton and
mister Peppwick, Elf Pond and his assistance Sorry missus Sage,

(10:43):
cried Burns with a laugh. But the boys wouldn't wait,
although I told them calling time was four till six,
and they laughed again, the laugh of a man who
was not a care in the world. He also gripped
Malcolm Sage's hand with a heartenness that made him WinCE.
The others, in turns shook hands in a way that
caused Malcolm's Age to wonder why America had not long

(11:03):
since ceased to be a republic. The man dropped into
chairs in various parts of the room, and rogers, who
had disappeared at the signal for Malcolm Sage, now returned
with a tray of glasses, siphons, and decanters. Soon the
whole company was drinking the health of Malcolm Sage with
an earnestness which convinced him that on the morrow there

(11:23):
would be trouble with Colonel Sappinger, who lived above and
cherished Carlyle's hatred of sound. And now missus Age said,
alf Pond, you want to know how you found Charley.
He won't tell us anything. Wonderful I call it, he added,
and there was a murmur of assent from the others
as they proceeded to light the cigars that Rogers handed round.

(11:44):
It was not very difficult, said Malcolm Sage, stuffing tobacco
into his pipe from a terra cotta jar beside him.
As he applied a light to the bull, the others
exchanged glances from the first. He continued, it was obvious
that some message or letters had been conveyed to our
friend Burns. He gazed across at the champion, who looked uncomfortable,

(12:06):
as he had not mentioned the fact to any of
his friends, continued Malcolm Sage, a little slyly. It seemed
obvious to assume that there was a lady in the case.
Alf Pond looked reproachfully at Burns, who reddened beneath the
united gaze of seven pairs of eyes. That the appointment
had been for the evening proceeded. Malcolm Sage was obvious

(12:27):
from the fact that Burns disappeared in a blue suit
he always changed into after the day's work. Alf Pond
looked across at mister Dalton, nodding his approval of their reasoning.
It was Kitty or I thought it was burst out Burns.
She said something terrible had happened, and that she must
see me, he added. Kitty Graham was shortly to become

(12:49):
Missus Charley Burns, but during the period of training she
had been rigorously excluded from all intercours with her fiancee
by order of the autocratic alf Pond. The meeting was
arranged for the further size the large clump of rododendrons,
which acted as a screen, continued Malcolm Sage. When Burns
arrived there, he saw a girl standing a little distance away.

(13:12):
Before he could reach her, however, he was seized and
a chloroformed pad held over his mouth. The suddenness of
the attack dazed him. He did not struggle, but held
his breath. He how the blazes did you know that,
Missus Sage burst out, Burns. You are always a quick
thinker in the ring, said Malcolm Sage. And you are

(13:33):
a quick thinker. Then you smelt chloroform, held your breath
and thought there was a sort of instinctive ring craft.
But you began, Burns. There were no marks of a
struggle where you were seized. You probably realized that your
only chance lay in letting the enemy think you were
losing consciousness. Burns nodded, seeing that there was no sign

(13:56):
of trouble, continued Malcolm Sage, the principal, and this little
affair stepped out from where he had been taking cover
just at the moment when Burns broke loose and let out.
Movement has always a primary attraction for the eye. And
Burns got this man full on the nose and ruined it.
He also sent him clean into the privet hatch, where
he collapsed. Who was it? Demuthered elf ponned fiercely. There were, however,

(14:22):
too many of them for Burns, continued Malcolm Sage, ignoring
the question. They had planned the attack very carefully, each
clinging to a limb. Soon they had unconscious and bound
in the car. Then they turned their attention to their leader. Yes,
but how did you find Burns, asked mister Dalton eagerly.

(14:43):
I didn't, said Malcolm Sage. They showed me where he was,
but began mister Papwick, whose shiny, clean shaven face, normally
suggestive of Turner's sunset, now looked like a conflagration. After
half an hour's fruitless effort to track the down side roads,
I returned to London as fast as my man could

(15:04):
take me, proceeded Malcolm's age, and I immediately set inquiries
on foot as to the betting on the stock Exchange,
at Tethersall's, the National Sporting Club, at other places. By
three o'clock that afternoon I knew pretty well who it
was that had been laying heavily against Burns. That simplified matters.

(15:25):
Elf Pond and Burns exchanged admiring glances. As you know,
for more than a week previously, the betting had made
it clear that heavy sums were being laid on Jefferson.
In the course of ten days, it had veered round
from five to four on Burns to ninety two against.
As there were no rumors detrimental to his condition or

(15:46):
state of health, this could only mean that a lot
of money was being put on Jefferson. I found out
the names of the principal layers and the amounts. I
discovered that all were extremely active, with the exception of
one that I decided was the man with the umbrella,
who's he demolet Sanney, whose mouth had not seized the

(16:07):
gape since Malcolm's Age began his story. The man Burns
knocked out. He'd been leaning rather heavily on the handle
whilst taking cover behind a holly bush, and the metal
cap at the base of the silk was clearly marked
on the ground. He was also holding an unlit cigar
in his hand, which he left in the hedge. By
a great good chance, this was recognized by some one

(16:30):
I happen to know as a brand smoked by a
certain backer of Jefferson. Well, I'm damned broke in alf
pond with intense earnestness, So you see, I'd quite a
lot to help me. I was searching for a well
dressed man. But how did you know he was well dressed,
queried mister Dalton. His footprints showed that he wore boots

(16:52):
of a fashionable model. Explained Malcolm's age. He also carried
an umbrella, even on occasion such as this. I had
to look for a well dressed man who always carried
an umbrella, and who smoked large and expensive cigars, and
most important of all, whose nose had been smashed out
of all recognition. But how couldye tell I got him

(17:14):
on the nose? Demanded Burns, leading forward eagerly. There was
quite a pool of blood beneath the hedge, explained Malcolm's age.
He was probably there for some minutes while his friends
were making sure of you. Burns, blood would not have
flowed so generously as the result of a blow from
the fist, except from the nose. You're a knockout, That's

(17:36):
what you are, Missus Sage, said alf Pond with admiring conviction.
I'd never have thought of it all, he added, with
the air of one desiring to be absolutely fair. Finally,
continued Malcolm Sage. There was the car. It was a
large car. A defect in one of the tires enabled
me to determine that, by a steel rule, it was

(17:57):
obviously heavily laden, and the near back wheel was out
of track. This fact, of course, was of no help
on the high road, where other cars would blot out
the track. But if I could show that some one
who had been heavily backing Jefferson had a nose badly
damaged and a car with a near back wheel out
of track in just the same way, that this particular

(18:17):
wheel was out of track, and that its tires were
the same as those of the car that grew up
outside Burns's training quarters, then I should have had wealth
of circumstantial evidence that it would be almost impossible to
confute from her friend at Scotland yard. I obtained the
number of the car belonging to the man whom this
evidence involved. As Stainton is off the Portsmouth Road, I

(18:40):
telephoned to the Automobile Association patrols at Putney Hill, Esher
and Cleannon cross roads. I was told that on the
previous evening this particular car was seen going in the
direction of Guildford. These patrols take the numbers of all
cars at pass. As it had not passed Liz, where
the next patrol is stationed. It was another link in

(19:01):
the chain. Well, I'm blowed. The exclamation broke involuntarily from kit.
As the patrols go off duty at dusk, I could
get no further help from them, continued Malcolm Sage. I
sent a man to watch Jefferson's training quarters, although I
was fairly certain that he and his party were in
no way involved. Malcolm's Age went on to narrate his

(19:25):
call upon Nathan Goldsmith, carefully omitting any mention of the
name or address. His hearers listened with breathless interest. I
concluded that they had taken their prisoner to some lonely
empty house, he explained, but there was not time to
search all the empty houses in the Home counties. So
the man with the damaged nose had to come with
me in my car, and his friends followed in his.

(19:49):
But how did you manage it, gasped the Pepwick. At
first they showed fight, said Malcolm Sage, and threatened to
keep me prisoner until after the fight. Gee, exclaimed kid.
I anticipated some such move and had instructed my people
that unless I were back by half past four, they

(20:09):
were to deliver certain packets to the editors of well
known London papers. In these packets was told the story
as far as I've been able to trace it. This
I informed them. What did they say to that, asked
mister Dalton. They insisted that I telephone countermanding my orders.
But as I explained that I had told my man

(20:29):
Thompson he was to disregard any telephone message or written
instructions he might receive from me, they realized that the
game was up. I also informed them that Inspector Wensdale
and two of his men were waiting at my office
in anticipation of a possible hold up. Well, I'm blessed,
exclaimed alf Pond. If you ain't it, I pointed out,

(20:52):
continued Malcolm sage that whereas by producing Burns, they would
have a fight for their money. If the truth became known,
not only would their most likely be forfeited, but they
would probably have to go to law to recover their
stake money. I further pledged mister Dalton, mister Papwick and
Burns not to take any legal action. I rather suspect

(21:14):
that in this I was technically conspiring to defeat the
ends of justice. But weren't you afraid they'd do a
double cross, asked Burns. They heard me instruct one of
my assistants that unless I were backed by nine o'clock
that evening, the notes I'd written and addressed were to
be delivered. Incidentally, the inspector was present unofficially. Of course,

(21:37):
you ought to be in the ring with a head
like that, said alf Pond sorrowfully. We found Burns fairly
comfortable in the wine cellar of an empty house near Ripley.
They had left him food and water and beer. In
all probability, on awakening tomorrow morning, had we not found him,
he would have discovered the door unlocked and himself no
longer a prisoner. Malcolm's age paused with the air of

(21:59):
one who has told his story. But why did you
keep Pap with her me at Stainton until late this afternoon?
Inquired mister Dalton in the first instance, to be in
charge and to see that Burns's disappearance was kept secret.
Obs obvious that every endeavor would be made to put
a lot of money on Jefferson before the fact became known.

(22:20):
This would lead to rumor and later to inquiry. Subsequently,
I decided that you were both better out of London,
as you would have been interviewed and bound to give
something away in spite of the utmost caution. And now
missus Age, said mister Dalton, who are the scoundrels? I
have promised not to give their names? Was the quiet reply?

(22:43):
Not give their names, cried several of his hearers in unison.
Malcolm Sage then proceeded to explain that unless the gang
had seen a loophole of escape, they would not have
thrown up the sponge had exposure been inevitable. In any case,
they would have brazened it out. Knowing that whatever happen
to themselves, Burns could not appear at the Olympia, the

(23:03):
knowledge their identity would not be divelted tempted them to
risk the loss of their money. Apart from this, he added,
the details I was able to give seemed to convince
them that they had either been watched or given away.
You must remember that they've lost enormous sums of money,
Malcolm's Age went on, and there will be another one

(23:23):
thousand pounds for Sir Timothy's hospital. It was further understood
that if I could discover any one of them had
inspired a covering bed, I was released from my promise.
This is why the odds got to six to one. Incidentally,
they ensued the defeat of their man. When Burns entered
the ring to night. It was to fight, not to box.

(23:46):
And that's true, said alf Pond, nodding his head and
reaching for another's cigar. He never fought like it before
in all his puff And where were you last night,
inquired mister Papp With of Burns in my bed, said
malg Sage, and my friend Inspector Wensdeale of Scotland Yard
and I slept here. Burns has never been out of
Wensdale's sight until we handed him over this evening. I've

(24:09):
been having police protection, laughed Burns still you didn't ought
to have gone two days without doing anything, said alf Pond. Oh,
I had a bit of sparring with missus, Sage, said Burns,
in spite of the glasses. If you want to see
some pretty footwork, Alf, you get him to put the
gloves on. I knew it, cried alf Pond, with conviction,

(24:30):
then turning to the others, didn't I say, ought have
been in the ring? And Malcolm Sage found relief from
the admiring eyes of his guests in gazing down at
the well bitten mouthpiece of his brier. But why did
you let me think that Jefferson and his crowd were
in it? Inquired Burns, with corrugated brow. Well, said Malcolm

(24:50):
Sage slowly, as I'd put twenty five pounds on you
to steady Pond's nerves. I didn't want to lose it.
And alf Pond wink gleefully across at mister Dalton. End
of chapter sixteen.