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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
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RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
THERE was a satisfied smile on Jack Verney's pleasant face as he dumped a bunch of little brown birds on the hall table.
"Here we are, Hester! Two couple of snipe and a brace of teal. The pudding's safe, anyhow!"
"Safe!"
The tone of his wife's voice and the expression on her pretty face wiped all the joy from Jack's.
"What's up? Good lord, it's not Delia?"
"It is. Oh, Jack, she's been at it again and there'll be no dinner to-night! You'll have to put off the governor."
"But I can't, my dear. He's not at the prison. He's staying with his friends down Tavistock way, and taking us on his way back to the prison. I don't know their names, so I can't wire."
Dismay deepened on Hester's face.
"What can we do? Oh, Jack, and we promised him a snipe pudding!"
"Which is one thing he won't get," said Jack grimly. "Still, we must give him something to eat. I'll take the bike and go to Taverton. Harlow's are sure to have some ready-cooked stuff."
"Pork pies and apple Pasties—I know," said Hester, with scorn. "Oh, Jack!"
She was nearly crying. He gave her a quick hug.
"Buck up old thing! We'll manage somehow. Now I must hurry."
A murky dusk was closing in as Jack hurried to the shed where he kept his motor-bike. His spirits were as low as the light of fading day, for the expected guest was Colonel Peyton, Governor of Blackmoor Prison, the man upon whom Jack was pinning his hopes of getting a sorely-needed job.
Jack was one of the scores of useful young officers whom post-War Governments had "axed" from the Navy, leaving him stranded in the flower of his youth with an income totally inadequate to keep a wife, let alone a possible family. The Job on which Jack had set his heart was a prison governorship. Knowing the weight a good word from Colonel Peyton would carry, he and Hester had planned it all out. The governor was first to be mellowed with an exceptionally good dinner, then the suggestion to be put tactfully before him.
The staff of the Roost consisted of Mark Hannaford, Jack's ex-servant, and his wife, Delia. Delia was a first-class cook, but about once in three months she needed a drop of something, and the drop invariably overcame her, so that for the next 24 hours she was a complete wash-out.
"Confound the woman!" growled Jack as he groped in the dusky shed. He struck a match to light the big acetylene head-lamp of his bicycle, and as he did so something moved along the firewood stacked at the back.
Glancing round quickly, Jack was just in time to see a leg drawn swiftly out of sight into the darkness. He waited till the lamp burned up, then, taking it off its bracket, turned its rays on the dark corner.
"Out you come!" he said curtly.
He came—a short, plump little man, whose clothes were plastered with peaty mire—yet not so thickly as to conceal the prison dress. Jack whistled softly.
"Taking a day off?" he suggested.
The convict made a step forward.
"It's—it's Lieutenant Verney," he said, with a slight stammer.
"You know me?" said Jack, with a frown.
"I-I ought to, sir. I were in the old T-thunderbolt. Cottle, sir-don't you remember?"
"Cottle—Joe Cottle. Of course I remember. What are you doing in that kit?"
"Oh, I earned that r-right enough!' replied Cottle bitterly. "I been up in them quarries for a year, and it's fair hell."
"So you cleared out?"
Cottle nodded.
"A bit o' fog come down this evening, and I d-did a bunk. Now I reckon I got to go back."
Jack frowned.
"I hate to see an old shipmate in trouble, but—" He stopped short, then: "You were cook on the Thunderbolt?" he said suddenly.
"That's right, sir."
"Can you make a snipe pudding? I'm not crazy," he added quickly. I want to know."
"W-why, if I'd got the things I reckon I could," replied Cottle, in a bewildered tone.
Jack slapped his leg with a crack like a pistol-shot.
"Then, by jove, you shall! And for the governor, too!" he ended, with a chuckle.
"The g-governor!" gasped Cottle.
"Yes, he's dining with me to-night, and my cook is blotto. Don't look so scared man. You'll be in the kitchen, and he'll never see you."
Cottle recovered a little.
"And if I does that, sir, you'll l-let me go?"
"Yes," said Jack recklessly. "If you cook a decent dinner you shall have a change of kit and a couple o' quid, and I'll wash my hands of you. What do you say?"
"I s-says you're a sportsman, sir. I'm game."
Jack nodded.
"Stay here while I get you a change. Can I trust you?"
THE dinner was successful beyond Jack's wildest hopes. Delia at her best could never have turned out such a snipe-pudding as her deputy produced. Delicious flaky pastry enclosing a core of beefsteak, snipe, and mushrooms, blended with perfect artistry into a compound of the most perfect fragrance and flavor. An apple tart followed, served with a bowl of rich yellow Devonshire cream, and the dainty little meal was topped off with a savory of sardines, beautifully devilled, and excellent black coffee.
Jack had been afraid that Colonel Peyton might have heard of the escape, but it was plain that the ill news had not reached him, and the fine old warrior mellowed more and more with each course.
"Damme!" he said at last. "I don't get food like this at the prison. Perfectly wonderful cook you have, Mrs Verney. You really must allow me to congratulate her on such a masterpiece as that pudding."
"It's not a her, colonel—it's a him" said Jack. "Our cook is my old servant, Mark Hannaford, but he's a nervous sort of chap and would be scared stiff at praise from you."
"I'm not so formidable as that!" laughed the colonel. "You really must let me give him a word of thanks. One doesn't get a meal like this every day."
"Oh, well, if you insist, sir," said Jack. "But finish your cigar first."
Hester left the two men to talk, and when Jack tactfully introduced the idea, he found his guest interested and helpful.
"I think you are just the type we want in the prison service, Verney. Certainly I will do anything I can to help you."
Jack's spirits rose. Luck had come his way at last. Now, if the dear old lad would only forget his notion of seeing the cook, all would be well.
No such luck! Worse, the colonel suggested a visit to the kitchen, and Jack dared not choke him off.
"All right, sir," he said. "Only you'll have to let me give Hannaford a word of warning. He'd never for give me iF I didn't."
He got up and went quickly to the kitchen. Hannaford was sullenly washing up. Cottle sat by the fire smoking a cigarette. The pair looked about as friendly as two rival tom-cats. Cottle got up as Jack entered. His face was flushed.
"W-was it all right, sir?" he asked quickly.
"So right that the governor insists on coming round to thank you, Cottle. Don't get scared"—as Cottle's high color faded, "Slip into the back kitchen and sit tight. Mark will have to talk to the colonel."
A moment later he returned with the colonel.
"This is Hannaford, sir," said Jack.
Mark saluted, and the colonel smiled.
"I came to tell you how much I enjoyed your cooking, Hannaford. Where did you learn it?"
"In the Service, sir. I were cook's mate in the old Thunderbolt."
Jack distinctly heard a movement in the back kitchen. He realised that Cottle was listening, and began to feel uncomfortable.
"I wish I could find someone with a gift like that up at the prison," said the colonel. "I'd like to engage you to come and give some lessons."
He fished in his pocket, and his hand came out with a ten-shilling note.
"Thank you kindly, sir," said Mark. "Any time as the master could spare me I'll be glad to come and give 'em a lesson."
"You g-give 'em lessons?" The door at the back had burst open, and Cottle faced Mark. "You g-give 'em lessons. Why, you couldn't boil an egg without breaking it."
Suddenly he caught the colonel's eye and stopped short.
"Cottle!" cried the governor. "It's either Cottle or his double!"
"It's Cottle all right, sir," said the little man.
"But I don't understand," said the colonel, bewildered, "How did you get away from the prison?"
Jack's heart sank. It was all up.
"Did a bunk, sir," said Cottle. "Stole some clothes and came down here and asked the lieutenant for a job. He and me were shipmates in the old Thunderbolt—and, like the gent he is, he took me on as cook. 'Course he didn't know nothing about where I come from."
The colonel's grey eyes roved from Cottle to Jack and back to Cottle. The front door-bell pealed suddenly, and Hannaford hurried to answer it.
"Principal-Warder Weedon to see Colonel Peyton, sir!" he said, as he returned.
"Bring him in!" bade the colonel; and Hannaford ushered in a grizzled police officer.
"Been looking for you everywhere, sir," said Weedon, saluting. "I'm sorry to say a prisoner has escaped."
Then suddenly he saw Cottle.
"Why, there he is!" he exclaimed, in amazement.
The colonel nodded.
"Yes, Mr Weedin, I am one up on you this time. Take him back, and I will see him in the morning."
"D-do I have to go back to that there quarry, sir?" asked the little man.
'No," replied.'the, colonel curtly. "A prisoner who has once tried to escape is no longer allowed to work outside the prison."
"Thanks be for that!" said Cottle, as he was marched off. "I'll be a lot more use in the kitchen."
The colonel followed with Jack, but stopped in the passage.
"A word with you, Verney. Where can we talk?"
Jack took him into his study.
"Of course, you knew he was a lag?" said the colonel, and once more Jack's heart dropped like lead.
"I knew, sir," he answered.
"In the circumstances, I can hardly recommend you for the Prison Service, Verney."
"No, sir," replied Jack tonelessly.
"Don't look so sad!" said the colonel. "I have a Job for you if you care to take it."
Jack looked up eagerly. He could hardly believe his ears.
"I'm retiring at Christmas—going to live at my own place, Aston Underwood, for the rest of my days. I want an agent—someone who can handle the shooting and fishing. The job is yours if you care for it."
"Care for it?"
That was all Jack could say, but the colonel seemed satisfied.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.