Arthur & George

from detective fiction. It is what your readers beg, and what you so winningly provide.
Tell us what really happened
.
    ‘Most crimes, Doyle – almost all crimes, in fact – occur without witnesses. The burglar waits for the house to be empty. The murderer waits until his victim is alone. The man who slashes the horse waits for the cover of night. If there is a witness, it is often an accomplice, another criminal. You catch a criminal, he lies. Always. You separate two accomplices, they tell separate lies. You get one to turn King’s evidence, he tells a new sort of lie. The entire resources of the Staffordshire Constabulary could be assigned to a case, and we would never end up knowing
what really happened
, as you put it. I am not making some philosophical argument, I am being practical. What we know, what we end up knowing, is – enough to secure a conviction. Forgive me for lecturing you about the real world.’
    Doyle wondered if he would ever cease being punished for having invented Sherlock Holmes. Corrected, advised, lectured, patronized – when would it ever stop? Still, he must press on. He must keep his temper whatever the provocation.
    ‘But leaving all that aside, Anson. And admitting – as I fear we must admit – that by the end of the evening we may not have shifted one another’s position by one jot or one tittle. What I am asking is this. You believe that a respectable young solicitor, having shown no previous sign of a violent nature, suddenly goes out one night and attacks a pit pony in a most wicked and violent fashion. I ask you simply, Why?’
    Anson groaned inwardly. Motive. The criminal mind. Here we go again. He rose and refilled their glasses.
    ‘You are the one with the paid imagination, Doyle.’
    ‘Yet I believe him innocent. And am unable to make the leap that you have made. You are not in the witness box. We are two English gentlemen sitting over fine brandy and, if I may say so, even finer cigars, in a handsome house in the middle of this splendid county. Whatever you say will remain within these four walls, I give you my word on that. I merely ask: according to you, Why?’
    ‘Very well. Let us start with known facts. The case of Elizabeth Foster, the maid-of-all-work. Where you allege it all began. Naturally, we looked at the case but there simply wasn’t enough evidence to prosecute.’
    Doyle looked at the Chief Constable blankly. ‘I don’t understand. There was a prosecution. She pleaded guilty.’
    ‘There was a private prosection – by the Vicar. And the girl was bullied by lawyers into pleading guilty. Not the sort of gesture to endear you to your parishioners.’
    ‘So the police failed to support the family even then?’
    ‘Doyle, we prosecute when the evidence is there. As we prosecuted when the solicitor himself was victim of an assault. Ah, I see he didn’t tell you that.’
    ‘He does not seek pity.’
    ‘That’s by the by.’ Anson picked a paper from his file. ‘November 1900. Assault by two Wyrley youths. Pushed him through a hedge in Landywood, and one of them also damaged his umbrella. Both pleaded guilty. Fined with costs. Cannock magistrates. You didn’t know he’d been there before?’
    ‘May I see that?’
    ‘Afraid not. Police records.’
    ‘Then at least give me the names of those convicted.’ When Anson hesitated, he added, ‘I can always get my bloodhounds on to the matter.’
    Anson, to Doyle’s surprise, gave a kind of humorous bark. ‘So you’re a bloodhound man too? Oh, very well, they were called Walker and Gladwin.’ He saw that they meant nothing to Doyle. ‘Anyway, we might presume that this was not an isolated occurrence. He was probably assaulted before or after, more mildly perhaps. Doubtless insulted too. The young men of Staffordshire are far from saints.’
    ‘It may surprise you to know that George Edalji specifically rejects race prejudice as the basis of his misfortune.’
    ‘So much the better. Then we may happily leave it on one side.’
    ‘Though of course,’ added Doyle, ‘I do not agree with his analysis.’
    ‘Well, that is your prerogative,’ replied Anson complacently.
    ‘And why is this assault relevant?’
    ‘Because, Doyle, you cannot understand the ending until you know the beginning.’ Anson was now starting to enjoy himself . His blows were hitting home, one by one. ‘George Edalji had good reason to hate the district of Wyrley. Or thought he did.’
    ‘So he took revenge by