"You mean the 'Other Man'?" said Justin softly. "His companion at Ma.s.singham that night. Because of course there was another man." She seemed to hesitate, and suddenly a forgotten name recurred to him and he said out of the blue: "Wasn't there a crime at Hannington some years back? Wasn't some policeman killed?"

He had no sooner spoken than he saw his mistake, for she had swung round and he saw in her eyes the glint of fear. "I mind there was, sir," she said in a defensive voice.

"There was a gun used, wasn't there?"

"Aye."

"And it seemed to me that perhaps the same man might have used it that shot at Mr Verney."

But he could see from her face that he would get no further. Perhaps she had good reason to be afraid, as Sugden had been afraid at the mere mention of his companion. He had no right to press her further, or Longford, who was her shadow and might be in the same danger. For that matter, the unwelcome idea had come to him that he himself might be treading on perilous ground-not that he had any intention of being deterred by such thoughts, which his st.u.r.dy common sense rejected out of hand as a piece of imagination very much out of keeping with the spirit of the age. He had a problem to solve and he would approach it rationally, making use of the best material to hand. Miss Kelly had failed him, and since Blair still ruled in the Lawnmarket it seemed wiser to avoid the Police, to whom he would otherwise have gone, and rely instead on the Smedwick Mercury, in whose filing room, among the back numbers of the paper, he felt sure he would encounter Sugden's past and his a.s.sociates among the Bewley and Pelegate poachers.

He found it hard going at first-wading back through the dust-laden pages. But after a while, as he began to get his bearings, the fascination of the search grew on him. Events he had forgotten suddenly re-surfaced, but quaintly, in reverse: the conviction before the crime, the inquest leading the death. Some of his own cases were there, in somewhat obscure corners. Mr Lumley was there too, his 115.

"Was he?"

"In a small way, I expect. They were poachers who did it, and poor Luke copped 'em and someone shot him. That wouldn't be Sugden, not wee Geordie, though he may have been around. They never proved it."

"Who do you think shot Luke?"

Hicks considered, feeling behind his free ear as though he had mislaid something. "There was talk of a chap called Longford," he remarked at last.

The effect of this name on Justin was prodigious. It was about the last he had expected; it conflicted with all his thinking, for if Longford were his 'Other Man' it made Miss Kelly's part in the Ma.s.sing-ham case enigmatical to say the least. She had certainly shown fear at mention of Hannington, and perhaps there was some connection that the reporter would know. "Isn't Longford the chap who's just got himself engaged to Mick Kelly's sister?" he enquired.

"I wouldn't know about that, sir." Indeed Mr Hicks did not look well equipped by nature to enjoy life's happier occasions: it was acknowledged on the Mercury that he was at his best at funerals. "But to my mind they were wrong about it, sir. He never shot Luke; he was only a lad at the time, a bit lad."

"Who did shoot him, then?" demanded the Editor, scribbling away for dear life.

"It's hard to tell. Some older man, more likely-one of the Pelegate tykes, and there are enough of 'em. Green . . ."

"You mean the roadman?"

"He works a bit that way. Or Henderson-he's turned respectable. Piggott, O'Malley and some others of the Irish set. Ah, there's a wheen of 'em. Has something turned up about Hannington, sir?" he asked, changing tune quite suddenly.

"Not that I know of."

"I thought it was Ma.s.singham you were interested in-you and the Reverend Gentleman. People seem to think so. You got something for us, sir?"

"Not a thing."

"I've got something for you, sir, right up your street," said Mr Hicks with gloomy satisfaction. "One of your witnesses pa.s.sed on. La.s.s by the name of Amy Dodds down Pelegate. They just fished her body from the pool below the weir."

XII.

It was a mild evening, with a sudden thaw out of the west bringing quite a springlike air to the gardens where a few snowdrops were raising their heads. He pa.s.sed the vicarage of St Bede's and the castle, whose sprawling ma.s.s receded into darkness, p.r.i.c.ked by points of light from the windows of the bailey. Further west, where the last of the afterglow still lingered, he could see the crest of the moor where the road swept up the hill, and below it the amorphous shapes of streets hiding in its shadow.

In Pelegate and Bewley, in this sad quarter of the town, lay the answer to his problem, if indeed the whole thing did not turn out to be a hoax or the fantasy of a sick mind. There had been times when he had thought that this might be the truth of it, remembering the scene at Sugden's bedside, the man's strange humour, as though he had been enjoying a joke at his expense. But there was nothing humorous about the fate of Amy Dodds. Whether she had committed suicide, as Hicks seemed to accept, or whether there was some more natural explanation, the fact of her disappearance from the scene and the timing of it, so soon after his visit to Clay Yard, filled him with a profound disquiet; he even felt a kind of responsibility, though he knew this to be absurd.

As he argued it over in his mind he reached the foot of the hill and began the climb between the old stone-built houses of the quarter. The town ended abruptly on that side: it was not the polite suburban world you found along the Warbury Road where the moneyed folk were building streets of new 'residences' for themselves. He felt the need of a walk and went striding up the hill, beyond the last of the gaslight, till he was in the open country where the fields were lapped by the moor. It was good to be out there with the wind moist against his face. From the ridge he could look right across Smedwick, but no stranger would have guessed there was a sizable town down there, so thinly spread and faint was the lighting under the clouds that had rolled in from the west. There was not a sound to be heard except the distant rumble of a train on its way up the coast and a dog howling in a Bewley yard as though its heart would break. Old Matt, perhaps.

After a while he turned back down the hill. The first houses ap- 119.

THE Ma.s.sIXGHAM AFFAIR.

peared, their curtains drawn close, hardly a c.h.i.n.k of light showing. Here the day had already ended, but there were still a few people abroad, for he could see someone ahead of him in a patch of light near the entrance to Gilesgate, and nearer at hand a door had opened to disgorge a cat which came racing out almost under his feet. The dog was still howling, and now he could place the sound to within a few yards of Sugden's tenement, the shape of which he could just make out from the darkness some distance to his right, and he crossed towards it, suddenly taken with a desire to see his penitent again.

Footsteps sounded to his left, quite close-no doubt the man he had seen in the lamplight-and there might be company behind him too, for he heard a sudden stirring, as though someone had moved in the deep shadows under the wall of the house. He halted and swung round, a little surprised, for he had pa.s.sed no one and had heard no door opening on that side: and in that same instant it seemed to him that a sheet of flame reached out towards him, moving with paralysing speed across his line of sight. He saw no meteor, no change of colour such as Mr Verney had described; just an impression of fire swallowed up by the shattering roar of the explosion.

An instant of silence fell, during which he stood quite still, uncertain whether he had been hit or indeed still lived, for all was darkness around him. Then the night was rent by the pounding of feet and a voice crying out something, though he could not catch the words; and he found himself leaning against the rough stone of a wall, hearing the waves of sound receding into the distance like the disembodied noises in a dream.

"Mr Deny, sir, Mr Deny!" he heard a voice exclaim almost in his ear. Immediately in front of him a small dumpish figure, apparently in a state of great excitement, seemed to be bouncing up and down as though it or the pavement beneath it were made of indiambber. "Mr Derry, are you hurt, sir?"

"All in one piece, I think," he answered, trying to focus on this apparition, whose gnomic shape made him fear the worst until he recognised the Mercury's Mr Hicks peering solicitously up at him. "What happened, anyway?"

"Well, what happened, sir," said the reporter in a voice not entirely free of satisfaction, "is that someone took a pot shot at you. Are you sure he missed?"

"Feels like it. No bones broken. No holes in me to speak of."

"If you'd let me look, sir."

A match was struck, and by its light Justin saw the inquisitive eyes darting over him. "That set your mind at rest?" he asked as the flame died and they were back in darkness.

"Seems like he missed you, sir. Providential, I'd say. Very providential. Almost uncanny. Was he close?"

"I'm not sure."

"How d'you mean you're not sure, sir? You were nearer to him than me-much nearer."

Around them the quiet streets had begun to come to life. Across the way the curtains in an upstairs room were drawn back and a face could be seen at the window, while further down towards the market-place a door opened and someone came out into the road, calling over his shoulder to those inside the house. "Wonder who it is and if he saw much?" Hicks said, watching these signs with interest. "A proper cause celebre he'd have here and no mistake. Smedwick Solicitor Fired On. Make a good headline, sir."

Justin put his hand on the reporter's shoulder and said with great earnestness: "Don't use it. If you do, you'll lose a story, a far bigger one than this."

"Oh, I see that, sir," Hicks agreed.

"I knew you would. You'll be discreet about it?"

"Of course, sir. That's if the others will. If no one saw him and they don't tell on him to Blair."

There was a moment of silence and then Justin demanded plaintively: "Tell on whom?"

"On young Longford, sir. I saw him go haring off, as plain as plain, as I came up and found you by the wall."

XIII.

The more Justin thought the matter out, tossing and turning in bed that night, the more incomprehensible it became. If Longford were his attacker, then Longford must surely be the 'Other Man' and Sugden's partner in the burglary. Granted that, however, why should the fellow have tried to kill him, when Sugden looked so much the more likely and indicated victim? It was Sugden who was making statements and knew the dangerous facts that could send a man to penal servitude. Where was the point in attacking the agent, who had a mere confession which was of limited value, rather than the man himself who could give the evidence on oath? Perhaps it had been meant as a warning, to frighten, not to kill, which would account for the fact that the shot had missed; or might he have been chosen as a land of 'second best' because Sugden had a healthier regard for his own skin and was too fly to be caught in the dark? That made some land of sense. But if Longford were the 'Other Man', how could one account for the role this apparently stupid and guileless fellow was playing as Miss Kelly's fiance and one of the advocates of Sugden's guilt?

Next morning, on his way to work, he went by the main shopping street, loitering in his tobacconist's which was a clearing house for gossip, but everything seemed normal and he noticed no curious glances from the pa.s.sers-by. Indeed all seemed so quiet, that it came as quite a surprise to Justin when in mid-morning a note was delivered asking him to call at the police office in the Lawnmarket.

He found Blair sitting at a large mahogany desk, on which lay a number of files and a pair of handcuffs which the Superintendent politely removed and put in his tunic. Behind him on the wall hung a map of the district, broken up into coloured segments, flanked by a pair of gilt-scrolled truncheons which had retired from active service and were now exhibits of an earlier heroic age. Three chairs, a cupboard full of photographs, a pipe rack, a daguerreotype of heavily whiskered constables on the beat, a helmet and a police whistle completed the furnishings of the room, which was austere and covered in brown paint.

"Now, Mr Derry." The Superintendent had cleared his throat and was tapping his desk where lay a sheet of paper, in a way very reminiscent of a schoolmaster Justin had encountered in the sinful days of his youth. "I've a report here, sir. Report of a disturbance occasioned last night in Bewley Street and involving the use of firearms. Have you any comments you'd care to make, sir?"

"Hadn't you better read me the contents first?"

The Superintendent smiled a frosty smile at this piece of professional caginess and replied: "Just as you like, sir. I want to be quite frank about this. I'll give my help freely, sir, just as I'm hoping for yours."

It was a constable's report from one P.C. Buchan who had been on duty in Gilesgate the previous evening. Buchan had heard a shot THE QUEST: 1899.

and had proceeded' towards it at the double, encountering a householder from whom he had learnt of Justin's and Hicks's presence at the scene. No cartridge case had been recovered or trace of a weapon found; there were no reports of casualties, and no other witnesses had come forward.

"Were you in Bewley, sir?" Blair asked.

There was no point in denying it.

"So you heard the shot. Were you close to it?"

"I was some distance off: it's hard to estimate how far in the dark."

"You must forgive this upset in our positions, sir," remarked the Superintendent pleasantly. "Very unfamiliar ground for you, sir, I expect. It's usually you who asks the questions."

"You deserve a turn."

"So I do, sir. Now then: did you observe anyone in the street?"

Justin replied that he had seen someone coming from his left, from Gilesgate; he thought that would be Hicks. And he had sensed someone behind him in the shadows.

"So you think this someone fired the shot?"

"It looks like it."

"At you, sir?"

"Why should anyone fire at me?" he answered as lightly as he could.

"That's what we must find out. But someone fired, that's evident, and it looks as if you were the target. Will you be making a complaint?"

"Why should I?"

"Why, Mr Derry. Don't you want to discover your a.s.sailant?"

"He wasn't my a.s.sailant as you call it."

There was a pause while the Superintendent got up and walked to the window overlooking the Lawnmarket, clasping his hands behind him. When he swung round into the room again Justin saw what he had not seen before: the hard, alert face of the man whom Milligan and Kelly and countless others no doubt had met in that room.

"Now see here, sir," the Superintendent resumed briskly. "Here's a crime been committed and it seems to me you were a witness. If you'd just give me more details of what happened?"

"Haven't I already done so?"

"Well hardly. Here was a shot fired, and fairly near you from all I hear, yet you went straight off home without telling anyone about it and you don't seem anxious now to make a case of it. That's not what I expected. It's not the frankness or quite the att.i.tude I'd looked for from a gentieman in your position."

"What's my position got to do with it?"

"Now really, sir!" exclaimed the Superintendent, managing a smile, though it was an extremely laboured one. "I mean to say! A man of law, sir! You wouldn't expect such a person to conceal a felony, now would you?"

"There wasn't any felony to conceal. It was probably an accident and the gun just went off."

"Of its own accord, no doubt! Perhaps you'll tell me it was poachers shooting at pheasants in Bewley Street."

"You should know all about those fellows," replied Justin wickedly.

Blair's eyes narrowed, but he said with the same jocular air: "Might I say the same of you, sir? Been doing some visiting down there, I understand. On Sugden, sir."

"Suppose I have?"

"Bit off your beat, isn't it? Of course, I've no call to be asking what you were doing there those other times-but last night, now that's different. Why were you there, sir?"

"I was out walking."

"Do people usually shoot at you on such occasions?" demanded the Superintendent with ponderous irony. "Why did it happen at that particular spot, near Geordie's house? Would you call that coincidence?"

"What else?"

"Don't like coincidences myself, never believed in 'em. Cause and effect: that's more my line. Now I know you, sir, and very fair you've always been in our little encounters. But someone, some other fellow, whoever he is ... he hasn't the same faith in you. Thinks you're interfering in something; that might be the way of it. I should watch out if I were you."

Once out in the Lawnmarket in the sunshine of the afternoon, Justin drew a deep breath. He did not think that Blair would pursue this particular matter any further for the time being, but what he himself should now do was far from clear. Should he warn Sugden? It seemed unnecessary, seeing that the shot had been fired almost under the man's window and the whole district must be buzzing like a hive. To see Longford might be a more rewarding experience; so, making up his mind on the spot, he set off along the road he had taken the previous night and knocked at Miss Kelly's door.

No one answered.

He knocked again, glancing around him at the deserted street which seemed little less secretive in the daylight than in the dark. He was about to give up and go away, when the door was opened very slowly and a small figure appeared: a girl of about seven wearing a black knitted smock and a pair of clogs several sizes too large for her.

"Now, who are you?" enquired Justin of this apparition, which stood with several fingers in its mouth regarding him with lively apprehension.

"I'm Ethel," the child replied.

"Well, Ethel, we've not met before, but don't be frightened, I'll not eat you. Would you like a sweet, Ethel?"

She put her hands behind her back.

"Quite right," he said, feeling rebuked and replacing in his pocket the bag of toffee he had bought that morning. "Do you live here, my dear?"

"With me Auntie," she replied.

"Is that Miss Kelly-the one who's to marry Mr Longford? Ah, I see it is. Well, look here, Ethel. You be a good girl and run and tell her that Mr Derry's called, and then come back with her and we'll see about that toffee then."

"Auntie's not in," replied the child, beginning to close the door against him.

"Oh. Is Mr Longford? Jim. Will you give a message?"

There was no answer; only a small crack remained open, through which he could see an eye still watching him and part of one of her enormous clogs. He felt sure that both the people he had called to see were inside but he did not like the idea of going on and frightening the child, who had looked nervous enough in all conscience. The circle of fear, he thought, was perceptibly widening around them. First Sugden had felt it; then poor Amy; now it had spread to this house. Why was it happening? He had set out to help free two men from the burden of a crime, but he had the strangest feeling that in doing it he had stirred up something that had lain in the background even before the burglary at Ma.s.singham-something unexplained, of which he was seeing only a part, yet of which the murder of P.C. Luke at Hannington was also part.