'Under arrest?' Shreve said. 'Excuse me,' he said. He heaved himself up and climbed over their feet and got out. He had on a pair of my flannel pants, like a glove. I didn't remember forgetting them. I didn't remember how many chins Mrs Bland had, either. The prettiest girl was with Gerald in front, too. They watched me through veils, with a kind of delicate horror. 'Who's under arrest?' Shreve said. 'What's this, mister?'
'Gerald,' Mrs Bland said. 'Send these people away. You get in this car, Quentin.'
Gerald got out. Spoade hadn't moved.
'What's he done, Cap?' he said. 'Robbed a hen house?'
'I warn you,' Anse said. 'Do you know the prisoner?'
'Know him,' Shreve said. 'Look here--'
'Then you can come along to the squire's. You'reobstructing justice. Come along.' He shook my arm.
'Well, good afternoon,' I said. 'I'm glad to have seen you all. Sorry I couldn't be with you.'
'You, Gerald,' Mrs Bland said.
'Look here, constable,' Gerald said.
'I warn you you're interfering with an officer of the law,' Anse said. 'If you've anything to say, you can come to the squire's and make cognizance of the prisoner.' We went on. Quite a procession now, Anse and I leading. I could hear them telling them what it was, and Spoade asking questions, and then Julio said something violently in Italian and I looked back and saw the little girl standing at the curb, looking at me with her friendly, inscrutable regard.
'Git on home,' Julio shouted at her. 'I beat hell outa you.'
We went down the street and turned into a bit of lawn in which, set back from the street, stood a one storey building of brick trimmed with white. We went up the rock path to the door, where Anse halted everyone except us and made them remain outside. We entered, a bare room smelling of stale tobacco. There was a sheet iron stove in the center of a wooden frame filled with sand, and a faded map on the wall and the dingy plat of a township. Behind a scarred littered table a man with a fierce roach of iron gray hair peered at us over steel spectacles.
'Got him, did ye, Anse?' he said.
'Got him, Squire.'
He opened a huge dusty book and drew it to him and dipped a foul pen into an inkwell filled with what looked like coal dust.
'Look here, mister,' Shreve said.
'The prisoner's name,' the squire said. I told him. He wrote it slowly into the book, the pen scratching with excruciating deliberation.
'Look here, mister,' Shreve said. 'We know this fellow. We--'
'Order in the court,' Anse said.
'Shut up, bud,' Spoade said. 'Let him do it his way. He's going to anyhow.'
'Age,' the squire said. I told him. He wrote that, his mouth moving as he wrote. 'Occupation.' I told him. 'Harvard student, hey?' he said. He looked up at me, bowing his neck a little to see over the spectacles. His eyes were clear and cold, like a goat's. 'What are you up to, coming out here kidnapping children?'
'They're crazy, Squire,' Shreve said. 'Whoever says this boy's kidnapping--'
Julio moved violently. 'Crazy?' he said. 'Dont I catcha heem, eh? Dont I see weetha my own eyes--'
'You're a liar,' Shreve said. 'You never--'
'Order, order,' Anse said, raising his voice.
'You fellers shet up,' the squire said. 'If they dont stay quiet, turn 'em out, Anse.' They got quiet. The squire looked at Shreve, then at Spoade, then at Gerald. 'You know this young man?' he said to Spoade.
'Yes, your honor,' Spoade said. 'He's just a country boy in school up there. He dont mean any harm. I think the marshal'll find it's a mistake. His father's a congregational minister.'
'H'm,' the squire said. 'What was you doing, exactly?' I told him, he watching me with his cold, pale eyes. 'How about it, Anse?'
'Might have been,' Anse said. 'Them durn furriners.'
'I American,' Julio said. 'I gotta da pape'.'
'Where's the gal?'
'He sent her home,' Anse said.
'Was she scared or anything?'
'Not till Julio there jumped on the prisoner. They were just walking along the river path, towards town. Some boys swimming told us which way they went.'
'It's a mistake, Squire,' Spoade said. 'Children and dogs are always taking up with him like that. He cant help it.'
'H'm,' the squire said. He looked out of the window for a while. We watched him. I could hear Julio scratching himself. The squire looked back.
'Air you satisfied the gal aint took any hurt, you, there?'
'No hurt now,' Julio said sullenly.
'You quit work to hunt for her?'
'Sure I quit. I run. I run like hell. Looka here, looka there, then man tella me he seen him give her she eat. She go weetha.'
'H'm,' the squire said. 'Well, son, I calculate you owe Julio something for taking him away from his work.'
'Yes, sir,' I said. 'How much?'
'Dollar, I calculate.'
I gave Julio a dollar.
'Well,' Spoade said. 'If that's all--I reckon he's discharged, your honor?'
The squire didn't look at him. 'How far'd you run him, Anse?'
'Two miles, at least. It was about two hours before we caught him.'
'H'm,' the squire said. He mused a while. We watched him, his stiff crest, the spectacles riding low on his nose. The yellow shape of the window grew slowly across the floor, reached the wall, climbing. Dust motes whirled and slanted. 'Six dollars.'
'Six dollars?' Shreve said. 'What's that for?'
'Six dollars,' the squire said. He looked at Shreve a moment, then at me again.
'Look here,' Shreve said.
'Shut up,' Spoade said. 'Give it to him, bud, and let's get out of here. The ladies are waiting for us. You got six dollars?'
'Yes,' I said. I gave him six dollars.
'Case dismissed,' he said.
'You get a receipt,' Shreve said. 'You get a signed receipt for that money.'
The squire looked at Shreve mildly. 'Case dismissed,' he said without raising his voice.
'I'll be damned--' Shreve said.
'Come on here,' Spoade said, taking his arm. 'Good afternoon, Judge. Much obliged.' As we passed out the door Julio's voice rose again, violent, then ceased. Spoade was looking at me, his brown eyes quizzical, a little cold. 'Well, bud, I reckon you'll do your girl chasing in Boston after this.'
'You damned fool,' Shreve said. 'What the hell do you mean anyway, straggling off here, fooling with these damn wops?'
'Come on,' Spoade said. 'They must be getting impatient.'
Mrs Bland was talking to them. They were Miss Holmes and Miss Daingerfield and they quit listening to her and looked at me again with that delicate and curious horror, their veils turned back upon their little white noses and their eyes fleeing and mysterious beneath the veils.
'Quentin Compson,' Mrs Bland said. 'What would your mother say. A young man naturally gets into scrapes, but to be arrested on foot by a country policeman. What did they think he'd done, Gerald?'
'Nothing,' Gerald said.
'Nonsense. What was it, you, Spoade?'
'He was trying to kidnap that little dirty girl, but they caught him in time,' Spoade said.
'Nonsense,' Mrs Bland said, but her voice sort of died away and she stared at me for a moment, and the girls
