Well, that was that. Now about Joe Sellon. Better look in at the station first and see if there was anything special needed attending to.
The first thing handed to him when he got there was Joe Sellon’s own report. He had interviewed the man Williams, who asserted positively that Crutchley had come in to the garage just before eleven and gone immediately to bed. The two men shared a room, and Williams’s bed was between Crutchley’s and the door. Williams said he didn’t think he could have failed to wake up if Crutchley had gone out during the night, because the door squeaked badly on its hinges. He was a light sleeper. As a matter of fact, he had woken up, about 1 o’clock, with a fellow blowing his horn and knocking at the garage door. Turned out to be a commercial vehicle with a leaking feed, called for repairs and petrol Crutchley had been asleep then, because Williams saw him when he lit his candle and went down to deal with the vehicle. The window was a small dormer-nobody could get out and down that way, and there were no marks of anybody’s having done so.
That seemed all right-but, in any case, it didn’t amount to anything, since Noakes must have been dead before 9.30, as it seemed. Unless Mrs Ruddle was lying. And she had no cause to lie, so far as Kirk could see. She had gone out of her way to mention her presence in the paraffin-shed, and she wouldn’t do that for nothing. Unless she was telling lies on purpose to get Sellon into trouble. Kirk shook his head: that would be a big assumption to make. Still, lies or no lies, it was a good thing to check all alibis as closely as possible, and this one appeared to be sound. Always supposing Joe Sellon wasn’t lying again. Confound it! when it came to not being able to trust your own men… No doubt about it, Joe must come off this case. And what was more, for form’s sake he would have to get Williams’s evidence checked again and confirmed-a nuisance, and a waste of time. He asked where Sellon was and learned that, having waited a little in the hope of seeing the Superintendent, he had gone off back; to Paggleham about an hour ago. They must have missed him on the road, then, somehow. Why hadn’t he come to Talboys?-oh, drat Joe Sellon!
Anything else? Nothing much. P.C. Jordan had been called on to deal with a customer at the Royal Oak, who had used insulting language and behaviour to the landlord with conduct tending to provoke a breach of the peace; a woman had reported the loss of a handbag containing 9s. 4d; the return half of a ticket, and a latchkey; the sanitary inspector had been in about a case of swine-fever at Datchett’s farm; a child had fallen into the river off the Old Bridge, and been dexterously retrieved by Inspector Goudy, who happened to be passing at the time; P.C. Norman had been knocked off his bicycle by a Great Dane under insufficient control and had sprained his thumb; the Noakes affair had been reported by telephone to the Chief Constable, who was in bed with influenza, but wanted an immediate and detailed report in writing; instructions had come through from headquarters that the Essex County Constabulary wanted a sharp look-out kept for a tramping youth aged about seventeen (description) suspected of breaking and entering a house at Saffron Walden (particulars) and stealing a piece of cheese, an Ingersoll watch and a pair of garden-shears valued at three shillings and sixpence, and thought to be making his way through Herts; there was a summons wanted for a chimney afire in South Avenue; a householder had complained about a barking dog; two lads had been brought in for playing at crown and anchor on the steps of the Wesleyan Chapel; and Sergeant Jakes had very competently tracked down and brought to book the miscreant who had improperly rung the fire-alarm on Monday evening: a nice. quiet day. Mr Kirk listened patiently, distributed sympathy and praise where they were due, and then rang up Pagford and asked for Sergeant Foster. He was out at Snettisley, about that little burglary. Yes, of course. Well, thought Kirk, as he appended his careful signature to a number of routine documents, Datchett’s farm was in the Paggleham district; he’d put young Sellon on to that; he couldn’t do himself much harm over swine-fever. He telephoned instructions that Sergeant Foster was to report to him as soon as he returned and then, feeling empty, went over to his own quarters to enjoy, as best he might, a supper of beefsteak pie, plum-cake and a pint of mild ale.
He was just finishing, and feeling a little better, when Sergeant Foster arrived, self-congratulatory about the progress of the burglary, righteously dutiful about being summoned to Broxford when he ought to have been partaking of his evening meal, and coldly critical of his superior’s taste in liquor. Kirk never found it easy to get on with Foster. There was, to begin with, this air of teetotal virtue; he disliked having his evening pint referred to as ‘alcohol’. Then, Foster, though much subordinate to him in rank, was more refined in speech; he had been educated at a bad grammar-school instead of a good elementary school, and never misplaced his h’s-though, as for reading good literature or quoting the poets, he couldn’t do it and didn’t want to. Thirdly, Foster was disappointed; he had, somehow, always missed the promotion he felt to be his due-an excellent officer, but just somehow lacking in something or the other, he could not understand his comparative failure, and suspected Kirk of having a down on him. And fourthly, Foster never did anything that was not absolutely correct;’ this, perhaps, was his real weakness, for it meant that he lacked imagination, both in his work and in handling the men under him.
Kirk, feeling oddly at a disadvantage, in spite of his age and position, waited till Foster had said all he had to say about the Snettisley burglary, and then laid before him the full details of the Talboys affair. The outline of it, Foster of course knew already, since Paggleham was in the Pagford district. In fact, Sellon’s original report had come through to him, only ten minutes after the report from Snettisley. Being unable to be in two places at once, he had then rung up Broxford and asked for instructions. Kirk had told him to proceed to Snettisley; he (Kirk) would personally take charge of the murder. This was just the way Kirk was always standing between him and anything important. On his return to Pagford, he had found a curiously unsatisfactory report from Sellon-and no Sellon, nor any news of him. While he had been digesting this. Kirk had sent for him. Well, here he was: he was ready to listen to anything the Superintendent had to tell ‹him. Indeed, it was really time he was told something.
He did not, however, like what he was told. And it seemed to him, as the disgraceful narrative boomed on, that he was being blamed-for what? For not acting as a wet-nurse to Joe Sellon’s baby, apparently. That was very unfair. Did the Superintendent expect him personally to examine the household budget of every village constable in the Pagford area?
He ought to have seen that this young man had ‘something on his mind’-well, he liked that. Constables were always getting things on their minds-mostly young women, if it wasn’t professional jealousies. He had quite enough to do with the men at the Pagford police-station; when it came to married police-officers in small villages, they ought surely to be supposed capable of looking after themselves. If they couldn’t keep themselves and their families on the very generous pay and allowance then they ought not to have families. He had seen Mrs Sellon-a shiftless girl, he thought, pretty before she was married, and dressed in cheap finery. He distinctly remembered warning Sellon against wedding her. If, when Sellon got into financial difficulties he had come to him (as, he quite agreed, he should have done) he would have reminded Sellon that nothing else was to be expected when one flouted the advice of one’s superior officer. He would also have pointed out that, by knocking off beer and tobacco, a considerable saving of money might be effected, in addition to the saving of one’s soul-always supposing Sellon took any interest in that immortal part of himself. When he (Foster) had been a constable, he had put away a considerable sum out of his pay every week.