employ,” Field put it bluntly.
“Spies?” The word had caught Dickens’s attention just as it had mine.
“Yes, spies.”
Dickens and I exchanged equally puzzled looks.
“Upon whom do you propose we commit this act of spying?” I asked.
“On whoever is available at The Player’s Club located at number thirty-six King Street in the West End,” Field replied in deadly seriousness.
Dickens and I looked at each other in surprise.
Dickens was, of course, an honorary member of The Player’s Club as he was of all the various London actors’ establishments, but he rarely went there, The Garrick Club being the regular meeting place of his particular theatrical circle. I had no doubts, however, that he could enter The Player’s Club at any time and be greeted with every courtesy of the house.
“The Player’s Club? Why?” he asked, posing the natural question.
“I need information concernin’ the identities of the four men in company with Solicitor Partlow the night ’ee was murdered. We are makin’ little progress on this partic’lar case. The man lived alone, ’ad no relatives. ’Is landlady says ’ee went out every evenin’, when not otherwise engaged, to dine at The Player’s Club. Yet, and ’ere’s the rub, ’ee rarely returned to ’is rooms before three or four in the mornin’. Player’s Club closes doors at eleven-thirty, says I. Landlady ’as no further explanation.”
At this juncture of his narrative, Field pulled in on the reins and stopped for a short breather.
“We ’ave traced ’is movements of that evenin’ to The Player’s Club where we ’ave been brought up rather short.”
“Brought up short? How’s that?” Dickens glanced at me.
“Blokes won’t talk to us,” Rogers admitted.
“No one on the premises seems inclined to discuss the dead club member,” Field said, taking up the narrative with equanimity. “It is almost as if the ’elp at The Player’s Club ’olds some irrational fear of ’im. Or perhaps they ’ave been instructed not to give out information concernin’ any club member. We could, of course, get a writ from the Queen’s Bench and break in there and accost the members present concernin’ their dealin’s with Partlow and their whereabouts on the night that our dead friend went for ’is fatal swim, but we would probably not obtain much useful information, it almost always bein’ the case that gentlemen intensely dislike bein’ disturbed in the private environs of their club rooms.”
“That certainly is the case,” Dickens agreed.
“It ain’t like trampin’ into some Rats’ Castle and ’aulin’ out our man for questionin’,” Rogers interjected. “Gennelmen is a diff’rent problem.”
“Indeed they are,” Inspector Field said. “Gentlemen require much more subtlety, discretion, and delicate persuasion in order to get ’em to peach on their fellow gentlemen. In other words, gentlemen, it takes a gentleman to catch a gentleman.”
“Precisely.” Dickens’s eyes were sparkling.
“Therefore, I concluded that if I just ’ad a friendly ear mixin’ with the unsuspectin’ members some busy club night, such as tonight, say, and if the conversation perchance turned to the gruesome death of Lawyer Partlow, that somethin’ perhaps might be learned. And then I said to myself…didn’t I Rogers?” (Rogers nodded emphatically) “…I said, our friend Mister Dickens ’as many connections in the theatre, was an acquaintance of the deceased, would be welcomed at The Player’s Club. And there you are.”
“And there you are!” Rogers repeated for emphasis.
“Well,” Field pressed our decision, “will you do it?”
“Spies, Wilkie,” Dickens said excitedly, “what do you think of that?”
“Well, really…”
“Splendid! We’ll do it,” he replied to Field.
Field immediately was up and shaking both of our hands enthusiastically. “Welcome to the Protectives, gentlemen,” he said with great relish.
“We
“Spies?” The word had caught Dickens’s attention just as it had mine.
“Yes, spies.”
Dickens and I exchanged equally puzzled looks.
“Upon whom do you propose we commit this act of spying?” I asked.
“On whoever is available at The Player’s Club located at number thirty-six King Street in the West End,” Field replied in deadly seriousness.
Dickens and I looked at each other in surprise.
Dickens was, of course, an honorary member of The Player’s Club as he was of all the various London actors’ establishments, but he rarely went there, The Garrick Club being the regular meeting place of his particular theatrical circle. I had no doubts, however, that he could enter The Player’s Club at any time and be greeted with every courtesy of the house.
“The Player’s Club? Why?” he asked, posing the natural question.
“I need information concernin’ the identities of the four men in company with Solicitor Partlow the night ’ee was murdered. We are makin’ little progress on this partic’lar case. The man lived alone, ’ad no relatives. ’Is landlady says ’ee went out every evenin’, when not otherwise engaged, to dine at The Player’s Club. Yet, and ’ere’s the rub, ’ee rarely returned to ’is rooms before three or four in the mornin’. Player’s Club closes doors at eleven-thirty, says I. Landlady ’as no further explanation.”
At this juncture of his narrative, Field pulled in on the reins and stopped for a short breather.
“We ’ave traced ’is movements of that evenin’ to The Player’s Club where we ’ave been brought up rather short.”
“Brought up short? How’s that?” Dickens glanced at me.
“Blokes won’t talk to us,” Rogers admitted.
“No one on the premises seems inclined to discuss the dead club member,” Field said, taking up the narrative with equanimity. “It is almost as if the ’elp at The Player’s Club ’olds some irrational fear of ’im. Or perhaps they ’ave been instructed not to give out information concernin’ any club member. We could, of course, get a writ from the Queen’s Bench and break in there and accost the members present concernin’ their dealin’s with Partlow and their whereabouts on the night that our dead friend went for ’is fatal swim, but we would probably not obtain much useful information, it almost always bein’ the case that gentlemen intensely dislike bein’ disturbed in the private environs of their club rooms.”
“That certainly is the case,” Dickens agreed.
“It ain’t like trampin’ into some Rats’ Castle and ’aulin’ out our man for questionin’,” Rogers interjected. “Gennelmen is a diff’rent problem.”
“Indeed they are,” Inspector Field said. “Gentlemen require much more subtlety, discretion, and delicate persuasion in order to get ’em to peach on their fellow gentlemen. In other words, gentlemen, it takes a gentleman to catch a gentleman.”
“Precisely.” Dickens’s eyes were sparkling.
“Therefore, I concluded that if I just ’ad a friendly ear mixin’ with the unsuspectin’ members some busy club night, such as tonight, say, and if the conversation perchance turned to the gruesome death of Lawyer Partlow, that somethin’ perhaps might be learned. And then I said to myself…didn’t I Rogers?” (Rogers nodded emphatically) “…I said, our friend Mister Dickens ’as many connections in the theatre, was an acquaintance of the deceased, would be welcomed at The Player’s Club. And there you are.”
“And there you are!” Rogers repeated for emphasis.
“Well,” Field pressed our decision, “will you do it?”
“Spies, Wilkie,” Dickens said excitedly, “what do you think of that?”
“Well, really…”
“Splendid! We’ll do it,” he replied to Field.
Field immediately was up and shaking both of our hands enthusiastically. “Welcome to the Protectives, gentlemen,” he said with great relish.
“We
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