would lead us to believe that more than one, er, person, miscreant, or whatever, was hung at this gallows place...."
Recognition suddenly dawned on Ben. "So we're looking for that place of execution; what d'you think, Jon?"
"Right, mate!" the old carpenter agreed. "Places of execution, or gallows trees, as they were called, and they
always had those 'orrible birds nearby, like in the next-to-last line, 'the carrion crow doth perch above.' But what about
the final line, 'light bearers 'neath the ground'?"
A quiver of eagerness entered Eileen's voice. "That's what we'll find out by diggin' on the exact spot. You got
your little paper with the 'oles in it, Jon? We've got our map."
Between them they matched up the paper with the four holes to the ancient map from the farmhouse.
"It says here, 'prison,' " Will murmured. "The likely spot for a gallows tree. But I don't know of any prison in
Chapelvale, do you, Eileen?"
Will's wife shook her head. "Must've been knocked down long since."
Mr. Mackay took out a large survey map and compared it to the old map, looking back and forth from one to the
other. "I'd say the old prison was right about here!" He made a pencil mark on the survey map. "Right where the
police station stands."
Ben and Alex were already making for the door. "Well, what are we waiting for?" the younger boy said.
35.
THE POLICE STATION WAS A SMALL GREY-stone building, sandwiched between two houses built at the
turn of the century. One house was for the station sergeant, who often traveled to outlying communities, the other for
the station constable, who attended to village matters and kept the station house ledger up to date.
Constable Judmann was tending to the rosebushes in his front garden; he was an enthusiastic gardener, a big,
beefy fellow close to middle age. Seeing the two boys running ahead of the dairy cart, he wiped his hands on a cloth,
and donning a uniform jacket, he buttoned it up from his ample stomach to a bull-like neck. Taking his helmet from
the windowsill, he put it on and strode up the garden path with suitable dignity. He nodded at Alex.
"G'mornin', young feller, an' wot can we do for you, eh?" The gig pulled up and Mackay dismounted. "It's all
right, Constable, the boys are with us."
The policeman tipped a finger respectfully to his helmet brim. He had always been slightly in awe of Mackay,
feeling that solicitors and lawyers were a cut above normal folk.
"Mr. Mackay, sir, wot brings you up 'ere, summat wrong?"
The lawyer straightened his black cravat. "No, no, Constable. Everything's in order. I merely want to ask you a
question."
The policeman's chest buttons almost popped as he stood erect, pulling in his stomach. "Question, sir? A
ty'service!"
"What happened to the original Chapelvale prison, which, according to my survey map, stood near this site?"
Constable Judmann jabbed a fat thumb over his shoulder to the greystone building. "Nothin' 'appened, sir. There
'tis. Of course, it's been a police station for long as anybody can recall. No need for a lockup prison 'ereabouts for
many a long year now."
Mr. Mackay nodded solemnly. "But it was once a prison, and an execution ground, so I'm led to believe."
The constable brushed a finger over his handlebar mustache. "Sergeant Patterson says it was, sir, but that were
long afore my time—or his, for that matter."
The lawyer looked from side to side with a quick, bird-like movement. "I wonder where the executions took
place?"
Again the constable's thumb jabbed back over his shoulder. "Sergeant Patterson reckons it were in the yard,
be'ind the station 'ouse. Says murderers were 'anged back there."
Eileen climbed from the gig, pulling her skirts up, and, smiling at the policeman, she stepped down. "You must
be awful brave, Constable Judmann, livin' so close to a place where murderers were 'angered. I'd be far too afraid."
The constable's ruddy face turned a shade redder at the compliment, and his chest puffed out a bit further.
"There's nought there to worry about, marm, just a backyard with a plot o' garden. I sees it from my back
bedroom window «very day, tends the garden m'self. I like t'keep it tidy."
"I'll wager you do, Constable. D'you think we could take a look at it?"
The policeman appeared disconcerted at Eileen's request. "Oh, I don't know so much about that, Mrs.
Drum-mond. That's official police property. The public ain't allowed in there. 'Twould be more'n my job's worth if
Sergeant Patterson found I'd let folks go wanderin' willy-nilly 'round the station."
This announcement was followed by an awkward silence, which was broken by the arrival of the sergeant
himself on his bicycle.
Patterson was a cheerful man in his mid-thirties, very tall and lean, with curly red hair and narrow sideburns.
His voice carried the faint trace of a Scottish border accent, from Cold-stream, the town of his birth. He touched his
peak cap to the small assembly and smiled.
"Mornin' to ye, looks like another warm 'un today, eh!"
Sergeant Patterson nodded to the constable, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Ah've just come from yon
railway station. There's three truckloads o' machinery an' buildin' materials arrived there. They've been sent to
Smithers, from Jackman an' Company of London. Aye, all shunted intae a sidin' for unloading an' cartin' tae the
village square, where they plan on stackin' et! So ah told the stationmaster tae put a stop on the operation.
"Your man Smithers was there, too. Weel, ah soon put a flea up his nose! Told him he's not allowed tae unload
a single nail until the morrow, when the court order comes intae force. Auld Smithers roared like a Heeland bull, so ah
read him the riot act an' said that if he disobeyed the law, ah'd arrest him an' lock him up! Ah cannae take to the man,
he's a pompous windbag, if ye'll pardon mah opinion, Mr. Mackay."
The lawyer nodded. "That is my observation of Smithers also, Sergeant."
Patterson parked his bicycle against the garden wall. "Mah thanks tae ye, sir. Constable, ah want ye tae go down
tae the railway station an' stand guard over those wagons, d'ye ken? Oh, an' take a Prohibition of Movement order
form. Pin it tae the delivery. Mind now, make sure et all stops right there!"
The constable saluted needlessly. "Right away, Sarn't. Leave it t'me! Permission to borrow your bike?"
Patterson looked as if he was trying to hide a smile. "Permission granted, Constable, carry on!"
They stood watching Constable Judmann wobble ponderously off down the lane. The sergeant chuckled.
"Will ye look at the man go! Och, he loves ridin' mah old bicycle. Weel now, an' what can I do for you good
folk?"
Eileen answered. "We wanted to have a look at the old execution place, but the constable didn't seem too happy
about it."
Will swelled out his chest and stomach, in a passable imitation of Judmann. "Invasion of police property, if I
ain't mistaken, Sarn't. Sort of a peasant's revolt!"
The sergeant pretended to look grave. "Och, sounds serious tae me! Ye'd best all come in, ah'll put the kettle on
for tea, an' we'll discuss the matter. Just hauld yer wheesht a moment!"
Patterson took an apple from his pocket and fed it to the mare, rubbing her muzzle affectionately. "Stay out o'
this revolt, bonny lass. Mah gaol couldnae cope with ye!"
The walls inside the police station were covered thick with countless applications of whitewash on the top, and