The Glass Village

They were all congregated now — every man, woman, and child of the village except the Scott invalids and the hermit of Holy Hill. The women and children huddled on the steps of the church. The men and older boys were deployed in a loose arc formation before them, covering the approach to the church and the drive on its east side where the cellar windows were. Judge Shinn and Mr. Sheare were talking earnestly to Hubert Hemus and Burney Hackett. Ferriss Adams paced nearby, nibbling his fingernails.

Johnny got across to the north corner just as two state police cars and a private car came up Shinn Road from the direction of Comfort at a leisurely gait. They slowed down at the intersection and fanned out a little; then they stopped. Both police cars were full; the passenger car held one man.

The driver of the passenger car, a big stout man in a blue-striped seersucker suit and a new straw hat, got slowly out and stood in the road. He took off his hat and wiped his half-bald head with a big blue polka-dot handkerchief. Large halfmoons of sweat darkened his jacket below the armpits. He kept glancing from the silent crowd before the church to one of the police cars.

Finally a uniformed man joined him. He was sandy-haired, with a red hard face. He wore the insignia of a captain of state police. A gun was holstered at his hip; the flap of the holster was buttoned.

The other police remained in the cars.

The police captain and the stout civilian walked slowly toward the church in the bright sunshine.

Johnny remained where he was. He leaned against the horse trough. But only for a moment. Curiosity made him move again. He crossed over the curve of path that separated the north corner from the church lawn. He stopped near the Sheares.

The troopers had their heads out the car windows, watching in silence.

The police officer and the civilian went up the church walk side by side, very slowly now. They stopped altogether about ten feet from the line of armed men.

“Mornin’, Judge Shinn. Mornin’, folks,” said the stout man. “Heard the terrible news, thought I’d stop by with Captain Frisbee to see what we could do.”

“This is Sheriff Mothless of Cudbury County,” said the Judge. “Constable Burney Hackett, Hubert Hemus, Merton Isbel, Peter Berry, Orville Pangman... Glad to see you, Captain Frisbee. Shake hands with my neighbors.”

The policeman and the sheriff hesitated. Then they came forward and shook hands all around.

“And this is Mr. Ferriss Adams, Fanny Adams’s grand-nephew,” said the Judge. “I think you know the sheriff, Feriss...

The Cudbury lawyer shook the fat hand silently.

“Can’t tell you what a shock it’s been, Mr. Adams,” said Sheriff Mothless, wiping his head again. “Never had the pleasure of meetin’ that grand old lady, but we’ve always been mighty proud of her in this county, mighty proud. Great credit to her town, state, and country. Famous artist, they say. Captain Frisbee and me just stopped down Comfort way at Cy Moody’s parlors and took a real good look at her. Ter’ble. Brutal. I tell you, it like to made my blood boil. Man who’d commit a murder like that don’t deserve any more mercy than a mad yellow dog. And by goshamighty, I’m goin’ to see he gets what’s comin’ to him! And damn quick! Right, Captain Frisbee?”

“No need for you folks to fret any more about him,” said the state policeman. “We’ll take him right off your hands.”

He stopped expectantly.

Nobody moved.

Sheriff Mothless wiped his forehead once more. “Hear you got him locked up in the church cellar,” he said. “Fine work, neighbors! Leaves us nothin’ to do but go on down there, yank him out, and shoot him straight over to the county jail. Easiest manhunt I ever heard of. Hey, Captain?”

“I sure appreciate the help,” said Captain Frisbee. “Well.” He glanced over his shoulder at the police cars, but Sheriff Mothless nudged him, and the policeman turned back.

“Well, it’s gettin’ on,” the sheriff said, glancing at his wrist-watch. “I expect you folks’ll be wantin’ to get into church. So if you’ll all kindly step to one side while Captain Frisbee’s men haul that skunk up out o’ there...”

The sheriff’s heavy voice dribbled off. Not a man or woman had stirred.

Captain Frisbee glanced over his shoulder again, a little impatiently.

“Just a moment, please!” Judge Shinn nudged Ferriss Adams forward.

The Cudbury lawyer faced the villagers with respectful friendliness, as if they were a jury. “Neighbors,” he said, “you all know me. I’ve been coming into Shinn Corners on and off for forty years, since the days when my Aunt Fanny jiggled me on her knee. So I don’t have to tell you there’s nobody in this town wants to see this Kowalczyk, or whatever his name is, pay the penalty for his crime quicker than I do. I’m asking you good folks to hand him over to these officers of the law so they can throw him into one of those escape-proof cells we’ve got in that fine modern county jail in Cudbury. Step aside and let this officer do his duty.”