Beyond This Place by A. J. Cronin

Author:A. J. Cronin [Cronin, A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was a handsome room, this library, with a thick cream carpet, many books, and some fine etchings on the walls. Motionless as a statue, Paul had been waiting there for about ten minutes. The prosecutor’s wife had herself shown him in, a pretty woman of about forty, rather pale and delicate, wearing a soft grey dress. He could see that she thought he was from her husband’s office.

“I hope you have no more work for Sir Matthew,” she had remarked with her quiet smile.

Then she had asked him if he would take a glass of sherry and a biscuit. When he refused she smiled again, and went out.

It was very quiet in the room. Then, upstairs, somebody began to practice the piano. One of Chopin’s preludes, number 7, played slowly and with some mistakes. It was a child playing and he could hear talking and laughing. The sound of that piano jarred cruelly upon him. He thought of this man with his beautiful home and his attractive wife and laughing daughters. He thought of the other man in his damp stone cell. He couldn’t bear it any longer. And then he heard the sound of a car. He knew it was Sprott. He sat up straighter than ever. He felt ready for him. The front door opened and shut. There were voices in the hall. A minute later the library door opened.

Paul sat perfectly still as Sir Matthew came in. He looked at him, but didn’t speak. For a moment there was absolute silence. Then Sprott drew himself up.

“What is the reason for this intrusion?” He was very angry. At the same time there was something else in his eyes. Paul could tell immediately that he knew him. “You’ve no right to come here. This is my private residence.”

That remark revealed everything to Paul – the crack hidden away behind the grand façade. He thought: this man has no right to condemn. His brain suddenly became crystal clear. He said slowly:

“When a matter has been waiting for a long time it becomes urgent.”

The veins thickened on the other’s forehead. He did not attempt to approach Paul, but still stood near the door. He summoned all his dignity, was again the actor, delivering appropriate lines.

“I won’t disguise the fact that for some months now I have been notified of your presence, your movements, in this city. You are the son of a life-term convict trying to stir up trouble over a case that was judged fifteen years ago.”

“There are doubts about that case,” Paul said. “There is fresh evidence which should be heard.”

For a moment Sir Matthew’s anger got the better of him, even overlaying that secret shadow of mistrust.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said. “After fifteen years it’s a legal impossibility. Because of your infernal meddling a petition to reopen was placed before the Secretary of State, and he refused categorically.”

“But you need not refuse,” Paul said. “You were the prosecutor. Your main duty is to see that justice is administered.

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