Danny the detective

by Vera C. Barclay

Now Danny scrambled down the trellis-work of the porch and was soon trotting softly along the road. As he got beyond the village his courage began to fail just a wee bit. The road was very dark and lonely. Great black fir trees stretched out weird arms towards him. An owl hooted. A rabbit scampered across his path with a whisk of white tail. Once he jumped as a cow poked her head through a gap at him, and heaved a great sigh. Between the weird black branches of the pines he could see the little, white, sparkling stars winking at him. They reminded him of God, and that after all he was not quite alone. God must be pleased with him, because he was “doing his best.” The lonely darkness ceased to be full of horror. He went on with a brave heart.

At last he reached the pond. All was quite still. After listening intently for a few minutes, he flashed his electric torch on the water. The scraps of paper were still floating about. He walked round the bank, casting a ring of golden light on to the dusty ground. But there were no wet footmarks to show that someone had come up out of the water.

“I’ll keep watch,” said Danny, and he curled up in the shadow of the wall.

It was a warm July night, but Danny’s teeth were chattering as he squatted alone beneath the ruined wall. He gazed fascinated at the black waters of the pond. Any moment a face, with a red, straggly beard, might come up, all wet and dripping and look at him. He half-wished he had not come. But he had vowed to do all he could to solve the problem, and surely he was on the scent at last.

The moments crept by and nothing happened. Everything was very still, save for the occasional hoot of an owl. The world seemed fast asleep. Presently Danny began to nod.

It must have been three hours later when he awoke, stiff and uncomfortable. Where was he? Oh yes! He jumped up quickly, rubbing his eyes. He had slept on guard. He blushed in the darkness. Just think—if he had been a soldier and his officer had come round—the shame of it! And suddenly he found he was simply longing for home and mother and bed.

“My duty,” he said between his chattering teeth. Switching on his electric torch, he went softly round the pond. But there were no wet marks on the parched, dusty bank; so no one had come up out of the water.

From away across the valley stole the faint sound of a church clock. The four quarters rang out; Danny listened for the hour. One ... chimed like a sad voice across the dim countryside. “One o’clock,” whispered Danny. He could not resist the longing for home, and softly he made his way back on to the road.

“Rh-rrru-um!” A great, grey car swung round the corner and hummed past Danny.

“A.R. 1692,” he said to himself as he watched the red tail-light grow smaller and smaller in the distance. Almost from force of habit he fixed the number in his mind.