Paul Temple and the Front Page Men. Francis Durbridge

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       CHAPTER VI

       Rev. Charles Hargreaves

      Any self-respecting stranger to Rotherhithe would have thought twice before entering the Glass Bowl for a drink, unless, of course, he was particularly hardened to the drab appearance of riverside taverns. It stood on the corner of an uninviting street leading up from the river; its creaking sign portraying a bowl of dejected goldfish was so faded that only the fish were now faintly visible.

      There were usually half a dozen loungers, very much down-at-heel, reclining listlessly against its crumbling walls, waiting for an acquaintance to come along and invite them inside for a drink.

      A good proportion of the Glass Bowl’s customers were seafaring folk; sailors from tramp steamers of every nationality, many of them looking every bit as desperate as their prototypes in the more bloodthirsty class of film.

      On this particular evening, however, the bar-parlour was rather quieter than usual, and Mrs. Taylor, the hostess, had taken the opportunity to embark upon a long account of some grievance for the benefit of one of her customers.

      She was a large, flamboyant woman of about forty-five, obviously a little too much inclined to sampling her own wares. Although it was still comparatively early in the evening, Mrs. Taylor’s tongue had received sufficient lubrication to set it going merrily.

      ‘“My Gawd!” I said to ’er,’ she ended her story, ‘“to ’ear you talk anybody would think your ole man were a blasted admiral, instead of a yellow-bellied first mate on a perishin’ tramp steamer.”’

      This seemed to tickle Jimmy Mills, a shifty young man of about thirty, who was rather too well dressed for his surroundings. He had a cruel mouth, which rarely relaxed from its thin, set line, except when he laughed rather too loudly, and he wore an expensive soft felt hat, pulled a little too far to one side.

      ‘I bet she was nonplussed, Mrs. Taylor,’ he remarked, stressing the long word, as if proud of his vocabulary.

      ‘It took the wind out of ’er sails, I don’t mind telling you,’ nodded Mrs. Taylor. ‘Can I get you anything else, love?’ she suggested pleasantly, noticing that Mills’ glass needed refilling.

      ‘Yes,’ ruminated Mills, ‘I’d like another dry ginger; but this time you can put in a drop of—’

      Suddenly his jaw dropped, as he caught sight of Paul Temple standing in the passage outside.

      ‘Who is it?’ asked Mrs. Taylor nervously. She had always been a little jumpy since the place had been raided last year. ‘Who is it?’ she repeated urgently.

      ‘A fellow called Temple,’ Mills told her. ‘The last time I saw him was—’

      ‘Phew! You ’ad me all of a jitter for a minute. I thought it was that dirty swine Brook, or one of his river cops.’

      ‘Sh, he’s coming in here,’ cut in Mills. ‘Now, the name’s Smith – remember that!’ he ordered curtly.

      *

      Temple came up to them and leaned against the bar, slightly nauseated by the odour of stale beer, foul tobacco-smoke, and the general uncleanliness of the bar-parlour.

      ‘Good evening, sir. What can I get you?’ primly demanded Mrs. Taylor, in her politest manner.

      Temple ran a speculative eye over the bottles at the back of the counter.

      ‘Well now, I think I’ll have a ginger ale,’ he decided.

      ‘Yes, sir, very good, sir,’ answered the obsequious Mrs. Taylor, and busied herself with bottle and opener. Meanwhile, Temple moved over to her late companion.

      ‘Well, well! Look who’s here! If it isn’t Jimmy Mills!’ he ejaculated.

      ‘The name’s Smith,’ retorted Mills, shortly.

      ‘Smith?’ Temple seemed amazed. ‘Not one of the Devonshire Smiths?’

      ‘Don’t try to be funny!’ snapped Mills, savagely, and Paul Temple laughed.

      ‘Still the same old Jimmy. Tell me, what happened to that Canadian gold mine of yours? Don’t say there wasn’t any gold. Dear me, what did the shareholders have to say at the general meeting? Or perhaps there wasn’t any general meeting, Jimmy?’

      Apparently the shot went home.

      ‘Look ’ere, Temple,’ snorted Mills, ‘there’s no need for any of this funny business. If a fellow can’t keep to the straight and narrow without some busybody shovin’ ’is nose where it’s not wanted, then it’s come to something!’

      ‘Jimmy, I’m disappointed in you,’ pronounced Temple, appearing to be hurt. ‘You’re dropping your aitches again. It’s a bad sign, Jimmy, it’s a bad sign!’

      ‘Ah, you are a one, Mr. Temple!’ laughed Jimmy, but his laugh was somewhat reluctant and rather hollow, and he was by no means at ease. He had decided that his policy was to play up to Temple without giving anything away.

      ‘I’m glad to see you again, Mr. Temple,’ he went on. ‘Looking pretty fit, too. I heard you was married. Is that right?’

      ‘That’s right, Jimmy,’ nodded Temple.

      ‘Seems to agree with you. I suppose СКАЧАТЬ