usage in her bedtime activities, something the banker was not equipped to deliver but Hercules had in abundance.
In fact the first time she had essayed a far from maidenly glance at his rampant manhood, it had, as she confided later, fair taken her breath away.
They had met in this selfsame park; her small Cairn terrier had got itself into difficulties with a swan who had grabbed the dog by the neck when the stupid beast had got too damned close in a waterside encounter, barking fit to burst.
The swan then went swimming out to the middle of the pond and proceeded to thrust with combination of graceful neck plus vice-like beak, the yelping animal under the water with the obvious intention of drowning this ill-matched skittery opponent.
Hercules had been sitting on a nearby park bench nursing a sore head from excess of the night before but washed, clean and neat enough attired since he was hoping to gain employment with a small foundry under an assumed name.
He had grown the beginnings of a fine moustache to further disguise himself and it bristled manfully as he, having seen that the wifie was, while shrieking her distress, a well-endowed buxom-looking creature, waded out some distance, swam the rest, and then hammered the swan a blow between the eyes that caused the powerful neck to cease its murderous activities.
Then he had returned with the bedraggled terrier, the hero of the hour, and his wet garments, which she insisted on washing and drying at her home, once discreetly removed, never quite resumed their former station.
In fact, the banker, though lacking the graithlike girth and vigour of Hercules, was of a reasonable match in height and size so not only did he inherit the wife he got some decent clothes as well.
For the first time in his life he lacked for nothing; the woman hauled away under the sheets like a trawler but she did not lack common sense and allowed him a daily sum to have a drink and treat with his friends but not too much that he might get boastful.
Of course the idea was that he would eventually find gainful employment but nothing that would tire him out too much as regards his other duties.
So no wonder Hercules Dunbar was roaring as he rolled over in the grass like a happy child.
The howling wind redoubled its efforts, a westerly gale of up to eighty miles an hour that in other places tore off the shutters and cracked the very windows, but the widow woman’s house would be safe enough.
It was in a secluded street, the neighbours were not nosy and if questions were asked, he was a respectable working man who lodged there.
And in a strange way he had become a modified figure in his new fine clothes though the uneasy fear of being stripped down to the bone and made to view himself like a naked animal, never left his split disposition.
His father’s fist had seen to that. One blow had cut him in half.
Hercules hauled himself up against a creaking tree, shook himself like a dog to rid his hair of the dripping raindrops and then saw the figure of James McLevy standing before him, like a terrible ghost of retribution.
The inspector had jammed his bowler into the side pocket of his coat and his hands swung loose in the whipping wind.
‘Aye, Herkie,’ he said. ‘A grim night, eh?’
Dunbar nodded, all happiness fled.
The inspector could have explained how he had watched the quarry and his companions laugh at the pea-spattered poet’s untimely exit then, after an affable word with the publican, the bill settled, off they went into the wild darkness.
How he had followed on and waited patiently till the group parted company, the numbers being too heavy for the one man.
How he had observed Dunbar roll in the grass like a child and been affected by the strange recollection of when, as young Jamie McLevy, he had crawled through the rushes to steal a pair of boots that had kicked him once too often.
But he said nothing of this save the following.
‘You hammered my young constable and caused him grievous injury. You dunged upon the honour of my station.’
‘That’s good,’ was the response. ‘As for the constable, he’ll know better now.’
‘You left a message that we would meet in hell. This night seems as close as we can get in life.’
A gust of wind howled its agreement and one of the young slender trees in the park simply snapped into two pieces as if hacked down by an axe.
McLevy braced himself against the squall and moved forward slowly to where Dunbar was wedged back against the tree; the man’s eyes gleaming in the darkness like those of a hunted animal.
Both men were saturated from the rain but it ran down their faces to no avail. They had other business on hand.
‘You remember now, Herkie,’ the inspector shouted above the distorted clamour of enraged nature, ‘the last time we got to grips, you suffered the worst of the exchange. I believe my fist and your belly made strong acquaintance.’
‘I have it in my mind,’ Dunbar called back. ‘But things can change, I am a changed man now.’
‘Aye, you have more hair and are better dressed but I doubt the beast remains the same under your skin.’
The inspector was now almost within touching distance and for a brief moment the wind abated, so that he spoke quietly to the desperate figure crouched before him.
‘I would advise you to slip the restrainers on and come to the fold of justice like a wee lamb. Is that possible for you to entertain?’
Dunbar nodded his head in the weird stillness.
‘That is possible,’ he replied, then as the wind broke into another furious tantrum, he used the force of it at the back of him plus the propelled impetus from a foot which he had placed behind him on the trunk of the tree, to shoot forward like a bullet and take McLevy by surprise, bringing them both crashing to the ground.
Close quarters had always been an advantage to Hercules Dunbar for his bones were hard as cold chisel.
He wedged a steely forearm under McLevy’s throat and began to press up into the soft flesh. The aim was simple, to crush the windpipe until a lack of breath separated the victim from a conscious state and left him with a neck like a wrung chicken.
The taller man was on top, his full weight pressing down, one arm busy at its chosen employment, the other pinning McLevy’s right hand so that only the weaker left was free to flap uselessly at the side.
The policeman’s eyes were bulging with effort as he tried to break loose but as the pressure intensified on his windpipe, he began to gasp for air though God knows there was enough of it flying around.
The inspector’s skin took on a bluish tinge and Hercules bared his teeth in a savage grin.
‘Things change, eh?’
Another jolt with the forearm brought a shuddering retch from McLevy as he fought to get some
