Marazan (30 page)

That was the only time I ever saw Mattani—Roddy, they had called him.

They were escorting the prisoners back from the seaplane to the road, each in charge of a constable. They had to pass close to where we were standing, and suddenly I saw Bulse, the pilot of the seaplane.

I had met him once or twice at Croydon. He nodded to me, and they let him pause a minute.

‘Morning, Stenning,’ he said. ‘So it’s you. I knew it must be either you or Padder by the flying. Sorry to see you’re hurt.’

I looked down to the grass. ‘It’s a pity this happened,’ I said, and he followed my glance.

‘It was a fair show,’ he remarked. ‘He seems to have shot you up all right. It looked to us as if you didn’t mean to do it.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s probably better this way,’ I said slowly. ‘It was a hanging matter if we’d got him.’

He started. ‘Good Lord—I didn’t know that.’

I looked at him closely. I knew that he was speaking the truth. ‘I don’t suppose you did,’ I said at last. ‘But one way and another he was a pretty bad lot.’

He may have been, but I was to have a curious proof of the great personality and charm that had endeared him to everyone with whom he came in contact. One of the prisoners heard what I said in passing, and halted in defiance of his escort. I heard later that he kept a small chemist’s shop in Blackpool.

‘Who are ye calling a bad lot?’ he snarled. ‘Ye’re a liar, and ye know it. Mister Mattani was a champion man.’

He shot a swift glance at me, extraordinarily vindictive.

‘Ye bloody murderer!’ he said.