communication he knew he had to come with fresh and keen attention. Even those letters chiefly concerned with expressing the writerâs firm belief that the police were certainly incompetent, and probably corrupt, had to be read with the same concentrated care, since there was always the chance that in the midst of the spate of more or less ignorant and ill-informed criticism some useful hint might show itself.
Before Bobby were two trays in which he put any letters he thought worthy of further attention. The first tray, as yet empty, was for those he considered deserved the direct and immediate attention of Superintendent Mitchell himself. The second tray was for letters containing suggestions that seemed worth acting on, or facts worth following up. So far this tray held five letters.
Behind Bobby was another old capacious sugar crate, also requisitioned from the canteen. Into this he dropped in bundles, neatly tied and docketed, those letters that seemed to him purely incoherent, trivial, malicious, or frankly insane. This was nearly full now, and there were times when Bobby, strong man as he was, nearly broke down and wept aloud with sheer boredom of the job.
When lunch-time came, with its promise of happy release for a while, he begged permission to take an extra hour or two, so that he might get a little exercise and fresh air.
âA ten-mile walk is what I want,â he confided to one of the other men. âThose letters will give me a nervous breakdown if I go on with them much longer without a change and the chance to walk âem off a bit in the open air.â
He would make up for it, he explained, when he got back, and he thought he could promise that, even if he did extend his lunch hour, he would be able to finish not only with the letters in hand, but also with the further shoals to be expected by the later posts, before midnight, and have his report ready, together with those letters he thought worth further consideration, for submission first thing next morning, which was all that was necessary. On this understanding, therefore, he was given permission to take as much time as he liked for his lunch; and like a dog let loose from its chain, or a schoolboy released from lessons, he shot off â at a good six miles an hour, honest toe-to-heel walking.
ââEreâs a bloke whatâs after the Brighton record,â one cheeky youngster called after him, and indeed, but for the fear of attracting attention, Bobby would have been not walking at all, but running at top speed, so glad was he to be out in the open, exerting his muscles cramped by so long sitting at his desk, so glad to be able to relieve his eyes from the strain of poring over so many half-illegible scripts.
Almost unconsciously his legs bore him away towards the Brush Hill district that had been so long in his thoughts, and when, presently, he woke up to the direction he had been taking, he put on a little extra speed till finally he arrived once more in Windsor Crescent, his body in a pleasant glow with the exercise, his muscles satisfactorily stretched, his mind blown clear of all the cobwebs his morningâs work had spun therein.
Opposite Tudor Lodge he came to a halt, and, leaning on the gate, he lighted a cigarette and began to smoke it. Everything seemed just the same â a few more scraps of paper blown in by the wind perhaps, another empty tin or two lying about, but nothing more than that. He noticed that the window the football had smashed had not yet been mended. When he had finished his cigarette he decided it was time to get back to that awful treadmill of the anonymous letters, but first, he thought, he would stroll up the drive and back, keeping the while a cautious eye on the front door he more than half expected to see suddenly open to allow egress to some entirely new and still more panic-stricken personage. He noticed that the persevering spider whose work these recent comings and goings had
Before Bobby were two trays in which he put any letters he thought worthy of further attention. The first tray, as yet empty, was for those he considered deserved the direct and immediate attention of Superintendent Mitchell himself. The second tray was for letters containing suggestions that seemed worth acting on, or facts worth following up. So far this tray held five letters.
Behind Bobby was another old capacious sugar crate, also requisitioned from the canteen. Into this he dropped in bundles, neatly tied and docketed, those letters that seemed to him purely incoherent, trivial, malicious, or frankly insane. This was nearly full now, and there were times when Bobby, strong man as he was, nearly broke down and wept aloud with sheer boredom of the job.
When lunch-time came, with its promise of happy release for a while, he begged permission to take an extra hour or two, so that he might get a little exercise and fresh air.
âA ten-mile walk is what I want,â he confided to one of the other men. âThose letters will give me a nervous breakdown if I go on with them much longer without a change and the chance to walk âem off a bit in the open air.â
He would make up for it, he explained, when he got back, and he thought he could promise that, even if he did extend his lunch hour, he would be able to finish not only with the letters in hand, but also with the further shoals to be expected by the later posts, before midnight, and have his report ready, together with those letters he thought worth further consideration, for submission first thing next morning, which was all that was necessary. On this understanding, therefore, he was given permission to take as much time as he liked for his lunch; and like a dog let loose from its chain, or a schoolboy released from lessons, he shot off â at a good six miles an hour, honest toe-to-heel walking.
ââEreâs a bloke whatâs after the Brighton record,â one cheeky youngster called after him, and indeed, but for the fear of attracting attention, Bobby would have been not walking at all, but running at top speed, so glad was he to be out in the open, exerting his muscles cramped by so long sitting at his desk, so glad to be able to relieve his eyes from the strain of poring over so many half-illegible scripts.
Almost unconsciously his legs bore him away towards the Brush Hill district that had been so long in his thoughts, and when, presently, he woke up to the direction he had been taking, he put on a little extra speed till finally he arrived once more in Windsor Crescent, his body in a pleasant glow with the exercise, his muscles satisfactorily stretched, his mind blown clear of all the cobwebs his morningâs work had spun therein.
Opposite Tudor Lodge he came to a halt, and, leaning on the gate, he lighted a cigarette and began to smoke it. Everything seemed just the same â a few more scraps of paper blown in by the wind perhaps, another empty tin or two lying about, but nothing more than that. He noticed that the window the football had smashed had not yet been mended. When he had finished his cigarette he decided it was time to get back to that awful treadmill of the anonymous letters, but first, he thought, he would stroll up the drive and back, keeping the while a cautious eye on the front door he more than half expected to see suddenly open to allow egress to some entirely new and still more panic-stricken personage. He noticed that the persevering spider whose work these recent comings and goings had
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