A Gun for Sale by Graham Greene Page A

to the police station to meet Mather. The fact that Raven was known to be armed and desperate gave the chase a more serious air than it would otherwise have had. The Chief Constable was fat and excited. He had made a lot of money as a tradesman and during the war had been given a commission and the job of presiding over the local military tribunal. He prided himself on having been a terror to pacifists. It atoned a little for his own home life and a wife who despised him. That was why he had come down to the station to meet Mather: it would be something to boast about at home.
    Mather said, ‘Of course, sir, we don’t
know
he’s here. But he was on the train all right, and his ticket was given up. By a woman.’
    ‘Got an accomplice, eh?’ the Chief Constable asked.
    ‘Perhaps. Find the woman and we may have Raven.’
    The Chief Constable belched behind his hand. He had been drinking bottled beer before he came out and it always repeated itself. The superintendent said, ‘Directly we heard from the Yard we circulated the number of the notes to all shops, hotels and boarding houses.’
    ‘That a map, sir,’ Mather asked, ‘with your beats marked?’
    They walked over to the wall and the superintendent pointed out the main points in Nottwich with a pencil: the railway station, the river, the police station.
    ‘And the Royal Theatre,’ Mather said, ‘will be about there?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘What’s brought ’im to Nottwich?’ the Chief Constable asked.
    ‘I wish we knew, sir. Now these streets round the station, are they hotels?’
    ‘A few boarding houses. But the worst of it is,’ the superintendent said, absent-mindedly turning his back on the Chief Constable, ‘a lot of these houses take occasional boarders.’
    ‘Better circulate them all.’
    ‘Some of them wouldn’t take much notice of a police request. Houses of call, you know. Quick ten minutes and the door always open.’
    ‘Nonsense,’ the Chief Constable said, ‘we don’t have that kind of place in Nottwich.’
    ‘If you wouldn’t mind my suggesting it, sir, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to double the constables on any beats of that kind. Send the sharpest men you’ve got. I suppose you’ve had his description in the evening papers? He seems to be a pretty smart safebreaker.’
    ‘There doesn’t seem to be much more we can do tonight,’ the superintendent said. ‘I’m sorry for the poor devil if he’s found nowhere to sleep.’
    ‘Keep a bottle of whisky here, super?’ the Chief Constable asked. ‘Do us all good to ’ave a drink. Had too much beer. It returns. Whisky’s better, but the wife doesn’t like the smell.’ He leant back in his chair with his fat thighs crossed and watched the inspector with a kind of child-like happiness; he seemed to be saying, what a spree this is, drinking again with the boys. Only the superintendent knew what an old devil he was with anyone weaker than himself. ‘Just a splash, super.’ He said over his glass, ‘You caught that old bastard Baines out nicely,’ and explained to Mather. ‘Street betting. He’s been a worry for months.’
    ‘He was straight enough. I don’t believe in harrying people. Just because he was taking money out of Macpherson’s pocket.’
    ‘Ah,’ the Chief Constable said, ‘but that’s legal. Macpherson’s got an office and a telephone. He’s got expenses to carry. Cheerio, boys. To the ladies.’ He drained his glass. ‘Just another two fingers, super.’ He blew out his chest. ‘What about some more coal on the fire? Let’s be snug. There’s no work we can do tonight.’
    Mather was uneasy. It was quite true there wasn’t much one could do, but he hated inaction. He stayed by the map. It wasn’t such a large place, Nottwich. They ought not to take long to find Raven, but here he was a stranger. He didn’t know what dives to raid, what clubs and dance halls. He said, ‘We think he’s followed someone here. I’d suggest, sir, that