The constable brushed a finger over his handlebar mustache. 'Sergeant Patterson says it was, sir, but that were
long afore my time—or his, for that matter.'
The lawyer looked from side to side with a quick, bird-like movement. 'I wonder where the executions took
place?'
Again the constable's thumb jabbed back over his shoulder. 'Sergeant Patterson reckons it were in the yard,
be'ind the station 'ouse. Says murderers were 'anged back there.'
Eileen climbed from the gig, pulling her skirts up, and, smiling at the policeman, she stepped down. 'You must
be awful brave, Constable Judmann, livin' so close to a place where murderers were 'angered. I'd be far too afraid.'
The constable's ruddy face turned a shade redder at the compliment, and his chest puffed out a bit further.
'There's nought there to worry about, marm, just a backyard with a plot o' garden. I sees it from my back
bedroom window «very day, tends the garden m'self. I like t'keep it tidy.'
'I'll wager you do, Constable. D'you think we could take a look at it?'
The policeman appeared disconcerted at Eileen's request. 'Oh, I don't know so much about that, Mrs.
Drum-mond. That's official police property. The public ain't allowed in there. 'Twould be more'n my job's worth if
Sergeant Patterson found I'd let folks go wanderin' willy-nilly 'round the station.'
This announcement was followed by an awkward silence, which was broken by the arrival of the sergeant
himself on his bicycle.
Patterson was a cheerful man in his mid-thirties, very tall and lean, with curly red hair and narrow sideburns.
His voice carried the faint trace of a Scottish border accent, from Cold-stream, the town of his birth. He touched his
peak cap to the small assembly and smiled.
'Mornin' to ye, looks like another warm 'un today, eh!'
Sergeant Patterson nodded to the constable, his voice taking on a more serious tone. 'Ah've just come from yon
railway station. There's three truckloads o' machinery an' buildin' materials arrived there. They've been sent to
Smithers, from Jackman an' Company of London. Aye, all shunted intae a sidin' for unloading an' cartin' tae the
village square, where they plan on stackin' et! So ah told the stationmaster tae put a stop on the operation.
'Your man Smithers was there, too. Weel, ah soon put a flea up his nose! Told him he's not allowed tae unload
a single nail until the morrow, when the court order comes intae force. Auld Smithers roared like a Heeland bull, so ah
read him the riot act an' said that if he disobeyed the law, ah'd arrest him an' lock him up! Ah cannae take to the man,
he's a pompous windbag, if ye'll pardon mah opinion, Mr. Mackay.'
The lawyer nodded. 'That is my observation of Smithers also, Sergeant.'
Patterson parked his bicycle against the garden wall. 'Mah thanks tae ye, sir. Constable, ah want ye tae go down
tae the railway station an' stand guard over those wagons, d'ye ken? Oh, an' take a Prohibition of Movement order
form. Pin it tae the delivery. Mind now, make sure et all stops right there!'
The constable saluted needlessly. 'Right away, Sarn't. Leave it t'me! Permission to borrow your bike?'
Patterson looked as if he was trying to hide a smile. 'Permission granted, Constable, carry on!'
They stood watching Constable Judmann wobble ponderously off down the lane. The sergeant chuckled.
'Will ye look at the man go! Och, he loves ridin' mah old bicycle. Weel now, an' what can I do for you good
folk?'
Eileen answered. 'We wanted to have a look at the old execution place, but the constable didn't seem too happy
about it.'
Will swelled out his chest and stomach, in a passable imitation of Judmann. 'Invasion of police property, if I
ain't mistaken, Sarn't. Sort of a peasant's revolt!'
The sergeant pretended to look grave. 'Och, sounds serious tae me! Ye'd best all come in, ah'll put the kettle on
for tea, an' we'll discuss the matter. Just hauld yer wheesht a moment!'
Patterson took an apple from his pocket and fed it to the mare, rubbing her muzzle affectionately. 'Stay out o'
this revolt, bonny lass. Mah gaol couldnae cope with ye!'
The walls inside the police station were covered thick with countless applications of whitewash on the top, and
equally heavy layers of bitumen and tar on the bottom. All the woodwork had been painted dark blue many times over
the years, some of it showing blisters around the blackleaded iron fireplace. A notice board by the window was
crowded with official-looking posters, old and new. Patterson made tea, seating Mr. Braithwaite, Mr. Mackay, Will,
and Eileen on tall stools at the charge office desk. Amy and her brother sat on a long bench with Jon and Ben.
Ned lay under the desk, gnawing a thick, gristly mutton bone, making his thoughts known to his master. 'Good
man, Sergeant Patterson, what d'you think, pal?'
Ben returned the thought, sipping tea from a brown pottery mug. 'I don't know what it is, but I don't feel right in
here. I'm starting to go cold and sweating at the same time.'
The Labrador crawled from under the desk, carrying his bone. 'Hmm, you don't look too good. This is a creepy
old place. Let's go outside and sit with Delia in the sun.'
Amy saw the pair leave, she followed them out. 'Are you all right, Ben? You look rather pale.'
He leaned on the garden wall, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 'I'm all right now, thanks. There
was something about the atmosphere in there. Don't know what it was, but I didn't like it.'
She patted his hand. 'There's no need to go back in if you don't want to. We'll stay out here and let the others
talk to the sergeant.
'You're a strange one, Ben, not like anyone in the village, and certainly not like me or my brother. I hope
