The Soul Of A Policeman
I
Outside, above the uneasy din of the traffic, the sky was gloriouswith the far peace of a fine summer evening. Through the upper paneof the station window Police-constable Bennett, who felt that hissenses at the moment were abnormally keen, recognised with a sinkingheart such reds and yellows as bedecked the best patchwork quilt athome. By contrast the lights of the superintendent's office weresubdued, so that within the walls of the police-station sounds seemedof greater importance. Somewhere a drunkard, deprived of his boots,was drumming his criticism of authority on the walls of his cell.From the next room, where the men off duty were amusing themselves,there came a steady clicking of billiard-balls and dominoes, brokennow and again by gruff bursts of laughter. And at his very elbow thesuperintendent was speaking in that suave voice that reminded Bennettof grey velvet.
"You see, Bennett, how matters stand. I have nothing at all againstyour conduct. You are steady and punctual, and I have no doubt thatyou are trying to do your duty. But it's very unfortunate that as faras results go you have nothing to show for your efforts. During thelast three weeks you have not brought in a charge of any description,and during the same period I find that your colleagues on the beathave been exceptionally busy. I repeat that I do not accuse you ofneglecting your duty, but these things tell with the magistrates andconvey a general suggestion of slackness."
Bennett looked down at his brightly polished boots. His fingers weresandy and there was soft felt beneath his feet.
"I have been afraid of this for some time, sir," he said, "very muchafraid."
The superintendent looked at him questioningly.
"You have nothing to say?" he said.
"I have always tried to do my duty, sir."
"I know, I know. But you must see that a certain number of charges,if not of convictions, is the mark of a smart officer."
"Surely you would not have me arrest innocent persons?"
"That is a most improper observation," said the superintendentseverely. "I will say no more to you now. But I hope you will takewhat I have said as a warning. You must bustle along, Bennett, bustlealong."
Outside in the street, Police-constable Bennett was free to reflecton his unpleasant interview. The superintendent was ambitious andtherefore pompous; he, himself, was unambitious and therefore modest.Left to himself he might have been content to triumph in thereflection that he had failed to say a number of foolish things, butthe welfare of his wife and children bound him, tiresomely enough fora dreamer, tightly to the practical. It was clear that if he did notforthwith produce signs of his efficiency as a promoter of the peacethat welfare would be imperilled. Yet he did not condemn the chancethat had made him a policeman or even the mischance that brought noguilty persons to his hands. Rather he looked with a gentle curiosityinto the faces of the people who passed him, and wondered why hecould not detect traces of the generally assumed wickedness of theneighbourhood. These unkempt men and women were thieves and evenmurderers, it appeared; but to him they shone as happy youths andmaidens, joyous victims of love's tyranny.
As he drew near the street in which he lived this sense of universallove quickened in his blood and stirred him strangely. It did notescape his eyes that to the general his uniform was an unfriendlything. Men and women paused in their animated chattering till he hadpassed, and even the children faltered in their games to watch himwith doubtful eyes. And yet his heart was warm for them; he knew thathe wished them well.
Nevertheless, when he saw his house shining in a row of similarhouses, he realised that their attitude was wiser than his. If he wasto be a success as a breadwinner he must wage a sterner war againstthese happy, lovable people. It was easy, he had been long enough inthe force to know how easy, to get cases. An intolerant manner, alittle provocative harshness, and the thing was done. Yet with allhis heart he admired the poor for their resentful independence ofspirit. To him this had always been the supreme quality of theEnglish character; how could he make use of it to fill English gaols?
He opened the door of his house, with a sigh on his lips. There cameforth the merry shouting of his children.
II
Above the telephone wires the stars dipped at anchor in the cloudlesssky. Down below, in one of the dark, empty streets, Police-constableBennett turned the handles of doors and tested the fastenings ofwindows, with a complete scepticism as to the value of his labours.Gradually, he was coming to see that he was not one of the few whoare born to rule--to control--their simple neighbours, ambitious onlyfor breath. Where, if he had possessed this mission, he would havebeen eager to punish, he now felt no more than a sympathy thatcharged him with some responsibility for the sins of others. Heshared the uneasy conviction of the multitude that human justice, asinterpreted by the inspired minority, is more than a little unjust.The very unpopularity with which his uniform endowed him seemed tohim to express a severe criticism of the system of which he was anunwilling supporter. He wished these people to regard him as a kindof official friend, to advise and settle differences; yet, shrewderthan he, they considered him as an enemy, who lived on their mistakesand the collapse of their social relationships.
There remained his duty to his wife and children, and this renderedthe problem infinitely perplexing.
Why should he punish others because of his love for his children; or,again, why should his children suffer for his scruples? Yet it wasclear that, unless fortune permitted him to accomplish some notableyet honourable arrest, he would either have to cheat and tyrannisewith his colleagues or leave the force. And what employment isavailable for a discharged policeman?
As he went systematically from house to house the consideration ofthese things marred the normal progress of his dreams. Conscious ashe was of the stars and the great widths of heaven that made theworld so small, he nevertheless felt that his love for his family andthe wider love that determined his honour were somehow intimatelyconnected with this greatness of the universe rather than with theworld of little streets and little motives, and so were not lightlyto be put aside. Yet, how can one measure one love against anotherwhen all are true?
When the door of Gurneys', the moneylenders, opened to his touch,and drew him abruptly from his speculations, his first emotion was aquick irritation that chance should interfere with his thoughts. Butwhen his lantern showed him that the lock had been tampered with,his annoyance changed to a thrill of hopeful excitement. What ifthis were the way out? What if fate had granted him compromise, theopportunity of pitting his official virtue against official crime,those shadowy forces in the existence of which he did not believe,but which lay on his life like clouds?
He was not a physical coward, and it seemed quite simple to him tocreep quietly through the open door into the silent office withoutwaiting for possible reinforcements. He knew that the safe, whichwould be the, natural goal of the presumed burglars, was in Mr.Gurney's private office beyond, and while he stood listening intentlyhe seemed to hear dim sounds coming from the direction of that room.For a moment he paused, frowning slightly as a man does when he istrying to catalogue an impression. When he achieved perception, itcame oddly mingled with recollections of the little tragedies of hischildren at home. For some one was crying like a child in the littleroom where Mr. Gurney brow-beat recalcitrant borrowers. Dangerousburglars do not weep, and Bennett hesitated no longer, but steppedpast the open flaps of the counter, and threw open the door of theinner office.
The electric light had been switched on, and at the table there sat aslight young man with his face buried in his hands, crying bitterly.Behind him the safe stood open and empty, and the grate was filledwith smouldering embers of burnt paper. Bennett went up to theyoung man and placed his hand on his shoulder. But the young man wepton and did not move.
Try as he might Bennett could not help relaxing the grip of outragedlaw, and patting the young man's shoulder soothingly as it rose andfell. He had no fit weapon
s of roughness and oppression with which tooppose this child-like grief; he could only fight tears with tears.
"Come," he said gently, "you must pull yourself together."
At the sound of his voice the young man gave a great sob and then wassilent, shivering a little.
"That's better," said Bennett encouragingly, "much better."
"I have burnt everything," the young man said suddenly, "and now theplace is empty. I was nearly sick just now."
Bennett looked at him sympathetically, as one dreamer may look atanother, who is sad with action dreamed too often for scathelessaccomplishment. "I'm afraid you'll get into serious trouble," hesaid.
"I know," replied the young man, "but that blackguard Gurney--" Hisvoice rose to a shrill scream and choked him for a moment. Thenhe went on quietly "But it's all over now. Finished! Done with!"
"I suppose you owed him money?"
The young man nodded. "He lives on fools like me. But he threatenedto tell my father, and now I've just about ruined him. Pah! Swine!"
"This won't be much better for your father," said Bennett gravely.
"No, it's worse; but perhaps it will help some of the others. He kepton threatening and I couldn't wait any longer. Can't you see?"
Over the young man's shoulder the stars becked and nodded to Bennettthrough the blindless window.
"I see," he said; "I see."
"So now you can take me."
Bennett looked doubtfully at the outstretched wrists. "You are only afool," he said, "a dreaming fool like me, and they will give youyears for this. I don't see why they should give a man years forbeing a fool."
The young man looked up, taken with a sudden hope. "You will let mego?" he said, in astonishment. "I know I was an ass just now. Isuppose I was a bit shaken. But you will let me go?"
"I wish to God I had never seen you!" said Bennett simply. "You haveyour father, and I have a wife and three little children. Who shalljudge between us?"
"My father is an old man."
"And my children are little. You had better go before I make up mymind."
Without another word the young man crept out of the room, and Bennettfollowed him slowly into the street. This gallant criminal whosecapture would have been honourable, had dwindled to a hystericalfoolish boy; and aided by his own strange impulse this boy had ruinedhim. The burglary had taken place on his beat; there would be aninquiry; it did not need that to secure his expulsion from the force.Once in the street he looked up hopefully to the heavens; but now thestars seemed unspeakably remote, though as he passed along his beathis wife and his three little children were walking by his side.
III
Bennett had developed mentally without realising the logical resultof his development until it smote him with calamity. Of his betrayalof trust as a guardian of property he thought nothing; of thepossibility of poverty for his family he thought a great deal--allthe more that his dreamer's mind was little accustomed to grippingthe practical. It was strange, he thought, that his final declarationof war against his position should have been a little lacking indignity. He had not taken the decisive step through any deepcompassion of utter poverty bravely borne. His had been no more thantrivial pity of a young man's folly; and this was a frail thing onwhich to make so great a sacrifice. Yet he regretted nothing. Histask of moral guardian of men and women had become impossible to him,and sooner or later he must have given it up. And there was also hisfamily. "I must come to some decision," he said to himself firmly.
And then the great scream fell upon his ears and echoed through hisbrain for ever and ever. It came from the house before which he wasstanding, and he expected the whole street to wake aghast with thehorror of it. But there followed a silence that seemed to emphasisethe ugliness of the sound. Far away an engine screamed as if inmocking imitation; and that was all. Bennett had counted up to ahundred and seventy before the door of the house opened, and a mancame out on to the steps.
"Oh, constable," he said coolly, "come inside, will you? I havesomething to show you."
Bennett mounted the steps doubtfully.
"There was a scream," he said.
The man looked at him quickly. "So you heard it," he said. "It wasnot pretty."
"No, it was not," replied Bennett.
The man led him down the dim passage into the back sitting-room. Thebody of a man lay on the sofa; it was curled like a dry leaf.
"That is my brother," said the man, with a little emphatic nod; "Ihave killed him. He was my enemy."
Bennett stared dully at the body, without believing it to be reallythere.
"Dead!" he said mechanically.
"And anything I say will be used against me in evidence! As if youcould compress my hatred into one little lying notebook."
"I don't care a damn about your hatred," said Bennett, with heat. "Anhour ago, perhaps, I might have arrested you; now I only find youuninteresting."
The man gave a long, low whistle of surprise.
"A philosopher in uniform," he said, "God! sir, you have mysympathy."
"And you have my pity. You have stolen your ideas from cheapmelodrama, and you make tragedy ridiculous. Were I a policeman, Iwould lock you up with pleasure. Were I a man, I should thrash youjoyfully. As it is I can only share your infamy. I too, I suppose, ama murderer."
"You are in a low, nervous state," said the man; "and you are doingme some injustice. It is true that I am a poor murderer; but itappears to me that you are a worse policeman."
"I shall wear the uniform no more from tonight."
"I think you are wise, and I shall mar my philosophy with no moremurders. If, indeed, I have killed him; for I assure you that beyondadministering the poison to his wretched body I have done nothing.Perhaps he is not dead. Can you hear his heart beating?"
"I can hear the spoons of my children beating on their emptyplatters!"
"Is it like that with you? Poor devil! Oh, poor, poor devil!Philosophers should have no wives, no children, no homes, and nohearts."
Bennett turned from the man with unspeakable loathing.
"I hate you and such as you!" he cried weakly. "You justify theexistence of the police. You make me despise myself because I realisethat your crimes are no less mine than yours. I do not ask you todefend the deadness of that thing lying there. I shall stir no fingerto have you hanged, for the thought of suicide repels me, and Icannot separate your blood and mine. We are common children of anoble mother, and for our mother's sake I say farewell."
And without waiting for the man's answer he passed from the house tothe street.
IV
Haggard and with rebellious limbs, Police-constable Bennett staggeredinto the superintendent's office in the early morning.
"I have paid careful attention to your advice," he said to thesuperintendent, "and I have passed across the city in search ofcrime. In its place I have found but folly--such folly as you have,such folly as I have myself--the common heritage of our blood. Itseems that in some way I have bound myself to bring criminals tojustice. I have passed across the city, and I have found no manworse than myself. Do what you will with me."
The superintendent cleared his throat.
"There have been too many complaints concerning the conduct of thepolice," he said; "it is time that an example was made. You will becharged with being drunk and disorderly while on duty."
"I have a wife and three little children," said Bennett softly--"andthree pretty little children." And he covered his tired face with hishands.
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