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Bunning dropped his hands, looked up, his face ridiculous with its tear-stains. "You think there's a God?" "I know there's a God." "Oh!" Bunning sighed. "But you mustn't take it from me, you know. You must think it out for yourself. Everybody has to." "Yes but you matter more to me than any one." "Yes." Bunning looked at the floor and began to speak very fast.
Craven looked at him with a surprised stare, and then, calling out good-bye to Olva, walked off. Bunning stood hesitating, his great spectacles shining owl-like in the light. Dune didn't want him. He was, he reflected as he looked at him, the very last person whom he did want. And then Bunning had most irritating habits.
But never do I remember a Mayor coming here to this Moot Hall of a night, with books and papers which is dangerous matters at any time, except in their proper place, such as my proclamations and the town dockyments and sitting there for hours, doing what?" Bunning shook his head.
And I'll take my solemn oath that nobody was here, waiting for him. I'd been in this room myself, not five minutes before he came," said Dunning. "It was empty of course." Brent disregarded the caretaker's admonition and laid a finger on the dead man's forehead. But Bunning pointed to a dark stain, still spreading, on the back of the Mayor's coat a well-worn garment of grey tweed.
But, strangely, Olva's words roused in Bunning a kind of protest, so that he pulled his eyes back into their sockets, steadied his hands, held his boots firmly to the floor, and, quite softly, with a little note of urgency in it as though he were pleading before a great court, said "Yes, I know. But he drove me to it; Craven did. I thought it was the only way to save you.
Bunning is of supreme importance there is no doubt whatever that there was easy means of access to the Mayor's Parlour during that half hour wherein the Mayor met his death. The mystery of the whole affair has deepened considerably during to-day's proceedings, and instead of bringing this inquiry to a definite conclusion I feel that I must wait for more evidence.
He had not now and this was the more terrible any consciousness of Carfax at all; there was waiting for him, lurking, beast-like, until its inevitable moment, something far more terrible. Meanwhile he made encounters. . . . There was Bunning. The Historical Society in Saul's was held together by the Senior Tutor. This gentleman, a Mr. Gregg, was thin, cadaverous, blue-chinned, mildly insincere.
Bunning tells me that he himself was standing outside the iron gates at the entrance to the Moot Hall from the time the Mayor entered until you came. He asserts that nobody entered the place by those gates." "I suppose there are other means of entrance?" suggested Brent. "Doubtful if anybody could get in by them at this hour of the evening," answered the superintendent.
He was trying, Olva saw, with an effort that in its intensity was pathetic to prove himself worthy of the chance that had been offered him, as though it were the one sole opportunity that he would ever be given, but to appear to the world something that he was not was an art that Bunning and his kind could never acquire that is their tragedy.
Who'd walk in front o' the Mayor's procession, with the Mace what was give to this here town by King Henry VII, his very self? Abolish me? Why, it's as bad as talking about abolishing the Bible!" "It's the age for that sort of thing," remarked Bunning. "I seen a deal of it in the Army. Abolished all sorts o' things, they have, there. I never seen no good come of it, neither.
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