“The first time I got the chance of speakin’ to Sankey — it was on the day we were wheeled out into the hospital garden in our bath chairs — I asked him what he thought about the matter.
“‘I’m sorry for the chap in one way,’ he said, ‘but a man who carries explosives in his hat deserves all he gets.’”
How He Lost His Moustache
“ladies,” said P.C. Lee thoughtfully, “I know very little about bein’ a bachelor, an’ havin’ no female relatives worth speakin’ of, an’ not havin’ many opportunities for seein’ an’ talkin’ in that respect. My education has been to some extent neglected in that respect. I see ’em in a professional way, an’ that’s all. There isn’t a mornin’ but what some woman doesn’t call at my house and ask to see me.
“This mornin’ it was Mrs. Flynn with a black eye.
“‘I want to know, Mr. Lee,’ says she. ‘how long I’ve got to put up with that brute of mine?’
“‘Meanin’ your lawful husband?’ says I.
“‘Meanin’ the man I work for,’ she says, ‘who takes the money I work hard for, an’ blacks my eye. Can’t I do anythin’?’
“‘You can summons him,’ I said, an’ she sort of sneered.
“‘Summons him!’ says she. ‘A fat lot of good that will do! Do you think I want to show myself up to the neighbours?’
“I looked at her eye.
“I should say they know all about it,’ says I, ‘without any assistance from a summons.’
But apparently she’d spun the usual cuffer about havin’ fallen up against the bedstead an’ she was under the impression, like all the people of her class are, that she was believed.
“But Flynn being a notorious woman beater, I thought it as well to caution him, so when I ran against him next time I gave him a bit of my mind.
“A big thickset brute is Flynn, who has never been known to do a day’s work in his life. He is the sort of man who has a fresh wife every two or three months, an’ it’s one of the standin’ wonders of my life how he gets them. As you probably know, criminals are very conservative, an’ men who are engaged in one kind of crooked mess very seldom go outside their own line.
‘A man who spends his life stealin’ the tills of small tradesmen doesn’t pick pockets, an’ the burglar never goes in for coinin’.
‘Flynn’s line of business was robbery from the person, an’ the person was usually a woman. He was the lowest down criminal I’ve ever met; whether it was a blind beggar, or some poor creature of the streets hoardin’ her few pennies, nobody was safe from him. His last conviction was for stealin’ 2s. 9d. from an old lady who kept an apple stall in Portobello Road. So I had plenty of knowledge to go upon when I tackled Flynn. He was standin’ outside the Elgin Arms when I came upon him. I beckoned him aside.
“‘Flynn,’ says I, ‘there’s been a complaint laid against you for assault.’
“‘Oh,’ says Flynn carelessly, ‘who by — my wife?’
“‘I can’t exactly say what relation the lady is to you,’ I said, ‘but that is nothin’ to do with it. I’ve got to warn you to be careful.’
“‘Look here, Mr. Lee,’ says Flynn insolently, ‘I’m not in the habit of allowin’ slops—’
“‘I beg your pardon?’ I says politely.
“‘Coppers,’ says Flynn.
‘“I didn’t quite catch that,’ says I.
“‘Constables,’ says Flynn sullenly.
“‘That’s better,’ I says. ‘I don’t like you talkin’ like that, Flynn — it’s against the law, too.’
‘“Oh,’ says Flynn, ‘I didn’t know there was anything against callin’ a copper a slop.’
“‘There is!’ says I. ‘It’s called “calculated to bring about a breach of the peace”, which means incitin’ a policeman to smack your head.’
“After I’d given him a few words of homely wisdom an’ had told him what I would do to him if I ever had to take him to the station, an’ had generally talked like Uncle George, I left him.
“I believe he went to the station an’ reported me to Sergeant Lindon, and that he stopped P.C. Sankey an’ told him too. Sankey threw three texts at him in rapid succession, an’ followed it up by knockin’ his hat over his eyes — this was in Kensington Park Gardens when nobody was about — an’ Flynn went home an’ took revenge upon his wife.
“I heard about this one mornin’ when we paraded. It was one of the most interestin’ days of my life for more reasons than one. It was the day I lost my moustache, an’ it was the day I got the tip about old Miss Pilking.”
Here P.C. Lee paused with an exaggeration of solemnity and ran his hands across his smoothly shaven face. Then he went on slowly:
“Old Mrs. Pilking — did I say Miss? — was a very rich old lady with eccentric habits. Used to walk about all over Kensington, very disreputably dressed, but always had ten to twenty pounds sewn up in her skirt. I was talkin’ very affably to Tim Creeter — a great pal of Flynn’s — about it. ‘Do you know who old Mrs. Pilking is?’ I asked.
“‘No, Mr. Lee,’ says Tim, ‘Does she live in our district?’
“‘That,’ I says, ‘I’ve never been able to find out. She oughtn’t to be allowed to walk about with so much money.’
“At this Tim pricks up his ears.
“‘No, she oughtn’t,’ he says. ‘What is she like, Mr. Lee?’
“‘A very stout old party,’ I says, ‘always carries an old sack on her back like a rag-picker. I thought you would have known her, you bein’ such a favourite with all these queer people.’
“Tim grinned an’ looked uncomfortable, as well he might, for he’d only been out of Wormwood Scrubs a week ‘for being in suspected persons’ company’.
“But Tim was interested in old Mrs. Pilking; wanted to know where she could be found, who went with her, what her usual beat was, an’ I had more than a suspicion that he was collectin’ information for Mr. Flynn — but there are times when it’s a very good lay to help a man like Flynn.
“I heard no more from Mr. Tim direct, but one of our ‘unofficials’ reported that both Flynn and Tim had been most industriously searchin’ for old Mrs. Pilking all through Kensington. I was on duty one mornin’ about ten when I saw Flynn comin’ along Kensington Park Road. He crossed to me, an’ was marvellously polite — for Flynn. Bid
