man they had arrested. ‘That poor bugger yonder, who you’ve knocked seven bells out of, isn’t Billy Cowburn.’
‘Who the hell is he then?’
‘Well, he’s my husband, mister policeman. That’s Nat Grundy. Looks like Billy bloody Cowburn’s buggered off.’
*
‘Let me see if I understand this correctly,’ said the chief constable, Captain Alexander Bell, who was standing behind his escritoire with both hands behind his
back and gazing up at the plasterwork swirl of the ceiling.
Before him, Constable Jimmy Bowery clutched his helmet to his chest as if it could offer some sort of protection from what was about to be fired his way.
‘You were in charge of two men.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you were to arrest one William Cowburn for violent assault on his daughter.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The suspect duly appearing out of the fog, like a genie from a bottle, as it were.’
‘Dunno ’bout a genie, sir. Looked more like . . .’
‘The simile is immaterial!’ Bell snapped at the unfortunate object of his wrath. He paused, then said, ‘And under your orders, the two constables gave chase when Mr Cowburn
appeared?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And the two constables were still under your orders when they reappeared with someone they had arrested in the alleyway?’
Bowery, who felt it unnecessary to offer a verbal response, opted for silence.
‘Yet this someone was a completely innocent man who just happened to be walking home through the alleyway?’
A nod. He held back the excuse offered by the other two constables – that all these bloody miners looked the same when covered in coal dust.
‘An innocent man whom your men knocked into the middle of next week? So, Constable Bowery, tell me this.’ He walked over and put his face inches from the perspiring constable.
‘Where in God’s name is William Cowburn? Hum?’
‘Don’t know, sir. But we’ve got a notice out to all the lads. Keep a sharp eye out for the bugger.’
Captain Bell smiled, but there was no warmth in it. ‘Sharp eye, eh?’
‘Yes, sir. He’ll turn up. Where can he go?’
His tormentor treated the question as rhetorical. ‘Any idea why he threw his daughter downstairs?’
‘His neighbour said she’d heard a racket earlier when Cowburn got home. Seen a man running past her window. Hell for leather.’
‘What man?’
‘Dunno, sir. She only caught a glimpse. Then Cowburn licks out after ’im. I don’t reckon he was offerin’ him a cup of tea.’
‘How’s the girl?’
‘Paintbrush – I mean, Constable Turner – is up at the infirmary now. I sent him to sit with her till she come round.’ Bowery lowered his helmet as he spoke, quite proud
of this show of initiative on his part.
‘Well, get Constable Turner back and take his place. It’s called clearing up your own mess. It’s what makes us different from animals, constable. Don’t you
think?’
Captain Bell watched Bowery turn and leave the room. Damn the fellow! Time was that such slackness would have brought forth a charge and a spell in an incarceration cell with extra duties and
loss of privileges. Even that was comparatively lenient. There had been a time in the army when incompetence like that shown by Bowery would be punishable by flogging. He even remembered ordering
one feckless individual to be branded, the letters BC on his forehead denoting Bad Character. Only in Constable Bowery’s case it would stand for Bovine Clown.
He glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall of his office. Six-twenty. He was cutting it fine. Of all the nights to be called upon to issue a reprimand! If he moved quickly he just had time
to dress for the theatre. Briskly he lifted his topcoat from the peg by the door and left the room. As he did so, he almost collided with his detective sergeant, Samuel Slevin.
‘Ah, sergeant!’
‘Sir.’
‘You finished for the day?’
‘Yes, sir, unless . . .’
‘Oh no. There’s nothing that can’t wait.’ The chief
‘Who the hell is he then?’
‘Well, he’s my husband, mister policeman. That’s Nat Grundy. Looks like Billy bloody Cowburn’s buggered off.’
*
‘Let me see if I understand this correctly,’ said the chief constable, Captain Alexander Bell, who was standing behind his escritoire with both hands behind his
back and gazing up at the plasterwork swirl of the ceiling.
Before him, Constable Jimmy Bowery clutched his helmet to his chest as if it could offer some sort of protection from what was about to be fired his way.
‘You were in charge of two men.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you were to arrest one William Cowburn for violent assault on his daughter.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The suspect duly appearing out of the fog, like a genie from a bottle, as it were.’
‘Dunno ’bout a genie, sir. Looked more like . . .’
‘The simile is immaterial!’ Bell snapped at the unfortunate object of his wrath. He paused, then said, ‘And under your orders, the two constables gave chase when Mr Cowburn
appeared?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And the two constables were still under your orders when they reappeared with someone they had arrested in the alleyway?’
Bowery, who felt it unnecessary to offer a verbal response, opted for silence.
‘Yet this someone was a completely innocent man who just happened to be walking home through the alleyway?’
A nod. He held back the excuse offered by the other two constables – that all these bloody miners looked the same when covered in coal dust.
‘An innocent man whom your men knocked into the middle of next week? So, Constable Bowery, tell me this.’ He walked over and put his face inches from the perspiring constable.
‘Where in God’s name is William Cowburn? Hum?’
‘Don’t know, sir. But we’ve got a notice out to all the lads. Keep a sharp eye out for the bugger.’
Captain Bell smiled, but there was no warmth in it. ‘Sharp eye, eh?’
‘Yes, sir. He’ll turn up. Where can he go?’
His tormentor treated the question as rhetorical. ‘Any idea why he threw his daughter downstairs?’
‘His neighbour said she’d heard a racket earlier when Cowburn got home. Seen a man running past her window. Hell for leather.’
‘What man?’
‘Dunno, sir. She only caught a glimpse. Then Cowburn licks out after ’im. I don’t reckon he was offerin’ him a cup of tea.’
‘How’s the girl?’
‘Paintbrush – I mean, Constable Turner – is up at the infirmary now. I sent him to sit with her till she come round.’ Bowery lowered his helmet as he spoke, quite proud
of this show of initiative on his part.
‘Well, get Constable Turner back and take his place. It’s called clearing up your own mess. It’s what makes us different from animals, constable. Don’t you
think?’
Captain Bell watched Bowery turn and leave the room. Damn the fellow! Time was that such slackness would have brought forth a charge and a spell in an incarceration cell with extra duties and
loss of privileges. Even that was comparatively lenient. There had been a time in the army when incompetence like that shown by Bowery would be punishable by flogging. He even remembered ordering
one feckless individual to be branded, the letters BC on his forehead denoting Bad Character. Only in Constable Bowery’s case it would stand for Bovine Clown.
He glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall of his office. Six-twenty. He was cutting it fine. Of all the nights to be called upon to issue a reprimand! If he moved quickly he just had time
to dress for the theatre. Briskly he lifted his topcoat from the peg by the door and left the room. As he did so, he almost collided with his detective sergeant, Samuel Slevin.
‘Ah, sergeant!’
‘Sir.’
‘You finished for the day?’
‘Yes, sir, unless . . .’
‘Oh no. There’s nothing that can’t wait.’ The chief
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