Victor Hart Volume #2

Victor Hart: Case#7 Chapter 9

The Square and Compasses was situated opposite the Grand Lodge, and was nearly as ancient as the grand lodge itself. Whilst not being a members restricted house, it was largely frequented by Freemasons, and was intimately connected to the lodge to the extent that if you were to see a patron in there, it was by no means guaranteed they were part of the brotherhood, but it was a very safe assumption. It was decorated in the style that made the important men that regularly attended feel comfortable. A rich red carpet, architrave festooned mahogany panelled walls, dimpled leather upholstered furniture, oil portraits of old Freemasons.

It was certainly a place Harold Mapleton felt comfortable. Sitting by himself with a tumbler of whiskey and a small pork pie on a plate next to him, newspaper on his lap, he felt as though he could forget the stresses of his life, put murder and its consequences out of his mind for a short time and just be normal. On his lunch break this place had become a sanctuary for him.

That was until he noticed eyes on him. Since he had started his new secret second career as a killer, it seemed as though all his senses and instincts had been heightened. And he felt the eyes on him before he knew who it was, like two Hydro-potassium beams boring into him. He laid his paper down onto his lap and looked up.

About seven meters away he saw a man watching him. The man was fairly well dressed and had an air of authority about him. He would have to have as he seemed to be engaged in an amicable conversation with Judge Stafford Reedy. Reedy was someone Mapleton knew, not well, but in a professional capacity. He had once accused Mapleton of being a "Bleeding heart Liberal" as if it were an insult, and Mapleton considered Reedy to be a dangerous authoritarian. More than that Reedy was an incredibly intimidating and formidable man, high up in freemasonry, high up in society, and knew it. The mystery man was talking to him as if he was an equal. No, more than that, he was nearly talking down to him if Mapleton was reading the situation correctly. The sort of man that might talk down to Judge Reedy, well,it made Harold's head spin.

What was more alarming was that the stranger was eyeing Harold with a sort of accusatory glare and then seemingly discussing him with the Judge. Harold looked about himself. Was the man really looking at him? Or was he paranoid? He was talking to the judge now, so if he had been looking at Harold earlier he'd finished with it now.

Harold had to get a grip on himself. Every knock at his door he was certain it was the police. Only the other day he had nearly fainted when a couple of serious-looking men had shown up at his front door unannounced. Much to Harold's relief they had turned out to be religious evangelists, but that wasn't before they had given him a heart attack.

There was no way that a man like that would be glaring at him for no reason. He had no idea who Harold was. He couldn't let his paranoia spoil this place that had become his last refuge.

Harold took a bite of his pork pie and picked up the paper again. It was some fluff piece by Archibald Thudd on a spate of missing people in and around Whealdham. Boring stuff. He struggled to hold his attention to it. He kept reaching the end of a paragraph and realising he'd gleaned nothing from it. It was the mystery man. He couldn't help but take another glance over at him.

The man was staring at him again, and this time he was certain. He didn't know how he knew what that look meant, but somehow he could understand it. It was a look that said: "I know what you did".

How this man knew anything about him he didn't know, but what he was certain of in that moment was somehow the stranger could see right into Harold with his magnetised eyes, could see into his darkest secrets, the murder he was guilty of.

And just like that, the man looked away again. Harold had to find out who this man was. He put down his paper and his half eaten pie and walked over to the bar. The bartender there was dressed in a clean white shirt and formal, charcoal waistcoat. Harold beckoned him over and asked.