An End and a Beginning Read Free Page A

two things; the stubble on the chin, and a slight odour.
    â€œSorry,” he said, “but there’s a policeman over there, he’ll know.”
    â€œA policeman? Where the hell am I? I don’t know this place any more.”
    â€œExcuse me—yes—it might be a pub—Tilseys, maybe a café—do you—no—it must be a pub—perhaps a——”
    The railwayman was kind. “Never heard of it,” he said, “but I’ll tell you what. They’re bound to have a telephone. Go into the nearest box and look in the directory, bound to find it. Going that way myself.”
    The two men went down the narrow street. The man stopped, turned round, looked back.
    â€œMuch obliged to you,” he said, and then he saw the policeman begin to move, he was coming his way. The policeman watched, his eye was good, even on a dreary February morning. He had seen the man alight from the tram, seen him accosting people. He hadn’t stopped any women, girls.
    â€œBegging,” he muttered, “that’s it. I don’t like the look of him.” He kept the two men in sight, and saw them stop outside the telephone kiosk. He watched the man go in, the railwayman holding the door. He heard the man speaking.
    â€œMuch obliged.”
    The man shut himself in, the railwayman went off down the street. The policeman was outside the box in an instant, waiting. He saw the man inside do two things: he stared through each of the three windows, then he turned his back and picked up the large directory. This he slowly paged, his finger moving up and down. “Tilseys, that’s T,” the man said, he turned to the T’s again. “Must be here—no, might not have a telephone—damn and blast it. Where is this place? I know. D stands for damn, that’s what it is. Damn!” he cried into the box, and then a sudden noise made him turn round. The door was open, the policeman’s hand on the handle. His own trembled, and the directory crashed to the floor, and as he stooped to pick it up, he banged his head against the steel coin-box. He dropped it twice again before putting it back on the shelf.
    â€œI was looking for the letter T,” he blurted out.
    He left the box, stood to his full height. His cap fell off, the policeman noticed the head and said brusquely, “When?”
    â€œThis morning.”
    â€œHow long in?”
    â€œFifteen years and four days.”
    â€œOh! Come on out of that box and let’s have a look at you.”
    The man, who had suddenly backed into the doorway again, now came right forward. Two passers-by stopped, they were interested.
    â€œGet along,” said the policeman. “None of your business. Be off.”
    They went on, but continued to turn round. They wanted drama. They wanted to see the handcuffs put on. He had just come out, now he was going in again. Higher up the street they stopped. On a miserable winter morning a little drama could be exciting.
    â€œTurn out your pockets. If I think everything’s O.K., I’ll let you go, if not, then I won’t. See? I’m no bloodhound, mister, never was. Fair’s fair.”
    He watched the man draw the papers from his pocket, half of which clouded to the ground.
    â€œH’m! I see,” said the policeman, stooping to pick them up. “Hands not too steady, eh?”
    â€œI was standing outside when the car came up. I was just—trying to plan things, trying to—Prisoner’s Aid—run you where you want to go.”
    â€œHe did, did he?”
    â€œI said,’ Leave me alone.’ He gave me these two envelopes. These . One had five shillings in it.”
    â€œIt did, did it?”
    â€œThe other held this slip of paper. I’m looking for Tilseys. I was searching in the directory just now as you came up.”
    It came out in a frenzied, frightened flood. “I was just looking under the T’s, Tilseys,