Free The Advocate's Wife by Norman Russell Page B

scar running across his face from below the right eye to the left corner of the mouth.
    The big man never took his eyes off Box as he knelt down, and produced a set of handcuffs from a greatcoat pocket. A policeman! He secured the unconscious robber’s wrists behind him, and with one hand turned the first robber over on to his back.
    ‘Officer,’ said Box, still with his arms raised obediently above his head, ‘if you’ll feel in the wallet pocket of my jacket, you’ll find my warrant card.’
    From somewhere behind him, Box could hear the murmur ofvoices, and the clatter of boots on bare boards, but he was held fascinated by his rescuer. Who was this man? Why had he followed him so doggedly to Garlick Hill? The big man’s piercing blue eyes were still fixed on Box’s face. The hand that reached into his jacket bore a heavy gold signet ring on the little finger. There was, Box noted, a smear of blood on the knuckles. The hand deftly removed his warrant card.
    Box saw the big man blush deeply before handing him back his card. He lowered his arms, and accepted the warrant without comment. He would stay where he was, and see what the big man would do next.
    ‘Detective Inspector Box, sir, this was hardly the meeting I’d envisaged. I thought it might be you, but I couldn’t be sure. You might have been an accomplice of that scum on the floor.’
    A rear door opened, and the watchmaker entered the shop, accompanied by an elderly police sergeant and a young constable. Two or three timid neighbours crowded in behind them. The sergeant, a slightly stooping man with a humorous eye, saw Box immediately, and saluted. He ignored the big man, who had crossed the room to join the badly shaken shopkeeper and his neighbours.
    ‘Mr Box, sir,’ he said, ‘do you remember me? Sergeant Harvey. I’ve not seen you in ages. Not since that fire at St Olaf’s Stairs. Mr Shulbrede there came running down to us in Upper Thames Street. I see you’ve floored these villains. Well done, sir, if I may say so. Let’s see who we’ve got here.’
    Sergeant Harvey stooped down with his hands on his knees, and peered at the two robbers.
    ‘Well, well! Joseph Jenkins. And Billy “the Weasel” Whetstone. Local talent, sir: our own breeding, these two. Well, lads, you’ve met your match here, by the look of things. Jenkins, you’ve just done a stretch, and now you’ll have to go back in for ever such a long time! And you, Billy! The cart’s on the way for both of you. Anything to say, either of you? No? Well, that’s understandable.’
    Box joined Sergeant Harvey, and looked down in his turn at the two sullen, defeated men, who had been fettered by the constable. The thin chains joining the anklets chinked as they squirmed on the floor. Box’s giant assailant seemed to haveshrunk to an awkward, ageing hulk. His weasel companion was quietly sobbing. What riffraff!
    ‘Joseph Jenkins, hey? And Billy Whetstone?’ said Box. ‘I’ll note those names, gents, and those faces to match. And perhaps you’d care to make a note of me, too? Drag them away, Constable. Here’s your station van now.’
    Sergeant Harvey was leaning against the smashed display case, writing in his notebook.
    ‘Do you want to appear in this, Mr Box? At the Mansion House, I mean. If not, we can enrol you as a witness at the trial. There’ll be a trial, of course. These two are a bit too big for the magistrates.’
    ‘That’ll do nicely, Sergeant Harvey,’ said Box. ‘Put me in as a witness. I’ll send you a note at Upper Thames Street. I’m going down to Essex tomorrow, so I’d rather not appear in this row for the moment.’
    The robbers were hauled to their feet, and shuffled out through the front door, where the police van was waiting. Sergeant Harvey turned at the door, and gave Box a world-wear y but good-humoured smile.
    ‘All in a day’s work, sir. “The trivial round, the common task, should furnish all we need to ask”. Whoever wrote that,