Page:Bailey - Call Mr Fortune (Dutton, 1921).djvu/128



HERE was a silence that might be felt. The judge put on the black cap. The prisoner gave a queer cackle of laughter. And Mr. Reginald Fortune, the surgeon whose evidence had convicted him, yawned and stole out of court. The Sunday School murder, one of the most popular crimes of our generation, had bored Mr. Fortune excessively, and now that the Sunday School Superintendent was safely on his way to the hangman Mr. Fortune desired to forget all about it at once.

He stood on the steps of the Shire Hall, lighting a cigar. A large young man, who had been struggling to get in, detached himself from the guardian policeman and ran at him. "Fortune! My God!" he said emotionally. "I thought I'd never get at you. I say, come somewhere where we can talk."

Mr. Fortune looked down through his smoke with sleepy eyes. "One moment. One moment," he murmured. "Oh, ah. You're Charlecote—Beaver Charlecote. Well, and what's the best with you, Beaver?"