escaped on both occasions.'
'He must be caught, Inspector!'
'He will be.'
'This is one execution in which I'll take some pleasure,' said the governor, bunching his fists. 'He deserves to hang until every last breath is squeezed out of his miserable body.' He collected himself. 'Narcissus Jones was a great man. The whole prison will mourn him. It's not given to many chaplains to possess such extraordinary gifts.'
'He was a striking individual,' agreed Colbeck.
The governor looked over his shoulder. 'This prison is a sewer,' he said, contemptuously. 'We have the scum of the earth in here.'
'There's no need to tell us that,' said Leeming with a dry laugh. 'Our job is to catch the devils and send them on to places like this.'
'Most of them sneer at authority and go straight back to a life of crime as soon as we let them out. At least,' Ferriday went on, 'that's what used to happen until Narcissus Jones was appointed here. He gave the men a sense of hope and self-respect. He improved them as human beings. That's what made him so popular among the men.'
Colbeck had doubts on that score. 'I take it that the chaplain had a room at the prison?' he said.
'Yes, Inspector. He more or less lived within these walls.'
'But he did venture out?'
'From time to time.'
'What we need to establish is how the killer knew that he would be travelling on that train from Paddock Wood.'
'I can tell you that,' said Ferriday. 'The chaplain was much in demand as a speaker at churches and Christian gatherings. Most of the invitations he received had, of necessity, to be turned down because of his commitments here but he did like to give a talk or take a service somewhere once or twice a month.'
'Events that would have been advertised in a parish magazine.'
'And in the local newspapers, Inspector Colbeck. Our chaplain was a man of some renown. If you go to the church in Paddock Wood where he spoke yesterday, I daresay you'll find that they had a board outside for weeks in advance with details of his talk. It was St Peter's, by the way,' he added. 'They'll be horrified to hear the news.'
'So will everyone else,' said Leeming. 'Killing a man of the cloth is about as low as you can sink. I mean, it's sacrosanct.'
'Sacrilege,' corrected Colbeck, gently.
'I call it diabolical,' said Ferriday.
While they were talking a distant noise had begun inside the prison, slowly building until it became audible enough for them to become aware of it. All three of them looked at the window. The sound got progressively louder, spreading swiftly from wing to wing of the establishment with gathering force. Raised voices could be heard but the dominating note had a metallic quality to it as if a large number of inmates were using implements to beat on the bars of their cells in celebration. In its menacing rhythm, a concerted message was being sent to the governor by the only means at the prisoners' disposal. As the noise rose to a climax, Leeming looked across at the governor.
'What's that?' he asked.
'I'll have it stopped immediately,' declared Ferriday, getting up angrily from his seat and going to the door. 'That's intolerable.'
'Someone has heard the news of his death already,' noted Colbeck as the governor flung open the door to leave. 'Perhaps the chaplain was not as universally popular as you believed.'
The loss of Emily Hawkshaw's appetite was almost as worrying to her mother as the long silence into which the girl had lapsed. She refused more meals than she ate and, of those that were actually consumed, the major portion was always left on the plate. Emily was in no mood to eat anything at all that morning.
'Come on, dear,' coaxed Winifred. 'Try some of this bread.'
'No, thank you.'
'It's lovely and fresh. Eat it with a piece of cheese.'
'I'm not hungry.'
'Some jam, then.'
'No.'
'You must eat something, Emily.'
'Leave me be, Mother.'
'Please – for my sake.' The girl shook her head. 'If you go on like this, you'll make yourself ill. I can't remember the last time you had a decent meal. In the past, you always had such a good appetite.'
They were in the room at the rear of the shop, facing each other across the kitchen table. Emily looked paler than ever, her shoulders hunched, her whole body drawn in. She had never been the most lively and outgoing girl but she had seemed very contented in the past. Now she was like a stranger. Winifred no longer knew her daughter. As a last resort, she tried to interest her in local news.
'Mr Lewis, the draper, is going to buy the shop next door to his premises,' she told her. 'He wants to expand his business. Mr Lewis is very ambitious. I don't think it will be long before he's looking for another place to take over as well.' She gave a sigh. 'It's nice to know that someone in Ashford is doing well because we're not. Things seem to get worse each day. Adam says that hardly anybody came into the shop this morning.' Her voice brightened. 'Oh, I saw Gregory earlier on, did I tell you? He was taking his wife for a drive before he went off to the railway works. I know that we have our sorrows,' she continued, 'but we should spare a thought for Gregory. His wife has been like that for years and she'll never get any better. Meg can't walk and she can't speak. She has to be fed and seen to in every way by someone else. Think what a burden that must place on Gregory yet somehow he always stays cheerful.' She bent over the table. 'Can you hear what I'm saying?' she asked. 'We have to go on, Emily. No matter how much we may grieve, we have to go on. I know that you loved your father and miss him dreadfully but so do we all.' Emily's lower lip began to tremble. 'What do you think he'd say if he were here now? He wouldn't want to see you like this, would he? You have to make an effort.'
'I'll go to my room,' said Emily, trying to get up.
'No,' said Winifred, extending a hand to take her by the arm. 'Stay here and talk to me. Tell me what you feel. I'm your mother – I want to help you through this but I need some help in return. Don't you understand that?'
Emily nodded sadly. Winifred detached her arm. There was a long, bruised silence then it seemed as if the girl was finally about to say something but she changed her mind at the last moment. After a glance at the food on the table, she turned towards the door. Temper fraying slightly, Winifred adopted a sterner tone.
'If you won't eat your meals,' she warned, 'then there's only one thing I can do. I'll have to call the doctor.'
'No!' cried Emily, suddenly afraid. 'No, no, don't do that!'
And she fled the room in a flood of tears.
It was early evening before the two detectives finally got back to Ashford, having made extensive inquiries in both Maidstone and Paddock Wood. Both of their notebooks were filled with details relating to the latest crime. On reaching the station, they were greeted by the three defining elements of the town – the grandeur of its church, the smell of its river and the cacophony of its railway works. A steady drizzle was falling and they had no umbrella. Colbeck was still grappling with the problems thrown up by the new investigation but Victor Leeming's mind was occupied by a more immediate concern. It was the prospect of dinner at the Saracen's Head that exercised his brain and stimulated his senses. The only refreshment they had been offered all day was at the prison and the environment was hardly conducive to any enjoyment of food. When they turned into the high street, he began to lick his lips.
As they approached the inn, they saw that George Butterkiss was standing outside, his uniform now buttoned up properly and his face aglow with the desire to impress. He stood to attention and touched his helmet with a forefinger. Thoroughly damp, he looked as if he had been there some time.
