“I’ll come in, please,” said Bell.
“Yes, do. Thank you kindly. Mr. Brightman would like to see you. We were just asking mercy.”
She led the way along a passage, shining clean, to a room behind the shop. There a man was on his knees praying, and most of the prayer was texts: “And we shall sing of mercy in the morning. Amen. Amen.” He made an end.
He stood up before them, tall and gaunt, a bearded man with melancholy eyes. He turned to his wife. “What is it, my dear? What do the gentlemen want?”
“It’s about the children, Matthew.” His wife came and took his arm. “It’s the police superintendent, I told you. He was so kind.”
The man sucked in his breath. “Ay, ay. Please sit down. They must sit down, Florrie.” There was a fluster of setting chairs. “This is kind, sir. What can you tell us to - night?”
“Doin’ well. Both of ‘em,” Reggie said,
“There’s our answer, Florrie,” the man said, and smiled, and his sombre eyes glowed. “There’s our prayers answered.”
“Yes. I think they’re going to live,” said Reggie. “But that’s not the only thing that matters. We have to ask how it was they were nearly drowned.”
“It was an accident. It must have been,” the woman cried. “I’m sure Eddie wouldn’t - he never would, would he, Matthew?”
“I won’t believe it,” Brightman answered quickly.
“Quite natural you should feel like that,” Reggie nodded. “However. We have to deal with the facts.”
“You must do what you think right, sir, as it is shown you.” Brightman bent his head.
“Yes, I will. Yes. Been rather a naughty boy, hasn’t he?”
Brightman looked at his wife’s miserable face and turned to them again. “The police know,” he said. “He has been a thief - twice he has been a thief - but little things. There is mercy, surely there is mercy for repentance. If his life is spared, he should not be lost; we must believe that.”
“I do,” Reggie murmured. “Any special reason why he should have been a thief?”
Brightman shook his head. “He’s always had a good home, I’m sure,” the woman moaned. She looked round her room, which was ugly and shabby, but all in the cleanest order.
“What can I say? “Brightman shook his head. “We’ve always done our best for him. There’s no telling how temptation comes, sir, and it’s strong and the little ones are weak.”
“That is so. Yes. How much pocket - money did they have?”
“Eddie has had his twopence a week since he was ten,” Brightman answered proudly. “And Bessie has her penny.”
“I see. And was there anything happened this morning which upset Bessie or Eddie?”
“Nothing at all, sir. Nothing that I know.” Brightman turned to his wife. “They went off quite happy, didn’t they?”
“Yes, of course they did,” she said eagerly. “They always loved to have a day on the common. They took their lunch, and they went running as happy as happy - and then this,” she sobbed.
“My dearie.” Brightman patted her.
“Well, well.” Reggie stood up. “Oh. By the way. Has Eddie - or Bessie - ever stolen anything at home here - money or what not?”
Brightman started and stared at him. “That’s not fair, sir. That’s not a right thing to ask. There isn’t stealing between little ones and their mother and father.”
“No. As you say. No,” Reggie murmured. “Good night. You’ll hear how they go on. Good night.”
“Thank you, sir. We shall be anxious to hear. Good night, sir,” said Brightman, and Mrs. Brightman showed them out with tearful gratitude. As the door was opened, Brightman called: “Florrie! Don’t bolt it. Mrs. Wiven hasn’t come back.”
“I know. I know,” she answered, and bade them good night and shut the door.
A few paces away, Reggie stopped and looked back at the shuttered shop and the dark windows. “Well well. What does the professional mind make of all that?”
