It hadn’t occurred to him that was the easiest way, that all you had to do was to surrender, to show you were beaten and accept kindness.… It was lavished on him at once by two women and a pawnbroker. Another policeman appeared, a young man with a sharp incredulous face. He looked as if he noted everything he saw in pocket-books and drew conclusions. A woman offered to see Philip home, but he didn’t trust her: she wasn’t a match for Mrs Baines immobile in the hall. He wouldn’t give his address; he said he was afraid to go home. He had his way; he got his protection. ‘I’ll take him to the station,’ the policeman said, and holding him awkwardly by the hand (he wasn’t married; he had his career to make) he led him round the corner up the stone stairs into the little bare over-heated room where Justice waited.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

JUSTICE WAITED BEHIND a wooden counter on a high stool; it wore a heavy moustache; it was kindly and had six children (‘three of them nippers like yourself’); it wasn’t really interested in Philip, but it pretended to be, it wrote the address down and sent a constable to fetch a glass of milk. But the young constable was interested; he had a nose for things.

‘Your home’s on the telephone, I suppose,’ Justice said. ‘We’ll ring them up and say you are safe. They’ll fetch you very soon. What’s your name, sonny?’

‘Philip.’

‘Your other name.’

‘I haven’t got another name.’ He didn’t want to be fetched; he wanted to be taken home by someone who would impress even Mrs Baines. The constable watched him, watched the way he drank the milk, watched him when he winced away from questions.

‘What made you run away? Playing truant, eh?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You oughtn’t to do it, young fellow. Think how anxious your father and mother will be.’

‘They are away.’

‘Well, your nurse.’

‘I haven’t got one.’

‘Who looks after you, then?’ That question went home. Philip saw Mrs Baines coming up the stairs at him, the heap of black cotton in the hall. He began to cry.

‘Now, now, now,’ the sergeant said. He didn’t know what to do; he wished his wife were with him; even a policewoman might have been useful.

‘Don’t you think it’s funny,’ the constable said, ‘that there hasn’t been an inquiry?’

‘They think he’s tucked up in bed.’

‘You are scared, aren’t you?’ the constable said. ‘What scared you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Somebody hurt you?’

‘No.’

‘He’s had bad dreams,’ the sergeant said. ‘Thought the house was on fire, I expect. I’ve brought up six of them. Rose is due back. She’ll take him home.’