Murder Mysteries for the Holiday Season. Джером К. Джером

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СКАЧАТЬ “It’s a cop,” said Willie philosophically. I didn’t see you around, Mr. Fellowe.”

      “I don’t suppose you did, yet I’m big enough.”

      “And ugly enough,” added Willie impartially.

      Frank smiled. “You’re not much of an authority on beauty, Willie, are you?” he asked jocosely, as they threaded their way through the streets which separated them from the nearest police-station.

      “Oh, I don’t know,” said Willie, “‘andsome is as ‘andsome does. Say, Mr. Fellowe, why don’t the police go after a man like Olloroff? What are they worrying about a little hook like me for — getting my living at great inconvenience, in a manner of speaking. He is a fellow who makes his thousands, and has ruined his hundreds. Can you get him a lagging?”

      “In time I hope we shall,” said Frank.

      “There’s a feller!” said Willie. “He baits the poor little clerk — gets him to put up a fiver to buy a million pounds’ worth of gold mines. Clerk puts it — pinches the money from the till, not meanin’ to be dishonest, in a manner of speakin’, but expectin’ one day to walk into his boss, covered with fame and diamonds, and say, ‘Look at your long-lost Horace!’ See what I mean?”

      Frank nodded.

      “‘Look at your prodigal cashier’,” Jakobs continued, carried away by his imagination. “‘Put your lamps over my shiners, run your hooks over me Astrakhan collar. Master. it is I, thy servant!’”

      It was not curious that they should speak of Black. There had been a case in court that day in which a too-credulous client of Black’s, who had suffered as a result of that credulity, had sued the colonel for the return of his money, and the case had not been defended.

      “I used to work for him,” said Mr. Jakobs, reminiscently. “Messenger at twenty-nine shillings a week — like bein’ messenger at a mortuary.” He looked up at Frank. “Ever count up the number of Black’s friends who’ve died suddenly?” he asked. “Ever reckon that up? He’s a regular jujube tree, he is.”

      “‘Upas’ is the word you want, Willie,” said Frank gently.

      “You wait till the Four get him,” warned Mr. Jakobs cheerfully. “They won’t half put his light out.”

      He said no more for a while, then he turned suddenly to Frank.

      “Come to think of it, Fellowe,” he said, with the gross familiarity of the habitue in dealing with his captor, “this is the third time you’ve pinched me.”

      “Come to think of it,” admitted Frank cheerfully, “it is.”

      “Harf a mo’.” Mr. Jakobs halted and surveyed the other with a puzzled air. “He took me in the Tottenham Court Road, he took me in the Charin’ Cross Road, an’ he apperryhended me in Cheapside.”

      “You’ve a wonderful memory,” smiled the young man.

      “Never on his beat,” said Mr. Jakobs to himself, “always in plain clothes, an’ generally watchin’ me — now, why?”

      Frank thought a moment. “Come and have a cup of tea, Willie,” he said, “and I will tell you a fairy story.”

      “I think we shall be gettin’ at facts very soon,” said Willie, in his best judicial manner.

      “I am going to be perfectly frank with you, my friend,” said Fellowe, when they were seated in a neighbouring coffee-shop.

      “If you don’t mind,” begged Willie, “I’d rather call you by your surname — I don’t want it to get about that I’m a pal of yours.”

      Frank smiled again. Willie had ever been a source of amusement. “You have been taken by me three times,” he said, “and this is the first time you have mentioned our friend Black. I think I can say that if you had mentioned him before it might have made a lot of difference to you, Willie.”

      Mr. Jakobs addressed the ceiling. “Come to think of it,” he said, “he ‘inted at this once before.”

      “I ‘int at it once again,” said Frank. “Will you tell me why Black pays you two pounds a week?”

      “Because he don’t,” said Willie promptly. “Because he’s a sneakin’ hook an’ because he’s a twister, because he’s a liar—”

      “If there’s any reason you haven’t mentioned, give it a run,” said Constable Fellowe in the vernacular.

      Willie hesitated. “What’s the good of my tellin’ you?” he asked. “Sure as death you’ll tell me ‘I’m only lyin’.”

      “Try me,” said Frank, and for an hour they sat talking, policeman and thief.

      At the end of that time they went different ways — Frank to the police-station, where he found an irate owner of property awaiting him, and Mr. Jakobs, thankfully, yet apprehensively, to his Somers Town home.

      His business completed at the station, and a station sergeant alternately annoyed and mystified by the erratic behaviour of a plainclothes constable, who gave orders with the assurance of an Assistant-Commissioner, Frank found a taxi and drove first to the house of Black, and later (with instructions to the driver to break all the rules laid down for the regulation of traffic) to Hampstead.

      May Sandford was expecting the colonel. She stood by the drawingroom fire, buttoning her glove and endeavouring to disguise her pleasure that her sometime friend had called.

      “Where are you going?” was his first blunt greeting, and the girl stiffened.

      “You have no right to ask in that tone,” she said quietly, “but I will tell you. I am going to dinner.”

      “With whom?”

      The colour came to her face, for she was really annoyed. “With Colonel Black,” she said an effort to restrain her rising anger.

      He nodded. “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to go,” he said coolly.

      The girl stared. “Once and for all, Mr. Fellowe,” she said with quiet dignity, “you will understand that I am my own mistress. I shall do as I please. You have no right to dictate to me — you have no right whatever” — she stamped her foot angrily— “to say what I may do and what I may not do. I shall go where and with whom I choose.”

      “You will not go out tonight, at any rate,” said Frank grimly.

      An angry flush came to her cheeks. “If I chose to go tonight, I should go tonight,” she said.

      “Indeed, you will do nothing of the sort.” He was quite cool now — master of himself — completely under control.

      “I shall be outside this house,” he said, “for the rest of the night. If you go out with this man I shall arrest you.” She started and took a step back. “I shall arrest you,” he went on determinedly. “I don’t care what happens to me afterwards. I will trump up any charge against you. I will take you to the station, through the streets, and put you in the iron dock as though you were a common thief. СКАЧАТЬ