Ben Sees It Through. J. Farjeon Jefferson

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded solemnly, and continued to stare at Ben.

      ‘We was just talking about it, wasn’t we, when you popped in,’ continued the barmaid, nodding towards Ben. ‘There’s two of ’em. One’s from Spain or somewhere, so they say, and the other’s a sailor what’s come off a ship.’

      ‘The sailor’s the one I saw!’ interposed Molly, quickly. ‘Six foot, if an inch!’

      ‘I heard he was little,’ said Joe.

      His tone was that of a man who objects to discarding a theory. Molly, however, stuck to her point.

      ‘Little be boiled!’ she retorted. ‘That only shows what stories get around!’

      ‘She’s right there,’ agreed the barmaid. ‘What I was told was that he was little and had a yeller tooth sticking out like a tusk! But, there you are! What are you to believe? Is it true,’ she added, turning to Molly, ‘that he was in the taxi when they heard the scream, and that this sailor fellow popped out of one door while the policeman popped in at the other?’

      Just in time, Ben prevented himself from denying that there had been any scream,

      ‘Out he jumps,’ the barmaid ran on, ‘with his knife still in his hand and the blood dripping on the pavement, there’s no sleep for me tonight, and into a house, and then escapes off the roof! And then, just when they think they’ve got him, along comes this foreigner—’

      ‘Spaniard, Spaniard,’ interposed Joe, irritably.

      ‘Spaniard, was it? They’re all the same. And he knocks a policeman out, and off they bolt together.’

      ‘Wot, tergether?’ blinked Ben.

      ‘That’s right. They was both in it. It’s my belief the sailor done it, and then passes the pocket-book on to this Spaniard. Well, anyhow, let’s hope they’re both caught. Ain’t anyone going to drink to it?’

      ‘Pocket-book, eh?’ murmured Ben. ‘Was there a pocket-book?’

      ‘Well, I didn’t say a coal-scuttle, did I?’ retorted the barmaid. ‘Easy to see you don’t know nothing about it!’

      ‘Ay, and mebbe you don’t know quite as much about it as you think,’ observed the red-faced Joe, tartly. Six feet!’

      ‘I never said nothing about six feet!’ returned the barmaid, with equal spirit. ‘P’r’aps it’s getting time you used your two!’

      Joe looked at her with a scowl, then looked at Ben again.

      ‘Mebbe it is,’ he said. ‘Mebbe it is!’

      And, abruptly draining his glass, he placed it on the stained counter, planked down the payment, and strode out of the inn.

      Ben and Molly exchanged glances. The barmaid laughed.

      ‘Don’t you worry about him!’ she exclaimed. ‘Loony, that’s what he is! Well, what’ll you have?’

      ‘Three penn’orth o’ champagne,’ replied Ben, making an effort to hide his intense uneasiness at the red-faced man’s abrupt departure.

      ‘My! Aren’t you a wag!’ smiled the barmaid. ‘And the lady? Ain’t you going to treat her for picking up your cap? And a new one, too, ain’t it?’

      Sometimes, for no apparent reason, one’s mind will be diverted from a main issue to a trivial one. Ben’s mind, now, was diverted to his cap. Queer how often his cap cropped up in the conversation! Of course, it was all quite natural, really, but …

      Mechanically, he adjusted and completed his drink order, but his mind still flitted vaguely around his cap, or his cap flitted vaguely around his mind. Meanwhile, Molly was drawing casually closer, till her lips were within a few inches of his ear.

      ‘Drink it quickly,’ whispered the lips, ‘and go!’

      Ben donned an expression intended to convey the response, ‘I get yer.’ To anyone else it would merely have conveyed that he had suddenly got a fly in his eye.

      ‘Go to the right,’ whispered the lips again. ‘I’ll follow.’

      Ben repeated his expression. He now looked as if he had got two flies in his eye.

      ‘And leave your cap behind you,’ came the final whispered injunction.

      ‘There yer are,’ thought Ben. ‘Cap agine. Funny!’

      He approached the counter, took his glass of three-penny champagne, and held it aloft.

      ‘’Ere’s wot,’ he said.

      ‘Buenos dias,’ answered Molly.

      ‘That’s a new one!’ commented the barmaid. ‘Russian, ain’t it?’

      ‘No, Chinese,’ smiled Molly. ‘It means “Good luck and we’ll meet again!”’

      Ben grinned, and shoved his cap so far back on his head that it fell to the floor.

      ‘Well, I ’ope we do,’ he nodded, ‘becos’ now I gotter be orf.’

      He drained his glass, and made for the door.

      ‘Oh, and where are you off to?’ inquired the barmaid.

      ‘Mothers’ Meeting,’ answered Ben, ‘ter knit socks.’

      The next moment he was gone. The barmaid stared after him, and laughed.

      ‘Talk about lightning,’ she observed. ‘Bit of a hurry, wasn’t he?’

      ‘Yes, and he’s left his blessed cap behind!’ exclaimed Molly, suddenly. ‘I’d better go after him.’

      And, hastily emptying her own glass, she picked up the cap and made an equally hurried exit.

      For about ten minutes the barmaid’s life became dull again. She yawned, breathed on glasses, wiped, yawned, breathed, wiped, in dreary but philosophic sequence. Then life brightened once more, the door was pushed open, and a police officer entered.

      Behind came Joe, redder than ever with a kind of crimson triumph.

      ‘What did I say?’ he cried.

      As a matter of fact, he had not said anything; he had merely thought. But when your thought proves right, it is human to assume that you have spoken.

      The inspector silenced him with a sharp motion. Then he addressed the barmaid with even greater sharpness.

      ‘Where’s the couple who were in here just now?’ he demanded.

      ‘I’m sure I don’t know!’ replied the barmaid, her eyes popping.

      ‘When did they leave?’ barked the inspector.

      ‘Ten minutes ago!’ gasped the barmaid. СКАЧАТЬ