William the Good (16 page)

‘It’s always from Mr Bergson’s corner that things go,’ said the youngest guest, aged thirteen. ‘I’ve seen all the things just near him and then when you look
again a minute later they aren’t there.’

Everyone turned and stared at Clarence who grew red to the tips of his ears.

‘Well,’ he said at last desperately, ‘I – I’ve had quite a long drive. It – it makes one hungry.’

‘He must have eaten all that pound of biscuits as well as the two dozen iced cakes,’ said the youngest guest dispassionately.

‘Hush dear,’ said her mother, reproachfully, and conversation became general, but Clarence could not help noticing that there seemed to be a tendency to avoid him. And things had
hardly become normal again when he felt once more that painful prod in the back that heralded William’s penetrating whisper:

‘I’ve just been to see him again and—’

‘I’m not giving you anything else,’ hissed Clarence.

‘No. He doesn’t want anything now. He’s too ill to eat now. His ’cussion’s something t’riffic now. They’re awful mad about it. His father’s just
sent for a policeman—’

‘
What?
’

‘To take down all about you knockin’ ’im down, case he dies and you have to go to prison.’

The red-haired girl turned to Clarence.

‘Were you speaking to me, Mr Bergson?’ she said politely.

Clarence took out his mauve silk handkerchief and mopped his brow again.

‘Y-yes,’ he said, ‘I was just remarking what – er – what a beautiful view.’

‘Do you think so?’ said the red-haired girl coldly (she simply couldn’t get over this man’s having eaten two dozen iced cakes and a pound of biscuits). ‘I think
it’s very ordinary.’

William and Ginger had left the bushes. Gorged with cakes and in a state of hazy content they were walking down the road towards a point at the road where a policeman stood directing the very
scanty traffic which came from a side road. They had not finished with Clarence yet. The Outlaws never went in for half measures. On the way they passed a public house called the Staff of Life, and
on a bench just outside lounged an enormous man with cross-eyes and abnormally long arms and wearing a smile which in the distance looked ferocious, but on nearer approach became merely fatuous.
William and Ginger watched him with interest as they passed him and then, forgetting him, approached the policeman.

William assumed his expression of innocence.

‘Please sir,’ he said, ‘there’s a gentleman down there what’s just had his pocket picked. He told me to go’n see if I could find a policeman.’

The policeman took out a pocket-book.

‘Who is he?’ he said eagerly. Evidently he welcomed the interruption. There had only been one cart along the side road in the last three-quarters of an hour.

‘He’s with a picnic party down by the bank,’ said William guilelessly, ‘he’s dressed in a leather coat.’

Then William and Ginger melted silently away. The policeman, still holding his note-book, went down to the bank.

Clarence was just beginning to feel that he was returning to favour. He was talking about his motorcycle.

‘Sixty miles an hour is nothing to me,’ he said, ‘there’s no danger at all to a good driver in sixty miles an hour.’

‘That’s what makes you so hungry, I suppose,’ said the youngest guest, as if a problem which had long been troubling her were solved at last.

Her mother said, ‘Hush, dear,’ and again the atmosphere was slightly strained.

‘How fast did you come here today, Mr Bergson?’ said the youngest guest’s mother, feeling that it was up to her to restore the atmosphere.

Clarence’s complacency dropped from him as he thought of how fast he’d come there.

‘Oh – er – it varied,’ he said absently.

What had that little wretch said? A policeman taking down details! It was a horrible thought. He took out the mauve silk handkerchief and wiped his brow again. His mauve silk handkerchief was
becoming quite damp. And then – his eyes almost started out of his head. Here was the policeman coming down the river bank and right up to him – the policeman who must have come
straight from the bedside of the boy he’d knocked down – with his note-book in his hand.

Clarence didn’t stop to think. He leapt to his feet and took to his heels. The policeman didn’t stop to think either. He saw someone running away from him so, from sheer force of
habit, he ran after him. Along the road by the river bank went Clarence, and behind him in hot pursuit, the stalwart figure of the policeman.

‘Well!’ said the picnic party, giving inadequate expression to its feelings.

‘He seemed to me all afternoon,’ said the girl with red hair, darkly, ‘like a man with something on his mind.’

‘Fancy him being able to run like that,’ said the youngest guest admiringly, ‘when he’s just eaten two dozen iced cakes and a pound of biscuits. I
couldn’t.’

‘Hush, dear,’ said her mother absently.

‘There was something about a murder in this morning’s paper,’ said the girl with red hair. ‘I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he did it.’

‘Surely not,’ objected someone.

‘Well, why should a policeman come for him and he run off like this? Most of these murders in the papers are done by quite ordinary people living quite ordinary lives, you know. He must be
one of them. I expect he’ll have caught him by now. He’ll be hung of course.’

ALL ALONG BY THE RIVER BANK WENT CLARENCE, AND BEHIND HIM IN HOT PURSUIT CAME THE POLICEMAN.

‘Well, he’ll have had a jolly good tuck-in first,’ said the youngest guest.

‘Hush, dear,’ said her mother. ‘Of course it may not be an actual murder. It may be merely robbing a bank or forging a will or something.’

‘I’ve always wanted to know a criminal,’ said the girl with red hair, heaving a sigh of content, ‘and I’ve thought he seemed queer all the afternoon. He’s
been muttering to himself into the bushes and behaving most peculiarly all the time.’

‘Well, if you don’t mind,’ said the youngest guest’s mother, ‘I’ll take girlie home. One doesn’t want to be mixed up in this sort of thing – as a
witness or jury or anything – and one never knows who a murderer will murder next. They say that it sort of grows on them. If he’s overpowered the policeman – and criminals have
the strength of ten men – or is that lunatics? – he may be coming back here in search of fresh victims. He’s probably got homicidal mania – breaking out in spasms, you
know.’

She collected the youngest guest and drifted away.

‘I think I’ll go too,’ said the girl with red hair. ‘I don’t believe in running unnecessary risks and one does hear of such things in the papers. I could tell the
minute I set eyes on him that he wasn’t normal.’

Gradually the other guests followed her example, and when Clarence finally returned panting and breathless, only Miss Holding was left by the river bank among the ruins of the feast. Or rather
only Miss Holding was apparently left, for William and Ginger had returned to their leafy shelter and were watching with interest to see what turn events would take.

‘Well!’ said Miss Holding, as Clarence, holding on to his sides with both hands, came panting up to her and sank on the river bank by her side. ‘What in the world—?

‘A mistake,’ gasped Clarence, ‘he’d heard – that a man – had had his – pocket picked – thought it – was me – mistake.’

‘But why on earth did you run away?’ said Miss Holding.

‘I – I don’t know,’ panted Clarence.

‘I remember once reading about a man who did that,’ said Miss Holding. ‘He’d had an awful dream about a policeman coming for him and the next day he took to his heels as
soon as he set eyes on one.’

‘Yes,’ said Clarence, eagerly accepting the explanation, ‘that was what happened to me. I had a most terrible dream about a policeman last night and as soon as I saw this one
coming up to me my – my dream sort of – came over me again and I – I just ran away. Force of association!’

Miss Holding laughed.

‘Well, I think I can squeeze you out another cup of tea to refresh you and there’s a lot of plain cake left in spite of the mysterious disappearance of the iced ones.’

Clarence lay back on the river bank and smoked cigarettes and drank tea and ate plain cake. Then, refreshed and invigorated, he began to talk again. He began to talk about
himself.

He began to tell her all about his past life – what noble and heroic things he had done and what a noble and heroic character he was. Miss Holding was kind to him. She led him on. The
listeners’ spirits fell. This was not how they had meant their vengeance to end – in this pleasant conversation on the river bank. All they seemed to have done was to have cleared the
stage for Clarence’s courtship.

And it was quite evident that Clarence had completely forgotten his victim who now lay (presumably) in the throes of concussion. They were full of virtuous horror at the thought. Then they
turned and looked at each other – Ginger with the serene, trusting face of one who knows that his leader will evolve some plan, and William with that ferocious scowl which in William
betokened deep thought. Then suddenly the scowl cleared and there flashed across his freckled face the light that betokened inspiration.

‘I’ll just go down to the river and wash this cup,’ Miss Holding was saying. ‘No, don’t move. As a matter of fact I’d much rather wash it myself. I never let
anyone else wash my picnic cups. They don’t do them properly.’

Clarence, nothing loth, remained on the bank in the sunshine while Miss Holding went down to the water. Then – just as Clarence’s thoughts were happily flitting round the attractive
figure that he imagined himself to be cutting – suddenly that awful boy’s face appeared through the bushes again making horrible grimaces. The smile dropped from Clarence’s
face.

‘Go away!’ he hissed, putting out a hand to push William’s face back into the bushes.

‘I’ve just come from him,’ said William. ‘He’s ever so much worse.’

‘It’s not my fault,’ hissed Clarence.

‘I know it isn’t,’ said William sympathetically. ‘I keep tellin’ ’em it wasn’t really your fault an’ that you didn’t run over him on
purpose, but they won’t listen to me. His father’s out lookin’ for you now. He’s an awful man with cross-eyes an’ very long arms. He says he’s going to wring
your neck.’

Clarence went pale, but at that moment Miss Holding returned from washing up the cup, and Clarence, relieved at the sudden disappearance of William’s face, made an effort to entertain her
again. He told her about the time he had made a century at cricket at his prep school, but somehow, despite the fact that she was obviously impressed, he couldn’t put any real zest into the
narrative. Cross-eyed and with very long arms.

Meanwhile William and Ginger were creeping silently away from the bushes. It was not for nothing that the Outlaws played Red Indians nearly every day. Not even the cracking of a twig betrayed
their passage.

Outside on the main road they looked cautiously up and down to see if the policeman (who was presumably thirsting for their blood) was anywhere in sight. To their relief he wasn’t, and to
their still greater relief the cross-eyed man was. He was still sitting on the seat outside the Staff of Life, contemplating the road crossways with his ferocious smile. William assumed his
guileless expression again and they approached him.

‘Please, sir,’ began William politely, ‘would you like a few cakes?’

The man glared at him and at Ginger simultaneously, and smiled his ferocious smile.

‘Wouldn’t mind,’ he admitted, condescendingly.

‘Well,’ went on William, ‘there’s a gentleman an’ a lady havin’ a picnic down on the river bank jus’ behind those bushes, an’ the gentleman told
me to find someone what’d like the cakes what’s left over an’ send ’em to him to fetch ’em.’

The man rose slowly.

‘Well – I don’t mind,’ he said, and set off towards the river bank.

Clarence had passed on from the story of the century he had made at his prep school and was telling her about the time when he’d put a drawing-pin on a master’s chair at his public
school.

Miss Holding seemed very much interested. Everything seemed to be going very nicely. His spirits were gradually rising. He didn’t believe that he’d really hurt the boy or that his
father was out looking for him. ‘Cross-eyed and long arms’ – it was ridiculous. He wouldn’t be surprised if that wretched boy had made up the whole thing.

Then suddenly he stopped short. His eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. A man with cross-eyes and long arms and a ferocious smile was coming down the river bank, towards him. It was true. It
was the boy’s father coming to wring his neck.

With a yell of terror as loud and shrill as a factory siren Clarence leapt to his feet, leapt over the bushes and rushed down the road. He did not stop running till he reached home.

The cross-eyed man and Miss Holding stood gazing after his retreating figure. Then the cross-eyed man turned, and looking simultaneously at Miss Holding and the bushes said with dispassionate
interest:

‘’As somethin’ stung him?’

‘I don’t know
what’s
happened to him,’ said Miss Holding.