Harpur nodded tiredly, but into the phone he said, “Well, naturally I’m glad there was no miscarriage of justice—but judges don’t make the laws, Sam. They don’t even decide who’s guilty and who isn’t. As far as I’m concerned, the presence of a peculiar piece of glass makes very little difference, one way or the other.”
It was a good speech for the Iron Judge.
There was a long silence on the line then, with a note of something like desperation in his voice, Sam persisted. “I know all that, Judge…but, all the same, it must have been a big load off your mind.”
Harpur realized, with a warm surprise, that the big Irishman was pleading with him. >i>It doesn’t matter any more, he thought. In the morning I’m going to retire and rejoin the human race.
“All right, Sam,” he said finally. “Let’s put it this way—I’ll sleep well tonight. All right?”
“Thank you, Judge. Good night.”
Harpur set the phone down with his eyes tight-closed, waited for peace.
Chapter Five
It was past midnight when Garrod arrived home. The domestic staff had gone to bed, but a glimmer of yellow light from the half-open door of the library suggested that Esther was still up. She did not read much, preferring to watch television, but she liked sitting in the library’s brown friendliness. Garrod suspected this was because it was the only room he had not extensively modernised five years earlier, soon after he bought the place. He went in and found Esther curled up in a high-backed leather chair with television glasses covering her eyes.
“You’re late.” She raised one hand in greeting, but did not remove the screens from her eyes. “Where have you been?”
“I had to go to an Army research centre at a place called Macon.”
“What do you mean, ‘at a place called Macon’?”
“That’s the name of the place.”
“You made it sound as if you expected me never to have heard of it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Macon is in Georgia, right?”
“That’s right.”
“The rest of us aren’t completely stupid, Alban.” Esther adjusted her television glasses and wriggled to a more comfortable position.
“So who said…?” Garrod bit his lip and went over to the sideboard where decanters glowed warmly in a pool of light. “Are you having a drink?”
“I don’t need one, thanks.”
“I don’t need one either, but I’m going to enjoy it just the same.” Garrod kept his voice level, wondering why Esther was needling him. It was as if she had some advance knowledge of what he wanted to say. He mixed a weak Bourbon and water, and sat down close to the fireplace. The grey-and-white husk of a log lay in the hearth, crackling faintly, sending occasional orange sparks swirling up into the darkness of the flue.
“There’s a whole sheaf of messages on the desk,” Esther said disapprovingly. “A man in your position really shouldn’t disappear for days on end without keeping in touch with his office.”
“That’s why I employ high-priced managers. If they can’t keep things going for a few hours they’re no good to me.”
“The great mind mustn’t be soiled by thinking about money. Is that it, Alban?”
“I don’t claim to have a great mind.”
“No, you don’t come right out and say it, but you really set yourself apart. When you condescend to talk to people there’s a little smile on your face which says, ‘I know this remark is being wasted but I’ll throw it in for amusement and see if anybody comes close to understanding it’.”
“For Christ’s sake!” Garrod leaned forward in his seat. “Esther, let’s get a divorce.”
She took off the glasses and looked at him. “Why?”
“Why? What’s the point in our going on like this?”
“We’ve been doing it for quite a few years and you never mentioned divorce before.”
“I know.” Garrod took a long swallow of his drink. “But there has to be a limit. This isn’t what marriage is meant to be.”
In a second Esther was out of her chair and peering closely into his face. She gave a shaky laugh. “By God, I believe it has finally happened to you.”
“It?” A vision of full, silvery lips flashed into Garrod’s mind.
“What’s her name, Alban?”
He laughed in turn, incredulously. “There’s no other woman involved.”
“Did you meet her on this trip?”
“I tell you it’s just you. I’ve had enough.”
“She lives in Macon. That’s why you suddenly decided to go there.”
Garrod gave his wife a look of disdain, but inwardly he was afraid of her. “Let me spell it out for you—there is no other woman. Since we got married I haven’t so much as held hands with anybody else. I just happen to think we’ve gone on too long.”
“That’s what I mean. You’re a cold fish, Alban—I found that out pretty damn quick—but now something’s got you going. And she must have been really something to light your little bonfire.”
“I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” Garrod got to his feet and walked across the room to his desk. “What do you say to a divorce?”
“I say—nothing doing, buster.” Esther followed him, still holding her glasses, and he could hear dwarves’ voices coming from the earpieces. “This is the first thing you’ve wanted from me since you discovered you didn’t need Dad’s money. This is the first thing you’ve asked me for—and I’m going to enjoy making sure you don’t get it.” “You’re a real treasure,” he said heavily, unable to express his anger.
“I know.” She went back to her chair, sat down and put the image-filled glasses on again. A look of peaceful concentration spread over her small features.
Garrod picked up the slim bundle of message tapes from his desk. Most of them were mechanical transcripts of voice messages, a system he found more convenient than having to play through a series of recordings. The one on top of the pile was timed only an hour earlier and it was from Theo McFarlane, his chief of research in the Portston laboratories.
It said:
STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL, I AM 90 PER CENT CERTAIN OF ACHIEVING TRIGGERED EMISSION TONIGHT. I KNOW YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE PRESENT BUT I HAVEN’T GOT UNLIMITED PATIENCE, AL. I’LL HOLD OFF TILL MIDNIGHT. THEO.
An icy excitement gripped Garrod as he flicked through the sheaf and saw a series of messages on the same subject from McFarlane. They were timed at intervals right through the day. Glancing at his watch he saw the time was twenty-five after midnight. He walked up the room and threw the messages into Esther’s lap to draw her attention from the television.
“Why did nobody contact me today and let me know what Theo was up to?”
“Nobody is permitted to interrupt your little hotrod jaunts, remember. That’s why you employ managers, Alban, darling.”
“You know the lab work is different,” Garrod snapped, fighting an impulse to snatch the glasses from Esther’s face and wrench them in two. He hurried to the viewphone and punched in the number of the direct channel to McFarlane’s office. A second later McFarlane’s thin, bespectacled face appeared on the screen. His eyes blinked tiredly behind the double-concave lenses which made them look smaller than normal.
“There you are, Al,” he said reprovingly. “I’ve been trying to get you all day.”