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Marlowe ignored him. He stood back against the loading bay, still gripping the spade, and smiled at the Negro. 'It's your turn now, pal.'

A grin of unholy joy crossed the Jamaican's face and he moved towards Monaghan. The Irishman spat and doubled his fists and a quiet voice said, 'Now then, what are you trying to do? Turn Barford into a frontier town?'

Marlowe turned his head quickly. The crowd at the end of the alley had melted away and a quiet, middle-aged man was approaching them. He wore a brown gaberdine raincoat and an old blue felt hat. A greying, tobacco-stained moustache added the finishing touch to a sad, spaniel face.

The Jamaican moved quickly to Marlowe's shoulder and whispered, 'Watch yourself. This one's a copper.'

Very carefully Marlowe slipped his right hand behind him and propped the spade up against the wall. He wasn't quite quick enough. The moustache twitched and a humorous expression appeared in the eyes. 'What are you going to do with that, son?' the policeman demanded. 'Plant your rose trees?'

Marlowe grinned amiably. 'How did you guess?'

The moustache twitched again and the policeman turned to Monaghan and said calmly, 'Get out of it you, before I run you in.'

Blackie glared and his mouth half opened as if he was about to speak and then he scrambled up on to the loading bay and disappeared into the warehouse.

The policeman turned to the Jamaican and said, 'Now then, Mac, what started it?'

The Jamaican shrugged. 'Oh, the usual thing, Mr Alpin. They just don't like having me around I guess.'

Alpin nodded soberly and turned his eye speculatively on Marlowe. 'What's your name, son? Where do you fit into this?'

Marlowe shrugged. 'There were three of them working him over. I just stepped in to see fair play. I drive a truck for Mr Magellan, of Litton. Marlowe's my name.'

Alpin nodded towards the spade. 'You certainly believe in shock tactics, don't you.' He shook his head. 'That's the way to end up in the dock on a capital charge.'

The Jamaican picked up his suitcase and they all walked towards the end of the alley. Alpin said, 'What are you going to do now, Mac?'

The Negro shook his head. 'I don't know, Mr Alpin. Maybe I'll try London again. It's hard enough for a white man to get a job in a rural area.'

Alpin nodded. 'Well, I hope you make out all right.' He produced a patent inhaler, inserted it in one nostril and sniffed deeply. 'That's better,' he observed. 'Damned hay fever again.' He blew his nose loudly into a khaki handkerchief and said, 'Well, I've got to be off. If I can do anything for you, Mac, don't hesitate to get in touch.' He nodded to Marlowe. 'Give my regards to Papa Magellan and tell him I was asking after him.' He started to move away and then he paused and added, 'And you keep out of Blacky Monaghan's way, especially on dark nights, and keep away from spades.' He turned without waiting for a reply and walked down towards the square, his raincoat flapping about his legs in the slight breeze.

The Jamaican said quietly, 'He's a good man. It's a pity there aren't more like him.' He sighed deeply and then turned with a smile and held out his hand. 'I haven't thanked you yet, friend. My name's Mackenzie - Henry Mackenzie. Most people just call me Mac.'

Marlowe grasped the proffered hand. 'Hugh Marlowe,' he said. He nodded towards the cafe. 'I was just going in for a coffee. How about joining me?'

Mac nodded and picked up his suitcase and they crossed the road and entered the cafe. The place was crowded, but they managed to find a small table by the window and Marlowe brought two coffees from the counter. He offered the Jamaican a cigarette. 'That was one hell of a smack on the jaw you gave Monaghan. You looked as if you knew how to use yourself.'

Mac grinned. 'I should do. I -came over here as a professional boxer.'

'Do any good?' Marlowe asked.

The Jamaican shrugged. 'I was going great there for a year or two until the night I got in a clinch on the ropes with a guy and fell through. I fractured my foot.' He