‘Well, you may be right and I expect there’d be awful trouble if we were found on board a liner and we’d be found sooner or later because of food. Trouble is, I’m not sure we’ve got enough money. I mean, we could pay the fare, but then there’s keeping ourselves until the police find the murderers and it’s safe to go home.’
‘You said a post office would give you cash on your savings book.’
‘They would in England. I’m not sure about the Isle of Wight. It might be like the Isle of Man and have its own laws and things. Look, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll lie up here in the station again tonight and then tomorrow, when the post offices will be open again, I’ll take out some money and we’ll cross by the first ferry that’s going.’
‘Won’t they wonder what we’re doing at the station again? That porter, or whatever he was, saw us in the waiting room, you know, and’ — Maycock giggled — ‘you can’t pretend your mother is still in the Ladies.’
‘Perhaps there’s another station somewhere. A place as big as Southampton is bound to have more than one, I should think. Look at London.’
‘Never been there.’
‘We went up to London to Waterloo, and my dad told me there’s Paddington, Kings Cross, Euston and umpteen others and they’ve all got waiting rooms and refreshments and even shops.’
‘Let’s ask if there’s another station, then.’
‘I’m not so hot on asking. The less we speak to other people the safer we are. I don’t even like that coach driver knowing we’re in Southampton. We’re not safe until the police catch the murderers.’
They began to retrace their steps, but, at Travis’s suggestion, they divagated from their outward route and found a park. Here they sat on a bench with a woman who was reading a Sunday paper. She looked up from the crossword puzzle she was doing and asked, in an American accent, ‘Would you guys know the name of a planet discovered by Sir William Herschel? I guess I know my planets, but I just can’t seem to bring this one to mind.’
‘Uranus,’ said Maycock.
‘Why, thank you! Yes, I guess that’s right. The last ‘u’ fits with my downs column. I always say there’s no way of beating a real good English education. I guess you attend a first-class school.’
‘I’m interested in astronomy, that’s all,’ said Maycock.
‘My, my! Would that be one of your special studies at your school?’
‘No, it’s just a hobby.’
‘I’m afraid we have to be going,’ said Travis, looking at his wristwatch. ‘What did you want to get talking to her for, you fool?’ he said angrily to his friend when they were out of earshot of the bench.
‘What did it matter? She’s only a woman.’
‘Of course it matters. I’ve told you. Get it into your fat head that the fewer people who know we have been here the better.’
Maycock was silent until they had left the park and were headed back towards the town. Then he said, ‘I’m sick of this. I’m going home.’
‘All right. You go. Get yourself murdered. Who cares?’
They walked on, aimlessly now, and found themselves presently in the shopping centre. The shops were closed, but a man was standing gazing in at one of the shop windows. Maycock was the first to recognise him. He caught Travis’s sleeve and pointed with his other hand.
‘Look! There’s Old Piebald again!’ he said. Almost before he spoke, Travis, too, had recognised the man. He bundled his companion into a shop doorway.
‘Take your school cap off and shove it in your pocket,’ he said, ‘and turn up the collar of your raincoat and sling your rucksack on the ground and stand in front of it, with your back to the street. He may be coming this way.’
Mr Pybus, however, did not come their way. They gave him three minutes by Travis’s watch and then Travis said he thought it was safe enough to follow him.
‘Follow him?’ said Maycock.
‘Stalk him. He’s going towards the station. Let’s make sure he’s going to take a train. I expect he is, because he’ll have to be back in school tomorrow.’
They had to pass the shop window into which the art master had been gazing. They paused there for a moment. In the centre of the window was a painting of fishing boats in harbour, a delicate and distinctive bit of work, discreetly framed. Beside it was a placard which read: Boats at Cos. Exhibition of paintings by Marcus Pybus in gallery at rear. Inspection invited.
The boys walked on, quickening their pace until their quarry was in sight. Then they followed more slowly, retaining sufficient distance between themselves and Mr Pybus. He approached the station and entered it. Cautiously they followed. There was a queue at the ticket office. They joined it, making sure that there was always a fair number of passengers between them and the art master. When they had heard Mr Pybus ask for a ticket to their home town, they slipped away.
‘Let’s eat,’ said Maycock.
‘I thought you were going home.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind so much now he’s gone.’
‘I thought you might like to share a compartment with him.’
‘Oh, stop being funny.’
On other occasions these exchanges would have resulted in a friendly scuffle, but, mindful of where they were, the boys did not indulge in this, but made their way to the station buffet, where the girl who took their money said, ‘Not you two again! Do you live here or something?’
‘Train spotters,’ said the resourceful Travis.
‘I thought that was old hat.’
‘Not while I do it.’
‘Oh, well, be seeing you again, then, I suppose.’
‘If you’re lucky.’ They took the sandwiches and tea to a table and wondered what to do with the rest of the day.
‘Fancy Old Piebald being a real artist!’ said Maycock.
‘Well, of course he is. He’s hot stuff, too. Once I sloshed a whole lot of different blues on my painting just for a rag and he came along and licked a brush and picked out a crescent moon and a lot of moonlight and it turned out to be a jolly good picture.’
‘Fancy him having pictures on show, though.’
‘It’s only a shop, not a proper exhibition.’
‘A beastly important shop, though.’ They finished their meal and meandered out of the station. ‘Tell you what,’ Maycock continued. ‘Tomorrow let’s go to the shop and take a dekko at his pictures.’
‘They wouldn’t let us in. Besides, as soon as I’ve got my money from the post office we ought to be getting aboard that boat to the Isle of Wight.’
The rest of Sunday hung heavily. They found their way down to the docks and looked at the ships which were in and then had a meal at the refreshment room at the terminus station. By this time they both had run out of ready money. They returned to the central station waiting room in the evening and chanced their luck in spending the night in the waiting room again. There were plenty of people in and out of it and nobody questioned their presence there. They left, dishevelled and hungry, early in the morning and went down to the pier to find out at what time the ferry left. They discovered they had plenty of time so, having found a post office, Travis took out some money and they went into a café and had bacon and egg, a roll and butter and a pot of tea before they went down again to the pier.
The crossing down the Solent to Cowes took an hour. It was cold on deck, but they enjoyed themselves. When they landed they explored the old part of the town, bought cakes and soft drinks and then went on to the esplanade and walked as far as Gurnard Bay. Here they had a fright. A man stopped them and said in an official voice,
‘Why aren’t you two in school?’
Travis, as usual, was equal to the occasion. ‘Our Dad’s got his holiday,’ he said, ‘so we’ve got a fortnight off school.’
As this was admissible it was received without further query, but the lads had had a scare.
‘So the Isle of Wight doesn’t have different laws,’ said Maycock. ‘I still want to go home and my heel is sorer than ever. The murderers can’t still be looking for us after all this time, can they? Anyway, I reckon we’d be a lot safer at home than we are here. There’s your dad and mum and your aunt and Mr Ronsonby at school. They’d look after us. What are we going to do when your money’s gone? I haven’t got any left.’