E called Rensell “Annie” because he had a long and a melancholy face which bore some resemblance to that of the cook-general who combined with her high office the post of serving-maid at Seveidge's Boarding Establishment.
This was in the old days when we were all students together at the University, and before Annie threw up science and went out to India to be a policeman.
He was seven years in India, and we heard very little about him, and that little, we imperfectly appreciated.
We knew that he was engaged in more or less mysterious work connected with the political side of police work, and I remember that somebody sent me a copy of the Times of India with a blue-penciled description of how Annie had saved the Rajah of Somewhere's life by unearthing a plot to poison his highness.
The exact particulars escape me for the moment, but I am under the impression that there was a woman in it and that Annie had done something very clever with a spoon and a reel of thread—but exactly what it was I forget.
The next news I had of him was that a political anarchist had thrown a bomb at him in Calcutta and I gathered therefrom that Annie had been sticking his long nose into matters which may have concerned him, but which certainly did not meet with the approval of those affected by his interference.
In a sense, such of us as had known him, found a new interest in his career after this happening.
That we included a detective of parts in our circle of acquaintance was a subject, if not exactly for congratulation, at least for interest.
Those who are best able to judge the qualities of our friend—Indian officials, judges and political chiefs—speak of Annie's work in terms of the highest respect. It would seem, in fact, that in the very shortest space of time he placed himself on a level with the most astute chiefs of the Criminal Investigation Department in India, and, moreover, accomplished this, handicapped with very little knowledge of the languages of the great empire.
I am speaking now of his earlier achievements; it is a fact that he did acquire a very extensive knowledge of Indian dialects.
You know how easy it is for youthful friends to drift apart, and for “Jack” to become “Mister,” and especially was this so in my case, for although “Annie” and I had been friends, had shared slight confidences and had been mutually interested in the remnants of our month's allowances, we were so far disassociated by time and distance that on one occasion when I was asked to give a letter of introduction to him, I hesitated, wondering whether I could still describe him as a friend. It was soon after this that I had a letter from him, telling me that he was coming home on leave, asking me if I was still unmarried, and, if I was, whether I could fix up diggings for him.
I was delighted to reply that I should be glad to fix up some rooms for him. This I did, for I was staying with some very nice people in Kensington who had, fortunately, a suite available.
It was a remarkable coincidence that soon after this I began to hear more about him than I had heard in the whole of the seven years.
My work brought me a great deal into touch with Anglo-Indians, and never a day seemed to pass but I learnt of some brilliant little exploit of his in the realms of crime detection and crime prevention.
He arrived in June, scarcely changed.
He had still the same melancholy cast of features, the same immobile face—a little browner, perhaps, but not looking a day older.
A cigarette dropped limply from his mouth when he came lounging into my office—I had not been able to meet him at the station—and the stray end of his badly-tied cravat hung brazenly over his waistcoat.
“'Lo,” he said with the air of indolence which was peculiarly his. He offered a thin hand and grasped mine with a twenty-pound grip, which was utterly at variance with his air of languor.
He was the sort of man who had the rare faculty for picking up the thread of a friendship exactly where he left it, and we found ourselves ragging each other just as though we still shared a small sitting-room at Seveidge's and the seven years' interval had never occurred.
His shrewdness, his extraordinary powers of observation, his brilliant simplicity, astounded me.
He spoke very little of his work in India, and I might never have realized the extent of his services but for the remarkable happenings at the Manufacturing Jewelers' Association—and but for the Queen of Sheba's Belt.
We were talking about crime detection one night when Annie was in his best form. We sat in my room over our pipes; I was endeavoring to draw him out.