Dialogues of the Dead

351 with a book on his knee and on his head a peakless cap which gave him the look of a Russian refugee. 'Why's that?' 'Well, his name was William Minor, he was an American doctor and a prolific and very important contributor of early instances of word usage to what eventually became the Oxford English Dictionary.' 'Fascinating,' said Hat. 'So what's his claim to fame as far as the police are concerned? Found the first use of the word copper, did he?' 'No, I don't think so. It's the fact that he spent the best part of forty years, the years in which he made his contributions to the OED, locked up in Broadmoor for murder.' 'Good God,' said Hat staring with renewed interest at the photograph. Contrary to received opinion that there is no art to read the mind's construction in the face, many of the faces that he'd seen staring back at him from official mug-shot albums seemed to have criminality deeply engraved in every lineament, but this serene figure could have modelled for the Nice Old Gent in The Railway Children. 'And what happened to him in the end?' 'Oh, he went back to America and died,' said Rye. 'You're missing the best bit,' said a new voice. 'As indeed was poor Minor.' They turned to the doorway where Charley Penn had materialized like Loki, the Aesir spirit of malicious mischief, his sardonic smile showing his uneven teeth. How long had he been in eavesdropping distance? wondered Hat. 'Can I help you, Mr Penn?' said Rye with enough frost in her voice to blast a rathe primrose. 'Just looking for Dick,' he said. 'He's in the basement. They're working on the Roman Market Experience.' 'Of course. Per Ardua ad Asda, one might say. I think I'll go and see the fun. Nice to see you again, Mr Bowler.' 'You too,' said Hat, who was working out whether Penn wanted to be asked what was the best bit Rye had missed out, or whether his intention was to provoke the question direct once he'd departed. He made up his mind and called after the retreating writer, 'So what was this best bit I haven't heard?' Penn halted and turned. 'What? Oh yes, about Minor, you mean? Well, it seemed that, despite his advancing years, the poor chap had constant erotic fantasies about naked young women which he found incompatible with his growing belief in God.' 'Yeah? Well, it must happen to a lot of older men,' said Hat with what he felt was commendable sharpness. But Penn didn't look wounded. On the contrary he grinned the saturnine grin and said, 'Surely. But they don't all sharpen their penknives and cut off their dicks, do they? Have a nice day.'

353 Chapter Forty