BINDLE AND THE GERMAN MENACE
I
"One of the points about this perfession, Ginger," Bindle remarked, "is
that yer sometimes gets an 'oliday."
The two men were seated on the steps leading up to Holmleigh, a
handsome house standing in its own grounds in the village of Little
Compton, in Suffolk.
"Fancy you an' me sittin' 'ere drinkin' in the sunshine," continued
Bindle with a grin.
Ginger grunted.
"Though, Ginger, sunshine ain't got no froth, an' it ain't altogether
good for yer complexion, still it's good for vegetables and most likely
for you too, Ginger. 'Ere we are, 'edges, trees, and no temptation.
The village beauties is nearly as ugly as wot you are, Ginger. Puts me
in mind o' one of the ole 'Earty 'ymns:
"Where every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile."
When they wrote that 'ymn, Ginger, they must 'ave been thinkin' o' you
at Little Compton.
"Well, I'm orf for a drink; I can't eat me dinner dry, same's you. The
further yer goes for yer beer the more yer enjoys it. Sorry you're too
tired, ole son. S' long!"
Bindle and Ginger, among others, had been selected by the foreman to
accompany him on an important moving job. A Mr. Henry Miller, well
known throughout the kingdom as possessing one of the most valuable
collections of firearms in the country, was moving from London into
Suffolk. He had stipulated that only thoroughly trustworthy men should
be permitted to handle his collection, and insisted on the contractors
supplying all the hands instead of, as was usual, sending one man and
hiring the others locally. Thus it came about that Bindle and the
gloomy Ginger found themselves quartered for a few days at Lowestoft.
As Bindle approached the Dove and Easel, famous as being the only inn
in the kingdom so named, Mr. John Gandy stood reading a newspaper
behind the bar. When business was slack Mr. Gandy always read the
newspaper, and in consequence was the best-informed man upon public
affairs in Little Compton.
As if sensing a customer, Mr. Gandy laid down the paper and gazed
severely over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles at nothing in
particular. He was a model publican, from his velvet skullcap and
immaculate Dundreary whiskers to his brilliantly polished and squeaky
boots.
As he pursued his contemplation Mr. Gandy saw the outer doors pushed
open, admitting a stream of yellow sunshine and with it a little
bald-headed man with a red nose and green baize apron. It was Bindle.
He approached the counter, eyed Mr. Gandy deliberately, and ordered a
pint of ale.
Mr. Gandy drew the beer as if it were a sacred office, wheezing the
while. He was a man with a ponderous manner, and a full bar or an
empty bar made no difference to the sacred flow of the liquor. He had
an eye that could cower a "drunk" more effectually than the muscle of a
barman.
"Dry work, movin'," said Bindle pleasantly.
Mr. Gandy wheezed.
"I'm a stranger 'ere," Bindle continued, as he produced some bread and
cheese from a piece of pink newspaper. "Funny little 'ole I calls it.
Nothin' to do, as far as I can see. No street accidents 'ere, wot?"
and he laughed genially at his own joke.
"You're one of the pantechnicon-men from Holmleigh?" queried Mr. Gandy
with dignity.
"Right, first time!" laughed the irrepressible Bindle with his mouth
full of bread and cheese. "I'm up at the fort, I am."
"The fort?" queried Mr. Gandy. "The fort?"
"Yes, the fort," grinned Bindle. "That's what I calls it. Never saw
so many guns in all me puff--millions of 'em."
Bindle was obviously serious, and Mr. Gandy became interested. At that
moment a carter entered. Bindle immediately proceeded to get into
conversation with the newcomer. Presently he caught Mr. Gandy's eye
and read in it curiosity. Mr. Gandy then slowly transferred his gaze
to the door of the bar-parlour. Bindle followed Mr. Gandy's eye, and
with a nod, sauntered towards the door, looked round, saw that he was
right and passed through, softly closing it behind him.
A minute later Mr. Gandy moved in the same direction, lifted the flap
of the bar and passed into the room, also closing the door behind him.
As he left the bar he touched a bell which produced Mrs. Gandy, in
black, wearing much jewellery and a musical-comedy smile as persistent
as Mr. Gandy's wheeze.
When Bindle went forth from the bar-parlour it was with a joyous look
in his eye and half-a-crown in his pocket. Outside the Dove and Easel
he lifted his green baize apron, a finger and thumb at each corner, and
made a few shuffling movements with his feet; then he winked, grinned,
and finally laughed.
"I shouldn't be surprised if things was to 'appen in this funny little
'ole," he remarked, as he passed on his way up the road.
Mr. Gandy left the bar-parlour, spoke to Mrs. Gandy, and disappeared
through the glass door into the private parlour. Two hours later Mr.
Gandy reappeared. He had made up his mind.
Bindle's mind was working busily. He was obviously in possession of a
secret that other people thought worth paying for. As he walked down
the village street he pondered deeply. He paused and slapped his green
baize apron-covered leg. He walked over to where Mrs. Grinder was
standing at the door of her little general shop. A remark of Mr.
Gandy's had set him thinking.
"Mornin', mother," he called out in salutation.
"Good-morning," responded Mrs. Grinder with a smile.
"'Oo's the biggest bug 'ere?"
"The what?"
"The swells; them as grind you an' me down an' make us un'appy," Bindle
explained.
"There's Sir Charles Custance at The Towers, up on the left where the
poplars are, and Mr. Greenhales at the Home Farm, and----"
"That's enough. I'm stayin' in this neighbour'ood, and if I wasn't to
call on the nobs they might be 'urt in their private feelin's. Glad to
see yer lookin' so merry an' bright. Mornin'." And cap in hand,
Bindle made an elaborate bow and passed on his way, leaving the buxom
Mrs. Grinder wreathed in smiles.
Half an hour later he walked down the drive of The Towers, the
residence of Sir Charles Custance, J.P., a sovereign richer than when
he entered.
At the gates of The Towers he paused. Coming towards him was a
dog-cart, driven by a small, fierce-looking little man. It was Mr.
Roger Greenhales, who farmed as a hobby, at a considerable yearly loss,
to prove that the outcry against the unprofitableness of English
land-culture was ridiculous.
Bindle spoke to Mr. Greenhales, and in ten minutes received five
shillings. He then proceeded to Holmleigh, where he found his foreman,
and also that he had extended his dinner hour into two.
II
"It's a national affair, I tell you, Wrannock!"
Sir Charles Custance, J.P., leaned back in his library chair, and
surveyed the impassive features of Sergeant Wrannock, as if searching
for some contradiction; but Sergeant Wrannock of the Suffolk County
Constabulary merely shuffled his feet and said:
"Yes, sir!"
"I'll call at the house this afternoon, and see if there's anything to
be discovered. I'll go now; damme, if I don't. We'll both go."
Sir Charles jumped up forthwith. He was a short, stout man, with
bushy, magisterial eyebrows, a red complexion, a bald head, a monocle,
and a fierce don't-argue-with-me-sir manner.
He was a man who had but one topic of conversation--the coming German
invasion. It would not be his fault if the Germans found Little
Compton unprepared. He had pointed out that, being an East Coast
village, it lay in the very centre of the battle-ground. At first
Little Compton had felt uncomfortable; but later it had apparently
become reconciled to its fate. It did nothing.
No village in England knew better what invasion would mean. Sir
Charles had drawn a vivid picture of what would be the fate of the
women of Little Compton unless their men-folk repelled the invaders,
with the result that the Dorcas Society, with the full approval of the
vicar, wrote to Sir Charles protesting against such things being said
on a public platform.
As he trotted towards the door, Sir Charles turned to the sergeant and
said:
"This is a big business, Wrannock, a big business. We'll find out more
before we communicate with headquarters. See?" And Sir Charles glared
fiercely at the sergeant.
Sergeant Wrannock did see. He saw many things, including promotion for
himself, and he replied, "It is indeed, sir!" And the two men went out.
From The Towers to Holmleigh is not more than half a mile. Sir Charles
went first, leaving the sergeant to follow on his bicycle. If they
were seen together it might arouse suspicion.
Sir Charles was to go to Holmleigh, making the best excuse he could
think of, and spy out the land, and the sergeant, who fortunately was
not in uniform, was to follow half an hour later. At six o'clock they
were to meet at The Towers and compare notes.
On his way up the drive of Holmleigh Sir Charles met Mr. Gandy coming
away with a flushed and angry face. For the first time in history his
"look" had failed. He had been insulted, and that by a foreman
pantechnicon-man.
Sir Charles acknowledged Mr. Gandy's salute, attaching no significance
to the presence of the host of the Dove and Easel in the grounds of
Holmleigh. Most probably he had called to solicit the new tenant's
custom. So Mr. Gandy passed down the drive with a stormy face, and Sir
Charles walked up with a determined one.
The hall door was open, and men were passing to and fro carrying
various articles of furniture. Sir Charles's eyes greedily devoured
all that was to be seen--in particular some long, coffin-like wooden
cases.
He stood at the door for a minute; it seemed unnecessary to ring with
so many men about. Presently a man came up and stared at him, rather
offensively Sir Charles thought; but, remembering the delicate nature
of his mission, he adjusted his monocle and said politely:
"I--er--want to see one of the er--er--moving men."
"Certainly, sir," responded the man; "'ave you any choice?'"
Sir Charles fixed his monocle more firmly in his left eye, and stared
at the man in astonishment.
"We've got 'em from twenty-three to sixty-five. I'm forty-eight
meself, but p'r'aps you'd like a young 'un. Fair or dark, sir, tall or
short?"
Sir Charles gazed at the man as if dazed, then went very red, but
controlling his wrath he replied:
"I do not know his name, I'm afraid. He has a green baize apron and
is--er--bald, and--er--has a rather red nose."
The man smiled broadly, insolently, intolerably, Sir Charles thought.
"That won't 'elp us much, sir. Blessed if you 'aven't described the
'ole blessed perfession. Hi! Ginger?" This to Ginger, who was
passing. He approached. "This is rather a tasty little lot, sir.
'E's got a red 'ead as well as a red nose. Not 'im? Well, let me see.
Tell Bindle to come 'ere. I think Bindle may be your man, sir; 'e's
got some pals in these 'ere parts, I think."
For nearly half a minute Sir Charles glared at the man before him, who
grinned back with perfect self-possession.
"This 'im, sir?" he queried, as Bindle approached.
"Damn your insolence!" burst out Sir Charles. "I'll report you to your
employers!" But the foreman had disappeared to give an order, and
Bindle also had slipped away.
Sir Charles raged back down the drive, striving to think of some means
of punishing the insolence of the foreman pantechnicon-man.
A quarter of an hour later Mr. Greenhales arrived at the hall door of
Holmleigh. The foreman was there to receive him.
"Good-afternoon," said Mr. Greenhales pleasantly.
"You want to see one of our men; you don't know 'is name, but 'e's a
rather bald little man, with a green baize apron an' a red nose?"
replied the foreman blandly.
"Exactly!" responded Mr. Greenhales genially. "Exactly! Kindly tell
him."
"I'm sorry, sir, it was 'is reception-day, but 'e's been took ill; 'e
asked me to apologise. 'E's got a lot of pals about 'ere. I shouldn't
be surprised if that was the cause of his illness. Good-arternoon,
sir. I'll tell 'im you called."
The foreman shut the door in Mr. Greenhales' face, and for the third
time that afternoon anger strode down the drive of Holmleigh.
In the hall the much-wanted Bindle was listening intently to his
foreman.
"You seem to be holdin' a levvy to-day, Bindle. Seem to 'ave a lot o'
blinkin' pals 'ere, too! Didn't know you was a society man, Bindle.
They're all so fond of you, so it 'pears. 'Adn't you better give up
this line o' business, you with your gif's, and take to squirin' it?
You'd look fine follerin' the 'ounds, you would. Now, it's about time
you decided wot you really are. Two hours you take for yer dinner, an'
spend the arternoon receivin' callers, me a-openin' the scarlet door.
Now you get back to the brilliant furniture removin', and give up yer
stutterin' ambitions. If I was you----"
Bindle was never to know what the foreman would do if in his place. At
that moment a loud peal at the bell caused the foreman to pause. He
gazed from Bindle to the door, from the door to Bindle, and back again
to the door. During the two seconds that his superior's eyes were off
him Bindle slipped stealthily away.
The foreman went slowly to the door and opened it. He found there a
middle-aged, rather stout man, dressed in tweeds, with trousers clipped
for cycling. Behind him he held a bicycle. It was Sergeant Wrannock.
The foreman eyed the caller aggressively, his hands moving
convulsively. There was that about his appearance which caused his
caller to step suddenly back. The bicycle overturned with a clatter,
and the sergeant sat down with great suddenness on the front wheel.
The foreman eyed him indifferently. The tears were streaming from the
sergeant's eyes, for he had sat with considerable force upon one of the
coasters. When he had picked himself up and replaced the bicycle the
foreman spoke.
"If you've come 'ere to show me that trick, you've bloomin' well wasted
yer time. You ain't no Cinquevalli, ole son! If, 'owever, you're
a-lookin' for a bald little man with a green apron and a red nose"--the
sergeant's eyes brightened beneath the tears--"well, 'e's bin took ill,
an' 'is mother's took 'im 'ome.
"Now you'd better go, cockie, 'fore I set the dog on yer. I'm pretty
damn well sick of the 'sight of yer, comin' 'ere with yer bicycle
tricks, interruptin' o' the day's work. 'Ere, Bindle--where's Bindle?"
he shouted into the house.
But the sergeant did not wait. He mounted his machine and disappeared
down the drive. Before Bindle came--and Bindle was uneager to
respond--he was a quarter of a mile up the road.
Sergeant Wrannock was stunned at the treatment he had received. From
such men he was accustomed to respect, deference, and blind obedience.
To be called "cockie" by a workman astonished him. Soon he became
annoyed, in time his annoyance crystallised into anger, and eventually,
passing through the alembic of professional discretion, it became
distilled into a determination to teach this man a lesson.
He had no intention of letting him know that it was a police sergeant
whom he had thus rudely treated, as if he were some ordinary person.
He could not quite understand the reference to the "bald little man
with a green apron and a red nose." The particulars seemed, however,
to tally with the description of the man of whom Sir Charles had spoken.
At six o'clock he presented himself at The Towers, told his story, and
was bidden by Sir Charles to leave the matter until the morning, when
it would probably be better to report the whole affair to the
superintendent at Lowestoft. Sir Charles had his reasons for
suggesting delay.