before he spoke.
‘Cyril Ablatt is the best library assistant I’ve ever had the good fortune to have under me,’ he began, ‘and that includes my dear wife, whom you probably saw at the desk when you first arrived. According to the last census, this borough has a population of over 111,000 inhabitants. Not one of them could hold a candle to Cyril. He was tireless. When someone made a request, nothing was too much trouble for him. He built up a reputation for efficiency and amiability. Then, I fear,’ he went on, ‘the war broke out and people looked at him differently. His hard-earned reputation slowly began to crumble.’
‘How did he react to that?’
‘He carried on in the same pleasant and dedicated way – even when some people began to voice their criticism. They couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t join the army and fight for his country. It reached a point where a few of them refused to let him stamp their books.’
‘Did
you
understand his position, sir?’
‘I understood it very well. We discussed it at length in this very office.’
‘And did you approve of what he did?’
‘To be quite candid with you, I didn’t,’ said Fussell, holding the spectacles up to the light so that he could examine the lenses. ‘In times of crisis, pacifism seems quite indefensible. Cyril thought differently, of course, arguing that it was only during a war that pacifism had any real meaning. He could be very persuasive. He’d have made a first-rate public speaker.’
Marmion changed his tack. ‘Is the name Horrie Waldron familiar to you?’
‘It’s eerily familiar.’
‘Does he come in here often?’
‘Thankfully, he doesn’t. You can always tell when he is here by the smell. He never borrows books. He only drops in now and then to read a newspaper.’
‘Do you recall an argument he had with Mr Ablatt?’
‘I do indeed, Inspector. Waldron was obnoxious. If Cyril hadn’t sent him packing, I’d have called the police to remove him.’
‘Would you say that he’s a dangerous man?’
‘When drink is taken, he’s a very dangerous man.’
‘That confirms what I’ve heard,’ said Marmion. ‘By the way, did you know that your assistant went to a meeting of the No-Conscription Fellowship?’
The librarian replaced his spectacles. ‘Yes,’ he said, adjusting them. ‘He showed me their leaflet and sought my opinion. I told him that I thought they were a lot of well-intentioned cranks and that he was better off keeping away from them.’
‘What was his reply?’
Fussell quoted it in exact detail. He and his young assistant had evidently had some lively arguments. As the other man talked at length of Ablatt’s early days at the library, Marmion wondered why he’d taken a dislike to him. The librarian was astute, well qualified and undeniably in command. Yet he somehow annoyed the inspector. It was partly the way that he shifted between a lordly authority and an ingratiating humility. One minute, he was basking in his importance, the next, he was trying to curry favour. Marmion decided that he wouldn’t have liked to work under the man. You never knew what he was thinking.
‘Had he lived,’ said Marmion, ‘we both know what would have happened.’
‘Yes, Inspector, he’d have been conscripted.’
‘The first stage would be an appearance before a tribunal.’
‘Cyril had already worked out what he was going to say.’
‘And what about you, sir?’
Fussell was taken aback. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘Surely, you’d speak up before the tribunal on his behalf.’
‘I hadn’t planned to do so.’
‘But you told me that he was your best assistant.’
‘He was,’ said Fussell, ‘I don’t dispute that. Unfortunately, libraries do not merit inclusion among reserved occupations. There’s nothing that I could say that would be of any help to Cyril.’
‘It’s not what you could say but what you could
do
, sir.’
‘Could you be more explicit?’
‘I’m thinking of it
‘Cyril Ablatt is the best library assistant I’ve ever had the good fortune to have under me,’ he began, ‘and that includes my dear wife, whom you probably saw at the desk when you first arrived. According to the last census, this borough has a population of over 111,000 inhabitants. Not one of them could hold a candle to Cyril. He was tireless. When someone made a request, nothing was too much trouble for him. He built up a reputation for efficiency and amiability. Then, I fear,’ he went on, ‘the war broke out and people looked at him differently. His hard-earned reputation slowly began to crumble.’
‘How did he react to that?’
‘He carried on in the same pleasant and dedicated way – even when some people began to voice their criticism. They couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t join the army and fight for his country. It reached a point where a few of them refused to let him stamp their books.’
‘Did
you
understand his position, sir?’
‘I understood it very well. We discussed it at length in this very office.’
‘And did you approve of what he did?’
‘To be quite candid with you, I didn’t,’ said Fussell, holding the spectacles up to the light so that he could examine the lenses. ‘In times of crisis, pacifism seems quite indefensible. Cyril thought differently, of course, arguing that it was only during a war that pacifism had any real meaning. He could be very persuasive. He’d have made a first-rate public speaker.’
Marmion changed his tack. ‘Is the name Horrie Waldron familiar to you?’
‘It’s eerily familiar.’
‘Does he come in here often?’
‘Thankfully, he doesn’t. You can always tell when he is here by the smell. He never borrows books. He only drops in now and then to read a newspaper.’
‘Do you recall an argument he had with Mr Ablatt?’
‘I do indeed, Inspector. Waldron was obnoxious. If Cyril hadn’t sent him packing, I’d have called the police to remove him.’
‘Would you say that he’s a dangerous man?’
‘When drink is taken, he’s a very dangerous man.’
‘That confirms what I’ve heard,’ said Marmion. ‘By the way, did you know that your assistant went to a meeting of the No-Conscription Fellowship?’
The librarian replaced his spectacles. ‘Yes,’ he said, adjusting them. ‘He showed me their leaflet and sought my opinion. I told him that I thought they were a lot of well-intentioned cranks and that he was better off keeping away from them.’
‘What was his reply?’
Fussell quoted it in exact detail. He and his young assistant had evidently had some lively arguments. As the other man talked at length of Ablatt’s early days at the library, Marmion wondered why he’d taken a dislike to him. The librarian was astute, well qualified and undeniably in command. Yet he somehow annoyed the inspector. It was partly the way that he shifted between a lordly authority and an ingratiating humility. One minute, he was basking in his importance, the next, he was trying to curry favour. Marmion decided that he wouldn’t have liked to work under the man. You never knew what he was thinking.
‘Had he lived,’ said Marmion, ‘we both know what would have happened.’
‘Yes, Inspector, he’d have been conscripted.’
‘The first stage would be an appearance before a tribunal.’
‘Cyril had already worked out what he was going to say.’
‘And what about you, sir?’
Fussell was taken aback. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘Surely, you’d speak up before the tribunal on his behalf.’
‘I hadn’t planned to do so.’
‘But you told me that he was your best assistant.’
‘He was,’ said Fussell, ‘I don’t dispute that. Unfortunately, libraries do not merit inclusion among reserved occupations. There’s nothing that I could say that would be of any help to Cyril.’
‘It’s not what you could say but what you could
do
, sir.’
‘Could you be more explicit?’
‘I’m thinking of it
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