you
don't mind me asking, but where were you born? What other places have you lived in, before you came here?'
Avoiding the girl's face, he looked off into the distance. 'I'd like to tell you, Amy ... but.. .'
She watched her friend's fathomless blue eyes cloud over. It was like looking at a faraway sea when a storm
broods over it. Without knowing why, a wave of pity for the strange boy swept through her mind. 'Ben ... I'm sorry.'
When he turned and looked at her, his eyes were clear, and the color had returned to his cheeks. Best of all, he
was giving her the smile she had come to like so much.
'You've no cause to be sorry. You're my friend, that's what counts.'
The old ship's carpenter provided most of the story, but Patterson let his gaze rove from Alex to Eileen, to Will,
Mr. Braithwaite, and Mr. Mackay, as they put in their contributions to the intriguing narrative.
The sergeant sat gazing into the dregs of his mug before speaking. 'Ah was posted tae this village four years
ago, as ye know. 'Tis a grand wee place. Ah've come tae like it fine. But tomorrow modern progress is due tae move
in here. Och, they cannae turn us out of the police station, 'tis Crown property ye ken. Though who in their right mind
would want tae stay here, amid a dusty great quarry an' cement factory?
'Judmann's auld now, he'll take his pension an' move. As for me, och, I'll prob'ly put in tor transfer tae another
post. Though 'twill sair grieve me to go. Friends, if ah can help ye in any way, then ah will. D'ye want tae take a look
'round the auld hangin' ground out back, eh? Then be mah guest!'
Jon was like a big child on a Sunday school outing. He dashed out of the station, rubbing his large, tattooed
hands together gleefully, calling to Amy and Ben. 'Come on, mates, away boat's crew! We've got permission to
search around the back—in fact, we've got the sergeant's blessing!'
His two young friends seemed glad, but not overim-pressed. 'You go, mate, we'll go around the outside of the
building. See you there later.'
The ex-ship's carpenter's craggy face showed concern. He ruffled the boy's tow-colored hair. 'D'you feel all
right, son?'
Ben managed a cheery grin. 'Never felt better, shipmate!'
The old seaman stared oddly at the pair for a moment. 'Righto, see you two 'round there, eh. Hah, look at Ned,
snoozin' away like an old grampus there!'
The black Labrador was curled up in the gig, asleep under the shade of a seat. Amy wrinkled her nose
sympathetically. 'He's keeping Delia company, poor old boy. He must be tired in this heat—let him sleep.'
36.
IT WAS SHADY TO THE POINT OF BEING gloomy in the walled courtyard at the back of the police station.
The wall enclosing the ancient execution site was over twelve feet high, totally covered by dark green clinging ivy,
giving the impression it was built of vegetation and not limestone. It had a heavy timber door for access to the outside,
the wood layered with countless coats of dark blue paint. Jon had to work vigorously on the rusty latch and bolts until
the door creaked open to admit the two friends.
The feeling of dread Ben had experienced about the station returned, much stronger this time. He had an urge to
run a mile from the drear, forbidding place. However, the presence of the girl at his side and the sight of Eileen, the
policeman, and the rest of his companions was reassuring. Bracing himself, he strode in over the moss-grown cobbles.
Sergeant Patterson was addressing the party.
'Ah'm afraid the history of this auld place is a mystery tae me. When ah first arrived here, I discovered that
damp an' mildew had ruined the auld records. My orders were tae clean up the station, so ah made a grand wee bonfire
o' the soggy documents. Och, ye should've seen Constable Judmann's face.
He never spoke tae me for a fortnight. Mr. Mackay, will ye read out yon poem again, sir?'
The lawyer donned his pince-nez and coughed officiously.
' 'Twould seem at the wicked's fate
that bell ne'er made a sound,
yet the death knell tolled aloud
for those who danced around.
The carrion crow doth perch above,
light bearers 'neath the ground.'
Braithwaite shrugged apologetically. 'So, er, as you see, Sergeant, we're searching for, hmmm, a gibbet. That is,
er, a hanging place, as it were. Hmm, yes, very good.'
Eileen shuddered, rubbing at her upper arms nervously. 'Well, I don't see any sign of where they 'anged folk.
Brrr! I feels it, though. Ma would, too, if she were 'ere!'
The dairyman nodded his agreement as he took stock of the courtyard.
An indefinable air of doom did seem to hang over the place. Snails and slugs had left their glistening silver
trails over a border of smooth limestone blocks, which separated a garden area running around the walls on three sides.
The soil was mainly clay, oozing damp. A few straggling shrubs were struggling to survive, overhung by a sickly
laburnum and two purple rhododendrons. The whole atmosphere was hemmed in, dark and claustrophobic, eerie and
silent.
The sergeant smiled wanly. 'Nae much tae look at, is it? 'Twas over a hundred years since the last man was
hanged here. Ah took a glance at the auld records before burnin' them.
All written in curly, auld-fashioned script, an' very hard tae decipher. Here now, young Somers, d'ye ken how
they used tae execute murderers?'
Alex shook his head dumbly, swallowing hard at the thought.
Patterson explained the process, his Scottish brogue severe as he told of the manner in which legal sentence
