The Fog - James Herbert [46]
The policeman had learned long ago never to accept anybody’s word unless there were at least one or two unbiased witnesses to back up their story. There were plenty of nutcases around who loved to create a scene and involve perfectly innocent bystanders and this little fat man didn’t seem at all right in the head. However, these matters had to be investigated and feelings soothed. ‘Just a moment, sir,’ he called to Edward.
‘That’s it, constable,’ the proprietor said with some feeling of satisfaction. ‘He’s a madman. You lock him up.’
‘Yes, officer?’ Edward walked calmly to the two men, a faint look of surprise on his face.
The policeman immediately became suspicious of the fat man still tugging at his elbow. It seemed pretty obvious who the madman was.
‘Er, this man says you assaulted him, sir,’ he said, almost apologetically.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Edward replied, slightly indignant, not ruffled, but as though curious about the insinuation.
‘He says you attacked him, sir.’
‘He did. He’s been chasing me all the way down the street, kicking me.’ The fat man stood immediately behind the policeman, as though expecting another kick at any moment.
‘But officer, there must be some mistake,’ said Edward. ‘I’ve never seen this man before.’
The policeman tried to calm the fat man who was hopping up and down behind him. ‘He’s kicked my bottom black and blue. Do something, constable!’
‘Kicked his – ? Oh, really, officer.’ Edward smiled benignly. ‘I do have to be on my way or l’ll be late for work, but if I can assist you in any way . . .?’
‘Er, just a moment, sir.’ The policeman turned to face the dismayed hotel proprietor. ‘Have you any witnesses?’
‘Well, of course, yes!’ The fat man pointed at the onlookers. Unfortunately, they only chuckled and shook their heads at the policeman.
‘I see,’ the policeman said, putting away his notebook, a weary look on his face.
‘But he did kick me!’ wailed the fat man.
‘I did not,’ said Edward calmly.
‘Well, I’m afraid, sir, there’s nothing I can do unless you have witnesses,’ said the policeman. ‘Now why don’t you go on about your business and let this gentleman go on about his.’ He ignored the outraged spluttering of the proprietor and turned back to Edward, speaking in a confidential tone. ‘I’m sorry about this, sir. It often happens with these people. They see a uniform and immediately use it to make themselves feel important. He’s harmless enough.’
‘I understand, officer,’ said Edward, with concern. It’s quite all right. Really.’
‘They want to be noticed, that’s all.’ The policeman smiled. ‘It’s certainly original, though, saying you kicked his bottom all the way down the street.’
Edward smiled back. ‘Yes, it certainly is.’ Both men shook their heads in wonder.
‘Well, good day to you, sir,’ the policeman half-saluted. ‘He won’t bother you again.’
‘Thank you, officer. Good day.’
As the policeman turned and walked towards his car Edward took two brisk steps after him, swung his foot back, and gave him a hefty kick in the seat of his pants.
Symes looked up at the clock on the wall for the fourth time that morning. Half-past ten and still Smallwood had not shown! The scowling bank manager expected the telephone to ring at any moment and Smallwood’s distraught mother to pour out excuses about the condition of her son’s ill-health as soon as he picked up the receiver. Well, he was coming to the end of his tether with that boy. Boy! He was a grown man, but he acted as though he were sixteen! True, he was conscientious enough, rarely made a mistake in his figures, but he was so godawful slow! And at the slightest sign of illness his mother kept him at home. He knew the previous manager had coddled the big, overgrown schoolboy because he knew the boy’s father, but he certainly was not going to tolerate much more of his constant absenteeism, even though it was a treat not