'We had a banana in last week.' 'Where from, mate? Africa?' 'Leeds. Well, Leeds train, any road.' 'What happened to it?' 'Mr Parkinson entered it in the ledger.' 'As what?' 'A banana.' 'What happened then?' 'It turned black, and I asked Mr Parkinson for leave to pitch it into the stove.' 'Waste of good grub,' I said. 'If somebody had tried to claim it would you have required them to furnish a full description?' He seemed to hesitate on the point of utterance, but in the end simply looked at the black window. I opened the door again. 'Well, I'm much obliged to you, mate!' I said, stepping out into the rain with my bag. I was skirting around the wagons again, when he called after me: 'Where you off to?' 'Home,' I called back. 'Can you get over to the station in one hour from now?' 'Why?' He coughed a little. '… See summat,' he said, after a while. 'Where exactly in the station?' 'Down side!' he called back with the rain sliding down his bent, white face. 'I've to lock up first, but I'll see you at half six!' 'Aye,' I said, 'all right; half six, then.' It would mean biking back to Thorpe-on-Ouse an hour later. The wife would be put out, but she couldn't expect me always home directly in my new line of work. I wondered why the queer stick wanted to see me, and then it hit me: I was a policeman.

Chapter Three

I lugged the magazines with me through Micklegate Bar – the grandest of the city-wall gates – and on into the city At the Little Coach in Micklegate, I took another drink, putting the peg in after a couple of glasses, and when I stepped out the rain had eased off, though the streets were still empty.

I knew York a little, having grown up nearby at Baytown. (I'd also had an earlier spell of working for the North Eastern Company, my railway start having been a lad porter out at Grosmont.) But I couldn't think of where to go, so I pursued an aimless way about the centre of the city, where the streets were narrow and ancient, the houses all overhanging, falling slowly towards the pavements. I turned into Stonegate, where a solitary horse was turning on the cobbles, too big for the street.