and clergy were coming in. In front of the little procession came the sixteen choristers themselves, two by two, eight demure couples â pictures of boyish innocence, the blandness of their shining countenances and immaculately parted hair equalled only by the stiffness of their well-starched frills. Pollock felt his erstwhile suspicions to have been unworthy. How could anyone gazing on this display of composite piety entertain even for a moment the thought that they might have been mixed up in the sordid mischief of the past fortnight? How divorced they were from all notions of brutality or violence. It was only when they got closer that Pollock noted that the boy in front of the file on the left had a rich and quite unmistakable black eye.
Behind the boys came what Pollock took to be the choirmen. He had understood from the Dean that they lived in the town, and he therefore passed them over with a cursory inspection; he noted Halliday just behind them, followed at a slight interval by a thin cleric, a stouter cleric and a very stout cleric. The middle one he knew â it was the rustic and unsociable Canon Beech-Thompson. The very stout one he assumed rightly, from the Deanâs description, to be Canon Bloss. The thin one in front baffled him. It might be one of the other residentiary canons â Trumpington or Fox â or it might be the Precentor.
Behind Bloss, and almost entirely obscured by him, came a verger, carrying his wand of office. Behind the verger was the Dean, and behind the Dean a second verger of such patriarchal and benevolent appearance that Pollock put him down without a second thought as Appledown. He was interested to note that the vergers, having shown the Dean and canons into their seats, removed themselves and took up their seats outside the screen, presumably to keep an eye on the seven old ladies.
Halliday was intoning the service and, thought Pollock, doing it very well. He had a fine singing voice, deep and full and confident, and the choir responded to the lead with precision. It was a pleasing scene, comfortable and comforting. His thoughts wandered. How still Canon Bloss was sitting! He did look like a graven image. There were five seats facing the altar, with their backs to the screen. The Dean had one of the two seats on the north side, and Beech-Thompson the other. Canon Bloss occupied a seat and a half out of the three on the south, the others were unoccupied. Assuming that they belonged to Trumpington and Fox, the thin man must be Precentor Hinkey. His Adamâs apple had a fascinating wobble when he attempted a high note. He had a fringe of sandy hair and rimless glasses. Pollock put him down for a kindly and inoffensive soul.
Ah, the Dean had spotted him! He had wondered how long it would be before that happened. He thought he noted a faint look of disapproval on his face, and grinned to himself. So he didnât think that this was quite playing the game, didnât he? Well, that was his look out. Actually he misjudged his uncle. The Deanâs irritation had been caused by the fact that he had seen one of the choristers fidgeting. In fact it looked very much as if the boy at the end of the row had passed something to his neighbour. The Dean frowned and made a mental note that he must have a word with Dr. Smallhorn.
The choir was now embarked on the one hundred and thirty-sixth psalm; the chant was one which Pollock knew and liked, and he overcame his nervousness to the extent of joining in the swinging refrain.
âOh give thanks unto the lord for He is gracious, and His mercy endureth for ever.â
âThe sun to rule by day,â squeaked Cantoris trebles.
âFor His mercy endureth for ever,â roared the basses.
âThe moon and the stars to govern the night,â answered Decani demurely.
âFor His mercy endureth for ever.â
Emboldened by the comforting volume of sound, Pollock tried out his reedy tenor and divided the Red Sea
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