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equally heavy layers of bitumen and tar on the bottom. All the woodwork had been painted dark blue many times over

the years, some of it showing blisters around the blackleaded iron fireplace. A notice board by the window was

crowded with official-looking posters, old and new. Patterson made tea, seating Mr. Braithwaite, Mr. Mackay, Will,

and Eileen on tall stools at the charge office desk. Amy and her brother sat on a long bench with Jon and Ben.

Ned lay under the desk, gnawing a thick, gristly mutton bone, making his thoughts known to his master. "Good

man, Sergeant Patterson, what d'you think, pal?"

Ben returned the thought, sipping tea from a brown pottery mug. "I don't know what it is, but I don't feel right in

here. I'm starting to go cold and sweating at the same time."

The Labrador crawled from under the desk, carrying his bone. "Hmm, you don't look too good. This is a creepy

old place. Let's go outside and sit with Delia in the sun."

Amy saw the pair leave, she followed them out. "Are you all right, Ben? You look rather pale."

He leaned on the garden wall, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I'm all right now, thanks. There

was something about the atmosphere in there. Don't know what it was, but I didn't like it."

She patted his hand. "There's no need to go back in if you don't want to. We'll stay out here and let the others

talk to the sergeant.

"You're a strange one, Ben, not like anyone in the village, and certainly not like me or my brother. I hope you

don't mind me asking, but where were you born? What other places have you lived in, before you came here?"

Avoiding the girl's face, he looked off into the distance. "I'd like to tell you, Amy ... but.. ."

She watched her friend's fathomless blue eyes cloud over. It was like looking at a faraway sea when a storm

broods over it. Without knowing why, a wave of pity for the strange boy swept through her mind. "Ben ... I'm sorry."

When he turned and looked at her, his eyes were clear, and the color had returned to his cheeks. Best of all, he

was giving her the smile she had come to like so much.

"You've no cause to be sorry. You're my friend, that's what counts."

The old ship's carpenter provided most of the story, but Patterson let his gaze rove from Alex to Eileen, to Will,

Mr. Braithwaite, and Mr. Mackay, as they put in their contributions to the intriguing narrative.

The sergeant sat gazing into the dregs of his mug before speaking. "Ah was posted tae this village four years

ago, as ye know. 'Tis a grand wee place. Ah've come tae like it fine. But tomorrow modern progress is due tae move

in here. Och, they cannae turn us out of the police station, 'tis Crown property ye ken. Though who in their right mind

would want tae stay here, amid a dusty great quarry an' cement factory?

"Judmann's auld now, he'll take his pension an' move. As for me, och, I'll prob'ly put in tor transfer tae another

post. Though 'twill sair grieve me to go. Friends, if ah can help ye in any way, then ah will. D'ye want tae take a look

'round the auld hangin' ground out back, eh? Then be mah guest!"

Jon was like a big child on a Sunday school outing. He dashed out of the station, rubbing his large, tattooed

hands together gleefully, calling to Amy and Ben. "Come on, mates, away boat's crew! We've got permission to

search around the back—in fact, we've got the sergeant's blessing!"

His two young friends seemed glad, but not overim-pressed. "You go, mate, we'll go around the outside of the

building. See you there later."

The ex-ship's carpenter's craggy face showed concern. He ruffled the boy's tow-colored hair. "D'you feel all

right, son?"

Ben managed a cheery grin. "Never felt better, shipmate!"

The old seaman stared oddly at the pair for a moment. "Righto, see you two 'round there, eh. Hah, look at Ned,

snoozin' away like an old grampus there!"

The black Labrador was curled up in the gig, asleep under the shade of a seat. Amy wrinkled her nose

sympathetically. "He's keeping Delia company, poor old boy. He must be tired in this heat—let him sleep."

36.

IT WAS SHADY TO THE POINT OF BEING gloomy in the walled courtyard at the back of the police station.

The wall enclosing the ancient execution site was over twelve feet high, totally covered by dark green clinging ivy,

giving the impression it was built of vegetation and not limestone. It had a heavy timber door for access to the outside,

the wood layered with countless coats of dark blue paint. Jon had to work vigorously on the rusty latch and bolts until

the door creaked open to admit the two friends.

The feeling of dread Ben had experienced about the station returned, much stronger this time. He had an urge to

run a mile from the drear, forbidding place. However, the presence of the girl at his side and the sight of Eileen, the

policeman, and the rest of his companions was reassuring. Bracing himself, he strode in over the moss-grown cobbles.

Sergeant Patterson was addressing the party.

"Ah'm afraid the history of this auld place is a mystery tae me. When ah first arrived here, I discovered that

damp an' mildew had ruined the auld records. My orders were tae clean up the station, so ah made a grand wee bonfire

o' the soggy documents. Och, ye should've seen Constable Judmann's face.

He never spoke tae me for a fortnight. Mr. Mackay, will ye read out yon poem again, sir?"

The lawyer donned his pince-nez and coughed officiously.

" 'Twould seem at the wicked's fate

that bell ne'er made a sound,

yet the death knell tolled aloud

for those who danced around.

The carrion crow doth perch above,

light bearers 'neath the ground."

Braithwaite shrugged apologetically. "So, er, as you see, Sergeant, we're searching for, hmmm, a gibbet. That is,

er, a hanging place, as it were. Hmm, yes, very good."

Eileen shuddered, rubbing at her upper arms nervously. "Well, I don't see any sign of where they 'anged folk.

Brrr! I feels it, though. Ma would, too, if she were 'ere!"

The dairyman nodded his agreement as he took stock of the courtyard.

An indefinable air of doom did seem to hang over the place. Snails and slugs had left their glistening silver

trails over a border of smooth limestone blocks, which separated a garden area running around the walls on three sides.

The soil was mainly clay, oozing damp. A few straggling shrubs were struggling to survive, overhung by a sickly

laburnum and two purple rhododendrons. The whole atmosphere was hemmed in, dark and claustrophobic, eerie and

silent.

The sergeant smiled wanly. "Nae much tae look at, is it? 'Twas over a hundred years since the last man was

hanged here. Ah took a glance at the auld records before burnin' them.

All written in curly, auld-fashioned script, an' very hard tae decipher. Here now, young Somers, d'ye ken how

they used tae execute murderers?"

Alex shook his head dumbly, swallowing hard at the thought.

Patterson explained the process, his Scottish brogue severe as he told of the manner in which legal sentence was

carried out. "Weel now, a magistrate, priest, sergeant, an' constable had tae be present, an' the auld hangman, o' course.

Yon door, the one Jon opened, they let the public in through there tae watch—as an example of what happened tae

criminals an' evildoers. Then the condemned man was brought out in chains, from the holdin' cell.

"Aye, 'twas a terrible ceremony. The shiverin' wretch was made tae stand on a box 'neath the gallows tree, while