John Carr - The Reader Is Warned

Pushing open the creaky door, he edged out into an underground passage which was equipped with a small window and a rubbish-bin; and he met Herman Pennik coming down the stairs.

The westering sun was full on Pennik's face through the window, so that for a few seconds Sanders was in shadow. He surprised on Pennik's face a dream; and it was a dream of pure power. Sun touched the thick eyelids and seemed to make the eyes bulge. He was dressed for travelling; neat cap and coat, and he carried a suitcase. Yet he hesitated a little when he saw the little underground room, for he did not ' seem to like little underground rooms. But he had not yet reached the bottom step when a policeman stepped in front of him.

'Yes, sir? And what would you be wanting?' 'I have a fancy, my friend, to attend the Constable inquest.'

'Are you a witness?' '

'No.'

'Press and public not allowed. Up you go, now.'

'I have a fancy to make a statement. I am told that any one who so chooses has a legal right to attend an inquest and give testimony.'

'Not to this one they haven't. Not by my orders.'

'But you don't understand. I am Herman Pennik. I am the fairly well-known person who killed -'

'In that case,' said the constable imperturbably, 'go up to the charge-room and give yourself up. I don't care whom you killed; you've got no business here.'

'Are you trying,' began Pennik, 'to -'

For an instant it was touch and go. He had lifted his thick hand, and he was going to slash it across the constable's face as casually and contemptuously as he might have struck a cobweb out of the way.

But he lowered his hand.

The constable looked at him curiously.

'I don't know what you meant to do, my bucko,' he said, 'but you go trying any games like that and you'll see trouble.'

The door to the inquest-room creaked again. H. M., his fists on his hips, pushed through.

"That's all right, son,' he told the constable. 'Let him come down. The coroner's just about finished in there. And I want to see him.'

Pennik descended the steps. Setting down his suitcase on the floor, he removed his gloves and put them into the pocket of his tan topcoat. He ignored Sanders altogether.

'Ah, so the inquest is over?' he asked. 'I am sorry. I was so unfortunate as to be held up. I go from here to Croydon airport, to save time, which is the reason for the ba

g and -'

'You're sartorial magnificence itself, son,' said H. M., eyeing him. 'I was just wonderin' if you'd turn up.'

'Yes. Now we must try to penetrate your mental defences, Sir Henry,' Pennik spoke with the air of a sympathetic dentist, 'and see what is going on. I confess the decision of the Home Office to hold this inquest in private intrigued me. Particularly, I was curious as to why your friends the newspapers were excluded. I did not see a reporter anywhere. I also wondered whether the whole affair might not be a bait, a challenge, a dare to me.'

H. M. shook his head.

'No, son. I didn't want you to come. I didn't, for a fact. But, now that you're here, I think you might as well come in and hear the verdict.'

'Ah, the effort is to frighten me?1 said Pennik, and laughed in his face. 'Now that is unworthy of you, if I may say so.' In moving closer to H. M. he nearly brushed Sanders's elbow, but remained coolly and contemptuously unconscious of him. 'I have taken legal, counsel. I know quite well, I have established, that I cannot be convicted of any crime whatever.'

'Yes, that's right. You can't be convicted of any crime whatever. But just come in and hear the verdict. That's it. I say, Masters' - he spoke over his shoulder as the chief inspector emerged - 'just take his other arm, will you? We're goin' in to hear the verdict.'

'May I ask what you're doing?'

'We're goin' in to hear the verdict. Phew, you use scent, don't you ? Or is it hair-oil ?'

'Would you mind taking your hand off my arm ?'

'That's right, this way. We'll sit down at the back of the room, where they won't see us.'

' The mutter of noise outside, which had dwindled in the passage, now struck out at them from the inquest-room. Afternoon shadows were gathering in that already dark room, where legs and faces still shifted beyond the windows.

'Well, gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?'

It was remarkable how the jury seemed to come together like a Rugby scrum, and then fold apart again to present a united front. It was at this minute that somebody stuck a flash-bulb and camera against one of the windows r the light glared out into the room, showing Pennik between his two escorts. The foreman, already red in the face, was on his feet. He held a piece of paper, which he contemplated with a scowling brow.

'Mr Coroner.'

'Yes, yes? One moment!'.

This time, outside the windows, there was a, genuine police charge. The legs scattered. As though his wits scattered too, the foreman looked up over his shoulder. Then he settled himself again, grimly.

'Mr Coroner,' he said, 'before we give you our verdict, can I ask a question?'

'Yes, yes, of course, if you really think it is necessary. What did you wish to know?'

'Mr Coroner, are you bound to accept whatever verdict we give you, now?'

'Of course.'

'Well, some of us weren't properly sure,-' persisted the foreman. 'Laws being what they are, with the brewers and all. Is there a kind of judge, or court of appeal, or something like that, that can take back our verdict and say it's n.b.g.?'

'No, certainly not. And I see no reason for such terms or such language, Mr Foreman. This is not a court of law. It is an inquiry, and I must act as you direct. But surely -'

The foreman drew a deep breath, holding up a huge hand to forestall further comment.

'Ah, that's what I wanted to know.' He glanced at the paper in his other hand. 'We, the jury,' he roared from the depths of his throat, 'find that the deceased who came to its death was deliberately murdered by pennik, using a thing called Teleforce...'

The coroner was on his feet. Sanders never forgot the effect of it. In his evident legal agitation the coroner had forgotten the hanging lamp over the table. His forehead struck the edge of the thin white glass shade, which gave out a ringing note like a bell. He reached up to steady the wildly swinging cord of the lamp as he spoke.

'Gentlemen, please, one moment!'

'Told you 'e wouldn't like it, Ted,' said a voice.

'I cannot interfere with your verdict, of course. I have no wish to do so. You are the judges of the facts, not I. But before your verdict is recorded let me beg of you to stop and consider. - You are asking me to commit Mr Pennik for trial on a charge of murder?'

'Yes, Mr Coroner, we are.'

'But do you realize that such a trial would be a farce?

Do you realize that they could not possibly convict him?'

The little red-headed juror stuck out his neck.

"Then they ought to be ashamed of themselves,' he said. 'If a murderer is going to be allowed to run around loose, what's to become of any of us? We don't care what the doctors say. It's in all the papers; all of 'em; and if it's in all the papers it's not politics: it's true. It was even in the Daily Wireless; that ought to be conservative enough for you; interview with a big pot named Sir Henry Somebody. If they can't convict him that's their business, and more shame to 'em; but at least we've done our bit.'

"At's telling him, Charley,' said the approving voice.

'But, gentlemen, for the last time let me implore you to stop and consider! Have you considered, for one thing, how much a trial for murder costs the taxpayers?'

"Ow much?' asked the approving voice, with quick interest.

'Well, that is hardly germane to our inquiry -' 'Ah, but you said it was,' the approving voice pointed out.