His back was towards the grille when the doctor arrived. Hearing the lock click back, Landon swung round with suddenly flashing eyes, which quickly became lacklustre when he saw who was this visitor. “Well, Landon? How do you feel?” the medico inquired briskly.
“All right, doctor. Is it—is it today?”
With the ball of his index finger on Landon’s pulse, the doctor nodded as the minister had done, as the warder had done. “You’ll want a bracer,” he said less briskly. “I’ve brought you one. It will make things easier.”
When Landon had drunk the draught in the aluminium tumbler he said:
“What is the time, sir?” To which the doctor replied:
“Don’t know. My watch has gone bung. Don’t worry.”
When the doctor had gone Landon leaned against the grille, his fingers clenched round the bars. The recording warder looked stolidly at his book—or appeared to be so doing. “What’s the time, warder?” Landon asked.
The warder made no reply. He was writing in his book.
Presently to Landon came the sound of quick steps of several men in the passage beyond his line of vision. The many footsteps were timed like those of a squad of soldiers. The warder stood up. The man’s eyes appeared as though fixed, even though the lids almost obscured them. He did not look at the prisoner.
Beyond the grille two men appeared dressed in civilian clothes. Things they carried gleamed like polished steel. Behind them stood several warders, the chaplain wearing his surplice, the doctor, the governor.
Whilst the two civilians passed into the cell Landon’s gaze was fixed on the weatherbeaten face of the taller, who walked forward towards him. With the coming of this man, whose face he remembered so well, every weight hanging to his muscles was lifted. He became buoyant with life. The lethargy vanished. He wondered why the tall man regarded him with frozen features. The other man slipped behind him. The tall man gripped Landon’s wrists. He said: “It is a time for courage.”
Then Mick Landon knew. He was not a friend, this tall, powerful man with the halo of grey hair resting on his ears. He was—! He was—! Landon screamed.
“Mr Jelly! Mr Jelly! I won’t go! I tell you, I won’t go, Mr Jelly!”
Mr Jelly’s Business Page 25
