IV
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd felt that he could not go on much longer: his secret was weighing him down. ‚ÄúI mun tell somebody,‚Äù he admitted to himself, ‚Äúor I‚Äôll be going right clean off me dot.‚Äù Some of the others were beginning to ask what was the matter with him. Jimmy Nunn thought he had the look of a man on the fringe‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust on the mere fringe‚ÅÝ‚Äîof stomach trouble: one who ‚Äúwould know about it later on.‚Äù Susie said he was homesick, pining for a sight of Bruddersford. Joe simply shook his head. It was a bad business. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd felt ashamed of himself. He would have to tell somebody but he could not bring himself to do it, and felt worse every day.
They were now at Haxby, playing at The Kursaal, a horribly draughty building that had once been a small roller-skating rink. The audiences were not bad, though apt to be restive and noisy at the back. The town itself, they all agreed, was hateful; a dark and dirty place, full of empty butchers’ shops and men without collars who stood about waiting for the racing specials; and they complained of their lodgings, which were all smelly and uncomfortable, haunted by long-lost cabbages and prickly with old horsehair furniture. It was one of those places in which there is nothing to do during the day. They all hung about or went for listless walks or did some mending or tried to find cheerful company over a bottle of Guinness, and were glad when it was time to walk round to the stage door.
Haxby did not give Mr.¬ÝOakroyd any of the shocks that Winstead had provided, but it seemed to depress him even more. There was something so dark and slinking about it. And his landlady, an elderly woman with a long yellow face, was not at all friendly but appeared to watch his every movement with suspicion. Nobody was better pleased than he was when Haxby was shut out, the lights turned up on the stage, and Inigo was rattling away on the piano, but even at the theatre they noticed he was out of spirits.
On Thursday night, however, he was a changed man. It was Inigo who remarked it first. “Only another three nights in this hole, thank God!” he said, as they were standing together in the wings before the show began. “Every time I come here I pass fifteen little butchers’ shops and every one has nothing but an old, old leg of mutton in the window. I can’t see them again, I really can’t. They turn me up, absolutely, especially as I’m still finishing their elder brother at my digs. Gosh! what a town!”
‚ÄúNay,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd protested, ‚Äúit‚Äôs noan so bad as all that. It‚Äôs not t‚Äôplace I‚Äôd like to come to for my holidays, but I‚Äôve seen waar places ner this i‚Äô me time.‚Äù His voice had quite a new ring in it.
“Hello, hello!” cried Inigo, staring at him. “What’s happened to you, Master Oakroyd? Why are you now our little ray of sunshine? There’s mystery here.”
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd seemed rather confused. ‚ÄúNay, nowt‚Äôs happened‚ÅÝ‚Äîmuch.‚Äù
‚ÄúCome, come, this won‚Äôt do,‚Äù said Inigo. ‚ÄúYou have a hidden life. There must be fairies at the bottom of your garden, as Mrs.¬ÝJoe points out sometimes in the key of E flat. What‚Äôs happened?‚Äù
‚ÄúNowt‚ÅÝ‚Äîonly I met a chap from Bruddersford today.‚Äù
‚ÄúAh‚ÅÝ‚Äîso that‚Äôs it,‚Äù said Inigo. ‚ÄúDo you hear that, Joe? Master Oakroyd‚Äôs himself again because he‚Äôs met a fellow-Bruddersfordian on this desert trail. Let the word go round, and song and cheer be all our what‚Äôs its name.‚Äù And the word did go round, with the result that Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was thoroughly chaffed all the rest of the night. Undoubtedly, they said, the little man had been homesick.
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd did not care what they said. He had a welcoming grin for them all. He was happy again, haunted and hunted no longer. A chance meeting that afternoon had wakened him out of his bad dream.
After dinner (a bad one), he had gone for a stroll round the main streets of the town, smoking his Old Salt and wondering whether it would be worth while having a glass of ale before the pubs closed for the afternoon. Outside the White Hart, the largest pub in the place, he had noticed a little car and there had seemed something familiar about it even at a distance. As soon as he was close enough to see that the back seat of this car had been converted into a kind of large box, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd recognized it at once. He knew that car well for he had spent a whole day working on it. That box arrangement (to hold samples) was nothing less than his own handiwork. And there were the Bruddersford registration letters. That car was the one used by Mr.¬ÝAshworth, one of Higden‚Äôs travellers. Mr.¬ÝAshworth was probably inside the White Hart, where he would be giving a good account of himself, at that very moment.
(And let it be said here and now that this encounter with Mr.¬ÝAshworth does not involve any undue stretching of the arm of coincidence. Those who imagine it does are simply living in ignorance, not being acquainted with the West Riding trade. Every week, travellers, local men with broad shoulders and broader vowels, leave Bruddersford to visit all the towns in this island, to cross the seas to Gothenburg, Amsterdam, Antwerp, Lille, and Milan, to sail round the globe itself and pop up in Sydney or Buenos Aires. Higden‚Äôs is one of the largest firms in Bruddersford, and you might meet a man from Higden‚Äôs anywhere and at any moment.)
Then Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had an inspiration. He would tell his tale to Mr.¬ÝAshworth, who had always had a word for him and was undoubtedly a chap with a head on his shoulders. He entered the White Hart. Mr.¬ÝAshworth was not in the bar and not in the Smoke Room, which meant that he was not downstairs at all, for he was not one of your taproom men. While Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was hesitating, he was asked what he wanted, and was then told that one gent was still having his lunch in the coffee-room upstairs. That was Mr.¬ÝAshworth. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd found him in a corner of the deserted room, eating cheese and biscuits and looking idly at a newspaper.
Mr.¬ÝAshworth, a big man with a vast expanse of red cheeks, several chins, and prominent light blue eyes, glanced towards the approaching figure of Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, then stared at him. ‚ÄúHere,‚Äù he called out, ‚ÄúI know you, don‚Äôt I.‚Äù
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs right, Mr.¬ÝAshworth,‚Äù said the other, walking up. ‚ÄúHow are you getting on?‚Äù
“Why, it’s Oakroyd! What are you doing here? I heard you got stopped at Higden’s. Dam’ shame too, the time you’d been there! Here, sit you down.”
But Mr.¬ÝOakroyd first explained how he came to be in Haxby at all, and then said, in conclusion: ‚ÄúAnd I‚Äôd like to tell you about summat that‚Äôs been right bothering me, Mr.¬ÝAshworth, if you wouldn‚Äôt mind.‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝAshworth, who had probably been rather bored, did not mind at all. ‚ÄúBut we‚Äôre not stopping here, lad,‚Äù he said. ‚ÄúWe‚Äôll find a corner downstairs and have one. Then we can talk in comfort.‚Äù And they went downstairs, had a double whisky and a pint put before them, and then Mr.¬ÝOakroyd plunged into his tale, beginning with his adventures with George, the night before he left Bruddersford, and ending with Leonard‚Äôs letter. ‚ÄúAnd, as you see for yersen, Mr.¬ÝAshworth,‚Äù he concluded, ‚ÄúI‚Äôve done nowt‚ÅÝ‚Äînobbut tearing up me card, that is‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut what wi‚Äô one thing and t‚Äôother it looked to me as if I hadn‚Äôt got a leg to stand on.‚Äù
“But how did they come to be looking for you in Bruddersford?” the other inquired.
‚ÄúAll through that big daft George business,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs t‚Äôonly thing that could ha‚Äô started ‚Äôem. This bobby, you see, Mr.¬ÝAshworth, tells me not to foiler this George, and he sees me face and he knaws where I live, Ogden Street, ‚Äôcos I told him. Nah then, when this chap, George, says after that he‚Äôs been robbed, this bobby remembers me and begins making a few inquiries like, and they find out I‚Äôve taken me hook all of a sudden and that starts ‚Äôem off.‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝAshworth looked at his downcast face for a minute then burst into a sudden and startling roar of laughter. ‚ÄúWell, I‚Äôll be damned! Nay, Oakroyd, lad! That was George Jobley, wasn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
“Ay, that’s t’name. Do yer knaw him?”
‚ÄúKnow him! T‚Äët‚Äët‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù Mr.¬ÝAshworth went on making this t‚Äët‚Äët noise for about two minutes. ‚ÄúI‚Äôd be a sight better off if I didn‚Äôt know him. He‚Äôs had many a quid of mine for something that didn‚Äôt run or couldn‚Äôt run. But I remember that business. It was all nowt. He was in the rats. He‚Äôs never lost any hundred and twenty pound, not he, and he admitted it after. That‚Äôs the bit they never put in the paper, of course.‚Äù
‚ÄúD‚Äôyou mean to say,‚Äù demanded Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, ‚Äút‚Äôpolice hasn‚Äôt tak‚Äôn t‚Äôcase up?‚Äù
“I should think I do mean to say it. Case! There isn’t enough case to make a pigeon egg. If you’ve been fancying yourself as one of these chaps they’re all looking for and can’t catch, you can stop this minute. I don’t care what your lad wrote, it’s all nowt. He’s been reading penny bloods.”
‚ÄúAre you sure, Mr.¬ÝAshworth?‚Äù
“Certain. You can go and walk up and down Woolgate all day tomorrow, and I’ll give you five bob for every time the police look twice at you. Nay,” he concluded in his broadest accent, “they’ve summat better to do than bother wi’ thee, lad.”
‚ÄúWell, by gow! you‚Äôve tak‚Äôn a load off my mind, Mr.¬ÝAshworth,‚Äù cried Mr.¬ÝOakroyd fervently, ‚Äúyou have an‚Äô all! It‚Äôs been spoiling t‚Äôbest job I ivver had. Eh, I don‚Äôt knaw I‚Äôm born nar.‚Äù He rubbed his hands, finished his pint, then relit his pipe. When he saw that his companion had also finished his drink, he said earnestly: ‚ÄúNah you‚Äôll ha‚Äô one wi‚Äô me, Mr.¬ÝAshworth. You‚Äôve right set me up.‚Äù
Five minutes later, deep in his second pint, he observed happily: ‚ÄúYou knaw, Mr.¬ÝAshworth, when I tinkered up that car o‚Äô yours, I nivver thowt I‚Äôd soon be a bit i‚Äô t‚Äôsame line mesen. But we‚Äôre both on t‚Äôroad, aren‚Äôt we?‚Äù He smoked luxuriously for a minute, and then added: ‚ÄúAnd nah there‚Äôs summat I‚Äôve been meaning to ask you all along and I mun do it afore I forget.‚Äù He took a pull at his beer and looked speculatively at his companion over the top of his glass.
“How’s that new centre forrard doing for t’United?”
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was himself again.