Secret Service; or, Recollections of a City DetectiveForrester, Andrew
General
Secret Service; or, Recollections of a City Detective
Forrester, Andrew
Detective and mystery stories, English; Fiction; Short stories
With nothing like regularity of time or periodicity, but with great
frequency, a shabby hack brougham might be seen about or after dusk
proceeding along a road leading through a western reach of the
metropolis into the most picturesque western suburb. My clue began with
the vehicle at the north-eastern corner of the Green Park, and ended
just on the eastern entrance to the village of ----. It was a suspicious
fact that this hack brougham was not driven by the same man throughout
the entire distance. One driver was met about half way on the road, when
he alighted from the box, and handed the whip to the person (always the
same) who met him.
The brougham was one of those registered at Somerset House as a cab. It
was a private vehicle, which appeared like the property of some indigent
postmaster or jobber.
Where could this vehicle go to and come from?
Among the difficulties in our case was that of tracing the goods. It
was, I confess, not a little remarkable that no part of the goods could
be traced. We had searched all the most notorious "fences." I do not
think there was one known place in which goods of the kind in question
would be brought that we had not examined. Could this brougham be the
means of conveying the plunder in small quantities to and from its place
of concealment to the place or places of conversion into money? Those
were questions we determined to solve.
A diligent watch was set at stages from the Green Park to ----.
Next evening the carriage did not present itself, nor the next; but on
the third evening it was seen to emerge from a lane in Piccadilly, near
to a street in which there is an inferior livery-stable. It was now
followed and kept in sight during its entire journey. I saw the driver
changed.
I critically scanned the hirsute visage of the rider.
Just outside the village of ----, on the high road, there stood, and yet
stands, a cottage residence, in not the finest state, with coachhouse
and stabling for more carriages and horses than the occupant seemed to
make use of. The house was, I may also explain, shut out from the view
of travellers by a close wooden paling, a high gate, and a tall, dense,
leafy hedge.
At this cottage the brougham stopped. The rider alighted, and the
servant placed the horse and vehicle in the outbuildings allotted to
them, which were entered by the rear.
All this looked to me very suspicious. I determined, however, to pursue
my inquiries. There was not yet enough evidence, in my own opinion, to
justify an application for a search-warrant, and less justification for
any one's arrest on a criminal charge.
Inquiries in the village and neighbourhood elicited not much; but the
few scraps of fact that we did get tended to fortify a suspicion that
here was a depôt of the plunder.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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