The coldness and seriousness of his voice surprised me. The
fact that a man clad in a pink ballerina costume was showing such graveness in
his conversation struck me as most ironical. I pointed to the bench which was
earlier occupied by me, and we walked briskly over to the seat.
After an awkward silence, the man drew out some papers from
behind his ear which had been tucked under his hairband. The situation seemed a
bit humorous at first, but the papers were looking as if they belonged to the
official lot (due to their small and boring font, I admit) that I remained
quiet.
‘I believe you lost your father five years ago?’ The man
took me by surprise as he spoke. ‘How do you know so much about me? That my
name is Calverton?’
‘The reason is the same as why your father was wrongly
sentenced to death. My brother shared his fate.’
I sat still for a moment, my body utterly motionless. This
was someone who understood my problem, and the look of the papers in his hand
suggested that he had some useful information. My mind flashed back to that
moment of my life which the man was referring to…
‘All the evidences
point in your direction, Mr Joseph Calverton. Your conviction is just.’
‘But you have to
believe me! This is a plan, a plan to get me into jail! I’m innocent, for God’s
sake!’
‘And what proof can
you present before us to prove that? You are in a court. I am a judge, and my
work is to be fair and just.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Your fingerprints,
only yours, were found upon the knife that was used to commit the murder. The
blood test proves that. The footprints found in the room matched with those of
your rain boots, which is justified as a storm was raging outside. The victim
was your landlord, to whom you couldn't pay the rent, being in such a tight
situation as you were. So what better choice than to kill him?’
‘But, Judge, you have
to understand! You have to let the guiltless out of a scandal!’
‘I hereby declare that
death is the only punishment which can be given to sort out such criminals.’
As I came back to my senses, I realized that the man had
been watching me. I took the courtesy of asking his name. ‘Ralph White, that’s
my name.’ ‘So, what is this you hold in your hand, and why have you called upon
me on such a night in such, well, err, clothing?’
The man laughed out loud, springing his head back and
hitting his hands on the frock of his dress. ‘I wondered why you didn’t ask
that yet. I’m an actor. Us actors are strange folk, Mr Calverton, which is
evident from the fact that you are having the most important conversation of
your life in an alley behind a theatre.’
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