Part 41 (1/2)

That man! I said. He's a thief. I want to charge him!

And now, for the first time, the bootmaker turned. He saw that I was indicating him and stopped. But he was ten yards away, and when I dropped my voice to address the policeman, he could not hear me.

He stole a hundred pounds from me this afternoon, in one pound notes. I heard he was coming to Croydon and I've followed him here.

Ah! said the policeman non-commitally.

We started walking towards old Rogers who stood looking rather pathetic and dumb-founded, with his suit-case still in his hand. When we came up to him he was the first to speak.

Why, Mr. Townsend, whatever's the matter? he asked, staring at me wide-eyed.

I felt rather wretched as I turned to the policeman.

My name is Stuart Townsend, I said, I've been staying at Braxham where this man has a shop. ...

The constable broke in. Before we go any further, he said to old Rogers, I'd like to know your name.

Rogers, said the old chap.

Mr. Rogers, what money have you on you?

I can't see what concern that can be of yours, said old Rogers. He spoke not indignantly but in a puzzled voice, as though he really would have liked to know.

Well, there's a mix-up here, was all the explanation he got, and it would simplify things if you'd tell me.

I have . . . some treasury notes. I really don't know how many.

Any objection to my seeing them? For a moment I thought that he was going to refuse. He glanced first at me, then at the policeman.

You may look, he said, and plunging his hand into an inside pocket he drew out a thick bundle.

The policeman turned to me. Are these yours? he asked.

They look like it, I was wise enough to say. I had a packet of a hundred in my bedroom at the hotel to-day. At three o'clock I went upstairs and found this man coming out of the room. I looked in the drawer where I kept them, and found them gone. I am sure enough to charge him.

You are?

Absolutely.

Very well. He turned to old Rogers. I shall have to arrest you, he said.

The old man hadn't spoken a word since I had made my preposterous accusation. And to my surprise he said nothing now. He stared at me with an expression which I find hard to describe. It was not of surprise so much as of wonder. It was as though he were trying in his mind to settle some question about me.

The policeman turned to his colleague for a moment and I contrived to draw near to the old boy. I could not bear to let him feel as he must do about me.

It's all right, I whispered, Beef says it's all right. He says it's a matter of a human life.

He stared at me no longer but with a shrill and angry voice began to address the police. It seemed that my brief sentence, which had been meant to calm him, had had the opposite effect. He stormed at us. It was a trumped-up accusation, he said. I was an impostor. He was a respectable tradesman of many years standing who was going for a well-merited holiday. It was scandalous that he should be delayed in this way. The policeman and I would answer for it.

I have never had more respect and grat.i.tude for the laconic obstinacy of the police. The constable had decided to arrest old Rogers, and arrest him he did. In fact, it seemed that if he needed any more to convince him of the validity of the charge the old man's indignation provided it.