Murder At Deviation Junction

    Silence except for the glass and the knife.

    'It was an African adventure,' said Bowman. 'Rather in the Rider Haggard line.'

    Another pause.

    'It came like winking - I'm sure I'll be able to place it if I give another push.'

    'Have you been to Africa?' I said

    'Not literally,' said Bowman, turning to the window once Again. He rubbed his eyes, as if trying to start them working. 'One place I have been is Scotland, so perhaps I'll get up a Highland story.'

    The waiter was approaching, having given up on the knife and the glass.

    'An advantage of novel-writing,' said Bowman, 'is that it can be carried on anywhere - in any circumstances, I mean.'

    'I must write up a report,' I began, 'and of course -'

    The waiter was presenting the bill to Bowman, who squinted at it for a while.

    'I'll stand you this,' he said, taking out his pocket book.

    'I won't hear of it,' I said. 'How much?'

    'The total is one pound nineteen shillings.'

    I took out my pocket book with a feeling of fear. But before I put my hand into it, the waiter had been paid by Bowman and had left - which queered things still further between my companion and me.

    'You were saying about your report?' said Bowman.

    I sat back.

    'Small David cannot be on this train, can he?'

    Bowman frowned. I did not wait for his answer, but stood up, saying, 'I mean to go and take a look.'

    'But you have no ticket, Jim. Let me buy you a sleeping berth.'

    Evidently, Bowman had gone north with plenty of gold about him, which was only sensible in the circumstances.

    'The warrant card will just have to serve,' I said. 'You turn in now.'

    I stood up. Bowman did the same, and we shook hands.

    'You must make out your report, Jim,' he said. 'I will answer for anything I've done wrong, which is a good deal, I know.'

    I almost walked to York, considering that I was back and forth along the dark corridors of that train many times before arrival. Small David was not aboard, as far as I could tell with most of the compartment blinds drawn down. He could not have been - he'd have had to have ridden the slow plough with us in order to make the connection for Inverness at Helmsdale.

Chapter Thirty-two

    I stepped down at York feeling light as a feather from want of sleep. I was one of only four to climb down there. It was six o'clock, and the station was coming to life in a series of crashes, and in the barking of the exhaust on the first passenger train of the day for Hull, which was pulling away from Platform Thirteen. I stood on Platform Four. A cold wind was sweeping along under the roof, and I could not contemplate removing my hands from my coat pocket.

    I walked towards the door of the police office. It ought to be open by now. The Chief was often the first man in, filling the place with the sour smell of his cigar smoke as he read the night's telegrams and the first of the post. But it was locked, and a notice was pasted to the door glass: 'Monday 20 December. Closed. Police training day. Passengers seeking urgent assistance please find Stationmaster's Office by the booking hall.'

    I had forgotten this was a training day.

    In fact, training days were a species of holiday and generally ended in the bar of the Railway Institute. There were sometimes physical jerks directed by the Chief, sometimes lectures on dry subjects such as 'effecting arrest' or 'railway trespass'. The Chief was required to lay them on, but he didn't really hold with them, and wouldn't mind if you missed one, providing the cause was anything other than bone idleness.

    I looked at the notice again. It annoyed me that anything as normal as a training day should be allowed to go on after all that I'd been through. Still, at least I couldn't be stood down on a training day.

    I walked on. It was too early to go back to Thorpe-on-Ouse. I'd only wake the wife and Harry, and the boy needed his sleep. I picked up a Yorkshire Post at the bookstall and the fat man who ran it said, 'First one away today, mate.'

    On the front page, I read 'Leap from an Omnibus' and 'Hull Soldier's Bad Behaviour'. Nothing had happened, but the paper had to come out all the same.

    I walked out of the station, and saw that the snow had gone, leaving only the ancient city of York and a little rain. I went into town, and breakfasted at the Working Men's Cafe by the river at King's Staith. It was the cheapest breakfast going: fried egg, two rashers, tea or coffee and bread and butter all in for a bob. All of yesterday's Yorkshire papers were lying about on the tables, and it turned out that nothing had happened yesterday either, except that the snow had been expected to stop, which it obviously had done. It would apparently be returning, however.

    I came out of the cafe and watched the river blokes take a load of coal off a barge until they began to shoot me queer looks, at which I went off into the middle of town.

    Should I make a report on my investigation? Bowman wanted me to drop it. He felt he was owed this, having rescued me from the house at Fairy Hillocks. But I would at the least be required to give an account of where I'd been if I wanted to keep my job.

    I pushed on. The shop blinds were rolling up, like the weary opening of a person's eyes on a day of cold. The narrow streets were full of the delivery drays, and the shouts of the early morning men. In St Helen's Square, a great consignment of Christmas trees rested against the front of the Mansion House.

    I would be willing to put the thing on ice, but for Small David. There were more murders left in him, and that was a certainty. He had to be run in.

    I looked up. I had found my way to Brown's, the toyshop that lay just off St Helen's Square. I walked through the door and the ceiling seemed to be sagging, but it was only the hundreds of paper chains stretched across. I turned and saw a great multi-coloured house. It had been built from Empire Bricks. All around it were boxes of same, and some of the smaller ones contained only half a dozen bricks, but I didn't care to look at the price ticket even on these. Beyond the books were dolls - and they were all lying down, so that their part of the shop looked like a mortuary. Then came the narrow spiral staircase that led up to more toys. This was the feature of Brown's: it was helter-skelter-like, almost a toy itself, and it was now all wrapped in green tinsel. I climbed it, feeling an ass at having to turn so many times in order to go up such a little way.

    The second floor of Brown's seemed at first one great parade ground of miniature soldiers. A man moved along fast by the far wall - he looked almost guilty at being full-sized. I walked on and the soldiers gave way to trains. The clockwork engines were in the North Eastern style - well, they were painted green at any rate. Small, leaden railway officials stood among them. The engines had keys in their sides, and some were much smaller than the key that operated them, and looked ridiculous as a result. I put my hand on the smallest engine that was not dwarfed by its key, and looked at the price: seven and six. Many a York citizen kept house for a week on that. I took out my pocket book and fished out one ten- bob note. I knew it was the last, but I still had some silver in my pocket and that might make another ten bob.

    I paid for the engine, and then walked to Britton's in Gillygate. I stood under the sign looking in the window for a while. The sign read: 'Britton: Coats, Skirts, Furs', and it worried me that the gloves in the window were only draped about to offset the articles mentioned on the sign, and were not really of any account in themselves. But only the gloves had prices in shillings rather than pounds. Besides, the wife had especially mentioned that she wanted a new pair. I went inside and asked the assistant about one particular pair, and they were ten bob exactly. I pulled all the loose change out of various pockets, and it turned out I had enough, although I coloured up in the process of bringing it to hand.