[Illustration: Exactly behind him, peering through the hole in the
wall, was an evil face.]
DANNY
THE DETECTIVE
BY
V. C. BARCLAY
_Illustrated_
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918
BY
V. C. BARCLAY
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--IN THE STRAW-LOFT 1
II.--THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 7
III.--THE MILL POND 23
IV.--ONE A.M. 40
V.--THE DARK PASSAGE 51
VI.--SPIES! 78
VII.--A WHITE FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 82
VIII.--TAPPING THE CABLE 99
IX.--FREE! 111
X.--IN THE HANDS OF THE SCOUTS 121
XI.--CAUGHT AT LAST 133
XII.--“WELL DONE, DANNY!” 140
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
EXACTLY BEHIND HIM, PEERING THROUGH
THE HOLE IN THE WALL, WAS AN EVIL
FACE _Frontispiece_
LOOKING ABOUT HIM WARILY THE STRANGER
PICKED UP HIS BICYCLE AND FLUNG IT INTO
THE DARK WATERS OF THE POOL 14
BENDING DOWN, THE MAN ALLOWED HIS FACE
TO BE CAUGHT IN THE BRIGHT LIGHT, AND
DANNY LOOKED WITH ALL HIS EYES, SO
THAT HE MIGHT REMEMBER EVERY FEATURE 50
“LOOK, SIR,” HE SAID, “YOU’VE TORN A BIG
PIECE OUT OF YOUR COAT! AND ONE OF
THE BUTTONS, TOO!” 76
“WELL, WE’VE CAUGHT FRITZ AND HIS PALS
ALL RIGHT,” SAID CAPTAIN MILES, “THANKS
TO DANNY THE DETECTIVE” 90
THERE, ROW UPON ROW, SHINING, PERFECT,
READY FOR USE, LAY A VAST STORE OF
MACHINE GUNS 100
HE STEPPED OUT ON TO A LEDGE, VERY NARROW,
VERY PERILOUS 112
BEFORE LONG THE BOYS WERE TEARING DOWN
THE ROAD, DANNY SITTING ON THE CARRIER,
CLINGING TO DICK’S BELT 130
Transcriber’s Note: The illustration listed as facing page 90 does not
appear in this edition of the print book.
DANNY THE DETECTIVE
Danny the Detective
CHAPTER I
IN THE STRAW-LOFT
Danny Moor was feeling very happy as he sat on the garden gate swinging
his legs.
He had lived all his life in a very dull and smoky part of London. Now,
at last, his mother had come to live in the country in a village called
Dutton, as lodge-keeper to Sir Edward Finch. And Danny found himself in
a dear little house at the bottom of a long drive.
It was an old-fashioned cottage with a thatched roof, old black beams,
and red tiled floors. Honeysuckle grew in wild profusion over the
rustic porch and around the latticed windows. Beyond its little garden
stretched the great park belonging to the Hall, where spotted deer
roamed free, and squirrels darted like red flashes through the trees.
The rarest wild birds knew that here they were safe to build their
nests, unmolested. But that which delighted Danny most was the great,
grey ruin of an ancient abbey. It stood in the park, within a stone’s
throw of his mother’s cottage. As he lay in bed at night he could
see the tall grey tower looming up against the purple sky, and the
outline of the crumbling walls and traceried windows clear against the
stars. He used to lie in bed and wonder, and make up stories about the
mysterious ruin.
Danny was not quite an ordinary boy. His school-fellows used to laugh
at him; the big boys sometimes jeered at him; while his own pals
admired him and thought him very clever. And everyone called him “Danny
the Detective.” This is why he came to be known by that name.
Ever since he was quite a little chap Danny had loved anything
mysterious. Detective stories were his delight. He would creep about
in the dark old house in London, playing at being a policeman tracking
down a burglar. When he grew a little older he would play at “private
detective,” scanning the faces of the people in the streets as he went
to school, noticing their footprints and anything strange about their
appearance or behaviour.
He loved to sit by the fire, on winter evenings, reading of Sherlock
Holmes, and dreaming that he was one of the people taking part in those
fascinating adventures. And his mind was always full of splendid ideas
for disguises and secret messages. He taught himself the Morse code,
because he thought some day it might be useful to know it. He might
find himself in a dungeon (who could tell?) and want to communicate
with someone on the other side of the wall, and then he would tap out
the message with a knife. As he ran to school in the morning he would
repeat the “iddy umpty” alphabet to himself, and spell out the names
of the shops in dots and dashes, so as to get in good practice.
But in the country everything was so different. He did not know how
you set about being a detective in lanes and woods and fields. It was
Patrol-Leader Dick Church who solved the problem, and also gave him the
most ripping idea he had ever had in his life.
Dick was the stable-boy up at the Hall. He was also senior
Patrol-Leader of the 1st Dutton Troop of Boy Scouts. He had soon made
friends with the lonely little boy from London, and Danny was now as
keen an admirer of Dick Church as every other small boy in the village.
It was on the day that they sat in the straw-loft up at the Hall,
eating gooseberries, that Danny learnt about Wolf Cubs. He had often
longed to be a Scout; it seemed the next best thing to being a real
detective. But he was only ten, so there was no hope. Now, as they sat
together in the dusty, golden straw, among the cobwebs and the old
black beams, Danny learnt that it was possible to be a Junior Scout or
Wolf Cub, even though you were “only a kid!”
His heart beat fast.
“Do they learn tracking?” he said.
“Rather,” said Dick, “and signalling and swimming and first aid and all
sorts of things--just like us.”
“I’ll join ’em,” said Danny, wriggling about in the straw in his
excitement.
Dick laughed and aimed a gooseberry at a big rat who happened to be
passing.
“Look here, youngster,” he said, “don’t you get the idea that
Scouting is all play, all ragging about, and dressing up, and
paper-chasing--’cos it’s not.”
“Isn’t it?” said Danny.
“No,” answered the Patrol-Leader, lying back till his head was
half-smothered in his stalky pillow.
“It means doing good turns to other people every chance you get. And
it puts the lid on telling lies or sneaking or pinching things or
swearing. It means making a solemn promise and doing anything rather
than break it. It means jolly well bucking up all round. And it means
_sticking to it_.”
“Oh!” said Danny, and he pondered in silence for quite a long time.
Dick looked at his small friend.
“Cheer up, kid,” he said. “You’ll make a top-hole Cub if you try. The
Cub motto is, ‘_Do Your Best_.’ D’you think you can live up to that?”
“Not _half_!” said Danny, and from that time he decided to be a Cub--a
_real_ Cub, inside as well as out.