“He gave away his hand a bit last night.” Lenox described Roodle’s visit to the Queen’s Arms and the two men’s subsequent meeting. “Well, let’s give it a try. You be Roodle. Shame we don’t have a moderator, but we can either of us offer the subject of discussion.”
So the two men sat for above two hours, practicing. Now, Lenox considered Graham a member of his family and would have done anything in the world for him, but by the time they were finished he comprehensively disliked the man. His insinuating manner and obnoxious insistence on Lenox’s London background were irritating beyond all reason. Still — Lenox was better prepared than he had been that morning. His soul was a little lighter, too, now that he knew Toto and Thomas were on the mend.
Soon Sandy Smith showed up, dancing a little jig of nervousness, and Lenox slowly and neatly dressed, with Graham’s discerning aid.
“The debate is at the Guild Hall,” said Smith as Lenox put a tie on.
It was a tie from the local grammar school, in what the shop there had referred to as “Stirrington purple and gray.” He fleetingly hoped it would be recognized, only to think how silly politics could be.
“Oh, yes?” Lenox said.
“It’s important to speak calmly and evenly, Mr. Lenox, because a loud noise will do funny things up among the rafters.”
“Yes?”
“At the Christmas play last year — we did
“All right.”
“A disaster!” said Smith fervently. “Now, the year before that, it was a wonderful show — everyone spoke evenly and calmly — there was a little girl in the lead, and she was —”
Lenox, though he considered himself broad-minded about regional theater, was impatient. “Evenly, calmly, yes, yes.”
“Well — exactly,” said Smith. “If you raise your voice in anger, the building turns it into a kind of squeal.”
“Thank you,” said Lenox.
“More ridiculous than impressive, you see.”
Graham, who had popped out to freshen his own attire, came back now. “I neglected to mention, sir, that there are several gentlemen in the audience who are prepared to offer gentle questions during the final period of the debate.”
“Excellent,” said Smith.
“Of what nature?” asked Lenox.
He was cut off by a knock on the door. It was one of the lads who cleared dishes about the place.
“Telegram, sir,” he said.
Lenox gave the boy a coin and took the paper, expecting it to be another missive from Dallington. Instead it was from Inspector Jenkins.
Lenox blanched when he read it. Then he scanned his eyes over it twice more. “Christ,” he muttered.
“Sir?” said Graham.
“Mr. Lenox?”
It was to Graham that the detective looked. “Christ,” he said again.
“What is it, sir?”
“Exeter has been shot. He’s not dead, but he’s close.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Half an hour later all three men were at the Guild Hall. Lenox, shaken but determined, was trying his best to concentrate. Crook arrived. All four of them now looked around the hall.
“Adlington,” said Smith, and Crook nodded knowingly.
Adlington was apparently officiating the debate, and Lenox already knew him to be an important personage: the mayor of Stirrington.
Now here was a grand figure. As the crowd filed into the hall he sat at the center of the stage in a dignified manner, with a look that showed his abstraction from the petty cares of the world. Years of diligent work at the dinner table had earned him a shape more akin to a small building than to any of his fellow men. He had a proud paisley waistcoat stretched taut across his girth, and strung along it was a (by necessity) very long gold watch chain.
Crook leaned over to Lenox as they stood on the wings of the stage. “Do you know what the most important part of a public house is, Mr. Lenox?”
“What’s that?”
“The brass. Even more important than the beer, you know. Gives everything that golden gleam, reflects the fire and the faces — makes it out of the normal, if you see my meaning. Not like home.”
Lenox smiled. “How interesting.”
Crook nodded. “Great man taught me that, you know. My Uncle Ned, who had the pub before me. Now, that watch chain on our gracious mayor — it serves a similar purpose. Adds to the dignity of the office, you see, to have ten yards of gold chain stretched across your belly.” Crook laughed loudly, and Lenox joined him. “I haven’t been called slim recently, but I could never hope to pull off that watch chain. It would hang down to my knees.”
Lenox was grateful to Crook for trying to lighten his mood, but butterflies still stirred in his belly and anxiety for Exeter, the fool, in his mind.
Exeter. For years Lenox had alternately aided and squabbled with the man. His bullheadedness had jeopardized more than one case, and his lack of imagination had made Lenox a necessary evil in his life. Half of the time he warned Lenox off, and the other half he came to see him hat in hand, asking for help. It was maddening.
Yet — Lenox couldn’t help but recall meeting Exeter’s small, quiet son, and the look of paternal love in the inspector’s eyes as he gazed at his lad. How painful it was to think of Exeter’s family now. His sins, in the end, had been mostly venial ones; a little too rough with a criminal now and then, obstinate about taking advice. He abused his power, too, but he wasn’t at heart a malicious man.
Furthermore, who on earth would be either stupid or brazen enough to shoot one of the most important figures in Scotland Yard? None of the gangs; they knew how to skirt attention and didn’t bother with the police when they could help it at all. Of course, Exeter had been working on the deaths of the two journalists. Standing beside Crook, watching the auditorium fill, Lenox felt a chill run down his spine. He was grateful to be here in Stirrington.
Lenox couldn’t help but think that a boy like Gerald Poole, full of years’ rage, would be more likely than anybody to lash out without regard for the consequences. Yet Dallington seemed so sure — and Poole so airy. Besides, Poole was behind bars.
A booming voice startled Lenox from his reverie. It was the portly Mayor Adlington. He had stood. “Stirringtonians!” he said and then allowed a moment for the hall to quiet. “Welcome to the parliamentary debate!”
A ragged cheering.
“The participants today are Mr. Robert Roodle and Mr. Charles Lenox. Gentlemen, if you would come to the stage.”
Lenox felt Crook’s hand push him in the back, and he walked onto the stage, meeting Adlington and Roodle in the middle. All three men shook hands, and then Roodle and Lenox went to their podiums, about six feet apart. He heard Lenox supporters calling his name and Roodle supporters calling Roodle’s, and then Adlington held up a hand.
“We meet under sorrowful circumstances, friends. The Honorable Mr. Stoke, who served our corner of England so admirably and for so long in the great halls of Parliament, is dead. Please observe a moment of silence with me.”
