England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction; Journalists -- Fiction
Next morning I had to go to Church House for a meeting. I got the _Daily
Haste_ (which I seldom see) to read in the underground. On the front
page, side by side with murders, suicides, divorces, allied notes, and
Sinn Fein outrages, was a paragraph headed 'The Hobart Mystery. Suspicion
of Foul Play.' It was about how Hobart's sudden death had never been
adequately investigated, and how curious and suspicious circumstances had
of late been discovered in connection with it, and inquiries were being
pursued, and the _Haste_, which was naturally specially interested,
hoped to give more news very soon.
So old Pinkerton was making a journalistic scoop of it. Of course; one
might have known he would.
At my meeting (Pulpit Exchange, it was about) I met Frank Potter. He is a
queer chap--commercial and grasping, like all his family, and dull too,
and used to talk one sick about how little scope he had in his parish,
and so on. Since he got to St. Agatha's he's cheered up a bit, and talks
to me now instead of his big congregations and their fat purses. He's a
dull-minded creature--rather stupid and entirely conventional. He's all
against pulpit exchange, of course; he thinks it would be out of order
and tradition. So it would. And he's a long way keener on order and
tradition than he is on spiritual progress. A born Pharisee, he is
really, and yet with Christianity struggling in him here and there; and
that's why he's rather interesting, in spite of his dullness.
After the meeting I went up to him and showed him the _Haste_.
'Can't this be stopped?' I asked him.
He blinked at it.
'That's what Johnny is up in arms against too,' he said. 'He swears by
this chap who is suspected, and won't hear a word against him.'
'Well,' I said, 'the question is, can Johnny or any one else do anything
to stop it?... I've tried. I spoke to Lady Pinkerton the other day. It
was no use. Can _you_ do anything?'
'I'm afraid not,' he said, rather apathetically. 'You see, my people
believe Gideon killed Hobart, and are determined to press the matter. One
can't blame them, you know, if they really think that. My mother feels
perfectly sure of it, from various bits of evidence she's got hold of,
and won't be happy till the thing is thoroughly sifted. Of course, if
Gideon's innocent, it's best for him, too, to have the thing out, now
it's got so far. Don't you agree?'
'I don't. Why should a man have to waste his time appearing in a criminal
court to answer to a charge of manslaughter or murder which he never
committed? Gideon happens to have other things to do than to make a nine
days' wonder for the press and public.'
I suppose that annoyed Potter rather. He said sharply, 'It's up to the
chap to prove his innocence. Till he does, a great many people will
believe him guilty, I'm afraid.'
'Including yourself, obviously.'
He shrugged his shoulders.
'I've no prejudices either way,' he returned, his emphasis on the
personal pronoun indicating that I, in his opinion, had.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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