Danny the detective

Exactly behind him, peering through the hole in the wall, was an evil face.
BY V. C. BARCLAY
Illustrated
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS NEW YORK AND LONDON The Knickerbocker Press 1918
Copyright, 1918 BY V. C. BARCLAY The Knickerbocker Press, New York
Transcriber’s Note: The illustration listed as facing page 90 does not appear in this edition of the print book.
DANNY THE DETECTIVE
Danny the Detective
Danny Moor was feeling very happy as he sat on the garden gate swinging his legs.
He had lived all his life in a very dull and smoky part of London. Now, at last, his mother had come to live in the country in a village called Dutton, as lodge-keeper to Sir Edward Finch. And Danny found himself in a dear little house at the bottom of a long drive.
It was an old-fashioned cottage with a thatched roof, old black beams, and red tiled floors. Honeysuckle grew in wild profusion over the rustic porch and around the latticed windows. Beyond its little garden stretched the great park belonging to the Hall, where spotted deer roamed free, and squirrels darted like red flashes through the trees. The rarest wild birds knew that here they were safe to build their nests, unmolested. But that which delighted Danny most was the great, grey ruin of an ancient abbey. It stood in the park, within a stone’s throw of his mother’s cottage. As he lay in bed at night he could see the tall grey tower looming up against the purple sky, and the outline of the crumbling walls and traceried windows clear against the stars. He used to lie in bed and wonder, and make up stories about the mysterious ruin.
Danny was not quite an ordinary boy. His school-fellows used to laugh at him; the big boys sometimes jeered at him; while his own pals admired him and thought him very clever. And everyone called him “Danny the Detective.” This is why he came to be known by that name.