Read Online The Weight of the Evidence by Michael Innes - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Innes
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round about here keep pets?’
4
Outside the university trams charged down the hill. This lot took people to the first house at the Royal, the King’s, the Lyceum. The next lot would take cinemagoers: the Majestic, the Super, the Palace. Then there would be a lot taking people to the second house at the Royal, the King’s, the Lyceum. The trams charged past in a clang of bells, their swaying motion more marked now that they were stubby pencils of light; it was funny that nobody was ever sick on charging and bucketing trams that pencilled and swayed away into distance and became like bits broken off the Neons further on. Further on was lower down too, so you could see from here the city spread in a sort of drab sparkle in the darkness, and you could see a pool of darkness which was a park, and you could see the station and hard bright lights in the shunting-yards beyond the station.
It is odd – thought Appleby, saying good night to Hobhouse – that the mind when tired churns out such flawless modern prose. It is more than odd, he thought as he climbed the stairs of the private hotel; it is more than odd, it is suspicious. He poured chilly water at a Victorian ewer and basin and tried to go on beginning a Hemingway story where he had left off at the shunting-yards. But the plunge of his hands in the cold water woke him and Hemingway became irrelevant and he thought of Aeschylus. Aeschylus might be relevant. He thought of what he had stumbled against in the dusk of the Wool Court. Sisyphus was poppycock. But there might be something in Aeschylus. There might be something in Aeschylus if these people’s minds really worked in that sort of way – but he was inclined to doubt this.
When he went into the dining-room he found himself unexpectedly confronted at table with Professor Hissey. And Hissey recognized him. ‘Appleby?’ he said in amiable surprise. ‘What brings you here? And what has happened to Williams and Merryweather and Grant? And do you ever hear from Harrison? I had a letter about a year ago. The natives, he says, are becoming interested – really interested – in Catullus. I can well believe it. Merryweather, I am sure, is a very capable lecturer. Harrison, that is to say.’ And Professor Hissey ate some soup.
It was rather difficult. Appleby decided to begin with Grant. ‘Grant–’ he said.
‘Williams, my dear fellow’ – Hissey leant across the table confidentially – ‘do you remember Appleby? I have been told a most extraordinary thing. He became a policeman.’
‘Yes,’ said Appleby. ‘I became a policeman.’ It was really very difficult indeed.
‘And do you like it?’ Mr Hissey betrayed no consciousness of there having been any hitch in the conversation. ‘I don’t think I ever had a competent pupil become a policeman before. But some of the very incompetent ones have.’ He ate more soup. ‘In Africa, that is. They go about on motor bicycles. No doubt quite a different thing. We have no wine at table here. But if you care to join me in my room afterwards I can offer you a glass of port, my dear – Appleby.’ And Mr Hissey first smiled at his former pupil in innocent triumph and then looked slowly round the dining-room, rather as if he found it faintly but pervasively unfamiliar. Appleby remembered that Hissey had always been a slightly absent-minded man.
‘I should like a glass of port very much. I think I should say that I have come to Nesfield to inquire into the business of Professor Pluckrose.’
Hissey looked perplexed. ‘Pluckrose?’ he said. ‘I don’t think Piuckrose has a business.’
‘I mean–’
‘Some of them have businesses. Rather surprising in scholars, don’t you think? Crunkhorn is said to own and manage a garage. It perplexes me, I confess. But you’re too late with Pluckrose, anyway. I’ve just remembered. He’s dead.’
‘That’s just it, sir. Pluckrose has died in a mysterious way and I’ve been sent down to inquire into
4
Outside the university trams charged down the hill. This lot took people to the first house at the Royal, the King’s, the Lyceum. The next lot would take cinemagoers: the Majestic, the Super, the Palace. Then there would be a lot taking people to the second house at the Royal, the King’s, the Lyceum. The trams charged past in a clang of bells, their swaying motion more marked now that they were stubby pencils of light; it was funny that nobody was ever sick on charging and bucketing trams that pencilled and swayed away into distance and became like bits broken off the Neons further on. Further on was lower down too, so you could see from here the city spread in a sort of drab sparkle in the darkness, and you could see a pool of darkness which was a park, and you could see the station and hard bright lights in the shunting-yards beyond the station.
It is odd – thought Appleby, saying good night to Hobhouse – that the mind when tired churns out such flawless modern prose. It is more than odd, he thought as he climbed the stairs of the private hotel; it is more than odd, it is suspicious. He poured chilly water at a Victorian ewer and basin and tried to go on beginning a Hemingway story where he had left off at the shunting-yards. But the plunge of his hands in the cold water woke him and Hemingway became irrelevant and he thought of Aeschylus. Aeschylus might be relevant. He thought of what he had stumbled against in the dusk of the Wool Court. Sisyphus was poppycock. But there might be something in Aeschylus. There might be something in Aeschylus if these people’s minds really worked in that sort of way – but he was inclined to doubt this.
When he went into the dining-room he found himself unexpectedly confronted at table with Professor Hissey. And Hissey recognized him. ‘Appleby?’ he said in amiable surprise. ‘What brings you here? And what has happened to Williams and Merryweather and Grant? And do you ever hear from Harrison? I had a letter about a year ago. The natives, he says, are becoming interested – really interested – in Catullus. I can well believe it. Merryweather, I am sure, is a very capable lecturer. Harrison, that is to say.’ And Professor Hissey ate some soup.
It was rather difficult. Appleby decided to begin with Grant. ‘Grant–’ he said.
‘Williams, my dear fellow’ – Hissey leant across the table confidentially – ‘do you remember Appleby? I have been told a most extraordinary thing. He became a policeman.’
‘Yes,’ said Appleby. ‘I became a policeman.’ It was really very difficult indeed.
‘And do you like it?’ Mr Hissey betrayed no consciousness of there having been any hitch in the conversation. ‘I don’t think I ever had a competent pupil become a policeman before. But some of the very incompetent ones have.’ He ate more soup. ‘In Africa, that is. They go about on motor bicycles. No doubt quite a different thing. We have no wine at table here. But if you care to join me in my room afterwards I can offer you a glass of port, my dear – Appleby.’ And Mr Hissey first smiled at his former pupil in innocent triumph and then looked slowly round the dining-room, rather as if he found it faintly but pervasively unfamiliar. Appleby remembered that Hissey had always been a slightly absent-minded man.
‘I should like a glass of port very much. I think I should say that I have come to Nesfield to inquire into the business of Professor Pluckrose.’
Hissey looked perplexed. ‘Pluckrose?’ he said. ‘I don’t think Piuckrose has a business.’
‘I mean–’
‘Some of them have businesses. Rather surprising in scholars, don’t you think? Crunkhorn is said to own and manage a garage. It perplexes me, I confess. But you’re too late with Pluckrose, anyway. I’ve just remembered. He’s dead.’
‘That’s just it, sir. Pluckrose has died in a mysterious way and I’ve been sent down to inquire into
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