‘The fust thing,’ he decided, ‘is ter find aht where Miss Bretherton is. The second thing is ter find aht where Mr Black is. But corse I ain’t goin ’ter waist no time on Mr Black, ’cos arter orl ’oo’s ’e any’ow, ’e may be a bad egg ’iself, no, I ain’t goin ’ter waist no time on ’im not if I finds Miss Bretherton and spots a charnce o’ gittin’ ’er aht o’ this Gawd-knows-where! Yus, and where is it? I reckon this is one o’ them air-raid funk-’oles wot was bombed wot’s bin turned inter a crooks’ ’otel. Where’ve I got ter? Oh, yus, I’m findin’ aht where they are. ’Ow do I do it? By goin’ on pertendin’. Wot’s goin’ ter be the good o’ that? I mean, jest pertendin’? That ain’t goin’ ter git yer nowhere, yer gotter do somethink! Think o’ somethink, think o’ somethink ter do! ’Ow’s this? “Yer must be a bit short’anded, Chief, with orl these new people ter look arter,” I sez ter ’im. “Monkey-fice carn’t look arter the lot.” “Yer’ve sed it,” ’e sez. “Then why not mike use o’ me,” I sez, “and let me keep a eye on the gal?” And then p’r’aps, sayin’ we’re gittin’ on orl right, p’r’aps ’e might give us a wink and say, “If yer was keepin’ a eye on the gal there might ’ave ter be some’un ter keep a eye on you,” meanin’ ter be funny, and then I larf, ter flatter ’im like, and we fixes it up. Okay. So then wot? Well, that’d be a start, any’ow, and when yer don’t know nothink yer carn’t go further than the start. Orl right. That’s ter say if ’e believes me. But s’pose ’e don’t? ’E mightn’t nah, if Smith and George ’ave stopped doin’ it—I expeck they’re torkin’ ter ’im abart me nah, blarst ’em! Well, then, say ’e don’t? Wot abart this? I manidges ter git up close ter ’im and pertend ter sneeze—see, the sneeze comin’ might sorter tip me t’ords ’im like—and then dahn goes me ’ead, and up it comes wallop in ’is fice …’
‘Don’t you hear me?’
It was the Owl’s voice. The door through which the others had passed had reopened, and the ordeal of waiting was over. Ben brought his mind back from the indefinite future to the definite present with a jerk.
‘For the third time, come,’ said the Owl.
‘Oh!’ blinked Ben. ‘Yer mean me or Tarzan?’
‘If you refer to your companion, I mean both,’ replied the Owl.
‘I see. Yer ready? Well, so’m I. As a matter o’ fack, I was jest thinkin’ o’ the Chief when yer come in and lookin’ forward ter seein’ ’im.’
‘The Chief, I can assure you, is looking forward to seeing you,’ replied the Owl.
His expressionless face as he said it reminded Ben less of an owl than an octopus.
26
Conference at Top Level
Out of one door, along a low passage, in through another door—and at long last Ben found himself in the august presence of the Chief.
Unlike in the case of the monnertrocity, who was also present at the queer interview that followed, Ben had not visualised the Chief in his imagination. There is a saturation point beyond which imagination refuses to function, and the large black-haired, bearded, leather-faced man who sat at a big desk—Ben wondered how such a massive piece of furniture had been brought down there—did not therefore upset any preconceived conception. But this did not alter the fact that the Chief’s general aspect was supremely disappointing, and it was quite impossible to conceive this grim and sinister figure indulging in a wink!
Oddly, in spite of the disparity in size, the Chief and the Owl made an appropriate pair, for they shared the characteristic of expressionlessness that was predominant in each. From neither inscrutable visage could be deduced what the mind behind was thinking, and even the words spoken by these two Sphinxlike men were not always as informative to Ben as they might have been. The Owl’s voice was as expressionless as his face, seeming often to cloak the reason and meaning of what he said, while what the Chief said was completely incomprehensible since he spoke in a foreign tongue. Whether he understood English or not, he never once used it, addressing all his remarks to the Owl for interpretation.
Ben was gestured to a chair a little way from the desk. The Owl sat down in a chair between. The monnertrocity stood behind Ben’s chair, patiently awaiting his next instructions. The sole consolation in this over-disciplined atmosphere was that at least it kept the monnertrocity in order.
For a few moments after the four inmates of the Chief’s sanctum had settled themselves, no word was spoken. Ben wondered whether this were the usual practice—see, it gits on yer nerves like, which’d be wot they wanted, wouldn’t it?—and whether perhaps Miss Bretherton and Mr Black had sat in this very chair before him to endure a similar nerve test? It made you feel you wanted to say something, just to break the silence, but without in the least helping you to know what to say. What Ben said, after the situation had beaten him, was ‘Good arternoon,’ which somehow did not seem at all right. Indeed, it produced no response from either the Chief or the Owl, so after another period of silent strain Ben tried again.
‘When are we goin’ ter begin?’ he asked.
Then the Owl said, ‘We are waiting for you,’ and once more relapsed into silence.
This was a new technique to Ben, and he did not know what to do with it.
‘Yer mean, yer ain’t goin’ ter arsk me questions?’ he enquired. ‘That I gotter start like?’
‘That is so,’ replied the Owl.
Although, up to now, the Chief had not spoken, Ben felt conscious of the perfect understanding between the two men. The Owl was merely the voice of the Chief.
‘I see,’ answered Ben, though he didn’t. ‘Well, wotcher want me ter say?’
‘What you have got to say,’ came the response.
And then, all at once, instead of being oppressed by the procedure, Ben wondered whether this might not be his big chance? He was being invited to talk. And Smith and George were not present to hear him.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Then ’ere goes! I got a complaint!’ He paused for somebody to say, ‘Have you?’ but nobody did. ‘See, it’s like this. I ain’t goin’ ter say nothink abart the way I was roped inter orl this, ’cos I expeck yer knows orl abart that as much as I does, and wot Mr Smith did ’e was actin’ for yer. We’ll let that go. I ain’t one ter bear a grudge, and arter orl, wot’s ’avin’ a little thing like a murder plarnted on yer? We carn’t be pertickler in our line, can we? Matter o’ fack, I’ve finished orf ’arf a dozen in my time, so ’oo am I ter tork?’
He paused again for approval, and again received none. The Chief and the Owl exchanged glances, but since the glances lacked expression they did not tell Ben anything, though assumedly they told plenty to each other.
‘Orl right,’ Ben went on, doggedly. ‘That’s okay by me. But wot ’appens when I gits ’ere? Ain’t yer got no records? Yer’d think blokes like you would ’ave records. You know! Jim Green, cupple o’ murders. Billy Brahn, three yards o’ pearls and the end o’ Policeman X. And then me—but yer don’t know! I ’ave ter tell yer! And this is s’posed ter be Number One set-up south o’ Scotland!’
Was he overdoing it? He had no idea. If only those two fathomless faces had shown something! If an eye had winked or a nose twitched! Well, if they didn’t, if his audience remained static, he had to flow on.
‘Orl right! Wot ’appens is this! I’m brort ’ere, but I ain’t trusted. Me, wot’s wanted in more countries than yer ’ave fingers to cahnt ’em! That ’urt! We got our pride, ain’t we? ’Ow’d you like it if some’un tried ter mike aht yer’d got wings? But I stood it. Do yer know, the one called George pertended ter be a pleeceman ter try and ketch me aht? It’s a fack! If I knowd ’oo it was—corse, mindyer, I didn’t, ’cos if I ’ad it wouldn’t of bin no test, would it, if yer git me?—but if I’d knowd, lummy, I’d ’ave sloshed ’im one! Yus, and when I sloshes, I sloshes!’
He raised a clenched fist and glared at it with what he hoped was ferocity.
‘But this mornin’ I thort they got over orl that,’ he continued. ‘Well, they ’ad, ’cos ain’t I g
ive that there packet fer that there Mr Wavell when ’e calls at 10.30 with that there Mr Black, and would they of done that if I wasn’t ter be trusted? Orl right. And so—well, wot ’appens ter Mr Black was wot yer wanted ter ’appen ter ’im, yus, and—’ He paused, gulped, and went on, ‘Yus, and aincher got that lidy, too—aincher?—that’s a fack, ain’t it? And orl ’cos the way I bin helpin’ yer! And then wot? Yus, and nah I’m comin’ ter it, Chief!’ He had been looking at the Owl, finding that easier than looking at the Chief, but now he jerked his head round and faced the Chief bravely. ‘I expect Smith and George ’ave been spinnin’ the yarn ter yer, ’cos yer ’ad ’em in fust, but nah ’ere’s my yarn, and I’m tellin’ yer! If they didn’t trust me, I didn’t trust them! Not when I sees ’ow things is goin’. And so when I ’as a accident fallin’ dahn some stairs, and ’ears’ em torkin’ ter theirselves when I comes to, I pertends ter be dead, and I ’ears ’em saying they’re goin’ ter cut loose once they’ve mide their little pile aht o’ you. They don’t like yer methods, they sez. I couldn’t tell yer orl they sed, me marth would go on strike! Yus, and when they learns I ain’t dead, but am goin’ ter spill the beans ter you, wot ’appens?’
He swung round. ‘Arsk Monkey-fice! Yus, and arsk the Owl!… Eh? …’ Lummy, that was a slip, wasn’t it? ‘That’s wot they calls yer, sir,’ he gulped, now turning to the Owl. ‘The Owl! ’Ow’s that fer cheek? Any’ow, you saw, didn’t yer, ’ow they give me ter Monkey-fice ter finish me orf, so’s I couldn’t split on ’em! The Chief ’ad sent fer me, but they wanted ter finish me orf fust—and they would of if you ’adn’t come along, jest like yer sed!… Well, is that enuff? Or do yer want any more?’
Now for the first time, the Chief spoke. As all Ben knew outside his own language was Orrivore, what the Chief said was unintelligible to him, and so, for a little while, was what the Owl said. They had a short conference, in low toneless voices, and then the Chief sat back in his chair and folded his arms, while the Owl turned back to Ben.
‘We have heard what you have told us,’ said the Owl, impassively. ‘Is there anything more?’
‘If I’ve left anythink aht,’ returned Ben, ‘you tell me!’
‘You mentioned a packet.’
‘The one I was ter give ter Mr Wavell?’
‘You mentioned it, but not what was in it.’
‘I wasn’t s’posed ter know. There yer are! Not trusted agine!’
‘Did you know?’
‘I’d of ’ad ter open it.’
‘Did you open it?’
‘Corse not. Wot would I of fahnd if I ’ad?’
The Chief said something. The Owl translated.
‘A needle.’
‘Oh,’ said Ben. ‘It was a big packet for a needle. Did Mr Wavell ’ave a button orf?’
‘It was not that sort of needle.’
‘Wot sort was it then?’
‘You should know.’
‘Why?’ But as Ben asked the question, he realised the answer. ‘It was the sime as wot I ’ad put in me yesterday in the park.’
‘It was.’
‘I see. And Mr Wavell put it inter Mr Black.’
‘He did.’
‘’Cos Mr Black wouldn’t do wot ’e was told?’
‘What is your opinion about that?’
‘Well, that’s wot it looks like, don’t it?’
‘We agree it might have that appearance.’
‘Wot was it,’ asked Ben, ‘that Mr Black wouldn’t do?’
The Owl waited till the Chief spoke. Then, again, he translated.
‘He needed an inducement to complete the business he had come for.’
‘I ain’t good at long words, but I git yer,’ said Ben. ‘Is the business done nah?’
‘It interests you?’
‘Well, ain’t I in it?’
Another pause. Another remark by the Chief. Another translation.
‘You are in it. Up to the neck. The business is not quite completed.’
Ben hoped that no one but himself knew of the cold chill that went through him.
‘It’s—goin’ ter be—eh?’
‘Undoubtedly, it is going to be.’
‘Yer’ve—yer’ve got ’im sife like?’
‘Mr Black will not leave here until the business is finished.’
‘And wot abart—the other one?’
‘Meaning?’
‘The lidy.’
‘We have her safely here, too.’
‘Along o’ Mr Black?’
‘Along with Mr Black.’
‘Yer mean, they’re tergether like?’
The Owl glanced towards the Chief. The Chief nodded. After so much immobility, the nod seemed almost like a violent motion.
‘They are together.’
The Chief made another remark.
‘The arrival of the lady,’ translated the Owl, ‘will assist the completion of the business.’
What did that mean? It had a wretchedly sinister sound. Trying to conceal his anxiety, Ben asked,
‘Did yer ’ave ter use the needle on ’er?’
‘No, we did not,’ replied the Owl.
‘’Ow was that?’
‘Women are notoriously curious.’
‘I don’t git yer?’
‘The cellar door was open.’
‘Oh! Some’un fergot ter lock it?’
‘No.’
Light dawned.
‘Yer mean, it wasn’t locked on purpose?’
‘That is the meaning.’
‘And she jest walked in.’
‘As you did yourself.’
‘Nah I git yer. Keep orf when yer ain’t wanted, but come along when yer are.’
‘Quite nicely put.’
‘Well, I ain’t Shakespeare,’ said Ben, modestly, ‘but I gits there with words sometimes. One o’ the doors that was open, wot I calls the cubbard door, that ’un closed arter I gorn through it.’
‘That was closed,’ replied the Owl, ‘from here.’
‘Go on!’
‘I hope you now think a little more of our organisation?’
‘Eh?’
‘In spite of the fact that we did not have your name on our list?’
‘Ferget it,’ said Ben, generously. ‘You know a bit!’ He felt he was getting along rather well, and a little more buttering-up might do the trick. ‘But ’ow did yer know I come through, ter close it be’ind me? That was smart, yer carn’t git away from it, ’cos I didn’t see nobody there!’
‘Nobody was there.’
‘Go on!’
The Owl looked towards the Chief, who unfolded his arms and lowered a hand behind the desk. A metallic buzzing sound filled the room for a moment.
‘That,’ said the Owl, ‘is the sound we hear every time anyone passes through that door.’
‘I’m blowed!’ muttered Ben, and the admiration in his voice was not entirely feigned. ‘It mikes one prahd ter work with yer! Yer ’eard that buzzer agine, arter it sahnded fer me, didn’t yer? See, Mr Smith and George was be’ind me.’
‘That is so.’
‘’Ow did they git in, arter the door was closed?’
‘It was closed, but not bolted. We expected Smith, but not quite so soon. In spite of our organisation, which you so kindly praise, things have not gone today with their usual smoothness.’
‘Well, I’m ’ere ter ’elp yer,’ replied Ben, ‘and p’r’aps terday’ll end better than it begun.’
‘And how,’ asked the Owl, ‘do you propose to help us?’
‘Well, corse, that’s up ter you,’ answered Ben, ‘but I got an idea.’
‘May we learn it?’
‘Yer sed this Mr Black and the lidy was tergether?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Meanin’ they’re in the sime room like.’
‘That is again correct.’
‘Well, yer’ve ’eard wot I’d told yer abart Mr Smith and George, and yer seen wot yer seen ter corryob it.’
; ‘Corryob?’
‘Eh? That means ter mike proof like.’
‘Corroborate?’
‘I ain’t ’eard that one, but I expeck it means the sime. Any’ow, yer know they ain’t ter be trusted.’
‘We know that is your opinion.’
‘Well, ain’t it your’n?’
‘It must occur to you that they have expressed the same opinion about yourself.’
‘They would.’
‘They have.’
‘Lummy! There’re times when I carn’t mike yer aht,’ complained Ben. ‘Yer top o’ the blinkin’ tree, but yer don’t know a crook when yer sees one!’
‘We are still waiting,’ the Owl reminded him, ‘to learn how you propose to help us?’
‘Oh, yus. Well, this is the way. ’Oo’s guardin’ Mr Black and Miss—and the lidy?’
‘Miss?’
‘Eh?’
‘You said “miss”?’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Ben, cursing himself for another slip, though he had no idea by now whether this one mattered or not. ‘And then I ’ad ter stop ’cos I couldn’t go on, not knowin’, she might be Mrs Any’ow, ’oo’s guardin’ ’em?’
‘Continue.’
‘Well, see, I thort p’r’aps I might keep a eye on ’em—if yer was short’anded?’
This was the plan he had worked out while waiting in the ante-room, though in the original scheme Miss Bretherton had been alone, which would have been preferable, and the Chief had winked at him. But the Chief did not wink at him, and while Ben held his breath there was another interchange between the Chief and the Owl. When it was over, the Owl resumed the conversation along instructed lines.
‘It is certainly necessary,’ said the Owl, ‘that our two visitors do not leave until we decide that they shall do so. If, indeed, we do decide that they shall do so. And, also, if they are in a condition to do so.’
He paused, and Ben’s heart stopped beating for a second. He managed to keep his face, however, and even to induce an expression of frozen pleasure to distort it. The effort did not go unnoticed.
‘My words please you?’
‘That’s right,’ muttered Ben, thickly. ‘We carn’t let ’em go.’
Number Nineteen Page 17
