Read Online Constable Across the Moors by Nicholas Rhea - Free Book Online
Authors: Nicholas Rhea
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away as she explained this to me. “Oh dear, I say, I haven’t broken the law, have I?”
“No,” I smiled. “No, but the gypsy might have. If she’s been taking money for herself, by professing to tell fortunes with the intention of deceiving the public, then she might have committed a criminal offence.”
“Oh, Mr Rhea, it’s all a bit of innocent fun.”
I would have agreed had it not been for my recollection of lots of cash dropping into the palm of that gypsy. If every woman had had her fortune told this afternoon, with some children, that gypsy would have reaped a fortune. I made a hasty calculation in my head and reckoned she’d collected about £70.If she gave £7 of that to charity, it left a huge profit – over £60 – more than a month’s wages for the average man.
The tent had by this time been reduced to a pile of flimsy material which was being packed into a large suitcase, along with the ornate pole. That was now in short sections. The crystal ball had gone, and the other materials were in a large leather bag. Only the woman remained and she was still in her heavy fancy dress. I found that rather odd. Why hadn’t she changed into everyday clothes?
I stared at her, busy with her packing, and the provisions of the Fraudulent Mediums Act 1951 flickered from the dark recesses of my memory. She had taken money …
I stood alone, racking my brains, as Miss Jenks counted piles of money into a tin at my side. I was vaguely aware that the gypsy woman was heading for the cloak room, no doubt to change out of her ceremonial dress.
She walked across the floor before us, weaving expansively through the rubbish which remained, and she vanished into the cloakrooms. I chattered to Miss Jenks for a few minutes, and then decided I needed to use the gents. I made for the cloakroom too. One of the cubicles was occupied, showing the “Engaged” sign. And on the floor, I found a pile of flimsy silk and chiffon. I heard a window click …
I rushed out and ran down the alley at the side of the village hall. I was just in time to see Claude Jeremiah Greengrass, with his face the colour of chocolate, squeezing out of the gents’ toilet window.
“Hello, Claude Jeremiah,” I beamed. “Going far?”
He said nothing. There is very little one can say when one is caught climbing out of a gent’s toilet window with one’s face coloured chocolate, and with ornate ear-rings dangling from one’s aching lobes. I seized his shoulders and hauled him through, placing him squarely on the ground before me. His wizened, pinched and elfin face twitched as I said, “Pockets – open them all up, turn them out.”
Still without speaking, he obeyed. To give the fellow his due, when he was caught red-handed, he was most co-operative. He produced £62 10s od in cash, and there was a further £5 in his wallet.
“The wallet money’s mine, Mr Rhea,” he said, and I believed him. The other was in a separate pocket, and I knew enough of my local villain’s behaviour to realise he’d keep today’s cash takings separate from the other.
Standing there in the back alley, I chanted the provisions of the Fraudulent Mediums Act to him and told him he was being reported for contravening its provisions. I felt sure the Director of Public Prosecutions would be fascinated to learn of this incident at our Jumble Sale, and firmly gripping Claude’s collar, I steered him back into the room to face Miss Jenks.
“Miss Jenks,” I said, “this is your gypsy. Claude Jeremiah Greengrass to be precise, and he has a donation to make to your charity. Isn’t that right, Claude?”
I shook his collar.
“Yes, Mr Rhea,” and I handed her the £62 10s 0d.
She was sufficiently fast-thinking to appreciate the situation, and I noted the quick smile as she looked at the abandoned suitcases and unpacked tent.
“There was the question of rent for that space, Miss Jenks,” I said. “Mr Greengrass and I had a discussion outside, and we agreed
“No,” I smiled. “No, but the gypsy might have. If she’s been taking money for herself, by professing to tell fortunes with the intention of deceiving the public, then she might have committed a criminal offence.”
“Oh, Mr Rhea, it’s all a bit of innocent fun.”
I would have agreed had it not been for my recollection of lots of cash dropping into the palm of that gypsy. If every woman had had her fortune told this afternoon, with some children, that gypsy would have reaped a fortune. I made a hasty calculation in my head and reckoned she’d collected about £70.If she gave £7 of that to charity, it left a huge profit – over £60 – more than a month’s wages for the average man.
The tent had by this time been reduced to a pile of flimsy material which was being packed into a large suitcase, along with the ornate pole. That was now in short sections. The crystal ball had gone, and the other materials were in a large leather bag. Only the woman remained and she was still in her heavy fancy dress. I found that rather odd. Why hadn’t she changed into everyday clothes?
I stared at her, busy with her packing, and the provisions of the Fraudulent Mediums Act 1951 flickered from the dark recesses of my memory. She had taken money …
I stood alone, racking my brains, as Miss Jenks counted piles of money into a tin at my side. I was vaguely aware that the gypsy woman was heading for the cloak room, no doubt to change out of her ceremonial dress.
She walked across the floor before us, weaving expansively through the rubbish which remained, and she vanished into the cloakrooms. I chattered to Miss Jenks for a few minutes, and then decided I needed to use the gents. I made for the cloakroom too. One of the cubicles was occupied, showing the “Engaged” sign. And on the floor, I found a pile of flimsy silk and chiffon. I heard a window click …
I rushed out and ran down the alley at the side of the village hall. I was just in time to see Claude Jeremiah Greengrass, with his face the colour of chocolate, squeezing out of the gents’ toilet window.
“Hello, Claude Jeremiah,” I beamed. “Going far?”
He said nothing. There is very little one can say when one is caught climbing out of a gent’s toilet window with one’s face coloured chocolate, and with ornate ear-rings dangling from one’s aching lobes. I seized his shoulders and hauled him through, placing him squarely on the ground before me. His wizened, pinched and elfin face twitched as I said, “Pockets – open them all up, turn them out.”
Still without speaking, he obeyed. To give the fellow his due, when he was caught red-handed, he was most co-operative. He produced £62 10s od in cash, and there was a further £5 in his wallet.
“The wallet money’s mine, Mr Rhea,” he said, and I believed him. The other was in a separate pocket, and I knew enough of my local villain’s behaviour to realise he’d keep today’s cash takings separate from the other.
Standing there in the back alley, I chanted the provisions of the Fraudulent Mediums Act to him and told him he was being reported for contravening its provisions. I felt sure the Director of Public Prosecutions would be fascinated to learn of this incident at our Jumble Sale, and firmly gripping Claude’s collar, I steered him back into the room to face Miss Jenks.
“Miss Jenks,” I said, “this is your gypsy. Claude Jeremiah Greengrass to be precise, and he has a donation to make to your charity. Isn’t that right, Claude?”
I shook his collar.
“Yes, Mr Rhea,” and I handed her the £62 10s 0d.
She was sufficiently fast-thinking to appreciate the situation, and I noted the quick smile as she looked at the abandoned suitcases and unpacked tent.
“There was the question of rent for that space, Miss Jenks,” I said. “Mr Greengrass and I had a discussion outside, and we agreed
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