Free The Rise of Henry Morcar by Phyllis Bentley Page A

all the adults began to explain them to him at once. The Inspector showed him ablank page of the record book, ruled in columns for all kinds of weigh-machines, weights and measures, with
C
for
correct
and
I for incorrect,
divided by a thin red line.
    â€œWhat happens if they’re incorrect?” asked Harry.
    The Inspector turned up one of the weights so that the boy could see in its base a deep oblong hole, at the bottom of which were stamped some hieroglyphics.
    â€œThat’s an E.R., you see, for the Crown,” he explained: “And that number means Annotsfield. There’s ’o5, that’s for last year when they were tested, and that letter means the month.”
    â€œBut there’s no month beginning with G,” objected Morcar.
    â€œThey go by the alphabet,” explained the Inspector. “A for January, you know; G for July.”
    â€œAye, it would be about July last year when they were done,” conceded Booth.
    â€œIt’ll be H this time, then,” proffered Morcar.
    â€œThat’s so, my boy. I see you’ve got your head screwed on the right way,” said the Inspector affably. “If they’re incorrect we obliterate the stamp, see? And take them with us to adjust. Unless, of course,” he added gravely: “Some fraud is suspected. Then we seize the weight, and court proceedings would follow. Now then, what about the smaller ones?”
    â€œThere’s some in t’cupboard, Harry,” said Booth, busy with the bars. “On’t top shelf.”
    Harry, stooping, dragged out one by one a rather mixed collection, as it seemed to him, of four, two and half-pound weights; they looked so dirty compared with the Inspector’s gleaming brass that he felt ashamed of them. As he withdrew his head after one of these forages he found that Mr. Shaw had come into the room and was watching the proceedings benevolently. Morcar was glad to be discovered so obviously making himself useful, and only wished there were more and heavier weights to pull out of the cupboard.
    â€œIs that the lot?” enquired the Inspector at last, pencil poised.
    â€œThat’s the lot,” said Booth.
    â€œNo! There’s another here,” cried Harry joyously, diving into the bottom of the cupboard. “A big one.” He drew out with some difficulty a fifty-six-pound weight and displayed it with triumph to the company.
    To his surprise his discovery was not well received. Mr. Shaw coloured and barked: “Where’s that come from?” while the Inspector opened his eyes and observed on a questioning note: “It wasn’t on the list last year.”
    â€œWhere’s it come from, Booth?” repeated Mr. Shaw angrily.
    â€œNay, I don’t know,” said Booth, scratching his head.
    The Inspector turned over the weight and peered into its hole. “Unstamped,” he said.
    â€œHave you seen it before, Booth?” asked Mr. Shaw, his colour deepening.
    â€œI might have—and again I mightn’t. I couldn’t be sure,” muttered Booth cautiously.
    The Inspector, tightening his lips, placed the weight on one of the Crown scale pans; his assistant took the cue and laid a standard weight on the other. The eyes of all were fixed on the anonymous weight, which to Harry’s horror slowly rose while the standard descended.
    â€œLight,” said the Inspector drily, making a note in his book—no doubt, thought the dismayed Harry, he was putting it below the red line. “Any more in that cupboard, young man?”
    â€œNo,” said Harry, shaking his head emphatically. To be completely convincing he threw back the door. The Inspector crouched and peered in. The expression on Mr. Shaw’s face as he watched this was really strange.
    â€œNo,” said the Inspector, rising. “No more here. I’d best take this one back with me for adjustment, Mr. Shaw.”
    â€œAye, do,” said Mr. Shaw