A special constable is allowed to bore his beat-partner in moderation.
I have no doubt that I bore mine. In return I expect to be moderately
bored. In fact a partner who flashed through all the four hours might
attract Zeppelins. But Granby! In human endurance there is a point
known as the limit. That is Granby.
Years back some Government person in a moment of fatuity made Granby
a magistrate. Magistrates should learn to condense their wisdom into
sentences. Granby beats out his limited store into orations.
It was my misfortune to arrive late at the station the other night
and to find that the other specials had craftily left Granby to be my
partner. The results of unpunctuality are sometimes hideous.
Directly we had started our lonely patrol Granby gave what I may
describe as his "bench" cough and began, "When I was at the court the
other day a very curious case came before me." He was off. If Granby
delivers to prisoners in the dock the speeches he recites to me the
Government ought to intervene. No man however guilty ought to have a
sentence _and_ one of Granby's orations. He might be given the option.
Personally, for anything under fourteen days I should be tempted to
serve the sentence.
Just when he was at his dreariest I heard a remarkable treble voice
down a side-street singing, "Keep the Home Fires Burning." "Sounds
like a drunk," I said promptly; "we ought to investigate this." Had it
been a couple of armed burglars I should have welcomed their advent if
it stopped Granby.
We went down and found a stout lady sitting on the pavement warbling
Songs Without Melody.
"Gerout, Zeppelin," she observed as a flash-lamp was turned on her.
"A distinct case of intoxication _plus_ incapability," observed
Granby. "We must take her to the station. You can charge her. I have
so many important engagements this week that I can't spare time to be
a witness."
I saw that a wasted morning at the police-court was to be thrust on
me.
"I also have many important engagements this week," I replied.
"This duty is to be taken seriously--" began Granby.
"Yes," I said, "if we don't run her in we ought to see her home. She
can't stay here rousing the street."
"That was what I was about to suggest as the proper course for
you when you interrupted me," said Granby. "Where do you live?" he
demanded.
"Fourteen, Benbow Avenue," replied the lady; "and pore Uncle Sam's
been dead eleven years."
"Come on," I said. "Get up and we'll see you home."
The lady pushed me aside, gripped Granby's arm and said
affectionately, "'Ow you remind me of pore ole Jim in 'is best days
afore 'e got jugged!"
Granby snorted as he dragged the lady onward. I think he knew that I
was smiling in the darkness.
"Jus' like ole times, when we was courtin' together," continued the
lady. "If it 'adn't been for a bronze-topped barmaid comin' between
us, what might 'ave been! ah, what might 'ave been!"
This tender reminiscence prompted the lady to sing, "Come to me, sweet
Marie," with incidental attempts at a step-dance. The _finale_ brought
us to Benbow Avenue.
"I shall speak to her husband and caution him severely about his
wife's conduct," said Granby to me.
I shrank into the background ready to move off directly the oration
began.
Granby knocked at the door and it opened.
"I have brought your wife home in a state--" he began.
"Ain't I 'ad a nice young man to take me for a walk while you've been
sitting guzzling by the fire?"
"You been taking my missis for a walk," said the indignant husband.
"I am a magistrate and a special constable--" began Granby.
"More shame to you. It's the likes of you 'oo disgraces the upper
clarses."
"Shut the door, Bill," said the lady. "Don't lower yourself by talking
to 'im. I never could abide a man as smelt o' gin meself."
The door slammed and Granby strode towards me.
"The ingratitude of the lower classes is disgraceful. I am tempted to
despair of the State when I think of it. The only way is to let these
occurrences pass into oblivion, to set oneself resolutely to forget
them as if they had never been."
I agreed; but since then Granby has always eyed me curiously. I think
he suspects that I am not forgetting resolutely enough.
* * * * *
A Field Officer writes: "Yesterday I was saluted by an Australian
private. It was a great day for me."
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE WHITE HOUSE MYSTERY.