Everything in Its Place

Rook was waiting under the Savings Bank clock with his hat pulled forward and his collar up, a man who had been told to keep an eye on a thing and was keeping it a long way off. He did not look pleased to see you. He looked like someone who has been given news and would rather it had been given to somebody braver.

“Harborline’s solicitors wrote to the Superintendent this morning,” he said. “A very courteous letter. It describes Mrs Crane’s conduct as one that ‘merits inquiry’. It says nothing about a lamp.” He watched a gull take a chip from the kerb. “She’s the only person standing between them and a great many flats, and now she’s a person of interest. It’s the most natural thing in the world. That’s what makes it so hard to say.”

“And the Superintendent?”

“He’s moved it up. Monday noon. He’d like someone in a cell by then, and he’d like it to be a person who won’t make a fuss.” Rook lowered his voice. “I can’t hold it. I can give you till the end of the Sunday service. After that I’m obliged to do what I’m obliged to do.” His eyes moved briefly to the chapel on the hill. “I’ll be in the porch. If you’ve a better name, give it to me there.”

“We have a name,” said Jonah, and stopped, because you had touched his sleeve.

“We have an account,” you said. “It isn’t the same thing. I’d like to hear it from the man it belongs to.”

The clock above you struck the quarter, and half the street looked up, and then, a moment later, as if released, went on.