‘Now mind,’ he said breathily, for he was one of those fat men who are always slightly out of breath, ‘I know nothing, not one thing, about that man’s business. I’ve ’ad enough questions from the police, and I don’t want any more from you. All I want is to be rid of the ’ole affair. Understood?’

‘Understood,’ said Charles, faintly.

‘Now all I ’ave to do, to be rid of it, is to ’and over what ’e left for you, and then wish you a very good night.’

He looked at Charles sternly.

‘A very good night,’ he repeated. He put a cheap brown envelope in Charles’s hand. Inside it were two florins and a ten shilling note. A scribbled note in Ern’s writing said: ‘we did not have time to share out this evening, you keep mine, i shant need it where im going.’

‘Where is he going?’ he asked the landlord, too dazed to reflect that he had read the note silently, so that the man could not see the connection.

‘It’s where you’re going that interests me,’ came the answering wheeze. ‘Outside. I wish you a very—’

‘All right, all right,’ said Charles. He went down the passage and opened the door. Then he turned and looked at the fat greasy figure who stood staring at him inimically.

‘Thanks at least for giving me what he left for me,’ he said.

‘I’ve told you, I want to be rid of the ’ole affair,’ answered the landlord. He did not even want to claim credit for his honesty. It seemed that caution was the one virtue he recognized.

Charles picked up his bicycle and, too dispirited to mount, wheeled it aimlessly away.

The Warden of the Y.M.C.A. hostel received Charles back without comment or question, and the old routine picked up as smoothly as if it had never stopped. It was all unbelievably depressing, but Charles had decided that before leaving the district he must wait to find out what had happened to Ern. It was only partly a matter of personal loyalty; he had not known Ern long enough to become attached to him, though, since the episode of the bald-headed man, he had trusted him implicitly; his motive was really the desperate need for more light on the situation. His foundations had been knocked from under him, and he felt that at least he must try to build up as clear a picture as possible before making any fresh move.

The only possible course, therefore, was to watch the local paper until it gave details of Ern’s trial. As Stotwell was the county town, the trial would be held at the local assizes. No one seemed to know when this was due to come off, but Charles pinned his faith in the Stotwell Advertiser to tell him what happened.