The Detective Police Page #3

"The Detective Police" is not a book by Charles Dickens, but rather a reference to elements of his work that feature detective characters and crime-solving themes. Dickens often explored social issues and the criminal justice system in his novels, using detective figures to highlight the struggles of the underprivileged and critique societal injustices. Works like "Oliver Twist" and "Bleak House" embody these themes. If you are looking for a specific work, please clarify, and I'd be glad to provide a description!

• Short story

								

civil—took a lot of letters from the box in the window—shook ’em out on
the counter with the faces downwards—and there among ’em was the
identical letter with the kiss.  It was directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post
Office, B—, to be left till called for.  Down I went to B— (a hundred and
twenty miles or so) that night.  Early next morning I went to the Post
Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that department; told him who I
was; and that my object was to see, and track, the party that should come
for the letter for Mr. Thomas Pigeon.  He was very polite, and said, “You
shall have every assistance we can give you; you can wait inside the
office; and we’ll take care to let you know when anybody comes for the
letter.”  Well, I waited there three days, and began to think that nobody
ever would come.  At last the clerk whispered to me, “Here!  Detective!
Somebody’s come for the letter!”  “Keep him a minute,” said I, and I ran
round to the outside of the office.  There I saw a young chap with the
appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by the bridle—stretching the
bridle across the pavement, while he waited at the Post Office Window for
the letter.  I began to pat the horse, and that; and I said to the boy,
“Why, this is Mr. Jones’s Mare!”  “No.  It an’t.”  “No?” said I.  “She’s
very like Mr. Jones’s Mare!”  “She an’t Mr. Jones’s Mare, anyhow,” says
he.  “It’s Mr. So and So’s, of the Warwick Arms.”  And up he jumped, and
off he went—letter and all.  I got a cab, followed on the box, and was so
quick after him that I came into the stable-yard of the Warwick Arms, by
one gate, just as he came in by another.  I went into the bar, where
there was a young woman serving, and called for a glass of
brandy-and-water.  He came in directly, and handed her the letter.  She
casually looked at it, without saying anything, and stuck it up behind
the glass over the chimney-piece.  What was to be done next?

‘I turned it over in my mind while I drank my brandy-and-water (looking
pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I couldn’t see my way out of
it at all.  I tried to get lodgings in the house, but there had been a
horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was full.  I was obliged to
put up somewhere else, but I came backwards and forwards to the bar for a
couple of days, and there was the letter always behind the glass.  At
last I thought I’d write a letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what that
would do.  So I wrote one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed it,
Mr. John Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what that would do.
In the morning (a very wet morning it was) I watched the postman down the
street, and cut into the bar, just before he reached the Warwick Arms.
In he came presently with my letter.  “Is there a Mr. John Pigeon staying
here?”  “No!—stop a bit though,” says the barmaid; and she took down the
letter behind the glass.  “No,” says she, “it’s Thomas, and he is not
staying here.  Would you do me a favour, and post this for me, as it is
so wet?”  The postman said Yes; she folded it in another envelope,
directed it, and gave it him.  He put it in his hat, and away he went.

‘I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter.  It was
addressed Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, R—, Northamptonshire, to be
left till called for.  Off I started directly for R—; I said the same at
the Post Office there, as I had said at B—; and again I waited three days
before anybody came.  At last another chap on horseback came.  “Any
letters for Mr. Thomas Pigeon?”  “Where do you come from?”  “New Inn,
near R—.”  He got the letter, and away he went at a canter.

‘I made my inquiries about the New Inn, near R—, and hearing it was a
solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line, about a couple of
miles from the station, I thought I’d go and have a look at it.  I found
it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to look about me.  The
landlady was in the bar, and I was trying to get into conversation with
her; asked her how business was, and spoke about the wet weather, and so
on; when I saw, through an open door, three men sitting by the fire in a
sort of parlour, or kitchen; and one of those men, according to the
description I had of him, was Tally-ho Thompson!

‘I went and sat down among ’em, and tried to make things agreeable; but
they were very shy—wouldn’t talk at all—looked at me, and at one another,
in a way quite the reverse of sociable.  I reckoned ’em up, and finding
that they were all three bigger men than me, and considering that their
looks were ugly—that it was a lonely place—railroad station two miles
off—and night coming on—thought I couldn’t do better than have a drop of
brandy-and-water to keep my courage up.  So I called for my
brandy-and-water; and as I was sitting drinking it by the fire, Thompson
got up and went out.

‘Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn’t sure it was Thompson,
because I had never set eyes on him before; and what I had wanted was to
be quite certain of him.  However, there was nothing for it now, but to
follow, and put a bold face upon it.  I found him talking, outside in the
yard, with the landlady.  It turned out afterwards that he was wanted by
a Northampton officer for something else, and that, knowing that officer
to be pock-marked (as I am myself), he mistook me for him.  As I have
observed, I found him talking to the landlady, outside.  I put my hand
upon his shoulder—this way—and said, “Tally-ho Thompson, it’s no use.  I
know you.  I’m an officer from London, and I take you into custody for
felony!”  “That be d-d!” says Tally-ho Thompson.

‘We went back into the house, and the two friends began to cut up rough,
and their looks didn’t please me at all, I assure you.  “Let the man go.
What are you going to do with him?”  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do
with him.  I’m going to take him to London to-night, as sure as I’m
alive.  I’m not alone here, whatever you may think.  You mind your own
business, and keep yourselves to yourselves.  It’ll be better for you,
for I know you both very well.”  I’d never seen or heard of ’em in all
my life, but my bouncing cowed ’em a bit, and they kept off, while
Thompson was making ready to go.  I thought to myself, however, that they
might be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue Thompson; so I said
to the landlady, “What men have you got in the house, Missis?”  “We
haven’t got no men here,” she says, sulkily.  “You have got an ostler, I
suppose?”  “Yes, we’ve got an ostler.”  “Let me see him.”  Presently he
came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was.  “Now attend to me, young
man,” says I; “I’m a Detective Officer from London.  This man’s name is
Thompson.  I have taken him into custody for felony.  I am going to take
him to the railroad station.  I call upon you in the Queen’s name to
assist me; and mind you, my friend, you’ll get yourself into more trouble
than you know of, if you don’t!”  You never saw a person open his eyes so
wide.  “Now, Thompson, come along!” says I.  But when I took out the
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