Edward Kane, Advocate in The Hanged Man. Chapter 10: ‘What happened after that is nothing to do with me.’

Edward Kane, Advocate in The Hanged Man. Chapter 10: ‘What happened after that is nothing to do with me.’ (Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane)

No, the surroundings were not the problem. It was the nagging anxiety. Mackintosh had placed his bowler hat on the chair at his side and was now, absent-mindedly, tapping his notebook on the table, waiting for his guest. Was ‘guest’ the right word? Hardly. But certainly the individual that had been invited for the ‘chat’ was certainly a bit out of the ordinary. Maybe that was the source of Mackintosh’s apprehension. He was about to meet with George Gibney. ‘Gallows Gibney’ – the public hangman.

****

‘You’re wasting my time, Monkey – get out of my shop!’

Edward Kane, Advocate

The concurrence of a man called ‘The Monkey’, a half-cut Cockney named ‘Horse’ and a three-legged dog called ‘Lucky’ had not proved a happy occurrence at the haberdashers. The owner, Manny, leaned over the counter: ‘You turn up here pie-eyed – and at this time in the morning an’ all – and you talk a lot of gammon and spinach! Are you gonnae buy something or not?’

Horse decided to intervene. He raised his palm to pacify the shouting shopkeeper: ‘All the Monkey was trying to say, mate, was that we wanted to borrow a collar for this poor unfortunate animal here. Look at him – poor mutt – he’s at death’s door, he is.’

Manny looked down. Lucky the dog looked up. Smiling (yes, any dog owner will be able to tell you – dogs can smile). Apart from the absence of twenty five per cent of his means of locomotion, the animal was the picture of health. Manny looked up again at Horse, skepticism written on his face. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that dog, apart from, apart from…’ He gestured towards the missing limb.

Horse again – oil on those troubled haberdashery waters: ‘And the Monkey here says that you have such a shop – such a shop – that we might find all sorts of collars here – fabric, leather – what have you…’

The owner leaned back in pride: ‘Well, The Monkey’s right about that.’ He extended his arms to the goods on display: ‘I’ve got everything here – every type of collar – leather – tartan – you name it…I had a buddy in here the other week, he was looking for one made of wood…’

Horse steepled his hands in the position of prayer: ‘And all that we are asking for, my good fella, is for you to lend us one of them posh leather collars for – what – an hour, tops and we will return it to you afterwards.’

Manny frowned and leaned forward: ‘Listen, my friend – I don’t know who you are, or what part of Wales you come from…’. (Horse ignored this) ‘…but this is a shop – not a charity…’

Horse patted the coins in his pocket – no longer only sovereigns, but a significant amount of coinage, the change acquired from the purchase of the beer at The Beehive Inn. ‘Tell you what….’ Horse produced a sixpenny piece from his pocket: ‘…you let us have the collar on loan and I give you this. If we don’t get back to you in an hour – you keep the sixpence. If we get back in the hour, then I give you the collar – and in good nick, I promise – then you give me fourpence ha’penny back. For the loan of the collar, like. Money for nothing, my friend, money for nothing.’

The shopkeeper mulled this over for a few seconds. Then held out his hand to receive the coin. He glowered – pointing to a clock on the wall: ‘An hour - then that’s it.’

Horse nodded towards him: ‘You are a gentleman, sir.’

Manny ignored this and went into the back room to find a suitable collar.

The Monkey – who had been largely silent until now – called after him: ‘And you’ll throw in a nice posh lead as well, eh?’

****

The hangman was standing up and shouting now: ‘Don’t you dare, Mackintosh – don’t you dare!’

The White Hart Inn was more populated by this time and the patrons turned around to see what the commotion was all about.

Mackintosh of the Detective sat at the table and raised his hands in surrender: ‘George! George! No-one is accusing you of anything…’

Public executioner, George Gibney shook his head: ‘Ye don’t fool me, Macintosh. You ask to meet me at my local pub and then you spring a thing like this on me. Well, I’m not carrying the can for this. Everything was done according to the book…’

Mackintosh frowned: ‘There’s a book?’

Gallows Gibney glowered: ‘Stop twistin’ my words, Mackintosh. Of course there isnae a book. You know what I mean.’

Mackintosh of the Detective raised his eyebrows: ‘I think that I would understand you better if you were to lower your voice.’ Gibney stood silent. Enraged. The detective nodded towards the chair: ‘And if you were to sit down.’ The hangman sat down. Mackintosh indicated the glass on the table in front of the hangman: ‘And if you took a wee bit of that dram in front of you there.’

Gibney said nothing. Then lifted the tumbler and downed the rum in one go. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Mackintosh smiled: ‘Better?’ The hangman nodded. The detective leaned in: ‘No-one is blaming you, George. I’m just trying to work out what happened that day, that’s all.’

Gallows Gibney leaned back in his seat, folded his arms and sighed: ‘I led the prisoner onto the scaffold. They read the charge. I put the hood over his head and I pulled the lever. Job done. In fact, there were two doctors there and they said “job done” an’ all. What happened after that is nothing to do with me.’ He nodded to the glass tumbler on the table: ‘And in case you haven’t noticed – the glass is empty now…’

****

When the time came, Horse’s visit to the suspicious butcher – accompanied by the borrowed, three-legged dog – proved to be an enormous success. Haberdasher Manny had been as good as his word with the provision of the leather collar (and an opulent-looking lead thrown in for good measure) and the butcher could see for himself that the animal was real. Outstanding bill settled, at the conclusion of the visit, the butcher – so taken was he by the animal – handed Horse some wrapped newspaper containing a supply of scraps, a supply more generous than usual. The butcher smiled: ‘And if you ever want to sell the dog, Mr Horse…’ Horse shook his head: ‘Sorry, my son. My master, Mr Kane is wery attached to the animal and he would never part with him. It’s like a family hair-loom.’

Then a jolt. Horse had a sudden thought: Where’s my jacket? The one with the pawn ticket? The pawn ticket for Kane’s gold watch…

Edward Kane continues in Monday’s Scotsman.