“Yes, sir.” He’d move Cobb around all right!“ We’ll catch this fellow soon. I guarantee it.”
“I don’t want guarantees, sir, I wantresults.”
And with that Bagshaw was summarilydismissed.
***
Cobb found himself on night-patrol with Brown,Rossiter and Wilkie. For two fruitless nights they pounded up anddown the alleys and lanes of Devil’s Acre. So effective were theythat hardly a soul ventured into the gambling dens and brothels.Madame LaFrance came out on her stoop and shook her fist at them.The snow was hard-packed where the constables walked, so that thebig-booted maniac could have come and gone without his spoor beingnoticed. But, of course the murders had occurred on every thirdnight, so it was with much more expectation that the four patrolmenmet at eight o’clock that evening at the police quarters. ChiefBagshaw was waiting for them. He came out of his office with alaundry bag in his hand.
“What’s up?” Rossiter said.
“I’ve come up with a plan,” the Chief said,smiling tightly. “I’m sick and tired of having the madman makefools of us. I’m going to set a trap for him.”
“A trap? How?” Wilkie said.
“I’m going to provide the killer with a blondwoman to kill.”
“But sir,” Brown said, “you can’t expose awoman to the possibility of havin’ her throat slit!”
Bagshaw grinned. “Ah, but I don’t intendto.”
Cobb looked at the laundry bag. “You’re gonnago there in costume?” he said.
“Close, Cobb, close. I am not going incostume. Wilkie is.”
Wilkie blanched. “As a woman?” he gasped.
“As a seductive blond woman. Our killer — this is likely his night — won’t be able to resist, but he’ll findhimself face to face with a policeman’s truncheon.”
“But I ain’t no woman!” Wilkie wailed.
“You’re the slimmest of these fellows,”Bagshaw said, glancing at the others, “so you’re elected.”
“What do I gotta wear?” Wilkie said.
“I’ve brought all you’ll need from home,”Bagshaw said. He began slowly removing the contents of the laundrybag. First to come out was a large, fluffy, blond wig. Then aladies’ evening gown. Then a pair of ladies’ button boots. Then aladies’ feathered hat. And finally, a ladies’ cape.
“I’ve got my wife’s face-paint in theoffice,” Bagshaw said.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Wilkie moaned.
“It’s time you earned your keep,” Bagshawsnapped. He had, of course, thought to humiliate Cobb by choosinghim, but Cobb’s bottle shape precluded any dress fitting him, andthe wild shock of unkempt hair would make any wig impossible tofit. Wilkie was fleshy but slimly built with small feet — alas.
“We’ll help you get ready,” Rossitergrinned.
“Use the constables’ room,” Bagshaw said.
Rossiter and Wilkie went into the constables’room with the garments.
Bagshaw turned to Brown and Cobb. “Now,gentlemen, you’re going to bear witness to how proper police workpays off. I want you, Cobb, to keep a short way behind Wilkie atall times, but discreetly. We want this killer to make his move. Ifhe does, you can yell to alert Wilkie and trap the fellow betweenthe two of you. Blow your whistle for help. I figure that twotruncheons should be able to take care of that knife. Still, youmust remember here that we’re dealing with a madman.”
“Careful! You’re gonna rip the damn thing!”It was Wilkie’s voice from the other room.
Cobb and Brown grinned.
“There’s nothing funny about any of this,”Bagshaw said. “Wilkie will be risking his life.”
A few minutes later the door of theconstables’ room opened, and a sturdy blond woman stepped gingerlyout into the anteroom. Wilkie had successfully squeezed his bulkinto the flowery gown. The wig was bold and curly upon his head,under the hat. He couldn’t get the cape fastened, so it hung on himlike two flaps. The boots, unbuttoned, pinched his toes inward andmade him walk oddly — more like a woman than a man.
“Splendid! Splendid!” Bagshaw enthused.
Wilkie staggered and was caught by Cobb.
“Now a little rouge on each cheek and we’llbe all set,” Bagshaw proclaimed.
Wilkie groaned.
***
As Wilkie meandered through the maze of Devil’sAcre, Cobb stayed close behind, flattening himself against walls tokeep as far out of sight as he dared. Brown and Rossiter werepatrolling other sections of the place — in hopes they might runinto the killer — so Cobb and Wilkie were on their own. And whileWilkie was certainly comic-looking, Cobb realized there was realdanger involved. This was the third night. The killer could be onthe prowl, and Wilkie certainly resembled a woman from even a shortdistance away.
Once, Cobb lost sight of Wilkie, and it wasonly by chance that they met face to face coming around a corner.Wilkie almost jumped out of his dress, then saw it was Cobb.
“I thought you was supposed to be behind me,”Wilkie complained.
“You’re movin’ too fast,” Cobb said.
“You’d move fast, too, if there was a maniacon yer ass.”
Cobb resumed his rear position and theycontinued.
About two hours into their patrol, neareleven o’clock, Cobb saw Wilkie make a limping right turn aboutfifteen yards ahead of him. He sped up to make sure he didn’t losetrack of his man, when out of the opposite alley the blur of afigure vanished somewhere in behind Wilkie.
This was it! Cobb raced to the corner of thealley, fumbling for his whistle. It stuck to his lips. Ahead hecould now see two figures, Wilkie and his attacker. They appearedto be locked in a deadly embrace. Cobb’s whistle sang through themoon-lit darkness. The figures broke apart, and Wilkie tumbledbackwards into a drift. Cobb dashed towards his stricken colleague.The attacker was heading for the far end of the alley. Wilkie wavedCobb after him.
Cobb’s speed was always underestimated bythose he pursued. His tube-like belly was attached to two slim,pistoning legs, and seemed even to assist his forward locomotion,once he got up a head of steam. The attacker aided Cobb by slippingas he tried to turn a corner and sliding into the snow. Cobb wasquickly upon him.
“Gotcha, ya devil!” he cried as he fell uponthe man, truncheon raised.
No serrated knife gleamed in the moonlight.The killer lay panting and passive beneath him. Cobb got up andhauled the fellow up by the scruff.
“Where’d ya hide the knife?” he yelled.
“W-what knife?” the killer said in a chokingvoice.
“Don’t mess with me, fella. Where is it?”
“I haven’t got a knife. And I didn’t donothing to have a policeman jump on me!” Some vigour was returningto the villain’s voice.
Cobb took a good look at his captive. He wasa short, paunchy man dressed in gentleman’s attire. His beaver tophat lay on the ground. He wore a cape, not a great coat. Somethingwas amiss here.
“You assaulted a police constable,” Cobb saidsternly. “We’ll go back and see what he has to say.”
Cobb dragged the man back to where Wilkie wasjust getting to his feet. He had a pained expression on hisface.
“Are you all right, Wilkie? You’re notinjured?” Cobb said.
“’Course I ain’t all right. This bastardtried to kiss me!”
***
Neither Wilkie nor Bagshaw found the kissing episodeas amusing as the rest of the constables. Bagshaw was in a blackmood the next day, and not amenable to any suggestion by Cobb thathe pursue the big-booted gentleman by going back to MadameLaFrance’s brothel and seeking out any client of above averageheight. There could not be that many tall gentlemen visitingDevil’s Acre on a given night. There were also three or four otherbrothels in there, although their clientele was decidedly down thesocial ladder. But it looked now as if — the Wilkie trap havingfailed spectacularly — Bagshaw would rely on patrols alone to catchthe killer. There would be no more traps and no more detecting forCobb, in or out of uniform.
***
It was Dora who came up with the suggestion:
“Mister Cobb, why don’t you sit down andwrite a long letter to Marc Edwards in Kingston?”
“What for?” Cobb asked.