“There’s no question of anything ‘going on’, as you put it,” Pointer, flushed with anger, glowered at his inquisitor. “My personal relationships are no concern of any member of this council and I think that this attempt to drag them into a distasteful and perfectly pointless argument is monstrous.”
Some ‘hear, hears’ were heard.
Alderman Haskell had begun to make the cud-chewing motions that always showed when he was about to be statesmanlike. “The point with me, Mr Chairman,” he announced, looking round at his colleagues, “is that nobody here wants to cast any reflection on your good self. Let us forget that our police chief happens to be related to you by marriage—a proper and, I trust, happy marriage. The fact remains that a dangerous criminal, perhaps a lunatic, is at large in the town and for nearly a month nothing seems to have been done about it.”
He paused to champ ominously once or twice. “I have myself heard on good authority that the police have received a confession. Yet no one has been taken into custody. There are other rumours in the town, no less disturbing, but I do not think we should form any judgment upon them ourselves.
“What I do suggest—and I should like to propose it formally now—is that we appoint a small deputation to see the Chief Constable of the county and ask him to look into the whole affair in the light of the public disquiet it has aroused.”
There were nods and hrrmphs of assent when Alderman Haskell sat back in his chair and stroked his large nose.
Further contributions were made but they consisted merely of the repetitive sentiments, truisms, irrelevancies and other exercises in the enjoyment of the sound of one’s own voice that passed in Chalmsbury for debate. No one suggested an alternative to Alderman Haskell’s resolution and it was ultimately carried with nicely calculated allowance for a drink in the adjoining Mason’s Arms, where Mr Kebble had been quietly celebrating his expulsion for the past three-quarters of an hour.
Kebble very quickly learned and stored away for reference all that had been deemed too delicate for his ears. Then he drained the last of his brandy and water, guilelessly wished his informants good night, and set off for his office.
As he was walking past the Rialto, Mr Grope emerged to bolt back the doors in readiness for the nightly rush to dodge the national anthem.
“Ah, I was wondering if I might spot you,” said Grope. “It’s come to me.”
Kebble pushed back his hat and looked sympathetic. “Has it, old chap?” Although he had no notion of what Grope was talking about he was conditioned to Chalmsbury conversation, which invariably began at the very point at which a previous exchange, however remote in time, had left off.
“That poem—it was a song; and so you see I wasn’t wrong,” intoned Grope. In mournful monotone he proved his point. “Drink to me o-o-only, wi-ith thine ey-ey-es...”
“...And I’ll not look for wine,” responded Kebble. “Yes, of course. The first two lines of the ‘Mem’ follow straight on, don’t they?”
Grope nodded and went on with his door bolting.
“But the rest of the thing—tassels and all that—I don’t remember that coming into ‘Drink to Me Only’. Why should...”
“Look out,” said Grope. “Here they come.”
Chapter Nine
The Deputation Appointed by the General Purposes Committee to call upon the County Chief Constable consisted of three members. The choice of Alderman Haskell was obvious enough. It was sanctified by his long service, his patriarchal rectitude and his inability to recognize a can when one had been passed to him. He was accompanied, for the sake of appearances and in order to meet any legal snags that might be encountered, by the Town Clerk, Mr L. C. Hooper-Dwyer. The third member—none other than Councillor Pointer—had been selected ostensibly by virtue of his chairmanship of the committee. The real reason was his enemies’ confidence that so heavily compromised a spokesman could not fail to take the opposite line to his personal inclination.
The trio was received by Mr Hessledine, the Chief Constable, with promptitude and affability. The good impression made by this energetic attentive man in his neat grey suit was strengthened by his remembering and using the name of each of his visitors throughout the interview. ‘Elsie’ Hooper-Dwyer expressed the general feeling when he declared in the train on the homeward journey: “I do like a gentleman who never calls you ‘Er’, don’t you?”
Elsie it was who introduced the delicate subject of the meeting.
“You will be aware, sir,” he said, “of the disturbing and inexplicable series of crimes which our community has suffered during the past few weeks.”
The Chief Constable nodded. “I have seen reports of the incidents, Mr Hooper-Dwyer. I agree that they must have been most alarming.” He was watching Elsie’s face, which was intriguingly akin to that of a wax model in an old-fashioned hairdressing saloon: a smooth, translucent, flawless face that bore a silky little moustache. As the Town Clerk’s precisely enunciated words popped forth, his little jaw was thrust forward to display a row of tiny, very white teeth. “How vicious he looks,” thought Mr Hessledine.
After describing the bomb damage in somewhat tiresome detail, Elsie drew from his brief-case the minutes of the committee meeting and read a carefully condensed account of what members had had to say about the turning of blind eyes and the standing out of sore thumbs.
When he had come to the end of this document, he said: “Of course, I need hardly point out, Mr Chief Constable, that our reference today to the allegations is in the strictest confidence. Some of them may well be actionable. We quote them solely to give you an idea of public feeling, however unwisely you may think it has been expressed.”
“I quite understand,” replied Mr Hessledine. He paused for a few moments and said with a faint smile: “It all sounds rather sinister, doesn’t it, gentlemen? One thing—your committee has been very sensible, I think, in deciding to be frank with us—with the police, I mean.”
Councillor Pointer glanced up from a survey of his shoes to see the Chief Constable looking at him with polite concern. “Tell me, Mr Pointer, as the target of some of these unfortunate innuendoes, what do you feel about the affair? I must say, incidentally, that I much admire your courage in coming along here and taking the bull by the horns, so to speak.”
Pointer gave no sign of being cheered by the compliment. “All I want,” he said harshly, “is the scotching of these damnable rumours. Make what investigations you like. I’ve nothing to hide. Fire away and see if I care!”
“But I’ve no intention of firing at anybody, Mr Pointer. I was under the impression that you and your colleagues had come to fire at me.”
Alderman Haskell champed portentously three times and spoke. “The point with me, Mr Chief Constable, is this. Chalmsbury, as you doubtless know is not a big town and the police have a very fair idea of who’s who. In the ordinary way of wrong-doing, they never have much difficulty in putting their hands on the person responsible. Quite often someone will come along and tell them; we’re quite neighbourly, you know. Well, we’ve certainly never before had the same trick played three times in a row and nobody under lock and key at the end of it.”