next moment they were gone, too.
For a few seconds Ben remained motionless behind his post, enjoying the blessed silence, and grateful to the red herring that had started them off again on a wrong scent. But he couldn’t remain motionless for long, in case they came back. And, lummy, wasn’t that somebody coming back? Or was it just a tree dripping? Trees often played tricks on you like that! Yes, it was a tree dripping? No, it wasn’t! A tree goes on dripping in the same place, and this wasn’t sticking to the same place, and he couldn’t be quite certain where the place was, anyhow. Of course, it mightn’t be the copper …
The new approaching sound ceased, then came on again. Ben hesitated no longer. He twisted round and shot up a side path to the back of the building.
At Ben’s next stop, after hitting a back wall—his progress was rather like that of a billiard-ball bouncing off cushions—he found himself facing a back door. Behind him was the back wall off which he had bounced. It was a very high wall, but as it was behind him and he had seen nothing but stars when he had hit it, he did not know that. What he did know was that the back door, set in prison-like bricks, was just ajar. A thin, dark, vertical slit, contrasting with the filmy white mist, indicated the fact.
He could not decide, as he fixed his dizzy gaze on the door, whether the fact was a comfortable or uncomfortable one. A door that is ajar may always be useful to pop into, but you have to remember that before you pop into it, something may pop out of it. There was that time, for instance, when a Chinaman had popped out. And then there was that time when four constables had popped out. And then there was that time when a headless chicken had popped out. Or had that one been a dream? Yes, that one had possibly been a dream, but even so it only went to prove that, waking or sleeping, you could never be sure with a door that was ajar.
The great question of the moment, therefore, was, ‘Do I go in or don’t I?’ He certainly felt very queer, and was quite ready to sit down again. ‘Wunner if them sanderwiches ’as anythink ter do with it?’ he reflected. Perhaps he ought to have explored a bit longer and taken out whatever was inside ’em. You couldn’t be sure with sanderwiches, either. Life teems with uncertainties.
He did not have to wait long to make up his mind. It was made up for him by a sound like a pail being kicked over. He did not know that he had just missed that pail himself—occasionally he was spared something—as he had shot through the side passage, but since the sound came from outside and not from inside, the inside now proved the preferable location, and once more Ben shot and bounced.
But this time he went on bouncing, with the object of bouncing as far away from the back door as possible. He bounced across a dim space, through another doorway, across a black passage, up eight stairs, into a wall, down eight stairs, and then after a dark interval which left no memory, down a stone flight to a basement.
Finally, just to round the incident off, he came to roost on the body of a dead man.
This was an obvious situation for a further bounce, but by now Ben was beyond it. Instead, he removed himself carefully, and then gazed, panting, at the thing he had removed himself from.
It was a well-dressed man lying flat on his back. He had pale cheeks—whether they were normally pale it was impossible to tell—and across one was a very ugly mess. Without this mess, as far as one could judge, the face would not have shown any special distinction. The lips were rather thick and loose, the features rather characterless, though here again judgment could not be final since the spirit behind the features had departed. Light hair sprayed untidily over a bruised forehead … Oh, yes! The man was dead. No doubt whatever about that. Ben was an expert on corpses. They just wouldn’t let him alone.
He recalled the first corpse he had ever come across. He had jumped so high he had nearly hit the ceiling. But now—though, mind you, he still didn’t like them—they usually had a less galvanic effect upon him. He could feel sorry for them as well as for himself. They must have been through a nasty time. This bloke, for instance …
He heard somebody coming down the stairs. The somebody from whose footsteps he had been flying. The somebody who had barged into the pail outside. But Ben did not move. He wasn’t going to run no more, not fer nobody. Not even fer the ruddy ’angman. You get like that, after a time.
‘Hallo! What’s up?’
It was a constable’s phraseology, but it wasn’t a constable’s voice, nor was it the voice of the passer-by who had been with the constable. Someone new. All right, let ’em all come! Ben turned his head slowly, and in the dimness saw a tall, bony man descending towards him. His big boots made a nasty clanging sound on the cold stone. His trousers were baggy. Not neat, like the trousers on the corpse. He had high cheek-bones, which looked even more prominent than they were as they caught the little light that existed in the basement. The light came through a small dirty window set in the wall at the foot of the stairs. His eyebrows were bushy. His hair was black. His nose was crooked. A boxer’s nose. That was a pity.
‘What’s up?’ repeated this unattractive individual.
‘Doncher mean, wot’s dahn?’ replied Ben.
Anyhow, it was easier to talk to this chap than to a bobby.
The newcomer regarded the prone figure on the ground with frowning solemnity. Having reached the bottom of the flight he did not move or speak for several seconds, and suddenly conscious of the length of the pause Ben blinked at his companion curiously. He was not reacting to the situation in a quite normal manner, although Ben could not have put it in those terms. What he would have said was, ‘’E don’t seem ter be be’avin’ nacherel like, if yer git me?’
‘Looks dead,’ the man said at last.
‘’E more’n looks dead,’ replied Ben. ‘’E is dead.’
‘Oh! You know that?’
‘I won’t stop yer, if yer want ter find aht fer yerself.’
The man removed his eyes from the dead to the living.
‘Did you kill him?’ he inquired.
‘I wunnered when that one was comin’,’ answered Ben.
‘Well, did you?’
‘Corse I did. I pops orf anybody ’oose fice I don’t like. That’s why I carry a pocket knife.’
The bushy eyebrows shot up.
‘Bit of a comic, ain’t you?’
‘Fair scream. ’Aven’t yer seen me on the telervishun, Saturday nights?’
‘I must look out for you. Meantime, suppose we stop being funny. What would you do if I went for a policeman?’
‘Well, there’s nothink like tryin’ a thing ter find aht, is there?’
‘True enough, but I reckon I’ll find out a bit more before I try! What did you kill him for?’
‘You
