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Populism, Punishment and the
Threat to Democratic Order

This book traces the rise of contemporary populism in Western democra-

cies, marked by the return of would-be ‘strong men’ politicians. It seeks to
make sense of the nature, origins, and consequences of their ascendancy—as
expressed, for example, in the startling rise of the social movement surround-
ing Trump in the US, Brexit in the UK, and the remarkable spread of ideolo-
gies that express resistance to ‘facts,’ science, and expertise.
Uniquely, the book shows how what began as a form of penal populism
in the early 1990s transformed into a more wide ranging populist politics.
This has had the potential to undermine or even overthrow the democratic
order altogether. It examines the way in which the COVID-19 pandemic
has impacted on these forces, arguing it threw the flailing democratic order
an important lifeline, as Vladimir Putin has subsequently done with his war
in Ukraine. The book argues that contemporary political populism can be
seen as a wider manifestation of the earlier tropes and appeal of penal pop-
ulism arising under neo-liberalism. The author traces this cross over and
the roots of discontent, anxiety, anti-elites sentiment and the sense of being
forgotten, that lie at the heart of populism, along with its effects in terms
of climate denial, ‘fake news,’ othering, nativism, and the denigration of
scientific and other forms of expertise. In a highly topical and important
extension to the field the author suggests that the current COVID pandemic
might prove to be an ‘antidote’ to populism, providing the conditions in
which scientific and medical expertise, truth telling, government intervention
in the economy and in health policy, and social solidarity, are revalorised.
Encompassing numerous subject areas and crossing many conventional
disciplinary boundaries, this book will be of great interest to students and
scholars of criminology and criminal justice, sociology, political science, law,
and public policy.

John Pratt is Emeritus Professor of Criminology at Victoria University of

Wellington, New Zealand. His research interests are in the areas of the sociology
and history of punishment, and criminological and social theory, and compara-
tive penology. Professor Pratt has published extensively in these areas, including
Law, Insecurity and Risk Control (2020); Contrasts in Punishment. An Explanation
of Anglophone Excess and Nordic Exceptionalism (2013, with Anna Eriksson);
Penal Populism (2007); Punishment and Civilization (2002).
Routledge Studies in Crime and Society

Immigration and School Safety

Anthony Peguero & Jennifer Bondy

Children, Care and Crime

Trauma and Transformation
Alison Gerard, Andrew McGrath, Emma Colvin and Annette Gainsford

Technology and Domestic and Family Violence

Victimisation, Perpetration and Responses
Bridget Harris and Delanie Woodlock

Crime, Criminal Justice and Religion

A Critical Appraisal
Philip Birch, Conor Murray and Andrew McInnes

Demystifying Modern Slavery

Rose Broad and David Gadd

Fraud Examinations in White-Collar Crime Investigations

Convenience Themes and Review Maturity
Petter Gottschalk

Populism, Punishment and the Threat to Democratic Order

The Return of the Strong Men
John Pratt

Alcohol, Crime and Public Health

Dorothy Newbury-Birch and Jennifer Ferguson

For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.

com/Routledge-Studies-in-Crime-and-Society/book-series/RSCS
Populism, Punishment and the
Threat to Democratic Order
The Return of the Strong Men

John Pratt
First published 2023
by Routledge
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group,
an informa business
© 2023 John Pratt
The right of John Pratt to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or
reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval
system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-032-20245-7 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-032-20249-5 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-26285-5 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9781003262855

Typeset in Times New Roman

by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.
‘We know that no-one ever seizes power
with the intention of relinquishing it’,
—George Orwell
Finally, for Xiaowen
Contents

Acknowledgments viii

1 The Return of the Strong Men 1

2 Penal Populism and Public Protection 18

3 The Rise of Populist Politics 37

4 COVID-19 as an Antidote to Populism 55

5 Fragile Reprieve 73

References 89
Index 105
Acknowledgments

This book began during a COVID-19 lockdown in New Zealand,

where I live, in 2021. At that time, I was asked by Routledge if I
would consider turning a paper that I had given virtually to the Asian
Criminology Conference in Japan into a book for their Focus series.
I agreed to do this and would like to thank the Routledge team for
the encouragement and guidance they have given me along the way.
I would also like to thank the reviewers of my subsequent proposal for
the book for their helpful comments.
The book itself follows on from my previous work, particularly my
2020 text, Law, Insecurity and Risk Control. But while that book was
mainly focused on the emergence of ‘risk’ as a dominant theme in the
post-war development of the Anglo-American Western democracies,
this one discusses one of the consequences of this: the rebirth of pop-
ulism as a dominant political force and the threat it poses to the dem-
ocratic order. As the book was being written, the challenges this mode
of governance already faced from populism, particularly Trump and
his supporters in the US, were magnified by the COVID-19 pandemic
and the far-flung consequences of Putin’s war with Ukraine. On the
horizon, fresh challenges to its viability are taking the form of new
pandemics and climate change and its destructive capabilities.
Writing the book against this background, Pat O’Malley’s (2000)
article on ‘catastrophic criminology’ regularly came to mind. He was
referring to the way in which a good part of the discipline of crimi-
nology had become preoccupied with ‘genealogies of transformation
and rupture, usually pessimistic that imagine us to be on the brink
of a general social and political watershed.’ Perhaps after all the false
alarms variously sounded by critical criminologists that O’Malley had
in mind, the democratic order has actually arrived at a precipice—
with catastrophe certainly waiting the democratic order if it was to
fall over. In addition to its own destruction, everything that we had
 Acknowledgments ix
long since taken for granted about our life within it—both freedoms
and protections—until the renaissance of populism would also be
destroyed. As it was, the democratic order survived the challenges of
populism, for the time being at least. It was helped along the way by
the incompetence of the populist strong men, and the way in which
COVID-19 and Vladimir Putin inadvertently threw it lifelines. Its cur-
rent fragility, though, should act as a warning to us.
A good part of the book was written during a very pleasant Southern
hemisphere winter stay at the Queensland Gold Coast: the New
Zealand borders, closed for COVID reasons for some 16 months—it
seemed much longer—finally opened and allowed me out and to travel
to this haven. As the book was being written, Anne Holland worked
with her usual diligence and efficiency on its formatting, chasing refer-
ences, preparing the bibliography, etc.
I am particularly indebted to Xiaowen Ma for her patience and
support during the course of this project.
1 The Return of the Strong Men

What we may be witnessing is not just the end of the Cold War, or
the passing of a particular period of post-war history, but the end of
history as such: that is, the endpoint of mankind’s ideological evalua-
tion and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final
form of human government
(Fukuyama, 1989, p. 4)

Democracy [is] in retreat. Liberal values such as transparency, the

rule of law, accountability and respect for human dignity are being
widely trampled. Autocrats and even some Western politicians openly
traffic in fear, xenophobia and paranoia
(Washington Post Editorial Board, 2016)

Two very different opinions, spanning less than 40 years, of the future
prospects for the Western democratic order. How has the post-war
triumph in the first come to be under such threat in the second?
The first was written at the time of the fall of the Berlin wall. That
event symbolized the end of the rule of darkness and fear that lay
behind it in the Eastern Bloc, in contrast to the bright lights of the
West on the other side. It marked the end of a system of governance in
which dissidents—there was no authorized opposition to government
in those societies—were persecuted for speaking out about the reality
of life behind the wall. It marked the end of a system that generated
vast queues of citizens waiting in line to receive everyday necessities
that had long been taken for granted in the West; it marked the end of
a system that attempted to reverse reality—the wall was needed not
to prevent Eastern Bloc citizens fleeing to the West, it was claimed
by its protagonists, but to prevent a flow of Western imperialism into
the East, thereby corrupting its pristine socialist purity (see Funder,
2003). Indeed, it had become a system that encouraged informers to
DOI: 10.4324/9781003262855-1
2 The Return of the Strong Men
report the slightest signs of subversion, with the secret police hunt-
ing down such ‘enemies of the people.’ What might then happen to
them—often played out in show trials and confessions obtained by
torture—could variously involve their public denunciation, disqual-
ification, indefinite removal, disappearance, or worse. Vast organi-
zations were built up, with their ostensible purpose being to protect
and maintain totalitarian regimes by collecting mountains of detail
on those who displayed the slightest signs of dissent. The Stasi, the
secret police in what was then the German Democratic Republic,
even more so than Russia’s KGB, provides the clearest example of the
way in which massive state resources were being invested in putting
fear into the hearts of citizens rather than promoting their well-being:
‘[the Stasi’s] job was to know everything about everyone, using any
means it chose. It knew who your visitors were, it knew whom you
telephoned, and it knew if your wife slept around. It was a bureau-
cracy metastasized through East German society: overt or covert,
there was someone reporting to the Stasi on their fellows and friends
in every school, every factory, every apartment block, every pub … In
its forty years, “the Firm” generated the equivalent of all records in
German history since the middle ages. Laid out upright and end to
end, the files the Stasi kept on their countrymen and women would
form a line 180 kilometres long’ (Funder, 2003, p. 5).
The fall of the Berlin wall in 1989 thus seemed to represent the
final act of the legacy of the Allies’ victory over the Axis powers in
August 1945. It had been intended that Nazi demagogues and their
associates would be firmly consigned to the dustbin of history, along
with all their brutish stains of torture, mass murder, and genocide. As
President Harry S. Truman had emphasized on August 16, 1945, the
day after Japan’s capitulation, ‘this is the end of the grandiose schemes
of the dictators to enslave the peoples of the world, destroy their civili-
zation, and institute a new era of darkness and degradation. This day
is a new beginning in the history of freedom on earth.’
Moving forward 40 years or so, President Ronald Reagan (1987a),
standing on the Western side of the Berlin wall, urged Russian Premier
Mikhail Gorbachev in 1987 to ‘tear down this wall,’ insisting that ‘the
wall cannot withstand freedom.’ A few weeks after its eventual col-
lapse in 1989, Leonard Bernstein conducted a performance, in Berlin,
of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 in celebration. His international
orchestra included musicians from both East and West Germany. The
Ode to Joy title of the symphony had been changed to Ode to Freedom.
The 1945 legacy, it seemed, had at last been fully realized.
 The Return of the Strong Men 3
The meaning of ‘freedom’
Life in the Western democracies had indeed embodied ‘freedom’
from the end of the war to the end of the wall, but the nature of this
freedom and how it was understood had undergone a great transfor-
mation between 1945 and 1989. When Truman made his pronounce-
ment, freedom was a concept intended to mean the end of uncertainty
and insecurity: not just from the terrors of war but from the chaos
that adherence to the free market had brought during the 1920s and
1930s, with governments masquerading as mere croupiers at the
roulette wheel in casino-like economies: it was that uncertainty and
insecurity that had helped to bring pre-war demagogues to power.
Post-1945, Western governments were committed to maintaining full
employment. It would no longer be the market that would determine
who would be society’s winners and losers; indeed, the metaphorical
casinos in which every individual had previously been a player were
largely shut down. As had been indicated in Britain (similar to the rest
of the allies), ‘the Government accept as one of their primary aims and
responsibilities the maintenance of a high and stable level of employ-
ment after the war’ (Home Office, 1944, p. 3). To bring this about, US
statesman Averill Harriman acknowledged in 1946 that the free market
needed regulation: ‘people in this country are no longer scared of such
words as “planning” … people have accepted the fact that the govern-
ment has got to plan as well as individuals’ (quoted by Maier, 1987,
p. 121). Careful planning by government was also seen as an essential
prerequisite to protect democratic freedoms: ‘it is no overstatement
to say that the simple choice between planning and non-planning,
between order and disorder, is a test-choice for English democracy …
plan we must, to save and fulfil democracy itself’ (Sharp, 1942, p. 118).
This then meant that individual liberties would have to be curtailed
in the interests of realizing that particular understanding of freedom.
As Karl Mannheim (1940, pp. 376–377), German émigré and London
School of Economics luminary, put the matter, ‘the new conception of
freedom creates the desire to control the effects of the social surround-
ings as far as possible. This is no mere daydream, it is based on the fact
that enormous advances in social technique allow us to influence the
conduct of social affairs from the key positions, according to a definite
plan … [to do so] we must be willing to forgo our former liberties …
From now on men will find a higher form of freedom in allowing many
aspects of their individual liberties to be determined by the social order
laid down by the group.’ As an example of what this meant in practice,
4 The Return of the Strong Men
new government compulsory purchase powers of land from individual
owners in 1948 in the UK were addressed as follows in an editorial in
The Times (1948, p. 5, my italics): ‘the British people almost without
knowing it are embarking upon one of the greatest experiments in the
social control of their environment ever attempted by a free society.
They are putting old individual liberties aside for the common good.’
These guarantees of certainty and security that would cement the
‘common good’ into the social fabric of the post-war democracies
ensured that commitments to full employment were accompanied by
expanded welfare frameworks. Reliance on the provision of soup kitch-
ens run by charities in times of hardship, as pre-war, was over. Now, it
was intended that the state itself would take responsibility for and look
after its citizens in need or in hardship. In the US, as President Kennedy
(1962, p. 103) later proclaimed, ‘public welfare programmes … must
strengthen and protect the vulnerable in a highly competitive world.’
The Food Stamp Act 1964, for example, in that country was intended
to ‘raise levels of nutrition among low-income households’ by ensuring
an ‘abundance of food.’ The Social Security Amendments Act 1965 cre-
ated Medicaid—states were empowered to give financial assistance to
those wanting medical assistance if they met its eligibility requirements.
Claimants rose from 680,000 in 1960 to 4.4 million by 1975, an indicator
then of successful governance.
The administration of these state-provided welfare frameworks
alone meant that public sector employment rapidly expanded (and in
itself became a desirable safe haven, marked by annual increments of
salary, promotion opportunities, and pension entitlements). Civil serv-
ants increased in Britain from 340,000 to 720,000 between 1931 and
1955. And in the initial post-war years, working in the public sector
was accompanied by status and prestige—this was work that would
help to remodel and rebuild societies that had been fractured by war.
In 1957, Which Magazine in the UK reported that ‘nearly every occu-
pation nowadays, whether the army, the police, the stock exchange
or even advertising, likes to portray itself as a “social service”: they
publicise and promote themselves … as being just as public-spirited as
anyone else’ (quoted by Sampson, 1971, pp. 656–657).
The rebuilding also involved material and physical reconstruction
in forms intended to strengthen social cohesion. New housing estates
took their cue from Ebenezer Howard’s (1902/1946, p. 44) aspirations
for ‘the social city,’ with wide, tree-shrouded avenues, homes, public
gardens, and parks that became central to government planning in the
UK: ‘large public buildings would be at [its] centre: town hall, library,
museum, concert and lecture hall, the hospital. Here, the highest
 The Return of the Strong Men 5
values of the community are brought together—culture, philanthropy,
health, and united cooperation.’ And it included the rekindling of fam-
ily life. This would provide an important pillar of support for everyday
security while at the same time help restore the nation’s strength and
health through repopulation. Indeed, it was as if contributing to the
goal of repopulation had become a civic duty and responsibility, with
state support and guidance on hand if needed towards this end: ‘par-
enthood itself must become a central interest and duty; and the family
and the primary group of workfellows and neighbours must become a
vital core in every wider association’ (Mumford, 1945, p. 214).
Meanwhile, government investment in science and expertise became
one of the guarantors of the bright future thought to lie ahead for
citizens in democratic society: ‘Great universities … engaged in fed-
erally funded research, and innovations first pioneered with defence
spending were encouraged to find civilian outlets. The achievements
were perhaps most remarkable in the emerging digital sciences and
information and communications technologies, including com-
puter science, transistors and integrated circuits, microprocessors,
the Internet, robotics, machine learning, and artificial intelligence’
(Sachs, 2018). Scientific achievements continued to advance the pos-
sibilities of human existence, while simultaneously curtailing risks to
it: from the discovery of the Big Bang theory of the cosmos in 1961
to what was regarded as one of the greatest achievements in human
history, the American moon landing in 1969, to the creation of test
tube babies in 1979. And all along, the state’s commitment and support
for science and expertise brought dramatic improvements to public
health. The post-war era became one of mass immunization—against
polio especially, with vaccine rates among children and infants from
the early 1960s to the 1980s between 93 and 95 percent in the US. The
success of vaccines was such that US Surgeon-General William H.
Stewart maintained in 1969 that ‘the time had come to close the book
on infectious diseases’ (Snowden, 2019, p. 385).
The levels of taxation necessary to pay for the new array of state ser-
vices also meant that this was an era of narrowed social divisions, with
the effect that, as Galbraith (1958, p. 70) put the matter, ‘the display of
purely ostentatious outlays … is now passé … it is much wiser to take on
the protective coloration of the useful citizen, the industrial statesman
or even the average guy.’ Meanwhile, the high levels of trust in the cen-
tral state that existed for a good part of the post-war era seemed to con-
firm the general acceptance and legitimacy of this mode of governance.
In the US, a 1964 opinion poll indicated that 77 percent of respondents
trusted the federal government ‘always or most of the time.’1
6 The Return of the Strong Men
Citizens were also to be protected from abuses of state power—
another aspect of stability and security. Criminal law had been used
extensively in Nazi Germany to legitimize the prosecution, punish-
ment, and the elimination of those who, in some way or other, were
brought to the attention of the Nazi authorities as ‘enemies of the peo-
ple.’ To prohibit the operation of criminal justice to suit the politi-
cal aims of the state, the 1948 UN Declaration of Human Rights had
restated what amounted to fundamental principles of classical crim-
inology. In particular, there should be no punishment unless a crime
had been committed. Punishment should then be finite, fixed, and cer-
tain, which led, inter alia, to the steady phasing out of indeterminate
prison sentences in the Anglo-American world by the 1970s (Bottoms,
1977). The main arguments for them were that such sanctions would
prevent crimes that might be committed in the future rather than
act as a retributory response to crimes already committed. Or they
would protect the public against those who would otherwise put their
well-being at risk if released from custody.
Now, however, such flimsy justifications were torn up, in the name
of protecting human rights. It was recognized that there was then no
way of knowing whether or not future crime would be committed
(see Baxstrom v. Herold [1966]). The US sexual psychopath laws—
psychiatric detention until ‘cured,’ followed by legal punishment (in
effect, two punishments for the same crime)—were thus declared uncon-
stitutional in 1956. By the same token, status offences in that country
were also largely abolished during the 1950s and 1960s (Pratt, 2020).
The great sores of homelessness and begging that had previously been
in place on the social body had anyway been largely removed by the
new welfare measures. In the UK, the Home Office (1974, p. 19) reported
that ‘with the advent of social security and unemployment benefits and
other advantages of the welfare state, it is clear that begging is now on a
much smaller scale.’ Meanwhile, the rehabilitation of criminals steadily
gained momentum in penal policy over vengeful, excessive punishments
that greatly exceeded the harm of the crime committed. But when, in
the 1970s, rehabilitation was found to lead to abuses of state power (see,
for example, Martinson, 1974), the emphasis shifted to penal policies
explicitly guaranteeing the newly prescribed rights of lawbreakers in
the form of the ‘back to justice’ movement (von Hirsch, 1976).
The direction of the criminal justice reforms also reflects the connec-
tion between academic experts and government at that time. In the US,
the country’s Model Penal Code of 1962, intended to standardize penal
law, ‘brought the best and brightest in academic law into the process of
substantive criminal law reform’ (Zimring, 1996, p. 253). A Harvard law
 The Return of the Strong Men 7
professor became the executive director of the 1966 President’s Crime
Commission. More generally, the combination of expert knowledge on
the one hand and a dedication to public service on the other became a
requirement for political and policy-making careers. At this juncture,
‘the idea of the nation being run by entrepreneurs or even of a business-
men’s Cabinet, was inherently absurd … no civil servant or politician
should be allowed to practice the kind of risk-taking that could lead to
bankruptcy [and] the aggressive and nomadic instincts of the entrepre-
neur would and should always be at odds with the protective territorial
role of the state’ (Sampson, 1982, p. 330).
Notwithstanding inevitable levels of discord and oppression that
lay obscured behind these sepia-tinted windows on the past—racism
and gross gender inequalities especially—the overwhelming sentiment
in political and public discourse was that Western freedom, as this
concept had been developed and understood post-1945, would indeed
deliver a bright future for its fortunate citizens. A steady but seem-
ingly inexorable improvement in their living standards become proof
of this. In the UK, a Daily Telegraph opinion poll in 1961 comfort-
ingly found that 91 percent of 16- to 18-year-olds agreed with the opin-
ion that ‘the world will be a better place in 10 years’ time.’ Inevitably.
Without a doubt. With the greatest certainty. For those living in dem-
ocratic society, this was the only future then imaginable.

How Western freedom had come to be understood

when the Berlin wall fell
By 1989, ‘freedom’ remained a concept that beckoned enticingly to cit-
izens from the Eastern Bloc, but it was now understood in terms of
individual liberty rather than state-provided guarantees of certainty
and security. And it was further understood in terms of the ability of
individuals to make vast fortunes for themselves rather than be content
with the ‘slow lane’ pace of life Galbraith had inferred to be a charac-
teristic of post-war society. In the late 1970s, the British periodical New
Society had opined that ‘very few sincerely want to be rich. Most people
in Britain neither want nor expect a great deal of money. Even if they
could get it, the vast majority do not seem prepared to work harder for
it: most of our respondents thought we should work only as much as we
need to live a pleasant life. It seems clear that the British today prefer
economic stability to economic growth’ (Forester, 1977, p. 158). Yet,
in stark contrast, the 1980s saw the publication of the first ‘rich lists’
for the US, UK, New Zealand, and Australia: being rich had suddenly
become a medal to be worn with pride. The celebration of wealth was
8 The Return of the Strong Men
further reinforced in popular culture in television programs such as
Dallas and Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, which ran from 1984 to
1995. Similarly, television quiz shows—such as The Weakest Link—
now took on a winner takes all format rather than offering modest
prizes to all contestants.
These important changes in everyday life had their roots in the work
of neo-liberal scholars such as Friedrich Hayek and Milton Freidman.
For them, the inevitable growth of the post-war state’s administrative
responsibilities had blurred the distinction between the totalitarian
East and the democratic, freedom-loving West. Hayek (1944, p. 10) had
warned in advance that ‘for at least twenty-five years before the spec-
tre of totalitarianism became a real threat, we had progressively been
moving away from the basic ideas on which European civilisation has
been built … We have progressively abandoned that freedom in eco-
nomic affairs without which personal and political freedom has never
existed in the past.’ Thereafter, Friedman (1962, p. 201) argued that the
threat to Western freedom was not restricted to the Eastern Bloc. What
he saw as the insidious growth of non-accountable state bureaucracies
also jeopardized this prize: ‘the one threat is obvious and clear … from
the evil men in the Kremlin … The other threat is far more subtle. It is
the internal threat coming from men of good intentions and good will
who wish to reform us … they are anxious to use the power of the state
to achieve their ends and confident of their own ability to do so.’
From such quarters, there was an insistence on a much smaller,
deregulated central state, lower rates of direct taxation and greatly
reduced welfare provisions (increasing numbers of welfare claimants
were now understood as an indicator of moral decay and dependency
rather than of successful governance, see Murray, 1984). Individuals
would be given greater freedom of choice, but would simultaneously
have to accept greater responsibility for their mistakes and pay what-
ever the penalties might be for them. This new mode of governance
was most vividly put into practice by UK and US governments led by
Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan in the 1980s. In addition to
urging Gorbachev to ‘tear down the wall,’ Reagan (1981) maintained
that ‘government is not the solution to our problem; government is
the problem.’ Rather than planning the economy, their program of
government insisted that controls aimed at protecting its citizens
from making their own choices about the course of their lives should
be removed: individual risk-taking was to be welcomed rather than
restricted. If economies were deregulated, it was thought that the
ensuing freedoms would give rise to initiative, enterprise, and zeal,
which post-war government restrictions had largely suppressed.
 The Return of the Strong Men 9
Neo-liberal evangelists scorned what they saw as timorous fears and
anxieties about the removal of state protection that the post-war mode
of governance had put in place. The British economist Samuel Brittan
(1973, p. 17) claimed that ‘nearly all the products of civilisation—arts,
sports, and recreations, just as much as running water, telephones or
labour-saving gadgets—have been invented and sold to people who
were not spontaneously asking for any of them, but were glad to have
them when they arrived. It is part of the function of a market econ-
omy to suggest new possibilities to people which they are then free to
accept or reject.’ And for Charles Handy (1989, p. 7), author of The
Age of Unreason, ‘discontinuous change is the only way forward for
a tramlined society, one that has got used to its ruts and its blink-
ers and prefers its own ways, however dreary, to untrodden paths and
new ways of looking at things.’ Certainly, the embrace of free-market
economics during the 1980s did indeed bring about huge increases in
personal wealth for some. And this was well-advertised in ostentatious
displays of extravagance in the form of ‘individuality, self-expression,
and a stylistic self-consciousness. One’s body, clothes, speech, leisure
pastimes, eating and drinking preferences, home, car, choice of holi-
days, etc., are to be regarded as indicators of the individuality of taste
and sense of style of the owner/consumer’ (Featherstone, 1991, p. 83).
And yet, among such new found opportunities for personal enrichment,
pleasure, and economic and social advancement that had become avail-
able in democratic society, the seeds were being sown for the growth of
forces that would seek to undermine, erode, and, in some cases, destroy
the democratic order altogether. How did this happen?
While the return to free-market economics brought such alluring
possibilities into existence, it also led to increased social divisions
and tensions: there was very little for the inevitable losers that the
economic reforms left behind. And it did not take long for many of
them to become much more visible—it was during the 1980s, while
ostentatious displays of wealth were becoming normalized, that
homeless people and beggars at the other end of the social spec-
trum began to populate public space again. But, it was reasoned,
individuals had been left free to manage their own risks; those who
managed them badly had to live with the consequences, while the
rest of the world passed them by, giving them disdainful looks as
they came across them. Here, then, were some of the first signs of the
results of government having a much more limited role in the man-
agement of everyday life, instead of one intended to build a society
where modest prizes, but prizes available to all nonetheless, would
be guaranteed.
Another random document with
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 “I prove it?” John Hale’s heavy brows met in a scowl. “That’s the
detective’s job, not mine.”
“I used the pronoun to imply the prosecution, and not in its
personal application,” Latimer explained. “Where was Richards on
Tuesday night?”
“Playing billiards at the club.”
“Have you proof of the exact time he left there?”
“No, but I’ll get it,” and John Hale’s tone implied grim
determination.
“Then suppose you make inquiries at the club,” suggested
Latimer; “but be guarded, John. Every one’s attention is focused on
Austin’s murder and you might start an ugly scandal.”
John Hale reddened. “Well, what if I do?” he grumbled. “The
situation couldn’t be much worse than it is to-day,”—shooting a
defiant look at his friend. “Austin murdered under mysterious
circumstances, and the police haunting our house, not to mention
the morbid sight-seers who gather about it. I cannot stir out of the
place without encountering curious glances. Even at the club there’s
excitement whenever I appear—and the newspaper men!” He struck
the desk a resounding blow with his clenched fist. “Damn it! If
Richards murdered Austin he’ll swing for it—I don’t care if he’s
married Judith a dozen times over.”
“Easy, easy,” cautioned Latimer. “Cool down, John, and let us
discuss this matter rationally. What have we discovered against
Richards?”
“That he was playing the market, that he was in need of funds,
and that he had in his possession bonds belonging to Judith which
had been stolen on Tuesday night from my brother’s safe, near
which we found Austin’s body in the small hours of Wednesday
morning.” John Hale moderated his excited manner. “Pretty damning
evidence.”
“As far as it goes,” agreed Latimer. “Now, to make it conclusive
you must prove: first, that Richards was at your house between
Tuesday midnight and one a. m. Wednesday; and secondly, that he
knew the combination of your brother’s safe. Recollect, it was not
forced open.”
“I’ll make it my business to find out.” John Hale reached for his
hat and his gloves which he had tossed on the desk. “I am also
going to have inquiries made regarding Richards’ career.”
“An excellent idea,” exclaimed Latimer. “But you had better
employ a private detective agency, John, rather than the local police.
Try the Burroughs Company, they handled some work for our firm
when Johnston, the bank cashier, hypothecated stock belonging to
us.”
“Where’s their office?” asked John Hale, jotting down the name
on the back of an envelope.
“In the Fendall Building, corner of John Marshall Place.”
John Hale completed the address and replaced the envelope in
his breast pocket.
“Listen, Frank,” he began. “Austin’s murder was unpremeditated
—the weapon used proves that. No man would deliberately kill
another with a pair of shears.”
Latimer shook his head in doubt. “You are taking a great deal for
granted,” he protested.
“Not a bit of it,” vigorously. “Austin caught Richards going through
the safe and Richards grabbed the first thing handy—Judith’s
shears.” Latimer said nothing, and after a brief pause John Hale
continued. “The crime was committed by some one familiar with the
habits of our household—the police claim that. No better time could
have been selected for rifling Robert’s safe. He was ill in bed, and
Agatha and I were attending the French Embassy reception and, by
the way, we decided to go only at the last moment—that’s an
important point.”
“You mean——”
“Richards was present when I told Agatha that I would take her to
the reception, and he left the house immediately afterward.” John
Hale was becoming excited again. “Thus, Richards knew that the
coast would be clear.”
“Hold on, he was aware that Judith was at home, and the
servants, also,” objected Latimer.
“Sure, and he knew that our servants retire early. Anna sees to
the closing of the house, and she is very strict with the other
servants.” John Hale rose abruptly and emphasized his words by
striking his cane against the floor. “And Richards knew that Judith
would not be likely to hear him, and if she did—”
“Well, what then?” as John Hale paused.
“He probably had a plausible excuse handy. Oh, he could have
manufactured some story which Judith would have swallowed,”
retorted John Hale. “Remember, they haven’t been married long.”
Latimer frowned. “Who is going to tell Judith about the theft of her
bonds?” he asked, rising also.
“It’s up to you.” John Hale moved uneasily and glanced away
from his companion. “Judith came to you about her bonds.”
“Dash it all, John!” Latimer spoke with temper. “I’m damned if I
will. Don’t you realize that Judith worships her husband?”
“Well, it’s not the first time a woman has been deceived in a
man,” replied Hale cynically. “What did she marry for in such an all-
fired hurry? I am sorry for Judith, but she must ‘dree her weird.’”
Whatever reply Latimer intended making was interrupted by the
entrance of a clerk.
“This special delivery letter has just come for you, sir,” he
explained handing it to Latimer. Then, with a polite bow to John Hale,
of which the latter took not the slightest notice, the clerk departed.
Latimer tore open the envelope and ran his eyes down the written
page to the signature. An exclamation escaped him.
“It is from Judith,” he said. “Listen:”
Dear Frank:
 I gave my Valve bonds to Joe to use as he saw fit,
and he tells me that he took the shares to you and you
were kind enough to arrange the business for him, so I
shall not need the $1,000 after all.
Please don’t tell the family that I’ve become a bit of
a gambler; Joe doesn’t quite approve of a woman
speculating, but—he’s dear about it.
Thanks for all your kindness.
Faithfully,
Judith Richards.
Latimer and John Hale stared at each other.
“Let me see that letter,” the latter demanded, and he read it twice
before handing it back to Latimer. “What do you make of it?”
Latimer laughed heartily. “Thank God I shan’t have to break any
unpleasant news to her,” he exclaimed. “But the inconsistency of
women! To come to me for advice and then get her husband to do
exactly what I advised her not to.”
“What was your advice?”
“To use the bonds as collateral at a bank and not sell them.”
John Hale studied him in thoughtful silence for a minute.
“When did Richards bring the bonds here, Frank?” he asked.
“Was it some time after Judith left?”
“No; come to think of it, he must have been in the outer office
when Judith was talking to me,” responded Latimer, and his face
grew grave once again.
“And Judith states”—John Hale picked up his niece’s letter—“‘I
gave my Valve bonds to Joe to use as he saw fit and he tells me that
he took the bonds to you—’ Did Judith mention to you where she
had the bonds?”
“Now that you speak of it, she did say that they were in her
father’s safe.” Latimer eyed John Hale sharply. “What are you driving
at?”
“Simply this, that if Richards was in your front office with the
bonds in his possession, they could not have been where Judith
thought them—in her father’s safe. Secondly,”—and John Hale’s
voice deepened—“there was no time for Judith to return home, get
the bonds and give them to Richards before he sold them to your
clerk here in your outer office. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.” Latimer’s worried look returned. “By Jove, you think—?”
“That Judith has discovered that her bonds are missing.”
“Do you suppose your brother told her?”
“I hardly think so, for he swore me to secrecy,” replied John Hale.
“No, Judith must have gone to get the bonds and found them
missing from the safe.”
“But, good Lord! How did she know that her husband had brought
the bonds to me?” demanded Latimer.
“Ask me something easy.” Hale swung his cane around and
stepped briskly to the door. “But depend on it, Frank, I’ll find an
answer to that question before I’m many hours older.” And he
banged out of the door.
Latimer strode thoughtfully up and down his office, then reseated
himself at his desk.
“What’s come over John?” he muttered. “He seemed anxious,”—
he paused—“no, more than anxious,—determined,—to fix the guilt
on Joe Richards.”
He leaned forward and eyed Judith’s letter, reading it slowly,
conning over the words, and when he straightened up there was a
gleam of frank admiration in his eyes.
“You are a loyal woman, Judith,” he exclaimed, unconscious that
he spoke aloud. “As well as ‘a bit of a gambler.’”
 CHAPTER IX
HALF A SHEET

Polly Davis closed the vestibule door of her home in C Street with
a veritable slam and proceeded up the street oblivious of
greetings from several of her neighbors. The street, celebrated in its
day for having among the occupants of its stately old-fashioned brick
houses such personages as John C. Fremont, John C. Calhoun, and
General Winfield Scott, was chiefly given over to modern business
enterprises, and only a few “Cave-dwellers” (the name bestowed
upon Washingtonians by an earnest “climber” to its exclusive
resident circles) still occupied the homes of their ancestors.
Polly slackened her swift walk into a saunter as she turned the
corner from C Street into John Marshall Place. On reaching D Street
she accelerated her speed somewhat on catching sight of an
approaching street car, but it did not stop to take on passengers, and
Polly walked back to the curb with an uncomplimentary opinion of
the service of one of Washington’s public utilities. She waited in
indecision on the corner, then opening her hand bag, took from it a
scrap of paper and consulted the name written thereon. After
studying the paper for a minute, she turned and eyed the large, red
brick and stone trimmed office building standing on the southeast
corner facing the District Court House. She had seen the Fendall
Building innumerable times since her childhood days, but never
before had it held her interest.
There was a certain set air to Polly’s shoulders, which, to one
acquainted with her characteristics, indicated obstinacy, as she
crossed the street and entered the Fendall Building. She paused in
the lobby in front of the floor directory and then continued to the
second story. At the far end of the corridor she stopped before a
closed door bearing on its ground glass the title, in gold lettering:
 Burroughs Detective Agency
Alfred Burroughs, Prop.
Polly returned to her hand bag the scrap of paper which she still
held tightly between the fingers of her left hand, took out a visiting
card, and stepped inside the office. There was no one in the room,
and, with a surprised glance about her, Polly crossed to a door
evidently leading to an inner office. The door was only partly closed,
and through the opening a familiar voice floated out to her:
“I depend upon your discretion, Mr. Burroughs. Remember, my
name must not be mentioned in connection with your employment in
the case—” The grating sound of chairs being pushed back followed,
and any answer was drowned thereby.
The hand which Polly had extended to knock against the panel of
the door fell nerveless to her side. With eyes distended to twice their
normal size, she retraced her footsteps out of the office and the
building.
When Polly reached the Hale residence she was admitted by the
parlor maid instead of the ever smiling Anna.
“Mr. Hale left word, Miss Polly, that you were to go to Mrs. Hale,”
Maud announced, helping Polly off with her coat and hat.
“Oh,” Polly paused. “Where is Mrs. Hale?”
“I don’t rightly know, miss.” Maud emerged from the depths of the
hall closet where she had hung Polly’s wraps. “Mrs. Hale came in not
three minutes ago. I think she has gone to her bedroom. Will you
have some lunch now, miss, or a little later?”
“A little later, thanks”—Polly regarded the hall clock. “I had no
idea it was nearly noon. You will find me with Mrs. Hale, Maud.”
“Very good, miss,” and they separated, the maid going to her
pantry, and Polly in search of Mrs. Hale. She found that energetic
matron just crossing the hall toward Judith’s boudoir. At the sound of
Polly’s hail she faced around.
“Is it you, Polly!” Mrs. Hale frequently asked the obvious. “My
dear, aren’t you very late to-day?”
 Polly blushed at the emphasis on the adjective. “A little later than
ordinary,” she answered good-naturedly. “I will make up the time,
Mrs. Hale, and your husband’s manuscript will be completed without
delay. Maud said that your husband left word that I was to report to
you.”
“Did he?” Mrs. Hale regarded her in some perplexity. “Why, last
night he decided that you were not strong enough to aid me in
answering my letters; he must have changed his mind, for he
wouldn’t have sent you to me for anything else.”
Polly’s attention had been caught by one phrase and the rest of
Mrs. Hale’s speech went unheeded.
“Your husband said I was not strong?” she questioned. “I am
quite well. What made him think otherwise?”
“Judith put the idea in his head.” Mrs. Hale led the way into the
boudoir as she spoke and selected a chair near her daughter’s desk,
on which were piled the notes of condolence, in anticipation of
Richards’ answering them under Judith’s supervision. “Judith is very
much worried about your health, my dear.”
“That is very kind of Judith.” Polly slipped into the seat before
Judith’s desk at a sign from Mrs. Hale. “But your daughter is
mistaken. I am not in the least ill.”
“I am delighted to hear it.” Mrs. Hale looked at her husband’s
pretty secretary with approval. “Judith is always so positive in her
statements. I could not see that you looked run down, but she
insisted that you needed a change, and arranged with Mr. Hale to
give you a vacation.”
“Indeed!” The frigid exclamation escaped Polly unwittingly, but
Mrs. Hale apparently was oblivious of the girl’s chilly reception of
Judith’s plans.
“I am glad you don’t require a vacation,” she went on. “Mr. Hale is
particularly in need of your services, and it would be most unkind to
leave him in the lurch.”
 “I have no intention of doing so, Mrs. Hale,” declared Polly with
some warmth. “Aside from the question of my not being able to
afford a vacation, gratitude to Mr. Hale, alone, would prevent me
from going away just now.” She passed one restless hand over the
other. “What possessed Judith to wish to get rid of me?”
“Now, my dear,”—Mrs. Hale held up a protesting hand—“don’t get
such a notion in your head. Judith is devoted to you; we all are, but
she imagined—you know Judith greatly depends upon her
imagination—she is so, so,”—hunting about for a word—“so shut in
with her deafness, and she is forever imagining things about people.”
“And what does she imagine about me?” asked Polly, as Mrs.
Hale came to a somewhat incoherent pause.
“That you were on the point of nervous prostration—”
Polly laughed a bit unsteadily. “Only the wealthy can afford
nervous ‘prosperity,’ and I am not in that class,” she said. “I must
work—work!” She spoke with nervous vehemence; Mrs. Hale’s
surprised expression checked her; and with an effort she regained
her self-control. “What can I do for you?”
“Answer these notes,” and Mrs. Hale laid her hand on them.
“Take this black-edged note paper,” holding out a box she had
brought with her.
Mrs. Hale’s powers of observation were wool-gathering as she
dictated her answers, first reading each letter in a monotone—in
itself enough to try the steadiest nerves—before composing its
answer; then losing her place and having to be prompted, which
added to her already confused state of mind. Every expression of
sympathy in the notes brought tears in its train, and if the steady
application of Mrs. Hale’s handkerchief proved an additional barrier
to the speedy completion of her task, it also prevented her perceiving
the wavering writing of Polly’s swiftly moving pen.
“Austin was very much beloved,” she remarked. “I cannot
understand, as I told my husband over and over, I cannot understand
who would have a motive for killing him. It is beyond me.”
 “Yes,” murmured Polly. She laid down her pen and rubbed her
stiff fingers. There still remained numerous notes to answer. “Dear
Mrs. Hale, let me finish answering these later on. You must be
exhausted.”
“No, they must be completed now,” Mrs. Hale spoke with
firmness, and Polly, hiding her unsteady fingers under pretense of
searching for another pen among Judith’s papers, resigned herself to
the situation. “Judith suggested that I order an engraved card of
acknowledgment, but I desire an individual letter sent to each of our
friends. It will not take much more of your time,” observing Polly’s
eyes stray to her wrist-watch.
“Will you let me complete the letters this afternoon?” Polly asked.
“I have not touched my regular work for your husband, and it is
nearly your luncheon hour.”
“Luncheon will be half an hour later to-day,” responded Mrs. Hale.
“Anna is laid up and Maud asked for more time. She is not very quick
at her work, you know.”
“Anna ill! That is too bad,” exclaimed Polly. “I hope it is nothing
serious.”
“A sprained ankle.” Mrs. Hale leaned back in her chair and
relaxed; she felt the need of a little gossip, for in spite of her
insistence on completing her letters, the steady application was
commencing to wear upon her. “When anything goes wrong with
Anna the whole house is upset.”
“She is certainly a domestic treasure,” agreed Polly. “How many
years has she been with you?”
Mrs. Hale considered before answering. “She came to us at the
time Austin had typhoid fever; the trained nurse wanted a helper—
what did she call Anna?”
“Nurse’s aide?” suggested Polly.
“That was it,” and Mrs. Hale smiled. “We persuaded her to stay
on as waitress.”
 “How did you manage it, Mrs. Hale?” asked Polly. Another glance
at her watch showed her that the announcement of luncheon must
shortly occur, and she wished above all not to resume answering
letters of condolence. “It has always struck me that Anna was very
much above the regular servant class.”
“So she is, my dear,” Mrs. Hale was launched on her favorite
topic. “But Mr. Hale offered her such high wages, really ridiculous
wages at the time, that it wouldn’t have been in human nature to
resist his offer. I must say for Anna that she has earned every cent
we pay her. Lately”—Mrs. Hale hesitated and surveyed the boudoir
to make sure that the hall door was closed—“lately, Anna has
appeared so—so absent-minded. Do you suppose it can be a love
affair?”
“The most natural supposition in the world,” smiled Polly. “Anna is
a remarkably pretty girl.”
“So she is,” Mrs. Hale nodded her head in agreement. “I suspect
it is that new clerk in the drug store. I meet them quite often walking
together, and I called Austin’s attention to them when he was last in
Washington, just six weeks ago to-day.” Mrs. Hale looked at the
calendar hanging near Judith’s desk to be sure of her facts. “Polly, if I
tell you something will you promise to hold your tongue about it?”
Polly stared at Mrs. Hale—the latter’s tone had completely
changed and her customary irresponsible manner had become one
of suppressed anxiety.
“Certainly, Mrs. Hale,” she replied, and her manner reflected the
other’s seriousness. “I will consider whatever you say as
confidential.”
“First, answer this, on your word of honor,”—and Polly’s
wonderment grew as Mrs. Hale hitched her chair nearer, and her
voice gained in seriousness. “Have you come across a small piece
of yellow paper; it is folded and has the word ‘Copy’ as a
watermark?” Seeing Polly’s uncomprehending stare, she added
impatiently, “The kind reporters use in newspaper offices. Have you
seen such a paper among my husband’s correspondence?”
 “No, Mrs. Hale; not as you describe it,” Polly shook a puzzled
head. “I may not have noticed the word ‘Copy,’ though. Was there
anything else to identify it?”
Mrs. Hale thought a minute, then came to a decision. “It is no
matter,” she said brusquely. “Forget I mentioned it; there is a more
pressing matter”—from her silver mesh purse she drew out a much
creased letter. “Read that,” she directed, and held it almost under
Polly’s nose, “but not aloud, read it to yourself.”
Obediently Polly took the paper and, holding it at the proper
focus, read:
Dear Aunt Agatha:
I started for San Francisco on the midnight train, so
forgive this hasty scrawl in answer to your long letter. I
will see the happy bride and groom on my return. Sorry
Uncle Robert doesn’t like Richards. I found on inquiry
that Richards——
Polly turned the letter over—the second sheet was missing. The
young girl looked in bewilderment at Mrs. Hale.
“Have you the end of the letter?” she asked.
“No, that is all there is to it.”
“This”—Polly turned it over again. “Why, it is not even signed.”
“But it is in Austin Hale’s handwriting,” asserted Mrs. Hale. “You
know it is, Polly.”
Polly again inspected the clear, distinctive writing. She had seen
it too often to be mistaken in identifying the chirography.
“It looks like Austin’s writing,” she qualified. “When did you
receive the letter and what does it mean?”
“Mean? We’ll come to that later,” Mrs. Hale lowered her voice to a
confidential pitch. “You see the date there,” indicating it, and Polly
nodded. “The letter was begun on Tuesday in New York, and Austin
was murdered between Tuesday midnight and one a. m. Wednesday
here in Washington.”
 “He was——”
“Of course he was.” Patience was never Mrs. Hale’s strong point.
“Now, Polly, let us dissect this letter. On Tuesday in New York Austin
states that he is to take the midnight train for San Francisco; instead
of that he comes to Washington. Why?” And having propounded the
conundrum, Mrs. Hale sat back and contemplated Polly. There was a
distinct pause before the girl replied.
“I cannot answer your question, Mrs. Hale.” Polly avoided raising
her eyes as she turned the letter over once again and looked at the
blank side. It was a small-sized sheet of note paper of good quality,
and Austin’s large writing completely filled the first page. Polly held
the letter nearer Mrs. Hale.
“The back sheet has been torn off,” she pointed out. “See, the
edges are rough and uneven.”
“So I observed.” Mrs. Hale was a trifle nonplussed. She had
anticipated more excitement on Polly’s part, and the girl’s composure
was a surprise. That Polly was maintaining her composure through
sheer will power, Mrs. Hale was too obtuse to detect. She was
convinced, however, that Polly had been more than ordinarily
attracted by Austin Hale’s good looks and his marked attention to her
charming self. It was not in human nature, Mrs. Hale argued, that a
young and penniless girl would refuse a wealthy young man,
especially not in favor of a man of John Hale’s age. It was absurd of
Joe Richards to insinuate that her brother-in-law might have
supplanted Austin in Polly’s affections. Having once gotten an idea in
her head no power on earth could dislodge it, and Mrs. Hale, to
prove her viewpoint, had decided to investigate the mystery of
Austin’s death to her own satisfaction. Mrs. Hale thought over Polly’s
conduct for several minutes, then changed her tactics.
“Had you heard recently from Austin?” she asked, and at the
direct question Polly changed color.
“Not since this letter to you,” she replied calmly and Mrs. Hale,
intent on framing her next question, failed to analyze her answer.
“Did he make any reference to coming to Washington?”
 “Only in a general way,” and before Mrs. Hale could question her
further, she added, “His letter of ten days ago said that he might be
here in April.”
“Ah!” Mrs. Hale felt that she had scored a point. “That goes to
prove that Austin’s trip here Tuesday was unexpected.”
“So unexpected that he never even wired you,” supplemented
Polly, and Mrs. Hale eyed her sharply.
“True,” she replied. “It must have been something frightfully
urgent that brought him here—to his death.”
Polly shivered slightly and laid down the letter.
“When did Austin mail this letter to you?”
“I don’t know.”
Polly glanced at her in surprise. “Was there no postmark on the
envelope?”
“There was no envelope.”
“What!” Polly half rose then dropped back in her seat. “No
envelope? Then how did you get the letter?”
Mrs. Hale looked carefully around to make sure that no one had
entered the boudoir or was within earshot. Her next remark ignored
Polly’s question.
“I have not shown Austin’s letter to my husband,” she began. “Mr.
Hale does not always view matters from my standpoint, and he might
be displeased at my having mentioned to Austin that he was
disappointed in Judith’s choice of a husband. Therefore, Polly, you
will say nothing to him.”
“Certainly not,” agreed Polly. “But about the letter—”
“Nor mention the letter to Judith,” pursued Mrs. Hale, paying no
attention to Polly’s attempt to question her. “I shall not discuss it with
Judith, for she might readily resent my writing Austin to find out
something about her husband’s career before he entered the army in
1917. This letter”—Mrs. Hale picked it up, refolded it, and replaced it
in her purse—“must remain a secret between you and me.”
“But, Mrs. Hale,”—Polly stopped her as she was about to rise
—“where did you get the letter and who tore off the last sheet?”
“It is for us to find out who tore it off and what became of it,”
declared Mrs. Hale. At last Polly was roused out of herself, and the
older woman observed with interest the two hectic spots of color in
her cheeks. “And why the sheet was torn off.”
The opening of the boudoir door caused Polly to start nervously,
a start which, in Mrs. Hale’s case became a jump, as Richards
addressed them from the doorway.
“Maud is looking for you, Mrs. Hale,” he announced. “Luncheon is
waiting for you.”
“Thanks, yes; we will come at once.” Mrs. Hale was conscious of
her flurried manner and her ingratiating smile was a trifle strained as
she faced her handsome son-in-law. “Where is Judith?”
“She telephoned that she was lunching at the Army and Navy
Club.” Richards gave no sign that he was aware of Mrs. Hale’s
agitation. “Your husband is waiting for you.”
“Run down, Joe, and tell him not to wait for me.” Mrs. Hale laid
her hand on Polly’s shoulder and gave her a slight push. “Go also,
my dear.”
But Polly hung back. “Wait, Mrs. Hale,” she whispered feverishly.
“There, Major Richards is downstairs by now. Tell me quickly who
gave you Austin’s letter?”
“No one.”
“Then where did you get it?”
Mrs. Hale paused and looked carefully around—they had the
boudoir to themselves, but before she spoke Mrs. Hale took the
precaution to close the boudoir door.
“I found the letter this morning,” she stated, “in the leather pocket
of Judith’s electric car.”
 CHAPTER X
BELOW STAIRS

Anna, the waitress, found the time lagging in spite of the game of
solitaire she was playing to wile away the tedium of her enforced
idleness. She cast a resentful glance at her swollen ankle before
shuffling the cards for the thirtieth time since she had eaten her
midday meal. She had discarded the morning newspaper, and
refused to find entertainment in the cheap paper novel which the
cook had brought to her early in the morning, so her last and only
solace was the pack of playing cards.
Mrs. Hale, a New Yorker by birth, until her marriage had spent
her life in the North, and while she had quickly succumbed to the
spell which the Capital City casts over those who come to its
hospitable doors, she had never taken kindly to employing negro
servants. She did not understand the African character, and her one
attempt to adjust herself to the conditions then prevailing in domestic
service in the District of Columbia had proved a dismal failure. With
her husband’s hasty approval she had sent to New York and
engaged French and English servants.
Aside from her eccentricities, Mrs. Hale was a kind and thoughtful
mistress, and the servants remained long in her employ. Even during
the chaotic war-time conditions in Washington, with the influx of war-
workers and deserters from the domestic field, her servants had
loyally remained with her in preference to seeking Government
“positions” as elevator women and messengers.
It required a person in Anna’s state of mind to find fault with the
large, cozily furnished bedroom in which she sat. A coal fire on the
hearth added its cheerful glow, and at her elbow was an electric
reading lamp ready for instant service when the winter afternoon
drew to a close.
 Anna scowled at her reflection in the mirrored paneling of the
door leading to the bathroom which she and “cook,” a Swede,
shared with Maud, the parlor maid. For nearly twenty-four hours she
had been kept captive inside the four walls of her bedroom, and her
restless spirit rebelled. Fate, in the guise of a treacherous high-
heeled slipper, had given her an ugly tumble down the kitchen stairs
on her way to bed the night before, and Dr. McLane’s assurance that
she had had a lucky escape did not assuage Anna’s sense of
personal grievance nor deaden the pain of her physical injury.
Footsteps and the clatter of dishes, as a tray was brought in
slight contact with the stair turning, came distinctly through the open
door leading to the hall. Anna’s downcast look vanished. Seizing the
cards, she was intent on laying out her favorite solitaire when Maud
entered, bearing a tray loaded with appetizing dishes.
“I’m a bit late,” she explained apologetically, as Anna swept the
playing cards into her lap to make a place on the table for the tray.
“But there’s been a pile of coming and going in and out of the house,
and it keeps a body moving.”
“Sit down and have a cup of tea with me,” suggested Anna, on
whom the extra cup and saucer on the tray had not been lost. Maud
had evidently anticipated the invitation, judging also from the amount
of cinnamon toast and thin slices of bread and butter. “I am sorry,
Maud, to have more work thrown on you just now; perhaps I can
hobble downstairs to-morrow. Dr. McLane seemed to think I might.”
“Now, you rest easy,” advised Maud earnestly. “I can handle the
work all right, and Mr. Hale said he would come down handsome for
it.”
“He did!” Anna’s eyes had narrowed to thin slits, but Maud, intent
on consuming as much tea and toast as was humanly possible in a
given time, was oblivious of her facial contortions. “Mr. Hale is a
generous gentleman; you stick by him, Maud.”
“You bet. What he says goes,” Maud nodded enthusiastically.
“Funny household, ain’t it? A dead easy one if you are in the ‘know,’”
and she chuckled. “Let me pour you out another cup, Miss Anna,”
and, not waiting for permission, she replenished Anna’s tea, at the
same time refilling her own cup. “My, don’t cook make good toast!
No wonder Major Richards is so partial to it.”
“Is he?” Anna’s tone was dry.
“Yes, ma’am, and he’s partial to a good deal more besides.”
Maud relished an opportunity of airing her views to so superior a
person as Anna, for it was not often that she had her undivided
attention. “Major Richards knows a good-looking woman when he
sees one.”
“Is that so?” indifferently, helping herself to more sugar.
“Yes, ma’am,” with emphasis. “Didn’t I see the look and smile he
gave you yesterday?”
“Tut, tut! None of that.” Anna spoke with severity. “Major Richards
is Miss Judith’s husband, a nicely spoken gentleman.”
“Sure he is.” Maud smiled broadly, nothing daunted by Anna’s
frown. “And say, ain’t Miss Judith mashed on him? That cold kind
always flops the worst when they fall in love.”
“Miss Judith isn’t the cold kind,” retorted Anna warmly. “She has
plenty of temper about her, but I will say it’s tempered with proper
pride.”
“I wonder if it was proper pride which made her quarrel so with
Mr. Austin?” Maud’s snicker always grated on Anna, and again the
waitress frowned. “Say, wasn’t his death awful?”
“Yes.” Anna sat back with a shiver. “Terrible!”
“And they dunno who done it,” pursued Maud with relish, her
somewhat nasal voice slightly raised. “Leastways that is what
Detective Ferguson told me this afternoon.”
“Was he at the house again?”
“Yes, three times.” Maud looked regretfully at the empty toast
dish. “I asked him if he wanted a bed made up for his convenience,
and he was real peevish. My, but he asks a lot of questions!”
 “What about?” inquired Anna.
“Oh, where we were on Tuesday night, and if we heard anything
unusual,” answered Maud with careless candor. “Didn’t seem to
believe that we had all gone to bed the same as usual. I told him if
we’d a known Mr. Austin was to have been murdered, o’ course we’d
have waited up for it, so as to supply the police with details. That
settled him for a time and then he wanted to know when I last saw
Miss Judith Tuesday night.”
“So?” Anna leaned out of her chair and took up a box of candy
from the bureau. “Help yourself, Maud. What did you say to
Ferguson?”
Maud received the candy with eyes which sparkled as Anna put
the box conveniently in front of her. Her craving for sweets had
frequently earned her a reprimand from Mrs. Hale when that dame
caught her in the act of purloining candy from the stock kept in the
dining room.
“I told Ferguson that Miss Judith was undressing in her bedroom
when I went upstairs.” Maud’s speech was somewhat impeded by a
large caramel. “Then he wanted to know when we first heard o’ the
murder—silly question, wasn’t it?”
“Very,” agreed Anna. “Considering he came upstairs and joined
us just after Mrs. Hale had broken the news of Mr. Austin’s death.
Men are silly creatures.”
“Some of ’em are,” amended Maud. “I never would call Mr.
Robert Hale silly. Say, Miss Anna,”—and Maud hitched her chair
close to the waitress—“do you s’pose he knows anything about the
courting that went on between Miss Polly and his brother?”
“There isn’t anything that escapes Mr. Hale’s notice,” Anna
responded dryly.
“But Miss Polly was mighty sly about it,” argued Maud. “Mr.
Austin caught her once, though, and my, didn’t he flare up!” Her eyes
grew bigger at the recollection. “I wonder if he was smart enough to
know Miss Polly, for all her appearing frankness, was playing father
and son off against each other.”
 “Men never know anything where a pretty woman’s concerned,”
replied Anna scornfully. “Miss Judith knew what was going on
though, and”—she lowered her voice to confidential tones—“it’s my
belief that her Uncle John used his influence with the family to get
her sent on that visit to Japan.”
“And there she met Major Richards.” Maud selected another
piece of candy. “My, ain’t Fate funny sometimes!” Her companion
agreed, and Maud munched the milk chocolates with silent
enjoyment. Then her active mind went off on a tangent as she
caught sight of the playing cards still reposing in a disorderly heap in
Anna’s lap. “Mr. Hale got in one of his tantrums this morning.”
“He did?” Anna put down her cup from which she had been
slowly sipping her strong black tea. “What about?”
“He said one of his playing cards was missing from the pack he
keeps in the library, and he just as much as asked me if I had stolen
it.” Maud sniffed. “If he hadn’t been so nice about my wages and my
room wasn’t so comfortable, and you and cook being so agreeable,
I’d a given notice.”
“Oh, pshaw! Mr. Hale doesn’t mean half he says,” Anna hastened
to smooth down Maud’s ruffled feelings. “He forgets the cause of his
tantrums ten minutes afterward. What’s the use of paying attention to
them? His wife never does.”
“I ain’t his wife,” objected Maud. “And he didn’t forget this
tantrum, though it was about such a measly little thing, but came
right back after lunch and asked me had I found the card in any
one’s room. He was put out when I told him no.”
“It is too bad, Maud,” exclaimed Anna, who had followed her story
with gratifying attention. “Mr. Hale shouldn’t worry you when you
have extra work with me laid up here. Why not speak to Mrs. Hale?”
“Not me!” broke in Maud hastily. “I ain’t hankering to start a family
ruction. Don’t you worry, Miss Anna, I fixed it,” Maud smiled slyly. “I
went up to Miss Judith’s boudoir with the C. & P. man to mend her
branch telephone this afternoon, and I just happened to see a pack
o’ playing cards lying on Major Richards’ dresser; their backs were