newspapers for packing specimens. My landlady brought me up a pile of old papers out of her stockhold. Spreading one out on the table I saw the reproduced photograph of a young man whose face seemed very familiar to me. I tried to remember where I had met him and who he was. I could not do so and yet, very strangely, I remembered holding a conversation with him — it had been about eels. He had been intrigued and fascinated by hearing the saga of an eel's life. But when? Where? I read the paragraph, read that this young man was Jack Argyle, accused of murder, read that he had told the police that he had been given a lift by a man in a black saloon car.
'And then, quite suddenly, that lost bit of my life came back I had picked up this selfsame young man, and driven him into Drymouth, parting from him there, going back to the flat — crossing the street on foot to buy my cigarettes. I remembered just a glimpse of the lorry as it hit me — after that, nothing until hospital. I still had no memory of going to the station and taking the train to London . I read and re-read the paragraph. The trial was over a year ago, the case almost forgotten. 'A young fellow what did his mother in,' my landlady remembered vaguely. 'Don't know what happened — think they hanged him.' I read up the files of the newspapers for the appropriate dates, then I went to Marshall & Marshall, who had been the lawyers for the defence. I learned that I was too late to free the unfortunate boy. He had died of pneumonia in prison. Though justice could no longer be done to him, justice could be done to his memory. I went with Mr. Marshall to the police. The case is being laid before the Public Prosecutor. Marshall has little doubt that he will refer it to the Home Secretary.
'You will, of course, receive a full report from him. He has only delayed it because I was anxious to be the one who first acquainted you with the truth. I felt that that was an ordeal it was my duty to go through. You understand, I am sure, that I shall always feel a deep load of guilt. If I had been more careful crossing the street –' He broke off. 'I understand that your feelings towards me can never be kindly — though I am, technically, blameless — you, all of you, must blame me.'
Gwenda Vaughan said quickly, her voice warm and kindly: 'Of course we don't blame you. It's just — one of those things. Tragic — incredible — but there it is.'
Hester said: 'Did they believe you?'
He looked at her in surprise.
'The police — did they believe you? Why shouldn't you be making it all up?'
He smiled a little in spite of himself.
'I'm a very reputable witness,' he said gently. 'I have no axe to grind, and they have gone into my story very closely; medical evidence, various corroborating details from Drymouth. Oh yes. Marshall was cautious, of course, like all lawyers. He didn't want to raise your hopes until he was pretty certain of success.'
Leo Argyle stirred in his chair and spoke for the first time. 'What exactly do you mean by success?'
'I apologise,' said Calgary quickly. 'That is not a word that can rightly be used. Your son was accused of a crime he did not commit, was tried for it, condemned — and died in prison. Justice has come too late for him. But such justice as can be done, almost certainly will be done, and will be seen to be done. The Home Secretary will probably advise the Queen that a free pardon should be granted.'
Hester laughed.
'A free pardon — for something he didn't do?'
'I know. The terminology always seems unrealistic. But I understand that the custom is for a question to be asked in the House, the reply to which will make it clear that Jack Argyle did not commit the crime for which he was sentenced, and the newspapers will report that fact freely.'
He stopped. Nobody spoke. It had been, he supposed, a great shock to them. But after all, a happy one.
He rose to his feet.
'I'm afraid,' he said uncertainly, 'that there is nothing more that I can say… To repeat how sorry I am, how unhappy about it all, to ask your forgiveness — all that you must already know only too well. The tragedy that ended his life, has darkened my own. But at least' — he spoke with pleading — 'surely it means something — to know that he didn't do this awful thing — that his name — your name — will be cleared in the eyes of the world?'
If he hoped for a reply he did not get one.
Leo Argyle sat slumped in his chair. Gwenda's eyes were on Leo's face. Hester sat staring ahead of her, her eyes wide and tragic. Miss Lindstrom grunted something under her breath and shook her head.
Calgary stood helplessly by the door, looking back at them.
It was Gwenda Vaughan who took charge of the situation. She came up to him and laid a hand on his arm, saying in a low voice: 'You'd better go now, Dr. Calgary. It's been too much of a shock. They must have time to take it in.'
He nodded and went out. On the landing Miss Lindstrom joined him. 'I will let you out,' she said.
He was conscious, looking back before the door closed behind him, of Gwenda Vaughan slipping to her knees by Leo Argyle's chair. It surprised him a little.
Facing him, on the landing, Miss Lindstrom stood like a Guardsman and spoke harshly.
'You cannot bring him back to life. So why bring it all back into their minds? Till now, they were resigned. Now they will suffer. It is better, always, to leave well alone.'
She spoke with displeasure.
'His memory must be cleared,' said Arthur Calgary.
'Fine sentiments! They are all very well. Butyou do not really think of what it all means. Men, they never think.' She stamped her foot. 'I love them all. I came here, to help Mrs. Argyle, in 1940 when she started here a war nursery — for children whose homes had been bombed. Nothing was too good for those children. Everything was done for them. That is nearly eighteen years ago. And still, even after she is dead, I stay here — to look after them — to keep the house clean and comfortable, to see they get good food. I love them all — yes, I love them… and Jacko he was no good! Oh yes, I loved him too. But — he was no good!'
She turned abruptly away. It seemed she had forgotten her offer to show him out. Calgary descended the stairs slowly. As he was fumbling with the front door which had a safety lock he did not understand, he heard light footsteps on the stairs. Hester came flying down them.
She unlatched the door and opened it. They stood looking at each other. He understood less than ever why she faced him with that tragic reproachful stare.
She said, only just breathing the words: 'Why did you come? Oh, why ever did you come?'
He looked at her helplessly.
'I don't understand you. Don't you want your brother's name cleared? Don't you want him to have justice?'
'Oh, justice!' She threw the word at him. He repeated: 'I don't understand…'
'Going on so about justice! What does it matter to Jacko now? He's dead. It's not Jacko who matters. It's the others.'
'What do you mean?'
'It's not the guilty who matter. It's the innocent.'
She caught his arm, digging her fingers into it.
'It's we who matter. Don't you see what you've done to us all?'
He stared at her.
Out of the darkness outside, a man's figure loomed up.
'Dr. Calgary?' he said. 'Your taxi's here, sir. To drive you to Drymouth.'
'Oh — er — thank you.'
Calgary turned once more to Hester, but she had withdrawn into the house.
The front door banged.
Chapter 3
Hester went slowly up the stairs pushing back the hair from her high forehead. Kirsten Lindstrom met her at the top of the stairs.
'Has he gone?' 'Yes, he's gone.'
'You have had a shock, Hester.' Kirsten Lindstrom laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Come with me. I will
