Part 44 (1/2)
”Message from the roof, sir,” he began apologetically, crouching yet again to Brotherhood's window. ”Do you happen to know, please, the precise type and calibre of the weapon our friend is alleged to have in his possession?”
”Standard Browning three-eight automatic. An old one. Shouldn't think it's been cleaned for years.”
”Any theories regarding the type of ammunition at all, sir? Only it would be nice for them to know the carry, you see.”
”Short nose, I should think.”
”But not a stopper, for instance, or a dumdum?”
”Why the h.e.l.l should he want a dumdum?”
”I don't know, sir, do I? Information is gold dust on this one, the way it's being pa.s.sed around, if I may say so. I haven't seen so many tight lips in one room for, oh, a long time. How many rounds has our friend got, do you think?”
”One magazine. Maybe a spare.”
Mary was suddenly furious. ”For G.o.d's sake. He's not a maniac! He's not going to start a--”
”Start a what?” said the superintendent, whose country manners had a way of slipping when he wasn't spoken to respectfully.
”Just a.s.sume it's one magazine and one spare,” Brotherhood said.
”Well, then, perhaps you can tell us how our friend's marksmans.h.i.+p is,” the superintendent suggested as if stepping on to safer ground. ”You can't blame them for asking that, can you?”
”He's been trained and topped up all his life,” said Brotherhood.
”He's good,” Mary said.
”Now how do you know that, madam, if I may be allowed to ask a simple question?”
”He shoots Tom's air pistol with him.”
”Rats and that? Or something larger?”
”Paper targets.”
”Does he now? And gets a high score then, does he, madam?”
”Tom says so.”
She glanced at Brotherhood and knew what he was thinking. Just let me go in and get him, gun or no. She was thinking much the same herself: Magnus, come out of there and stop making yourself so b.l.o.o.d.y ridiculous. The superintendent was speaking again, this time to Brotherhood directly.
”Now there's a query from our disposal people this time, sir,” he said, as if it were all a little bit unreasonable but we must humour them. ”Regarding this box device our friend is carrying with him. I've tried them in the Church Hall but they're all a bit above the technicalities like, and they said to ask you. Our boys do appreciate they're not allowed to know too much about it, but they would like the benefit of your wisdom regarding the charge it contains.”
”It's self-consuming,” Brotherhood replied. ”It's not a weapon.”
”Ah, but could it be used as a weapon, put it that way, if it got into the hands of one who might for instance have lost the balance of his mind?”
”Not unless he put somebody inside it,” Brotherhood replied and the superintendent let out a mellow country laugh.
”I'll tell that one to the boys,” he promised. ”They like a joke up there, the boys do, it gets the tension out of them.” His voice fell and he spoke to Brotherhood alone. ”Has our friend ever fired his gun in anger, sir?”
”It's not his gun.”
”Ah, now you didn't quite answer the question there, sir, did you?”
”To my knowledge he's never been in a shoot-out.”
”Our friend doesn't get angry,” Mary said.
”Has he ever taken anybody prisoner, sir?”
”Us,” Mary said.
Pym had made the cocoa and Pym had put the new shawl over Miss Dubber's shoulders although she said she didn't feel the chill. Pym had chopped up the piece of chicken for Toby that he had bought at the supermarket as a treat for him, and if she had let him he would have cleaned out the canary's cage as well; for the canary was his secret pride ever since a night when he had found it dead after Miss Dubber had gone to bed, and contrived, unknown to her, to exchange it for a live one with Mr. Loring of the pet shop. But Miss Dubber wanted no more fussing from him. She wanted him sitting beside her where she could keep an eye on him and listen to him reading Aunt Al's latest letter from distant Sri Lanka, which came in yesterday, Mr. Canterbury, but you never had the interest.
”Is that Ali the dhobi who stole her lace last year?” she enquired sharply, interrupting him. ”Why does she go on employing him if he stole from her? I thought we'd seen the last of Ali long ago.”
”I expect she forgave him,” said Pym. ”He had all those wives, if you remember. She probably couldn't bear to chuck him into the street.” His voice was very clear to him and beautiful. It was good to speak aloud.
”I do wish she'd come home,” Miss Dubber said. ”It can't be good for her, the heat, after all these years.”
”Ah but then she'd have to do her own was.h.i.+ng, wouldn't she, Miss D?” said Pym. And his smile warmed him as he knew it was warming her.
”You're better now, aren't you, Mr. Canterbury? I'm so glad. It's got out of you, whatever it is. You can have a nice rest now.”