'Never?'
'Never.'
'Does anyone else wear it?'
'No.'
'How very mysterious. A coat that nobody wears yet which hangs usefully by the back door. Let me start again. This is your son's coat. When did he last wear it?'
The parents looked at one another. Eventually the mother said, 'I have no idea. It is too shabby for him to go out in, and he has no cause to wear it in the house. Perhaps he wore it for gardening.'
'Now let me see,' said Campbell, holding the coat to the window. 'Yes, there's a hair here. And… another. And… yes, another. Parsons?'
The Sergeant took a look and nodded.
'Let me see, Inspector.' The Vicar was allowed to inspect the coat. 'That's not a hair. I don't see any hairs.'
Now mother and daughter joined in, tugging at the blue serge, like in a bazaar. He waved them away and laid the coat on a table. 'There,' he said, pointing at the most obvious hair.
'That's a roving,' said the daughter. 'It's not a hair, it's a roving.'
'What's a roving?'
'A thread, a loose thread. Anyone can see that, anyone who's ever sewn anything.'
Campbell had never sewn in his life, but he could recognize panic in a young woman's voice.
'And look at these stains, Sergeant.' On the right sleeve there were two separate patches, one whitish, one darkish. Neither he nor Parsons spoke, but they were each thinking the same. Whitish, the pony's saliva; darkish, the pony's blood.
'I told you, it's just his old house-coat. He would never go out in it. Certainly not to the bootmaker's.'
'Then why is it damp?'
'It's not damp.'
The daughter came up with another explanation useful to her brother. 'Perhaps it just feels damp to you because it was hanging by the back door.'
Unimpressed, Campbell gathered up the coat, the boots, the trousers and other clothing identified as having been worn the previous evening; he also took the razors. The family was instructed not to make contact with George until given police permission. He stationed one man outside the Vicarage, and ordered the others to quarter the grounds. Then he returned with Parsons to the field, where Mr Lewis had completed his examination and sought leave to destroy the pony. The surgeon's report would be with Campbell the following day. The Inspector asked him to cut a piece of skin from the dead animal. PC Cooper was to take this, along with the clothes, to Dr Butter in Cannock.
At Wyrley station Markew reported that the lawyer had curtly refused his request to wait. Campbell and Parsons therefore took the first available train – the 9.53 – into Birmingham.
'Strange family,' said the Inspector, as they were crossing the canal between Bloxwich and Walsall.
'Very strange.' The Sergeant chewed his lip for a while. 'If you don't mind my saying, sir, they seemed honest enough in themselves.'
'I know what you mean. It's something the criminal classes would do well to study.'
'What's that, sir?'
'Lying no more than you need to.'
'That'll be the day.' Parsons chuckled. 'Still, you have to feel sorry for them, in a way. Happening to that sort of family. A black sheep, if you'll pardon the expression.'
'I certainly will.'
Shortly after eleven o'clock the two policemen presented themselves at 54 Newhall Street. It was a small, two-room office, with a woman secretary guarding the solicitor's door. George Edalji sat passively behind his desk, looking ill.
Campbell, alert for any sudden movement from the man, said, 'We don't want to search you here, but you must let me have your pistol.'
Edalji looked at him blankly. 'I have no pistol.'
'What's that, then?' The Inspector gestured at a long, shiny object on the desk before him.
The solicitor sounded intensely weary as he spoke. 'That, Inspector, is the key to the door of a railway carriage.'
'Just joking,' Campbell replied. But he was thinking: keys. The key to Walsall School all those years ago, and now here's another one. There's something very queer about this fellow.
'I use it as a paperweight,' the lawyer explained. 'As you might have cause to recall, I am an authority on railway law.'
Campbell nodded. Then he cautioned the man and arrested him. In a cab on the way to the Newton Street lockup, Edalji said to the officers, 'I am not surprised at this. I have been expecting it for some time.'
Campbell glanced at Parsons, who made a contemporaneous note of these words.
George
At Newton Street they took away his money, his watch and a small pocket knife. They also attempted to take his handkerchief, in case he sought to strangle himself. George protested that it was quite inadequate to such a purpose, and was allowed to keep it.
They put him in a light, clean cell for an hour, then took him by the 12.40 from New Street to Cannock. 1.08 depart Walsall, George thought. Birchills 1.12. Bloxwich 1.16. Wyrley amp; Churchbridge 1.24. Cannock 1.29. The two policemen said they would not restrain him on the journey, for which George was grateful. Even so, when the train pulled in to Wyrley, he lowered his head and raised a hand to his cheek in case Mr Merriman or the porter spotted the Sergeant's uniform and spread the news.
At Cannock he was driven in a trap to the police station. There his height was measured and his particulars taken. His clothing was examined for bloodstains. An officer asked him to remove his cuffs and then inspected his wristbands. He said, 'Did you wear this shirt in the field last night? You must have changed it. There's no blood on it.'
George did not answer. He saw no point in doing so. If he replied No to the question, the officer would come back with, 'So you admit being in the field last night. What shirt did you wear?' George felt that he had been entirely cooperative so far; he would henceforth give sufficient answers to questions that were necessary and not leading.
They put him in a tiny cell with little light and less air, and which smelt of a public convenience. It lacked even water for washing purposes. They had taken his watch but he imagined it to be about half past two. A fortnight ago, he thought, just a fortnight ago, Maud and I had finished our roast chicken and apple pie at the Belle Vue, and were walking along Marine Terrace towards the Castle Grounds, where I made a light remark about the Sale of Goods Act and a passer-by attempted to point out Snowdon. Now he sat on a low bed in a police cell, taking the shortest breaths he could, and waiting for the next thing to happen. After a couple of hours he was brought to the interview room where Campbell and Parsons awaited him.
'So, Mr Edalji, you know what we're here for.'
'I know what you're here for. And it's Aydlji, not Ee-dal-ji.'
Campbell ignored this. He thought: I'll call you what I like from now on, Mr Solicitor. 'And you understand your legal rights?'
'I think I do, Inspector. I understand the rules of police procedure. I understand the laws of evidence, and the right of the accused to remain silent. I understand the redress available in cases of wrongful arrest and false imprisonment. I understand, for that matter, the laws of defamation. And I also know how soon you must charge me, and how soon after that you must bring me before the magistrates.'
Campbell had been expecting some show of defiance; although not of the normal kind, which often required a sergeant and several constables to subdue.
'Well, that makes it easier for us too. You'll doubtless inform us if we step out of line. So, you know why you're here.'
'I am here because you have arrested me.'
'Mr Edalji, there's no point in being clever with me. I've dealt with far harder cases than you. Now, tell me why you're here.'
'Inspector, I do not intend to answer the sort of general remarks you doubtless employ when seeking to gull common criminals. Nor do I intend to respond if you set off on what our judiciary would dismiss as a fishing expedition. I shall answer, as truthfully as I can, any specific and relevant questions you choose to ask.'