THE BURGLARY

Greymouth Evening Star, 30 March 1935, Page 5

THE BURGLARY

A SHOP INCIDENT The thin, brown-eyed, dark-com-plexioned “furriner" who entered Mr. Spitty’s shop on the Hard jumped down three steps to the floor level but cleverly avoided the lintel against which careless heads are broken. Mr. Spitty keeps his shop door shut between one and two o’clock “by the good rights,” but, the day being hot, ho had departed from his rule, and his nap in the corner behind the counter had suffered sudden disturbance. “You don’t wanter jump into a respectable shop, time that’s closed, properly speaking,” he remarked sharply. “If you wern’t lucky you’d ha’ broke y’r head an’ on’y got y’rself to blame.”

“Y’self to blame,” agreed Mrs. Spitty reproachfully: taking her brief repose in the “set.tin’-room” behind the shop, she had also been roused. “I want a crusty loaf and a plum cake please,” said the young man. undismayed by his reception. “That loaf.” said Mr. Spitty, producing one not without reluctance, “come outer me bake oven this very mornin’. This here cake’s as fresh ns frosh” bein' it bin made with butter."

“Made with butter." cried Mrs. Spitty in support. "You don’t happen io have a knife you could sell me,” inquired the stranger.

“I ain’t never sold a knife in all me born days,” cried Mr. Spitty passionately, “an’ I ain’t agooin’ to begin now, tain’t likely.” .

“To begin now, tain’t likely,” cried Mrs. Spitty indignantly, but added, “there’s th’ owd knife what come back in th’ lunchin’ basket, be accident like, Mr. Spitty.” “That’s a true word, Mrs. Spitty,” rejoined her lord. “That ain’t same as a knife o’ mine, but nobody bin an’ come arter it this two year. That lays there under th’ counter. If that’d sarve ye I’d call it a shillin’.” “Call it a shillin’.” said Mrs. Spitty firmly. THE KNIFE It was a horn-handled knife tapering to a point. The stranger felt the edge.

“I didn't exactly want a sharp knife,” he said, “a blunt flat one would have done better.”

“In this here world,” said Mr. Spitty with dignity and decision, “that ain’t what we want but what w? kin git. The loaf’ll be fowerpence, an’ th’ cake's twotan’-three, a’ th’ knife’s a shillin’ —fower-an’-sivinpence. I’ll call it fower-an’-six.”

“Call it fower-an’-sixe.” agreed Mrs. Spitty. The strangar paiti and went, Mr. Spitty locked the door and resumed interrupted rest. Peace brooded over the Hard until a sharrybang arrived later and two patrons hit their heads, one responding to Mrs. Spitty’s kind invitation to buy a piece of strapping. “I keep a few packets by me,” she explained sympathetically, “you never know what’s agooin’ to happen in this here world, an’ that’ll be thrupr.ence. You don’t pay Mr. Spitty; I’m strappin’ an’ sweets. We keep ourselves to ourselves.”

Night descended upon the Hard, bringing trouble: a miscreant broke into the Lobster Pot. Mrs. Gaga, wlio keeps the house, is “same as a lone widder” as well as a hard .sleeper; the burglar stole, said rumour, “sivinteen pound, in good money, mind ya. an’ a grot ole bar’l o’ whisky.” Mrs. Gage was less dramatic. She reported her loss to Poli&e Constable Ruffead as "sivinteen shillin’ outer me till an’ bes’ part o' half a bottle 01 whisky”—but Mrs. Gaga never did know as much as rumour about her own business. Entry had been made through the pantry by way of a window of which the catch was forced back by a knife.

"An’ what sort of a knife might that ha’ bin." inquired Mr. Spitty of Police Constable Ruffead on the following morning before the burglary was cold, "if I may ba so bowtl?” “Bo so bowd,” added Mrs. Spitty. "That’ll ha’ bin middlin’ thin an’ got a point 10 it. if 1 ain’t mistook,” said Police Constable Ruffead. and. .seeing his look of consternation, added. "ikippen yon know a sornthin’?" •■Happen 1 do an’ happen I don’t,” cried Mr. Spitty, "but I on’t deceive ye."

“I on’t deceive ye,” added Mrs. Spitty. "A furriner come in here middle day esterday,” continued Mr. Spitty solemnly. “He come jumpin’ about the place jest like, a burglar, an’ he ast me to sell him a knife. An’ I sold him th' one I’ve shown ye, th’ one somebody left here mos’ two year ago.” "Mos’ two year ago," cried Mrs. Spitty faintly.

THE DESCRIPTION "What was be like?” demanded the constable, producing his notebook. “Short." said Mr. Spitty. "reg'lar thin; meat on his bones, rightly speaking got a dark sort o’ skin an’ dark -eyes an’ a tweed coat, an’ a red tie an’ a soft. shut, an’ shoes with forever o’ dust on ’em like he’d bin walkin’. Bought a loaf an- a cake an' gimme a shillin' f’r th’ knife, an I knocked a penny off, but I dedn’t think nawthen to him jumpin' down inter me shop any how.”

“Any how,” added Mrs. Spitty scorn fully. '

An hour or so later everybody knew that tho burglar had armed himself in Mr. Spitty's shop, "sorruptiHous like." Tim country intelligence functioned promptly. Early in the afternoon two agricultural labourers reported to j their master that they had seen a man proceeding in th ■ direction of the old 'Coy or Decoy Pond on the previous afternoon, and that they had seen him there again about midday. The telephone talked in Market Waldron, two sleuths arrived within the hour, travelling by car. At five o’clock a man. giving the name of Charles Redding and carrying a rucksack with a knife in it. was called upon to explain himself. Being double cunning, he stated that he was an artist. Being crafty, he invited the sleuths to the Decoy to see the picture on his easel in the 'coyman's shed. He described it as a study of sunrise on the marshes, and said he had been “layin’ rough" in a sleeping-bag while working on it for three mornings past; ho had gone to the Hard tn get a wash and a meal at a cottage and buy some things at Mr. Spitty's. including a knife, because his palette knife had slipped out of his hand into a dike. All this is vary had. but worse remains. The sleuths accepted his explanation: as Mr. Spitty said to Mr. Nix. “They ain’t no sense.” Facts arc stubborn things. The Lobster Pot was opened with the aid

of a knife. “That furriner conie along an' asked for some as a knife only a i few hours arlier and bin an’ hid himself." s Even Police Constable Ruffead will t tell you privately that officers who •ido about the country in cars are se- : ’.ected for brainlessness.

“I’d ha’ had him. stiddy letiin’ him goo." he says. “Anyway, wo don’t want artists an’ sech hereabouts," declared Mr. Spitty. summing up the case. “Hereabonls.’’ added Mrs. Spitty. g’vitig it finality.—(S. L. Bensttsan in the Manchester Guardian).