bludgeoned and carried off underground!’ I was told, and only by my involvement could we hope to save his life. Of course I found it all very suspicious, and would not at once take his word for the matter. But he has only been waiting beneath this sign of the establishment, as he tells it, for a meeting at midnight for which he was stood up, and happened on the grisly scene wandering about. So I returned with him to the mouth of the alley and lo’ and behold there we saw a giant swathed in shadows taking the plunge into the cellar, with the most horrid noise of strife and conflict erupting from the hold after him. I ran at once for help, and we were too few to make a difference until the bus was spotted. The rest you know, my lord.”
Bailey listened with here a thoughtful countenance, there a darkened grimace clouding his brows. At last he uttered a little laugh through gritted teeth, giving the patrolman a sudden start.
“I don’t suppose you remember anything of this lackey who came to you for help? I do not see him with you now.”
Breakerfast’s face took on a flush, and he turned his head away and coughed in embarrassment. “Now that you mention it, sir, I have not seen him since the arrival of my comrades and we sallied together into the street in search of further aid for our cause. Of him I remember little, for his face was covered by a wide-brimmed hat”—then all at once he brightened up— “But I do recall something of the hat, for it was a splendid color, a bright teal beret which shone oddly in the light of my lamp.” His face fell, his brow furrowing in concentration as he struggled to remember. “I seem to think I should know it, but for the life of me I cannot say where from.”
Bailey as well fell silent after a long, lingering sigh. When he appeared to fall into a melancholy mood the patrolman managed by a break in his deliberations to speak up into his thoughts.
“Can I let you in on a secret, my lord?”
Bailey, having his concentration interrupted, started.
“What was that, hey?” Then, leaning in closer so that they were cheek to cheek, “By all means, my good man.”
“I think the lackey who rescued you was a young woman,” said Breakerfast.
“And how do you figure that?”
“Well her disguise was immaculate, and she would have passed for a dockworker. But there was the petite frame to consider, and the soft hand in my own as we ran down after you. She can hide her face with soot and an oversized hat, but the pitch in her voice is beyond her power, especially in a moment of crisis.” He laughed then, this short man with a bright spirit and the sincere, easygoing manner of that rare breed of people who found a silver lining in every situation they were thrust into. “Only promise not to tell my wife, sir. Lovely young women appearing out of nowhere to beg for help in the dead of night, especially when they are disguised and leave no trace or name of themselves afterwards—it is the beginning of a candid, secretive adventure, sir, to read from the magazines, and she certainly wouldn’t approve.” He winked at Bailey.
He too laughed then. The details of the mystery which he had been mulling over were assuredly settled by the patrolman’s suspicions, just as I’m sure your own conclusions are as swiftly confirmed. It really could not have been anybody else waiting beneath the Fat Friars’ sign for Bailey at this very late hour, whose curious and courageous nature compelled her then to follow up on the matter in his absence, and who then raised the alarm when the reason for the missed appointment was discovered. In any case we needn’t dwell on it, just as Bailey had already put it out of his mind.
“Think nothing more of it, my good man,” he told Breakerfast, laughing it away. “And I think I have gotten enough from you. But come! We must see to the end of things here still.”
So touched and surprised was he by the affectionate gesture that the patrolman practically fell over with gratitude. It was not every day that one becomes the intimate of one’s betters. Woe is the humble man who has never stood in the shadow of greatness. He dipped into a half-bow, offered an elbow to Bailey, and his arm was swiftly accepted. Together they turned back to the captain, who directed their attentions to the giant sprawled still and unmoving at their feet. Things aboveground were swiftly being wound down, save for what was to be done with the bodies of the dead and maimed.
“And this man—?”
Bailey, addressing the captain of the lancers, swept his hand towards the body.
“Dead,” he confirmed. “We would have settled for getting him in claps before he made a terrible mess of things. A brave soul, but a foolhardy one, in my opinion; for I cannot fathom what he intended to accomplish with that last desperate charge into the teeth of all that gunfire.”
“Any injuries to your men, captain?” Bailey asked him.
“Oh he got at a fellow or two with his big arms as he went by, but he did not have time enough to take anyone into his grasp before he was shot up. It was a fitting end to such a dangerous creature.”
Bailey panned his eyes over the prone form at his feet. From end to end the body would have measured no less than seven feet, with the tall leather boots of a wrestler laced up at one end, and the face obscured by the black mask at the other.
“For his efforts,” he allowed, “I suppose he was trying to do some good. He broke up a murderous gang, after all, before rushing up to confront you.”
The captain of the lancers snorted derisively. “What he did, my lord, was make himself a very big target doing so. You couldn’t have missed him if you tried.” He jabbed at the body with a toe before pointing to the head planted facedown against the cobble. “All in all we are excited, for we did not anticipate getting such a prize for our efforts. Would you like to do the honors, sir?”
“Me?”
“Of course!” he added at once, “We would not dream of taking away your success. But only if my lord would perhaps mention our contributions in the matter you will find none of us ungrateful.”
A look of confusion passed over Bailey’s countenance. But as his eyes danced over the faces of the captain and the patrolman beside him he saw that they were anything but insincere in their request of him. What it meant to him he could not have imagined—only that with the giddy prospects of a child coming into unexpected good fortunes his associates looked upon him with almost reverent awe, and not a little jealousy as well. Evidently they anticipated that he was in possession of a treasure trove which they would have liked to dabble in, but for his permission which they were trying to goad from him without it being explicitly expressed. It was a frustrating conundrum to say the least, for it was the first incident during the long evening’s adventurers that Bailey felt he was not atop of things as they developed. He wondered, “Just what have I got myself here, eh?” But what he ended up speaking aloud was a very surprised, very shocked exclamation, “What in the world are you doing?”
In the short time of his deliberations one of the policemen who had been evaluating the body had gotten up, disappeared from sight, and then swiftly returned again. Bailey would not have given it another thought—indeed, he barely recalled the man’s face in his presence—except now the fellow was looking back up at him from what he was doing with a puzzled expression. And what he was doing was very odd indeed. He had a little satchel with him and he was busily emptying its contents over the prone body of the giant. Bailey grabbed hold of his arm and tore him swiftly away. He repeated the question in harsher tones.
From amidst a scattering of big, brown feathers he had been dumping over the dead the policeman cocked his head to one side, with a look which said plainly how ridiculous all of this was.
“Man, look at me when I am speaking to you,” cried Bailey roughly. “What in the world are you doing?”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” replied the man, “but I wasn’t doing anything.”
The absurdity of his statement drew a bout of disbelieving laughter from the detective. He pointed towards the body, jabbed his finger here and there at the feathers. The man in his clutches shrugged, looked to
wards his own comrades helplessly.
The matter was answered by the captain of the lancers with a look of incredulousness directed towards Bailey. “Why, my lord, I should think it would be obvious.”
“Oh?”
“He is preparing the scene for the newspaper illustrators, who will be here before dawn.”
“But the feathers, man!” cried Bailey. “What is he doing with the feathers? And why?”
“Oh it’s an old trick, to be certain, my lord,” said the captain offhandedly with a laugh. “And you won’t lose my support by saying we probably should start thinking of newer ones to use. But in our defense it has been this way for the last decade, and truth to be told I think it’s generally understood that we can probably leave it as it is.”
“But what is it, man?” Bailey pressed. “Just what should it all mean?”
“It’s our own way of branding delinquents, sir,” he was told by Breakerfast. “Oh but you would have to be a local sort to understand. In its own way it can be considered our little jest, given all that we’ve had to deal with over the last twenty years as the laughingstock of the nation over our troubles. But since the reigning power in these parts have taken to paying handsomely for Owl heads, then it has become the unspoken agreement of the working uniforms that Owl heads