You think the criminal should be allowed to kill other human beings?
No, father. God forbid! I just think that…
He felt suddenly deflated. He finished lamely:
…it's more important to cure him than punish him.
I agree. The problem with Austin is whether he's curable…
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was a quarter past four. Sorme said:
I'd better go. I'll try to find Austin.
Be careful, Gerard. You don't want to be sent to prison as an accessory.
No, father.
The priest said, smiling:
Not to mention me.
I promise.
Before you go… would you mind asking Father Rakosi if there's anyone waiting for me downstairs?
All right, father.
He met the Scotswoman as he opened the door. She said:
The man's gone. He waited ten minutes, then said he was going for a walk.
The priest said: Good. I'm tired. Could I have a cup of tea, Mrs Doughty?
Sorme went out into the rain and the falling dusk, feeling a stifled impatience with his sense of unreality. He felt as if he had just been acting in a play.
He half recognised the man who was approaching him across the road; a moment later, he saw it was Glasp.
Hi, Oliver! Where are you going to?
He sensed immediately a certain moroseness in Glasp's manner. Glasp said:
I was waiting for you.
There was a suggestion of a threat in his voice, that Sorme failed to understand.
How did you know I was here?
That woman told me. I was waiting to see Father Carruthers.
I see! That was you, was it? Well, what are you going to do now?
Glasp hesitated. Sorme looked at him closely, puzzled. Glasp said:
I didn't know you were a close friend of Father Carruthers.
I'm not. But I've seen him several times.
They stood on the edge of the pavement. Sorme laid a hand on Glasp's arm.
Come and have a cup of tea. We can't stand here in this downpour.
Glasp accompanied him into Farringdon Road without speaking. They walked to the cafe where Sorme had been with Stein. Glasp was wearing the most threadbare and shabby overcoat Sorme had ever seen, and it was soaked with rain. He was also hatless; his red hair clung to his skull and forehead in strands; the rain made it look deep brown.
The cafe was warm, and almost empty. They sat near the window, where the steamed surface was like a wall between them and the gathering dusk. In normal circumstances, Glasp's moroseness would have worried Sorme, but the excitement of his talk with the priest made him now indifferent to it. He drank his tea and thought about Nunne, wondering where he was now, trying to recollect any words or actions that might add weight to his suspicions.
He had almost emptied his cup before Glasp spoke:
What do you find to talk about with him?
With…? Oh, Father Carruthers. Oh… various things. Nothing that would interest you.
No?
I don't think so.
He had caught the suspicion in Glasp's face. He said:
Why? Did you suppose we were talking about you?
Weren't you?
No. Why on earth should we? You get some extraordinary ideas!
His tone was less restrained than his words; it implied: What makes you suppose we give a damn about you? Glasp coloured and drank a mouthful of tea in a gulp; Sorme immediately felt remorse. He said:
I've been talking over… some rather important subjects… I can't be more explicit.
Austin, Glasp said. It was not a question but a statement.
Yes.
Glasp said abruptly:
I'm sorry if I got the wrong idea. But… I've had one or two doses of people getting officious about me. And Father Carruthers used to be a member of the Reform Oliver Society.
Not at all. Are you going to see him now?
No. I won't go back.
Won't he wonder where you are?
It doesn't matter. He's probably glad to escape a session…
What are you doing now?
Going back home.
Why don't you come back with me? Have a meal and talk.
As he said it, he was almost certain Glasp would refuse. He was surprised to see Glasp hesitating, and the moment brought an intuition of his fundamental loneliness. Glasp said:
I've already had one meal with you.
There's not much, Sorme said. But there's enough for two, anyway. You may as well.
All right. Thanks.
The prospect of the ride in the Underground, with a change at Tottenham Court Road, so depressed him that he hailed a passing taxi as they came into Holborn. Glasp said:
You're picking up Austin's habits!
Sorme said: Never mind. I don't want to mess about in this rain.
He repressed his own sense of rashness by reflecting that Austin had paid for his lunch, and probably saved the price of the taxi.
He left Glasp to make the tea, and went downstairs to phone Nunne. There was no reply from the flat; the girl on the switchboard asked if she could take a message. Sorme declined, and returned to his room. The thought that the line might be tapped brought a sense of danger, and the realisation that the call might easily be traced back to his own address. The memory of his hesitation, as he had waited for a reply, the uncertainty whether to warn Nunne that he had something urgent to tell him, constricted his throat with a sense of a close escape.
Glasp was not in the room when he returned. He drew the curtains, looking towards the lights of the Kentish Town Road, wondering if the police thought it worth while to keep a watch on him too. He sat in the armchair, and indulged in a fantasy in which he was arrested with Austin as an accessory before the fact. He imagined the Public Prosecutor describing his excursions with Nunne into Spitalfields, his acting as a decoy to lure a woman into some alleyway. He remembered suddenly that he had told Stein that his acquaintance with Nunne had been very short, and he was amused by the sense of relief that took him unaware. When Glasp came back into the room, he was startled, having completely forgotten about him. Glasp said:
Look here, what about skipping tea? Come and have a drink with me?
Sorme looked at the clock.
Well… all right. That's a good idea.
He could sense that Glasp was concerned about accepting his hospitality for a second time in three days; this worried him. He had no wish to make Glasp feel under obligation to him; accepting a drink from Glasp seemed an opportunity to disperse the awkwardness. He touched Glasp's overcoat, that hung on the back of the door, dripping water on the floor.
You'd better borrow my raincoat. We'll put this in the kitchen to dry.
That's all right. I've worn it wetter than that.
