Ben Sees It Through. J. Farjeon Jefferson

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      ‘Yus.’

      ‘Si!’

      ‘That’s right. Jest come orf it.’

      ‘No more that!’ The voice grew more menacing. ‘Now say again. Say why you run?’

      ‘’Cos yer was arter me.’

      ‘Arter?’

      ‘Arter. Chise. Try ter catch.’

      ‘Oh! So I try to catch you?’

      ‘Yus.’

      ‘And so—you run?’

      ‘Yus.’

      ‘But before I try to catch you?’

      ‘Eh?’

      ‘You still run? Say, now! Why you run before I try to catch you?’

      Ben thought he would try to run again, but as he gave a lurch the fingers tightened on his neck and his breath began to go. ‘Oi! Stow that!’ he gulped. ‘I won’t be no good to yer flabby!’

      ‘Dios meo!’ rasped his captor. ‘Speak what I say, and no more! Why you run away?’

      ‘Gawd, yer worse’n a cop!’ murmured Ben. ‘Why was I runnin’ away? Well, I reckon you knows that as well as I do … Orl right, orl right! I was runnin’ away ’cos—’cos a chap wot I was with died sudden, like.’

      ‘Died?’

      ‘Ain’t I tellin’ yer? If you don’t comprennez the langwidge you orter’ve stayed at ’ome—’

      ‘Who is it that die?’

      ‘I’ve toljer!’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Chap I was with.’

      ‘Diablo!’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘But who were you with?’

      ‘Chap wot died. Eh? Well, ’ow do I know. I on’y jest met ’im.’

      ‘Si, si! You meet him and you say “Buenos dias,” and he die!’

      ‘I never tole ’im ter dias—’

      Then the whole Spanish dictionary descended upon Ben, and he felt something prick his back. He recognised that prick. It was a part of the Spanish Constitution, and in a panic he poured out particulars.

      ‘’Is nime was White. Leastwise, that’s wot ’e sed. ’E got torkin’ ter me when we was on the boat, see, and then ’e got torkin’ ter me when we got ashore, see, and then—’ere, stoppit, I’m goin’ as quick as I can, ain’t I?—and then ’e got torkin’ when we was in the cab, and so, well, we got torkin’—’

      ‘But what you talk about?’ interrupted the Spaniard.

      ‘Eh? Orl sorts o’ things,’ replied Ben. ‘Weather. Price o’ bernarners. You know.’

      ‘I do not know! But I get to know! You tell me! Quick! Yes?’

      The prick was reborn in Ben’s back.

      ‘Lummy, wotcher want me ter tell yer?’ yelped Ben. ‘Me bloomin’ ige? He tells me abart a job, see—’

      ‘Job?’

      ‘Yus. Persishun. Tells me if I goes along I can ’ave it—’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘’Oo?’

      ‘Where, where?’

      ‘Oh! Where did ’e tell me ter go?’

      ‘Si!’

      ‘’E tells me ter go ter the plice where the job is.’

      The Spaniard swore. Ben swore back. The Spaniard swore again, and won.

      ‘Wimbledon,’ muttered Ben. ‘Wimbledon Common.’

      ‘But the house?’ pressed the Spaniard.

      ‘I’ve fergot it.’

      ‘Then how you go there?’

      ‘It’s on a bit o’ piper.’

      ‘Piper?’

      ‘Yus. ’E wrote it.’

      The Spaniard’s eyes gleamed, but Ben did not see as the eyes were behind him.

      ‘Show me,’ ordered the Spaniard.

      ‘Yus, and ’ave ’im follerin’ me,’ thought Ben. ‘No blinkin’ fear!’

      ‘Show me!’ repeated the Spaniard, and his voice grew more tense.

      ‘Carn’t,’ replied Ben. ‘I lorst it.’

      ‘You lie!’ threatened the Spaniard.

      ‘Wot, me lie? There’s a thing ter say!’ protested Ben, and then suddenly jumped. ‘’Ere, tike yer dirty ’and aht o’ me pocket! I tell yer I lorst it—it ain’t there.’

      ‘But something else is there, eh?’ retorted the Spaniard, while his bony fingers felt around Ben’s middle. ‘This dead man! This White. He give you something else, eh?’

      Something else? Lummy! Was the Spaniard after his pound?

      Urged now by the financial aspect, it is possible that Ben would have continued his protest and, by so doing, would have ended his uneasy life in a narrow passageway on the outskirts of Southampton. But the Spaniard suddenly stiffened. A moment later, a policeman came round the corner.

      The policeman was a smart fellow. On this occasion, however, he was not quite smart enough. He did not realise that he was face to face with a couple of speed kings. While the Spaniard used his legs, the Briton used his arms, and unfortunately for official prestige the constable’s face was within the circuit of the arms. Caught in the first whirling of the human windmill, the constable fell to the ground; and, when the human windmill stopped whirling, the constable was still trying to come back to earth from a confusion of distant stars.

      Ben, of course, had not intended to knock the policeman down. He respected the law even while the law refused to return the compliment. Confronted with a situation that refused to reveal any immediate solution, he had merely obeyed the self-protective instinct of endeavouring to transform himself temporarily into a danger zone, and any man whose arms are revolving at the speed of fifty revolutions per second is a danger zone.

      But now, his energy СКАЧАТЬ