Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

On my way home, I ran into Miss Hartnell, who stopped me for at least ten minutes, and in her low-pitched voice berated the short-sightedness and ingratitude of the lower classes.The crux of the matter seemed to be that the poor did not welcome Miss Hartnell into their homes.My sympathy is entirely on their side.Due to my socio-professional constraints, I just expressed my prejudices in a violent way like them. I tried my best to talk her out of it, and then I ran away. Haydock overtook me at the corner of the parsonage road. "I've just sent Mrs. Protheroe home," he cried. He was waiting for me at his door.

"Come in and sit for a while," he said.I agreed. "It's an extraordinary thing," he said, throwing his hat on the chair and opening the door to the operating room. He sat in a worn leather chair, his eyes blank.He appeared distressed and anxious. I told him that we had managed to time the gunfire.He listened intently and breathlessly. "That would get Anne Protheroe off," he said. "Oh, oh, I'm glad they're neither of them. I like them both." I take his word for it, however.Since he likes them both as he says, I'm a little puzzled as to why he's sunk in gloom after they've cleared themselves of conspiracy to commit a crime.This morning he looked like a man unburdened, and now he looks downcast and disturbed.

But I still believe that he is telling the truth.He was fond of Anne Protheroe and Laurence Redding.How, then, could there be this deep gloom?He tried to stand up. "I was going to tell you about Howes. Those things made me forget him." "Is he really sick?" "No fatal illness. Of course, did you know that he suffered from sleeping encephalitis, which is commonly called sleeping sickness?" "About a year ago. He recovered very well - no one has recovered better. It is a strange disease--with a strange effect on one's morals.The whole personality of the affected person may change. "

He was silent for a while, and then said: "We now shudder at the thought of the day when we burned wizards. I trust that hereafter we shall shudder at the thought that criminals have been hanged. " "Do you disapprove of the death penalty?" "Not exactly that," he paused. "You know," he said slowly, "I'd rather have my trade than yours." "why?" "Because your profession is largely concerned with what we call right and wrong—I don't believe in such things at all. Imagine it's all just an endocrine problem. Too much of one endocrine and too little of the other—so there's Murderers, thieves, habitual offenders. Claremont, I believe the time will come when we will be terrified at the thought of punishing people through the ages for sickness--they can't help it, Poor fellows. You don't hang a man for consumption, do you?"

"He is no danger to the public." "In a sense he has. He infects other people. Let's say there is a man who thinks he is the emperor of China, you wouldn't say he is evil. I agree with you about the public. The public has to be affected Protection. Confine such people to a place where they cannot harm society - even mildly exclude them - yes, I can go with that step. But don't punish them and their innocent families shame." I looked at him curiously. "I've never heard you say that before." "I don't usually spread my theories around. Today, I'm feeling it.

You are a wise man, Claremont, some clergymen are not.I bet you wouldn't admit there is no such thing as a 'sin', but you have a forgiving mind to consider the possibility of such a thing. " "It would shake the foundations of all existing ideas," he said. "Yes, we are a narrow-minded, self-righteous bunch, too eager to judge things we know nothing about. I sincerely believe that crime should be the business of doctors, not policemen and priests. In the future, Maybe it won't happen anymore." "Will you cure crime?" "We'll cure crime. What a fantastic idea. Have you studied crime statistics? No—very few have. I have, though, and you'd be surprised by the amount of juvenile delinquency, lo and behold, glands again. Young Nell, the Oxfordshire murderer, was only suspected after killing five little girls. He was a good lad and never got into trouble. Lily Rose, a Cornish girl who killed killed her uncle because he cut down on her sweets. She hit him with a hammer while he was sleeping. Came home and killed her sister half a month later who pissed her off with little things. Of course, neither of them Instead of being hanged, she was sent to a madhouse. Maybe she got better, maybe she didn't. I doubt the girl will recover. The only thing she likes is watching pigs being killed. Do you know when suicides are most common? Fifteen or sixteen. It's not a long step from suicide to killing someone else. But it's not a moral defect, it's a physical defect."

"What you say is terrible!" "No, it's just new to you. New truths have to be faced. One's perceptions have to be adjusted. But sometimes—it makes life hard." He sat there, frowning, still wearing his tired face. "Haydock," said I, "if you suspect—if you know—that a man is a murderer, do you wish to bring that man to justice, or to shield them?" His response to my question was beyond my expectations.He turned to me with anger and suspicion. "What made you say that, Claremont? What's on your mind? Don't think so, man."

"Well, nothing special," I said, rather surprised. "It's just—oh, we've had murder on our minds just now. If you happen to find out the truth—I wonder how you'll feel, that's all." His anger subsided.Again he stared blankly ahead, as if to find the answer to a riddle that had puzzled him, but which existed only in his mind. "If I doubted—if I knew—I would do my duty, Claremont. At least, I hope so." "The question is—what do you think of your duty?" He looked at me with unfathomable eyes. "I think, Claremont, everybody has that problem at some point in their lives. Everyone decides in his own way."

"Don't you know?" "No, I don't know..." I felt better changing the subject. "That nephew of mine was very happy with the case," I said, "and spent his whole time looking for footprints and soot." Haydock smiled. "how old is he?" "Only sixteen. At that age you don't take tragedy so badly. For you it's all Sherlock Holmes and Asher Lupine detective stories." Haydock said thoughtfully: "He's a handsome boy. What are you going to have him do?" "I'm afraid I can't afford a college education. The boy wants to go into business himself. He failed in the Navy."

"Oh—it's a hard life—but his life might have been harder. Yes, it might have been harder." "I have to go," I exclaimed, seeing the time on the alarm clock. "My lunch is almost half an hour late." When I got home, the family had just sat down.They wanted me to tell them all about the morning's events, which I did, and I felt that most of it was disappointing, but Dennis was elated by Mrs. Price Ridley's phone call.Dennis burst into fits of laughter as I described her shock in vivid detail, relying on Brass Lee gin to soothe her nerves. "That spinster deserves it!" he cried. "She's the most loquacious woman around here. I should think of calling her up and surprising her. I say, Uncle Lun, how about making her feel better again?"

I hurriedly begged him not to do such a thing.There's nothing more provocative than young people making good-natured attempts to help you, to show their sympathy, and Dennis's look suddenly changed.He frowned, putting on a well-informed look. "I've been with Lettice most of the morning," he said. "You know, Griselda, she's really worried. She doesn't want to show it, but she is. Really worried. " "I think so," said Griselda, throwing her head up. Griselda doesn't like Lettice Protheroe very much. "I think you've been unfair to Lettice." "Really?" Griselda asked. "Many were not wearing tributes." Griselda said nothing, and neither did I.Dennis continued: "She didn't speak to most people, but she did speak to me. She was very concerned about the whole thing, and she thought, something should be done about it." "She'll learn," I said, "that Inspector Slack thinks the same as she does. He's going to the 'Old House' this afternoon, and maybe, while he tries to find out the truth, he'll give everyone there a hard time." It's been a while." "What do you think the truth is, Len?" asked my wife suddenly. "It's hard to say, dear. I can't say. I've got a clue at this point." "You said Inspector Slack was after that call—the one that lured you to the Abbot's?" "Yes," "but can he do it? Isn't it a tricky business?" "I don't think so. The telephone exchange keeps records of calls." "Oh!" my wife was lost in thought. "Uncle Lun," said my nephew, "I joked this morning that you wanted Colonel Protheroe killed. Why did you get so angry?" "Because," I said, "everything takes time. Inspector Slack has no sense of humor. He'll take your word for it, and maybe question Mary and get evidence for my arrest." "When a man is joking, doesn't he know it too?" "I don't know," I said. "He doesn't know. He got his job by hard work and conscientiousness, which leaves him no time for leisure." "Do you like him, Uncle Lun?" "No," I said, "I don't like it. I hated him the first time I saw him. However, I have no doubt that he is a brilliantly successful man in his profession. " "Do you think he will find out who killed old Protheroe?" "If he can't find out," I said, "it won't be because he didn't try hard enough." Mary came and said: "Mr. Howes wants to see you. I'll tell him to wait in the living room. Here's a note. I want you to answer me. A message is fine." I tore open the note, and it read: Dear Mr. Claremont,—I should be very obliged if you could come and see me this afternoon.I'm in a great situation and would love to hear your opinion. Yours sincerely Estelle Lestrands "Tell her I'll be there in about half an hour," I said to Mary.Then, I went into the living room to see Howes.