Malcolm Sage, Detective. Jenkins Herbert George
was right," said Sir John Dene with conviction. "I've comeacross some fools; but – "
"There, there, dear," said Dorothy, "remember there are ladiespresent. In Whitehall we all loved Mr. Sage because he snubbedMinisters, and we hadn't the pluck to do it ourselves," she added.
Sir John Dene snorted. His mind travelled back to the time when hehad been "up against the whole sunflower-patch," as he had onceexpressed it.
"But why did they keep him if they didn't like him?" enquired Mrs.
West.
"When you don't like anyone in Whitehall," Dorothy continued, "youdon't give him the push, mother dear, you just transfer him toanother department."
"Like circulating bad money," grumbled Sir John Dene.
"It sure was, John," she agreed. "Poor Mr. Sage soon became the mosttransferred man in Whitehall. They used to say, 'Uneasy lies thehead that has a Sage.'" She laughed at the recollection.
"But wasn't it rather unkind?" said Mrs. West gently.
"It was, mother-mine; but Whitehall was a funny place. One of Mr.Sage's chiefs went about for months trying to get rid of him. Heoffered to give a motor-cycle to anyone who would take him, it was aGovernment cycle," she added; "but there was nothing doing. Wecalled him Henry the Second and Mr. Sage Becket, the archbishop notthe boxer," she explained. "You know," she added, "there was oncean English king who wanted to get rid of – "
"We'll have it the sort of concern that insurance companies can lookto," Sir John Dene broke in.
"What on earth are you talking about, John?" cried Dorothy.
Whilst his wife talked Sir John Dene had been busy planning MalcolmSage's future, and he had uttered his thoughts aloud. He proceededto explain. When he had finished, Dorothy clapped her hands.
"Hurrah! for Malcolm Sage, Detective," she cried and, jumping up, she perched herself upon the arm of her husband's chair, and rumpledthe fair hair, which with her was always a sign of approval. "That'shis ring, or Sir James's," she added as the bell sounded.
"Now we'll leave you lords of creation to carry out my idea," shesaid as she followed Mrs. West to the door.
And Sir John Dene smiled.
II
"In the States they've got Pinkerton's," said Sir John Dene, twirling with astonishing rapidity an unlit cigar between his lips."If you've lost anything, from a stick-pin to a mountain, you justblow in there, tell them all about it, and go away and don't worry.Here you've got nothing."
"We have Scotland Yard," remarked Malcolm Sage quietly, withoutlooking up from the contemplation of his hands, which, with fingerswide apart, rested upon the table before him.
His bald, conical head seemed to contradict the determined set ofhis jaw and the steel-coloured eyes that gazed keenly through largegold-rimmed spectacles. Even his ears, that stood squarely out fromhis head, appeared to emphasise by their aggressiveness that theyhad nothing to do with the benevolent shape of the head above.
"Yes, and you've got Cleopatra's Needle, and the pelicans in St.James's Park," Sir John Dene retorted scornfully. He had neverforgotten the occasion when, at a critical moment in the country'shistory, the First Lord of the Admiralty had casually enquired if hehad seen the pelicans.
For the last half-hour Sir John Dene, with characteristicimpulsiveness, had been engaged in brushing aside all Malcolm Sage's"cons" with his almighty "Pro."
"We'll have a Pinkerton's in England," he resumed, as neither of hislisteners took up his challenge, "and we'll call it Sage's."
"I shall in all probability receive quite a number of orders forshop-fronts," murmured Malcolm Sage, with a slight fluttering at thecorners of his mouth, which those who knew him understood how tointerpret.
"Shop-fronts!" repeated Sir John Dene, looking from one to the other,
"I don't get you."
"There is already a well-known firm of shop-furnishers called'Sage's,'" explained Sir James, who throughout the battle had beenan amused listener.
"Well, we'll call it the Malcolm Sage Detective Bureau," replied SirJohn Dene, "and we'll have it a concern that insurance companies canlook to." He proceeded to light his cigar, with him always a signthat something of importance had been settled.
Sir John Dene liked getting his own way. That morning he hadresolutely brushed aside every objection, ethical or material, thathad been advanced. To Malcolm Sage he considered that he owed alot,1 and with all the aggressiveness of his nature, he overwhelmedand engulfed objection and protest alike. To this was added the factthat the idea was his wife's, and in his own phraseology, "thatgoes."
Passive and attentive, his long shapely hands seldom still, MalcolmSage had listened. From time to time he ventured some objection, only to have it brushed aside by Sir John Dene's overwhelmingdetermination.
For some minutes Malcolm Sage had been stroking the back of his headwith the palm of his right hand, a habit of his when thoughtful.Suddenly he raised his eyes and looked across at his would-bebenefactor.
"Why should you want to do this for me, Sir John?" he asked.
"If you're going to put up a barrage of whys," was the irascibleretort, "you'll never cut any ice."
"I fully appreciate the subtlety of the metaphor," said Malcolm Sage, the corners of his mouth twitching; "but still why?"
"Well, for one thing I owe you something," barked Sir John Dene,"and remembering's my long suit. For another, Lady Dene – "
"That is what I wanted to know," said Malcolm Sage, as he drew hisbriar from his pocket and proceeded to fill it. "Will you thank LadyDene and tell her that I am proud to be under an obligation to her – and to you, Sir John," he added.
"Say, that's fine," cried Sir John Dene, jumping to his feet andextending his hand, which Malcolm Sage took, an odd, quizzicalexpression in his eyes. "This Detective Bureau notion is a whale."
"The zoological allusion, I'm afraid, is beyond me," said MalcolmSage as he struck a match, "but no doubt you are right," and helooked across at Sir James Walton, whose eyes smiled his approval.
"It's all fixed up," cried Sir John Dene to his wife as she came outinto the hall as the visitors were departing.
"I'm so glad," she cried, giving her hand to Malcolm Sage. "You'llbe such a success, Mr. Sage," and she smiled confidently up into hiseyes.
"With such friends," he replied, "failure would be an impertinence,"and he and Sir James Walton passed out of the flat to return to whatwas left of the rapidly demobilising Department Z, which had madehistory by its Secret Service work.
In a few days the news leaked out that "M.S.," as Malcolm Sage wascalled by the staff, was to start a private-detective agency. Thewhole staff promptly offered its services, and there was muchspeculation and heart-burning as to who would be selected.
On hearing that she was to continue to act as Malcolm Sage'ssecretary, Miss Gladys Norman had done a barn-dance across the room, her arrival at the door synchronising with the appearance of MalcolmSage from without. It had become a tradition at Department Z that"M.S." could always be depended upon to arrive at the mostembarrassing moment of any little dramatic episode; but it wasequally well-known that he possessed a "blind-side" to his vision.They called it "the Nelson touch."
James Thompson, Malcolm Sage's principal assistant, and WilliamJohnson, the office junior, had also been engaged, and theirenthusiasm has been as great as that of their colleague, althoughless dramatically expressed.
A battle royal was fought over the body of Arthur Tims, MalcolmSage's chauffeur. Sir John Dene had insisted that a car and achauffeur were indispensable to a man who was to rival Pinkerton's.Malcolm Sage, on the other hand, had protested that it was anunnecessary expense in the early days of a concern that had yet tojustify itself. To this Sir John Dene had replied, "Shucks!" at thesame time notifying Tims that he was engaged for a year, andauthorising him to select a car, find a garage, and waitinstructions.
Tims
See John Dene of Toronto for the story of how Malcolm Sagefrustrated the enemies of Sir John Dene.