“You were Orderly Officer on the 18th, Mr. Kalton?”
The Inspector also gave a slight clearing of the throat. Then, very briefly, he corroborated his subordinate’s evidence. As the prisoner had no questions to put, for a few reflective moments, Superintendent Branch gazed steadily up into his face.
“You have heard the evidence, Corporal,” he said at last, in that cold fashion that was so desperately discouraging. “What have you to say in your defence?”
Not a detail of the manner in which Orderly-Room cases were dealt with was new to Corporal McFardell. He knew the whole ritual by heart. His years of experience had brought him into contact with it often enough. But this was the first time he had occupied the central place as the prisoner. His whole concern at that moment was how far he might hope to escape the full penalty due to him as laid down by General Orders. He pinned his last hope to the extenuating nature of the circumstances of his disaster. He believed that no one would have fared better under his conditions. And, furthermore, he felt he had done all he knew to recover the escaped man. He had striven till the last of his bodily resources were exhausted. He felt that his case was good. Superintendent Branch was a just man.
He knew that the extreme penalty for his crime against regulations was reduction to the ranks, imprisonment, and dismissal from the Force without character. If he could escape with reduction to the ranks he would be happy. If imprisonment were added he would not despair. Dismissal from the Force was the thing he dreaded most of all. It would be the end of all things for him. For he had looked to make the Force the whole of his career. A “bobtail” discharge was the nightmare of the mounted policeman. So he, like those others, cleared his throat before speaking, and hurled himself to his defence.
“Sir,” he began, a little hoarsely as he passed his tongue across his thick lips to moisten them, “I’ve no sort of defence to offer beyond the letter of the report which I addressed to you as my commanding officer on my return to barracks on the 18th. You’ll have read it before this, sir, and I want to say that every word I wrote there is just the God’s truth. I was knocked out cold by my horse falling, through the balling snow in his hoofs. And I guess there was no power in the world to prevent the man getting the drop on me while I was unconscious. When I woke up he’d got me covered, so I couldn’t do a thing. I just had to lie there while he got clear away in the half-light of the snowstorm. The moment I had the chance I was on my horse and after him. And I didn’t let up till my horse was done, and I couldn’t sit a saddle right. I’ve been through hell to recover that prisoner, sir. Give me a chance, sir, to get after that feller again. I don’t ask to escape punishment. I know I’ll lose my stripes, and maybe I’ll go to the guard-room for a spell. But for God’s sake, sir, don’t discharge me from the Force. It’s the only way I can hope to get after that feller right. Hand me the chance to get after him. It’s all I ask. It’s him and me, sir. Whatever happens, it’s that way just as long as I live. If you keep me in the Force I can do it right. It’s my one big chance. That’s all, sir.”
The passionate sincerity of McFardell’s appeal was wholly convincing. His words came hotly, and regardless of the usual formalities. But there was no sign of the relenting he looked for in the eyes observing him so coldly. With his last word there came an ominous shake of the head from the man behind the table.
“I’ve read your report very carefully, Corporal,” he said coldly. “I’m quite convinced that it is the whole truth, and you are to be commended that that is so. But, unfortunately, for you the truth is very damning to your case. Your horse fell and threw you, and you were rendered unconscious. No one can blame you for that. Had the prisoner made his getaway while you were unconscious I should have dismissed the charges laid against you. But he did not do so. He apparently only had time to disarm you before you came to, which suggests you were only momentarily stunned. Then, when he held you covered, you made no resistance. You apparently did nothing. In fear of your life you let him get away. Do you understand my meaning? There is the moral charge of cowardice preferred against you. Your report condemns you so flagrantly that I shall inflict the maximum penalty. You are reduced to the ranks. You will be confined to the guard-room for two months, with hard labour. And—your case will go up to the Commissioner with a recommendation that you be dismissed from the Force.”
“Right turn! Quick march!”
The Sergeant-Major’s commands rang out. It was like the hideous toll of the prison bell after an execution.