Arthur & George

communications to his small, hushed audience. Arthur had come fully armed with scepticism – until the misted-over eyes were directed towards him, and a frail, distant voice pronounced the words,
    ‘Do not read Leigh Hunt’s book.’
    This was more than uncanny. For some days, Arthur had been privately wondering whether or not to read Hunt’s
Comic Dramatists of the Restoration
. He had not discussed the matter with anyone; and it was hardly a dilemma with which he would bother Touie. But then to be given such a precise answer to his unvoiced question … It could not be a magician’s trick; it could only have happened through the ability of one man’s mind to gain access in a so far inexplicable way to another man’s mind.
    Arthur was so persuaded by the experience that he wrote it up for
Light
. Here was further proof that telepathy worked; for the moment, nothing more. This much so far he had seen: what was the minimum, not the maximum, that could be deduced? Though if reliable data continued to accrue, then more than the minimum might have to be considered. What if all his previous certainties became less certain? And what, for that matter, might the maximum turn out to be?
    Touie regarded her husband’s involvement in telepathy and the spirit world with the same sympathetic and watchful interest that she brought to his enthusiasm for sport. The laws of psychical phenomena seemed to her as arcane as the laws of cricket; but she sensed that with each a certain result was desirable, and amiably presumed that Arthur would inform her when such a result had been obtained. Besides, she was now much absorbed in their daughter, Mary Louise, whose existence had come about through the application of the least arcane and least telepathic laws known to mankind.

George
    George’s ‘apology’ in the newspaper affords the Vicar a new line of inquiry. He calls on William Brookes, the village ironmonger, father of Frederick Brookes, George’s supposed co-signatory. The ironmonger, a small, rotund man in a green apron, takes Shapurji into a storeroom hung with mops and pails and zinc baths. He removes his apron, pulls out a drawer and hands over the half-dozen letters of denunciation his family has received. They are written on the familiar lined paper torn from a notebook; although the penmanship varies more.
    The top letter is in a childish, unconfident scrawl. ‘Unless you run away from the black I’ll murder you and mrs brookes I know your names and I’ll tell you wrote.’ Others are in a hand which, even if disguised, seems more forceful. ‘Your kid and Wynn’s kid have been spitting in an old woman’s face at Walsall station.’ The writer demands that money be sent to Walsall Post Office in recompense. A subsequent letter, pinned to this one, threatens prosecution if the demand is not met.
    ‘I assume you sent no money.’
    ‘Course not.’
    ‘But you showed the letters to the police?’
    ‘Police? Not worth their time or mine. It’s just kids, isn’t it? And as it says in the Bible, sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will ne’er harm me.’
    The Vicar does not correct Mr Brookes’s source. He also senses something idle about the man’s attitude. ‘But you didn’t merely put the letters in a drawer?’
    ‘I asked around a bit. I asked Fred what he knew.’
    ‘Who is this Mr Wynn?’
    Wynn is apparently a draper who lives up the line at Bloxwich. He has a son who goes to school at Walsall with Brookes’s boy. They meet on the train each morning and usually return together. A while ago – the ironmonger does not specify how long – Wynn’s son and young Fred were accused of breaking a carriage window. Both swore it was the work of a boy called Speck, and eventually the railway officials decided not to press charges. This happened a few weeks before the first letter arrived. Perhaps there was some connection. Perhaps not.
    The Vicar now understands Brookes’s lack of zeal in the matter. No, the ironmonger does not know who Speck is. No, Mr Wynn hasn’t received any letters himself. No, Wynn’s boy and Brookes’s boy are not friends with George. This last is hardly a surprise.
    Shapurji describes the exchange to George before supper, and pronounces himself encouraged.
    ‘Why are you encouraged, Father?’
    ‘The more people involved, the more likely the scoundrel is to be discovered. The more people he persecutes, the more probable it is he will make a mistake. Do you know