that the hall would be closed during the beadle’s lunch hour, so at half-past one, when he was reasonably certain to have his feet under a table, I resumed my position in the gallery. The afternoon was busy and at first enjoyable. The beadle had dignity. His tone as he explained the dates and named the master craftsmen was sepulchral, fruity, and quite unlike that of the ordinary pattering guide. Conducted parties of visitors went on and on, and by the end of the day I knew his little lecture by heart. In moments of boredom the thing still runs round my head. I wish I could drive it out by listening to one of the Tower wardens at the same game; but state prisoners are not exhibited to the public. A pity. I wouldn’t mind coming to an arrangement with my gaolers whereby I could be examined for half an hour a day at a pound a head, and we would split the proceeds.
When the day was over and the hall locked up, I ate a few biscuits, drank curate’s port with water and tightened my belt. The only shadow of an idea which had come to me was that of borrowing the beadle’s livery coat and making my way through the town in disguise. It seemed worth a trial. The double door of the hall was easy enough to open from the inside; I had merely to pull up the bolts which secured the second half of it.
The chapter offices were empty. On my floor was nothing of interest except a little pantry for making tea, with a large slice of stale cake in it. I ate that - all but a bit which I left, pitted and crumbled, to put the blame on the mice. There was also a box of matches which was invaluable, for I dared not turn on the lights.
Downstairs in the passage was a notice board. The hall was open to visitors from ten to twelve-thirty and two to five, except on Tuesday afternoons when the chapter meetings took place. That meant that my cellar was safe till then, and probably longer — for it was unlikely that bottles and glasses would be produced for routine weekly meetings. In the room bearing outside Ring for Attention was the beadle’s coat and tricorne hat. I put them on and walked out, leaving the front door on the latch in case I wanted to return in a hurry.
It was a little after ten, fairly dark and not too late for a respectable official to be on the streets. My plan was to work round the cathedral in the shadows and thence, by any lanes which looked deserted, to the outskirts of the town. Crossing the close, I was hailed from a distance as ‘Erbert, and asked if I were spy-hunting. I vanished with dignity into a porch and from there slipped round the east end of the cathedral. Out into the reach of dim street lamps again, I was greeted by some cheery soul who waddled out of a pub twenty yards away and asked ‘Erbert for the loan of ‘is ‘at. The only way of escape from him was among the noble eighteenth-century tombstones. In my enthusiasm for any sort of trick which might get me unrecognized out of Saxminster, I had forgotten that everyone in a small town knew everyone else’s business. I fled from cover to cover back to the chapter offices without any further attempts to imitate the walk and bearing of ‘Erbert. Almightily thankful that no one had been near enough to be sure that I was not the beadle, I replaced his garments on the hooks and returned to the hall.
That second night I could not sleep. The floor of the gallery was hard and I was very hungry. I was also ashamed of myself. I had proved myself only half an Englishman when my safety depended on being awake to every nuance and custom. I should have known perfectly well that the beadle’s coat and tricorne came off punctually on the stroke of five. A Latin American functionary would wear his uniform all night in any cafe or public place as a matter of course, but nothing would persuade an Englishman to do so - once he had passed the age of ten.
On the Friday morning, after I had eaten the last crumbs of biscuit with more curate’s port, I
When the day was over and the hall locked up, I ate a few biscuits, drank curate’s port with water and tightened my belt. The only shadow of an idea which had come to me was that of borrowing the beadle’s livery coat and making my way through the town in disguise. It seemed worth a trial. The double door of the hall was easy enough to open from the inside; I had merely to pull up the bolts which secured the second half of it.
The chapter offices were empty. On my floor was nothing of interest except a little pantry for making tea, with a large slice of stale cake in it. I ate that - all but a bit which I left, pitted and crumbled, to put the blame on the mice. There was also a box of matches which was invaluable, for I dared not turn on the lights.
Downstairs in the passage was a notice board. The hall was open to visitors from ten to twelve-thirty and two to five, except on Tuesday afternoons when the chapter meetings took place. That meant that my cellar was safe till then, and probably longer — for it was unlikely that bottles and glasses would be produced for routine weekly meetings. In the room bearing outside Ring for Attention was the beadle’s coat and tricorne hat. I put them on and walked out, leaving the front door on the latch in case I wanted to return in a hurry.
It was a little after ten, fairly dark and not too late for a respectable official to be on the streets. My plan was to work round the cathedral in the shadows and thence, by any lanes which looked deserted, to the outskirts of the town. Crossing the close, I was hailed from a distance as ‘Erbert, and asked if I were spy-hunting. I vanished with dignity into a porch and from there slipped round the east end of the cathedral. Out into the reach of dim street lamps again, I was greeted by some cheery soul who waddled out of a pub twenty yards away and asked ‘Erbert for the loan of ‘is ‘at. The only way of escape from him was among the noble eighteenth-century tombstones. In my enthusiasm for any sort of trick which might get me unrecognized out of Saxminster, I had forgotten that everyone in a small town knew everyone else’s business. I fled from cover to cover back to the chapter offices without any further attempts to imitate the walk and bearing of ‘Erbert. Almightily thankful that no one had been near enough to be sure that I was not the beadle, I replaced his garments on the hooks and returned to the hall.
That second night I could not sleep. The floor of the gallery was hard and I was very hungry. I was also ashamed of myself. I had proved myself only half an Englishman when my safety depended on being awake to every nuance and custom. I should have known perfectly well that the beadle’s coat and tricorne came off punctually on the stroke of five. A Latin American functionary would wear his uniform all night in any cafe or public place as a matter of course, but nothing would persuade an Englishman to do so - once he had passed the age of ten.
On the Friday morning, after I had eaten the last crumbs of biscuit with more curate’s port, I
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