A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller Read Online Free Page A
Author: PR Hilton
nurse. It would be many years before a glanced newspaper headline during a hurried breakfast, would return her thoughts to the kiss and the declaration of innocence and allow her to smile and think kindly of the poor hunted animal that had once used her as his only means of escape. At this thought, she had allowed her smile to brighten her entire morning, knowing that she had herself helped save an innocent man.
Chapter 2
Harry had decided to avoid the obvious choice of staying in London and instead headed north. A week later, still at large and hungry, he turned up on Manchester‘s Market Street. He had stolen an overcoat and a suitcase from a station waiting room and had managed to live so far off the proceeds. He had been lucky and had found a wallet containing a substantial amount of money in the coat pocket. He despised his new life.
Harry Royle had made a decision and realised he must stand behind it. Life wasn't always fair and he would just have to make the best of things. Not knowing anyone in a big city was good and bad. Good that you could simply vanish, bad that you had nowhere to go. Finding an office window poorly latched after closing time, he crept in and found a complete set of draughtsman's tools. Selling these gave him enough for a cheap room in a house on Denmark Road, now at least he had a base. It was far enough from the city centre and the locals ignored everything and everyone. Manchester was a hard city; a man could disappear on its streets.
The funny thing was that Harry knew that had things turned out differently he would have been on the opposite side and been firmly in no man's land, hardly a gentleman officer, and not welcome to socialise with the men. Up from the ranks officers were always seen as cross-breeds, mongrels that could get the job done and were respected, even liked by the men, but never quite trusted, once elevated to a higher rank. He'd seen them, poor bastards, always off drinking on their own, finding their own billets and attracting anger and derision from their brother officers, because of their unwillingness to take on a batman. They would be quietly despised and laughed at by all and sundry.
Now he thought about it; he was glad not to have to live that life, but even that was a life, not like the lie he had been forced to live. It had been some time since the break-in and Harry knew that he had to do something and very soon if he were to continue to eat and live in the new little nest he had found.
It was a cold, wet Tuesday evening that found Harry making his way to The Alexander Crown Hotel, known locally as The Alex. He had been told by his landlady about the place, as they might know of some work going. But she warned him to watch himself, as all sorts went in there.
8pm found Harry Royle making his way across Princess Road and towards the imposing building with the illuminated windows and murmur of ale-fuelled banter. Pushing his way through the solid wooden doors, he was almost surprised that the chatter continued, as the atmosphere was a little like a Tom Mix film, but in those the bad guys always stopped talking when the man with the white hat came in. Maybe his hat didn't look so white anymore. It was crowded and he could see the usual old men playing dominoes in the corner and the small groups in huddles around the room. The bar itself was thick with elbows and it was through these he eased himself. Taking off his brown trilby, he caught the barman's eye.
"Pint of best when you've got a minute."
The bald headed man in the dark red waistcoat nodded and moved towards a pump. He began to pull the pint and make small talk at the same time.
"Not seen you in here before."
"Not been in before, heard it was all right."
The other man smiled.
"Depends what you have in mind, we're not to everyone's taste. What do you do for a living, if you don't mind me asking that is?"
"Not at all, this and that, you know, but I'm out of work at the minute, looking for
Chapter 2
Harry had decided to avoid the obvious choice of staying in London and instead headed north. A week later, still at large and hungry, he turned up on Manchester‘s Market Street. He had stolen an overcoat and a suitcase from a station waiting room and had managed to live so far off the proceeds. He had been lucky and had found a wallet containing a substantial amount of money in the coat pocket. He despised his new life.
Harry Royle had made a decision and realised he must stand behind it. Life wasn't always fair and he would just have to make the best of things. Not knowing anyone in a big city was good and bad. Good that you could simply vanish, bad that you had nowhere to go. Finding an office window poorly latched after closing time, he crept in and found a complete set of draughtsman's tools. Selling these gave him enough for a cheap room in a house on Denmark Road, now at least he had a base. It was far enough from the city centre and the locals ignored everything and everyone. Manchester was a hard city; a man could disappear on its streets.
The funny thing was that Harry knew that had things turned out differently he would have been on the opposite side and been firmly in no man's land, hardly a gentleman officer, and not welcome to socialise with the men. Up from the ranks officers were always seen as cross-breeds, mongrels that could get the job done and were respected, even liked by the men, but never quite trusted, once elevated to a higher rank. He'd seen them, poor bastards, always off drinking on their own, finding their own billets and attracting anger and derision from their brother officers, because of their unwillingness to take on a batman. They would be quietly despised and laughed at by all and sundry.
Now he thought about it; he was glad not to have to live that life, but even that was a life, not like the lie he had been forced to live. It had been some time since the break-in and Harry knew that he had to do something and very soon if he were to continue to eat and live in the new little nest he had found.
It was a cold, wet Tuesday evening that found Harry making his way to The Alexander Crown Hotel, known locally as The Alex. He had been told by his landlady about the place, as they might know of some work going. But she warned him to watch himself, as all sorts went in there.
8pm found Harry Royle making his way across Princess Road and towards the imposing building with the illuminated windows and murmur of ale-fuelled banter. Pushing his way through the solid wooden doors, he was almost surprised that the chatter continued, as the atmosphere was a little like a Tom Mix film, but in those the bad guys always stopped talking when the man with the white hat came in. Maybe his hat didn't look so white anymore. It was crowded and he could see the usual old men playing dominoes in the corner and the small groups in huddles around the room. The bar itself was thick with elbows and it was through these he eased himself. Taking off his brown trilby, he caught the barman's eye.
"Pint of best when you've got a minute."
The bald headed man in the dark red waistcoat nodded and moved towards a pump. He began to pull the pint and make small talk at the same time.
"Not seen you in here before."
"Not been in before, heard it was all right."
The other man smiled.
"Depends what you have in mind, we're not to everyone's taste. What do you do for a living, if you don't mind me asking that is?"
"Not at all, this and that, you know, but I'm out of work at the minute, looking for
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