“Now you’ve got me. To hear him raving, you’d think he was grown up, such a flow of language. Bible phrases and preaching. I’d say he was a twelve - year - old, but he might only be eight or ten. His development is all out of balance. He’s unhealthy right through.”
“Yes, that is so,” Reggie murmured. “However. You ought to save him.”
“Poor little devil,” said the doctor.
In a bare, grim waiting - room Reggie sat down with Superintendent Bell, and Bell looked anxiety. “Well, sir?”
“Possible. Probable,” Reggie told him. “On the evidence.”
“Ah. Cruel, isn’t it? I hate these child cases.”
“Any more evidence? “Reggie drawled.
Bell stared at his hard calm gloomily. “I have. Plenty.”
The story began with a small boy on the bank of one of the ponds on Blaney Common. That was some time ago. That was the first time anybody in authority had been aware of the existence of Eddie Hill. One of the keepers of the common made the discovery. The pond was that one which children used for the sailing of toy boats. Eddie Hill had no boat, but he loitered round all the morning, watching the boats of other children. There was little wind, and one boat lay becalmed in the middle of the pond when the children had to go home to dinner.
An hour later the keeper saw Eddie Hill wade into the pond and run away. When the children came back from dinner there was no boat to be seen. Its small owner made weeping complaint to the keeper, who promised to keep his eyes open, and some days later found Eddie Hill and his little sister Bessie lurking among the gorse of the common with the stolen boat. It was taken from them and their sin reported to their mother, who promised vengeance.
Their mother kept a little general shop. She had been there a dozen years - ever since she married her first husband. She was well liked and looked up to; a religious woman, regular chapel - goer and all that. Her second husband, Brightman, was the same sort - hardworking, respectable man; been at the chapel longer than she had.
The day - school teachers had nothing against Eddie or the little girl. Eddie was rather more than usually, bright, but dreamy and careless; the girl a bit stodgy. Both of ‘em rather less naughty than most.
“Know a lot, don’t you “Reggie murmured. “Got all this today?”
“No, this was all on record,” Bell said. “Worked out for another business.”
“Oh. Small boy and small girl already old offenders. Go on.”
The other business was at the chapel Sunday school. Eddie Hill, as the most regular of its pupils, was allowed the privilege of tidying up at the end of the afternoon. On a Sunday in the spring the superintendent came in unexpectedly upon the process and found Eddie holding the money - box in which had been collected the contributions of the school to the chapel missionary society.
Eddie had no need nor right to handle the moneybox. Moreover, on the bench beside him were pennies and a sixpence. Such wealth could not be his own. Only the teachers ever put in silver. Moreover, he confessed that he had extracted the money by rattling the box upside down, and his small sister wept for the sin.
The superintendent took him to the police station and charged him with theft.
“Virtuous man,” Reggie murmured.
“It does seem a bit harsh,” Bell said. “But they’d had suspicions about the money - box before. They’d been watching for something like this. Well, the boy’s mother came and tried to beg him off, but of course the case had to go on. The boy came up in the Juvenile Court - you know the way, Mr. Fortune; no sort of criminal atmosphere, magistrate talking like a father. He let the kid off with a lecture.”
“Oh, yes. What did he say? Bringin’ down mother’s grey hairs in sorrow to the grave - wicked boy - goin’ to the bad in this world and the next - anything about hell?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Bell was shocked. “I heard he gave the boy a rare old talking to. I don’t wonder. Pretty bad, wasn’t it, the Sunday - school money - box? What makes you bring hell into it?”
“I didn’t. The boy did. He was raving about hell to - day. Part of the evidence. I was only tracin’ the origin.”
“Ah. I don’t like these children’s cases,” Bell said gloomily. “They don’t seem really human sometimes. You get a twisted kind of child and he’ll talk the most frightful stuff - and do it too. We can only go by acts can we?”
“Yes. That’s the way I’m goin’. Get on.” The sharp impatience of the tone made Bell look at him with some reproach. “All right, sir. The next thing is this morning’s business. I gave you the outline of that on the phone. I’ve got the full details now. This is what it comes to. Eddie and his little sister were seen on the common; the keepers have got to keeping an eye on him. He wandered about with her - he has a casual, drifting sort of way, like some of these queer kids do have - and they came to the big pond. That’s not a children’s place at all; it’s too deep; only dog bathing and fishing. There was nobody near; it was pretty early. Eddie and Bessie went along the bank, and a labourer who was scything thistles says the little girl was crying, and Eddie seemed to be scolding her, and then he fair chucked her in and went in with her. That’s what it looked like to the keeper who was watchin’ ‘em. Him and the other chap, they nipped down and chucked the lifebuoy; got it right near, but Eddie didn’t take hold of it; he was clutching the girl and sinking and coming up again. So the keeper went in to ‘em and had trouble getting ‘em out. The little girl was unconscious, and Eddie sort of fought him.” Bell stopped and gave a look of enquiry, but Reggie said nothing, and his face showed neither opinion nor feeling. “Well, you know how it is with these rescues from the water,” Bell went on. “People often seem to be fighting to drown themselves and it don’t mean anything except fright. And about the boy throwing the girl in - that might have been just a bit of a row or play - it’s happened often - not meant vicious at all; and then he’d panic, likely enough.” Again Bell looked an anxious question at the cold, passionless face. “I mean to say, I wouldn’t have bothered you with it, Mr. Fortune, but for the way the boy carried on when they got him out. There he was with his little sister unconscious, and the keeper doing artificial respiration, and he called out, ‘Don’t do it. Bessie’s dead. She must be dead.’ And the keeper asked him, ‘Do you want her dead, you little devil?’ And he said, ‘Yes, I do. I had to.’ Then the labourer chap came back with help and they got hold of Eddie; he was raving, flinging himself about and screaming if she lived she’d only get like him and go to hell, so she must be dead. While they brought him along here he was sort of preaching to ‘em bits of the Bible, and mad stuff about the wicked being sent to hell and tortures for ‘em.”
“Curious and interestin’,” Reggie drawled. “Any particular torture?”
“I don’t know. The whole thing pretty well gave these chaps the horrors. They didn’t get all the boy’s talk. I don’t wonder. There was something about worms not dying, they told me. That almost turned ‘em up. Well - there you are, Mr. Fortune. What do you make of it?”
“I should say it happened,” Reggie said. “All of it. As stated.”
“You feel sure he could have thrown that fat little girl in? He seemed to me such a weed.”
“Yes. Quite a sound point. I took that point. Development of both children unhealthy. Girl wrongly nourished. Boy inadequately nourished. Boy’s physique frail. However. He could have done it. Lots of nervous energy. Triumph of mind over matter.”
