Fanks

“ She was engaged to him by her father's desire, but she loved a scamp—good-looking, of course, with no money, and had been exiled to Ventnor to escape him."
"Eh! It's quite a romance," said Fanks, gaily. "What was the scamp's name?" ”

“ Fanks, as a rule, was one of the most self-contained of men, rarely losing his self-control or cool temper, but at this moment he could have sworn freely at his want of caution which had let a possible witness in the case slip through his fingers. ”

“ Fanks placed them side by side on the desk. On the envelope was the address of Sir Gregory in Half-Moon Street; on the photograph, an inscription which ran as follows: "Emma. Born 1874; died 1893." The handwriting on both was one and the same. Garth drew a long breath.
"By George, that is strange," he said, after a pause, "the woman who wrote the one, wrote the other; there isn't a shadow of difference between the writings. You are right, Fanks, the penmanship is that of an elderly woman; no doubt the mother of the girl." ”

“ Gregory was an only child and his parents are dead; Louis is an only child, and his parents have also gone the way of all flesh; I am an only child, and I am likewise an orphan."
Fanks made a note of the family tree in his book.
"So far so good," he said, with a nod. "Sir Gregory is dead and Sir Louis has succeeded him; if Louis dies without issue, you are the heir. And failing you?"
"The property goes to the Crown," replied Garth. "Louis and I are the sole representatives of the Fellengers."
"The race has dwindled considerably. Now what about your dead cousin. ”

“ Fanks was suspicious of Turnor, from his connection with the so-called Renshaw; and this conversation went a long way towards confirming these suspicions. However, as he wished to go to Mere Hall and follow up the Binjoy clue, he had no time to attend to the Turnor matter. Nevertheless, on leaving Tooley's Alley he sought out Crate, and instructed him to look after the doctor.
"Find out his financial position," said Fanks; "what kind of practice he has, how he lives, what kind of character he bears, and all about him." ”

“ It’s the little man who does not work, who makes his living by his wits, who needs the mental refreshment which communion with his fellow-man alone can give him.”
Fanks needed little encouragement to make a speech. Rhetoric was his long suit, and Pinlow, who knew his weakness, did not attempt to encourage him. Fortunately, no sooner had Fanks got well started on the subject of the brainfulness of criminals, than the car turned out of the Euston Road into Slippington Street. ”

“ Who knows? Ah, who, indeed? There's a good deal in chance, and fate sometimes puts a thread into our hands which conducts through tangled labyrinths to unknown issues.
"Two lies," said Mr. Fanks for the third time, as he rolled himself up in the bed-clothes and blew out the candle. "He hadn't seen her since Ventnor. He hadn't heard from her since Ventnor. Wonderful self-denial for a young man in love. I'd like to know more about Roger's little romance."
Extracts from a Detective's Note-Book
"Can't make Axton out . ”

“ But he did live at Taxton-on-Thames, a village near Weybridge."
"Do you know Sir Louis intimately?"
"No. I have only seen him once or twice. He is a bookish, scientific man, and an invalid;--at least," corrected Garth, "he has always a doctor living with him; a tall, fat brute, called Binjoy, who twists him round his finger. He has been with him for years."
"A tall, fat brute," repeated Fanks, smiling at this amiable description. "Has the gentleman in question a long, brown beard?" ”

“ May I ask if you are satisfied?"
"The face," observed Octavius, leisurely waving his hand to disperse the smoke-clouds rolling from the briar-root of his companion, "the face is not that of a happy man!"
"It would be very curious if it was," replied Axton, sulkily, "seeing that the owner is not happy."
"Youth, good looks, genius, health," said Fanks, reflectively. "With all these you ought to be happy, Roger."
"No doubt! But what I ought to be and what I am, are two very different things."
"Judging by your face, they certainly are," retorted the detective, drily ”

“ White Fang clung with his fore-paws to the man’s shoulders, at the same time burying his fangs into the back of the man’s neck. He clung on for a moment, long enough to drag the god over backward. Together they crashed to the floor. White Fang leaped clear, and, as the man struggled to rise, was in again with the slashing fangs.
Sierra Vista awoke in alarm. The noise from downstairs was as that of a score of battling fiends. There were revolver shots. A man’s voice screamed once in horror and anguish. ”

“ And every time the hand descended, the ears flattened down and a cavernous growl surged in his throat. White Fang growled and growled with insistent warning. By this means he announced that he was prepared to retaliate for any hurt he might receive. There was no telling when the god's ulterior motive might be disclosed. At any moment that soft, confidence-inspiring voice might break forth in a roar of wrath, that gentle and caressing hand transform itself into a viselike grip to hold him helpless and administer punishment. ”

“ Fanchon turned, caught at a chair-back, and clung to it, laughing wildly.
“You’re so sorry for me—and he loves you!”
“No,” said Virginia, “he shan’t! If he did, it would make no difference. Fanchon, I want you to leave this place and come with me. Let me take care of you. You’re too ill to stand up.”
“To stand up? Why, I’m going to dance for the pictures. You call me ill? I can dance. Attendez!”
She let go of the chair to which she had been clinging, and seemed to listen, her head bent and her brown eyes brilliant, her whole small figure quivering and tense.
“Mon Dieu—I hear it—the music!” ”

“ Insidiously, and by remote ways, as well as by the power of stick and stone and clout of hand, were the shackles of White Fang’s bondage being riveted upon him. The qualities in his kind that in the beginning made it possible for them to come in to the fires of men, were qualities capable of development. They were developing in him, and the camp-life, replete with misery as it was, was secretly endearing itself to him all the time. But White Fang was unaware of it. He knew only grief for the loss of Kiche, hope for her return, and a hungry yearning for the free life that had been his. ”

“ Fanchon’s eyes were closed, and the long, thick lashes made shadows on her white cheeks. There was no sign of makeup now except a touch of the lips that made her mouth look scarlet, in fearful contrast to the whiteness of cheeks and brow and throat. One arm was thrown across the bed and the small hand clasped the crumpled coverlet convulsively, the blue veins showing through its [355] delicate whiteness. Half-clad as she was, Virginia saw how thin were Fanchon’s arms and how slender her neck, delicate and round as the stem of a flower. ”

“ White Fang knew the law well: to opress the weak and obey the strong. He ate his share of meat as rapidly as he could. And then woe the dog that had not yet finished! A snarl and a flash of fangs, and that dog would wail his indignation to the uncomforting stars while White Fang finished his portion for him.
Every little while, however, one dog or another would flame up in revolt and be promptly subdued. Thus White Fang was kept in training. He was jealous of the isolation in which he kept himself in the midst of the pack, and he fought often to maintain it. ”

“ After a few days, sober and bankrupt, Grey Beaver departed up the Porcupine on his long journey to the Mackenzie. White Fang remained on the Yukon, the property of a man more than half mad and all brute. But what is a dog to know in its consciousness of madness? To White Fang, Beauty Smith was a veritable, if terrible, god. He was a mad god at best, but White Fang knew nothing of madness; he knew only that he must submit to the will of this new master, obey his every whim and fancy. ”

“ Then again came the prod of his instinct and the warning of past experience. The gods were ever crafty, and they had unguessed ways of attaining their ends.
Ah, he had thought so! There it came now, the god's hand, cunning to hurt, thrusting out at him, descending upon his head. But the god went on talking. His voice was soft and soothing. In spite of the menacing hand, the voice inspired confidence. And in spite of the assuring voice, the hand inspired distrust. White Fang was torn by conflicting feelings, impulses. ”

“ Night had fallen. The snow was flying more thickly, and White Fang, whimpering softly to himself as he stumbled and limped along, came upon a fresh trail in the snow. So fresh was it that he knew it immediately for what it was. Whining with eagerness, he followed back from the river bank and in among the trees. The camp-sounds came to his ears. He saw the blaze of the fire, Kloo-kooch cooking, and Gray Beaver squatting on his hams and mumbling a chunk of raw tallow. There was fresh meat in camp!
White Fang expected a beating. ”

“ Through it all, behind it all, was man, governing and controlling, expressing himself, as of old, by his mastery over matter. It was colossal, stunning. White Fang was awed. Fear sat upon him. As in his cubhood he had been made to feel his smallness and puniness on the day he first came in from the Wild to the village of Grey Beaver, so now, in his full-grown stature and pride of strength, he was made to feel small and puny. And there were so many gods! ”

“ To tell the truth, he is a little torn and tattered; he lacks a feather in his tail; he has lost it in battle—unless it was through some bad fairy of the village. Fanchon has her suspicions he is a naughty bird. But she is a girl, and she does not mind her jack-sparrow being a trifle headstrong, if only he has a kind heart. She pets him and calls him pretty names. Suddenly he begins to grow bigger; his body gets longer; his wings turn into two arms; he is a boy, and Fanchon knows who he is—Antoine, the gardener’s little lad, who asks her:
“Shall we go and play together, shall we, Fanchon?” ”

“ Then the clothes-bags were taken into the carriage, the strange gods and the love-master followed, and White Fang pursued, now running vigilantly behind, now bristling up to the running horses and warning them that he was there to see that no harm befell the god they dragged so swiftly across the earth. ”

“ Fanchon seemed to feel his thought. His very attitude, aloof and challenging and critical, affected her. She shivered, covering her eyes with her hands.
“Don’t look at me like that!” she cried passionately. “Mon Dieu, I can’t bear it! You—you hate me!”
Daniel reddened; he found himself in an uncomfortable position. Had he shown his hostility so strongly? Had he let this wild young creature see that he felt she was an interloper?
“You’re talking nonsense, Fanchon,” he said gravely. “I hate no one—as far as I can remember. I’m a colorless fellow, you know, and a cripple. I don’t count.” ”

“ She broke the bread and threw crumbs to them all; but all could not get some to eat. Fanchon found that the boldest and cleverest left nothing for the others.
“That is not fair,” she told them; “each of you ought to take his proper turn.”
But they never heeded; nobody ever does, when you talk of fairness and justice. She tried every way to favour the weak and hearten the timid; but she could make nothing of it, and do what she would, she fed the big fat birds at the expense of the thin ones. ”

“ The man was badly frightened. It was not so much White Fang’s ferocity as it was his silence that unnerved the groom. Still protecting his throat and face with his torn and bleeding arm, he tried to retreat to the barn. And it would have gone hard with him had not Collie appeared on the scene. As she had saved Dick’s life, she now saved the groom’s. She rushed upon White Fang in frenzied wrath. She had been right. She had known better than the blundering gods. All her suspicions were justified. Here was the ancient marauder up to his old tricks again. ”

“ A cuff from the master and a sharp word had then compelled him to permit their caresses, though he growled and growled under their tiny hands, and in the growl there was no crooning note. Later, he observed that the boy and girl were of great value in the master’s eyes. Then it was that no cuff nor sharp word was necessary before they could pat him.
Yet White Fang was never effusively affectionate. He yielded to the master’s children with an ill but honest grace, and endured their fooling as one would endure a painful operation. ”

“ Her mouth opened, the saliva drooled forth, and she licked her chops with the pleasure of anticipation.
A spasm of fear went through him. He reached hastily for a brand to throw at her. But even as he reached, and before his fingers had closed on the missile, she sprang back into safety; and he knew that she was used to having things thrown at her. She had snarled as she sprang away, baring her white fangs to their roots, all her wistfulness vanishing, being replaced by a carnivorous malignity that made him shudder. ”

“ Any girl might be proud to be his daughter.”
Then he left the child alone in the room that was but dimly lighted, and as she sat there waiting the coming of Fanchon, for the very first time in her life she felt a real love and loyalty for that man whom the banker had just praised. How kind he had always been, and how gentle. If—if this cruel, wicked, Mrs. Clayburn was “best families,” she’d rather, oh, a hundred times rather, have her own dear, good father, whatever he was.
Fanchon entered, bearing a tray, and placed it on a low table. ”