Coronation Read Online Free PDF Page B

one direction. The rain poured down upon them and they simply ignored it. For them it didn’t exist. Nothing could dampen their enthusiasm or extinguish their gaiety of spirit, their pride in being British and their joy in being alive that day. The area was full of the sounds of the eternal shuffling of feet, of laughter and chatter, shouts and cries, and one heard the word ‘Everest’ a great deal. Every so often parties holding valid and proper tickets detached themselves from the stream and entered into valid, proper and existing houses where genuine seats were built behind bona fide transparent windows and where no doubt breakfast, lunch and champagne would be served.
    It was obvious to Clagg that there was nothing more to be gained by remaining there. He gathered up his family with a gesture. ‘Come along, let’s get out of here.’
    A gust of wind bounced drops of rain off the helmet of the policeman and ballooned the tan mackintoshes of the two detectives. One of them said, ‘Just a moment, sir. We’d better have those tickets,’ and reached out his hand. From somewhere inside himself the constable produced a note-book and pencil stub, which he shielded from the rain with a cupped hand. ‘I’ll have to have your name and address, sir.’
    Clagg turned upon them angrily. ‘What the devil for? I’ve paid for them! All right, so I’ve got stuck. Can’t you leave us be? We’ve ’ad it! We’re making no complaint.’
    The detective said, ‘Evidence, sir. You want those fellows laid by the heels, don’t you? That’s a cruel hoax they’ve worked. Look at you and your family—’
    Johnny Clagg wailed, ‘I wanted to keep mine as a souvenir.’
    The detective’s hand was still outstretched for them. There was nothing for Clagg to do but give them over. The man inspected them gravely, nodding his head. His partner said, not unkindly, to Johnny, ‘When we’ve done with them we’ll send ’em back to you, if you like. They might just help us to catch those twisters now, mightn’t they?’
    The constable poised his pencil again. ‘Your name please, sir?’
    In his anger it was on the tip of Will Clagg’s tongue to reply, ‘John Smith,’ but he suddenly found his wrath shifting not only to the swine who had perpetrated this filthy trick, but to his cousin Bert as well. Was there not some kind of a law against giving a false name and address to the police? From being an innocent victim of a rotten swindle he was finding himself manoeuvred on to the side of the crooks, not only defending them but on the verge of himself becoming an accomplice by giving a wrong name and address. ‘Will Clagg,’ he replied, ‘No. 56 Imperial Road, Little Pudney.’
    ‘Occupation?’
    ‘Foreman, No. 2 Rolling Mill, Pudney Steel Works.’
    The constable’s eyes rested upon Clagg’s form for an instant in an appraisal that Clagg felt was not unadmiring. In that glance the constable had acknowledged him as a person of worth and importance, and Clagg experienced a moment of warmth for and understanding of the policeman engaged in his duty.
    ‘Wife’s name?’
    ‘Violet Clagg.’
    ‘Wife’s mother or yours?’
    ‘Wife’s. Elsie Bonner.’
    ‘Kids?’
    ‘John J. and Gwendoline R.’
    ‘There now,’ said the policeman having finished his writing, ‘you wouldn’t want to change your mind about that there Bert, would you?’
    For a moment Clagg was tempted. If the crooks might be traced through his cousin . . . Then his loyalty asserted itself again. ‘No!’
    The constable nodded as though he understood and said, ‘If we ever turn those fellows up, you’ll be notified.’
    Clagg merely said, ‘Come on,’ again to his family and they began to move off. The two detectives watched them go with sad, too-wise eyes.
    *
    The three grown-ups, and in particular Will Clagg, were too numbed for the moment by the disaster to know what they were doing or which way they were going. It was bad luck, therefore, that instead