Kirk, feeling oddly at a disadvantage, in spite of his age and position, waited till Foster had said all he had to say about the Snettisley burglary, and then laid before him the full details of the Talboys affair. The outline of it, Foster of course knew already, since Paggleham was in the Pagford district. In fact, Sellon’s original report had come through to him, only ten minutes after the report from Snettisley. Being unable to be in two places at once, he had then rung up Broxford and asked for instructions. Kirk had told him to proceed to Snettisley; he (Kirk) would personally take charge of the murder. This was just the way Kirk was always standing between him and anything important. On his return to Pagford, he had found a curiously unsatisfactory report from Sellon-and no Sellon, nor any news of him. While he had been digesting this. Kirk had sent for him. Well, here he was: he was ready to listen to anything the Superintendent had to tell ‹him. Indeed, it was really time he was told something.
He did not, however, like what he was told. And it seemed to him, as the disgraceful narrative boomed on, that he was being blamed-for what? For not acting as a wet-nurse to Joe Sellon’s baby, apparently. That was very unfair. Did the Superintendent expect him personally to examine the household budget of every village constable in the Pagford area?
He ought to have seen that this young man had ‘something on his mind’-well, he liked that. Constables were always getting things on their minds-mostly young women, if it wasn’t professional jealousies. He had quite enough to do with the men at the Pagford police-station; when it came to married police-officers in small villages, they ought surely to be supposed capable of looking after themselves. If they couldn’t keep themselves and their families on the very generous pay and allowance then they ought not to have families. He had seen Mrs Sellon-a shiftless girl, he thought, pretty before she was married, and dressed in cheap finery. He distinctly remembered warning Sellon against wedding her. If, when Sellon got into financial difficulties he had come to him (as, he quite agreed, he should have done) he would have reminded Sellon that nothing else was to be expected when one flouted the advice of one’s superior officer. He would also have pointed out that, by knocking off beer and tobacco, a considerable saving of money might be effected, in addition to the saving of one’s soul-always supposing Sellon took any interest in that immortal part of himself. When he (Foster) had been a constable, he had put away a considerable sum out of his pay every week.
‘Kind hearts,’ Kirk was saying, ‘are more than coronets; him as said that lived to wear a coronet himself. Mind you, I ain’t saying as you been any way neglectful of your dooty but it do seem a pity as a young fellow should have his career broke, all for want of a bit of ’elp and guidance. Not to speak of this other suspicion which it’s to be hoped won’t come to anything.’
This was more than Foster could stomach in silence. He explained that he had offered help and guidance at the time of Sellon’s marriage; it had not been well received; ‘I told him he was doing a foolish thing and that the girl would be the ruin of him.’
‘Did you?’ said Kirk, mildly. ‘Well, then, perhaps it’s no wonder he didn’t turn to you when he was in a fix. I dunno as I would myself in his place. You see, Foster, when a young fellow’s made up his mind, it ain’t no good calling the young woman names. You only alienates him and puts yourself in a position where you can’t do no good. When I was courtin’ Mrs K., you don’t think I’d have ’eard a word agen her, not from the Chief Constable himself. Not likely. Just you put yourself in his place.’
Sergeant Foster said briefly that he couldn’t put himself in the place of making a fool of himself over a bit of skirt still less could he understand taking other people’s money, defection from duty and failure to make proper reports to one’s superior officer.
‘I couldn’t make head or tail of the report Sellon sent in. He dropped it in, didn’t seem able to give a proper account of himself to Davidson, who was on duty at the station, and now he’s off somewhere and can’t be found.’
‘What’s that?’
‘He’s not been back home,’ said Sergeant Foster, ‘and he’s neither rung up nor left a message. I shouldn’t be surprised if he’d made tracks.’
‘He was over here, looking for me at 5 o’clock,’ said Kirk unhappily. ‘He brought a report from Pagford.’
‘He wrote that out in the station, I’m told,’ said Foster. ‘And he left a bunch of shorthand stuff; they’re typing it now. Davidson says it doesn’t seem to be complete. I suppose it breaks off at the point where-’
‘What do you expect?’ retorted Kirk. ‘You don’t suppose he’d go on taking down his own confession, do you? Be reasonable… What’s worrying me is, that if he was here at five, we ought to have passed him between here and Paggleham, if he was a-going home. I hope he ain’t rushed off to do something rash. That ’ud be a nice thing, wouldn’t it? Maybe he took the ’bus-but if he did, where’s his bike?’
‘If he took the ’bus he didn’t get home by it,’ said the Sergeant, grimly.
‘His wife must be worrying. I think we’d better have a look-see into this. We don’t want nothing of an unfort’nate nature to ’appen. Now-where could ’e a-got to? You take your bike-no, that won’t do-takes too long, and you’ve had a pretty hard day. I’ll send Hart on his motor-bike, to see if anybody’s seen Sellon round Pillington way-it’s all wood round there-and the river-’
‘You don’t really think-?’
‘I don’t know what to think. I’m going over to see his wife. Shall I give you a lift over? Your bike can be sent back tomorrow. You’ll get the ’bus at Paggleham.’
Sergeant Foster could find nothing to resent in this offer, though his voice sounded injured in accepting it. As far as he could see, there was going to be an unholy row about Joe Sellon, and Kirk, characteristically, was taking steps to see that whatever happened he, Foster, should get the blame. Kirk was relieved when they overtook the local omnibus just outside Paggleham; he could drop his austere companion at once, without suggesting that they should go to Sellon’s place together.
He found Mrs Sellon in what Mrs Ruddle would have called ‘a state of mind’. She looked ready to drop with fright when she opened the door to him, and had evidently been crying. She was fair, pretty in a helpless sort of way, and delicate looking; Kirk noticed, with irritation as well as sympathy, that there was another baby coming. She asked him in, apologising for the state of the room, which was indeed somewhat disorderly. The two-year-old whose arrival in the world was the indirect cause of all Sellon’s misfortunes was ramping noisily about, dragging a wooden horse, whose wheels squeaked. The table was laid for a tea now long overdue.
‘Joe not come in yet?’ said Kirk, pleasantly enough.
‘No,’ said Mrs Sellon. ‘I don’t know what’s gone of him.
Oh, be quiet, Arthur, do!-He’s not been in all day aid his supper’s spoiling… Oh, Mr Kirk! Joe ain’t in any trouble, is he? Martha Ruddle’s been saying such things-Arthur! you bad boy-if you don’t give over I’ll take that horse away from you.’
Kirk captured Arthur and stood him firmly between his own massive knees.
‘Now, you be a good boy,’ he admonished him. ‘Grown a lot, ain’t he? He’ll be getting quite a handful for you. Well, now, Mrs Sellon-I wanted to have a bit of a talk with you about Joe.’
Kirk had the advantage of being a local man, having in fact been born at Great Pagford. He had not seen Mrs Sellon more than twice or thrice before; but he was at least not completely strange and therefore not completely awe-inspiring. Mrs Sellon was induced to pour out her fears and troubles. As Kirk had suspected, she knew about Mr Noakes and his missing note-case. She had not been told of it at the time, naturally; but later, when the weekly payments to Noakes had begun to press heavily on the exchequer, she had wormed it out of Joe. She had gone about in a state of anxiety ever since, fearing that something dreadful would happen. And then, a week ago today, Joe had had to go and tell Mr Noakes he couldn’t pay that week, and came back ‘looking awful’, and saying ‘they were done for now for good and all’. He’d been ‘very queer in his ways’ all the week, and now Mr Noakes was dead and Joe was missing and Martha Ruddle told her there’d been a dreadful quarrel and, ‘oh, I dunno, Mr Kirk, I’m that terrified he may have done something rash.’