rr.eastofealing-第23部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


bit　no　personal　preference。
　'Put　it　on　my　slate；　please；'　said　Sherlock　Holmes。
　Beneath　his　breath　John　Omally　began　to　recite　the　rosary。
　Holmes'　deadly　phrase　clanged　amongst　the　robot's　network　of　inner　circuitry　and　fed　out　the　word　'Dimac'　in　any　one　of　a　dozen　known　languages。　'Eighteen　shillings　and　sixpence；　please；'　he　said。　'The　management　regret　that。。。'
　'So　I　have　been　given　to　understand；'　said　Holmes。　'If　it　is　not　inconvenient；　I　should　like　a　word　or　two　with　the　management。'
　'I　am　it。'　The　robot　pressed　his　hands　to　the　countertop　and　prepared　to　spring　over。　'Kindly　hand　me　the　eighteen　shillings　and　sixpence。'
　'I　think　not；'　said　Sherlock　Holmes。　'Let　us　not　bandy　words；　please。　If　the　real　Norman　Hartnell　still　draws　breath　then　I　wish　to　speak　with　him。　If　not；　then　I　am　making　a　citizen's　arrest。'
　The　robot　lunged　forward　across　the　counter　and　made　a　grab　at　the　detective's　throat。　Holmes　stepped　nimbly　beyond　range　and　drew　out　his　revolver。　He　pointed　it　at　the　space　between　the　robot's　eyes；　his　aim　was　steady　and　unshaking。　'Hurry　now；'　he　said；　'my　time　is　valuable。'
　The　robot　stared　at　the　great　detective。　Its　lips　were　drawn　back　from　its　plasticized　teeth　which　glowed　an　evil　yellow。　Its　eyes　blazed　hatred　and　its　hands　crooked　into　cruel　claws。
　'Hold　hard　or　I　fire。'
　The　pseudo…shopkeeper　crouched　low　upon　his　knees　and　suddenly　leapt　upwards。　Holmes'　finger　closed　about　the　trigger；　but　the　inhuman　reactions　of　the　creation　far　outmatched　his　own。　The　thing　leapt　upwards；　passing　clean　through　the　ceiling　of　the　shop；　bringing　down　an　avalanche　of　lathe　and　plaster　and　tumbling　timber…work。　Holmes　staggered　backwards；　shielding　his　face　from　the　falling　debris。　Pooley　and　Omally　adopted　the　now　legendary　foetal　position。　A　series　of　further　crashes　signalled　the　departure　of　the　robot　through　the　walls　of　Norman's　back　bedroom。
　Startled　by　the　sounds　of　destruction；　the　shopkeeper　burst　through　his　kitchenette　door　into　the　now　thoroughly　ventilated　shop。　He　gazed　up　at　the　crude　hole　yawning　above　and　then　down　at　the　faces　of　the　three　coughing　and　spluttering　men　as　they　slowly　appeared　amidst　the　cloud　of　dust。　'What。。。　who。。。　why。。。　？'　Norman's　voice　trailed　off　as　Sherlock　Holmes　rose　from　the　debris；　patting　plaster　from　his　shoulders；　and　removing　a　section　of　lathing　from　his　hair。
　'Mr　Hartnell；'　he　said；　'it　is　a　pleasure　to　meet　you　actually　in　the　flesh；　as　it　were。'
　Pooley　and　Omally　blinked　their　eyes　towards　the　gaping　ceiling；　towards　the　startled　shopkeeper；　and　finally　towards　each　other。　Shaking　their　dust…covered　heads　in　total　disbelief；　they　followed　the　detective　who　was　even　now　ushering　the　fretful　Norman　away　into　his　kitchenette。　Holmes　suggested　that　Omally　might　bolt　the　front　door　and　put　up　the　'Closed　For　The　Day'　sign。　This　the　Irishman　did　with　haste；　fearing　that　he　might　miss　anything　of　what　might　be　yet　to　e。　When　he　entered　the　kitchenette　he　found　Norman　squatting　upon　his　odd…legged　chair　in　the　centre　of　the　room；　surrounded　by　a　clutter　of　bizarre…looking　equipment　which　was　obviously　the　current　fruit　of　his　prodigious　scientific　brain。　Holmes　perched　behind　him　upon　the　kitchen　table；　a　tweedy　vulture　hovering　above　his　carrion　lunch。　Without　warning　he　suddenly　thrust　a　long　bony　finger　into　Norman's　right　ear。
　'Ooh；　ouch；　ow；　get　off　me；'　squealed　the　shopkeeper；　doubling　up。
　Holmes　examined　his　fingertip　and　waggled　it　beneath　his　nose。　'I　pride　myself；'　said　he；　'that；　given　a　specimen　of　earwax；　I　can　state　the　occupation　of　the　donor　with　such　an　accuracy　that　any　suggestion　of　there　being　any　element　of　chance　involved　is　absolutely　confounded。'
　'Really？'　said　Omally　studying　the　ceiling　and　kicking　his　heels　upon　the　new　lino　of　the　floor。
　'Who's　your　friend？'　whined　the　persecuted　shopkeeper。
　'Don't　ask；'　counselled　Jim　Pooley。
　'I　will　ask　the　questions；　if　you　don't　mind。'　Holmes　prodded　Norman　in　the　ribs　with　a　patent　leather　toecap。
　'I　do；　as　it　happens；'　said　Norman；　flinching　anew。
　'Be　that　as　it　may；　I　believe　that　you　have　much　to　tell　us。'
　'Bugger　off；　will　you？'　Norman　cowered　in　his　seat。
　'Language；'　said　Jim。　'Mr　H；　our　panion　here；　is　a　house…guest　of　the　Professor's。　He　can　be　trusted　absolutely；　I　assure　you。'
　'I　have　nothing　to　say。　What　is　all　this　about　anyway？　Can't　you　see　I'm　busy　redecorating？'
　'The　shop　ceiling　seems　a　bit　drastic；'　said　John。
　'Blame　the　wife；'　Norman　said　sarcastically。　'She　said　she　wanted　two　rooms　knocked　into　one。'
　'I　once　heard　George　Robey　tell　that　joke；'　said　Holmes。　'It　was　old　even　then。'
　'George　Robey？'
　'No　matter。　Now；　sir；　there　are　questions　that　must　be　answered。　How　can　it　be　that　your　duplicate　works　in　your　shop　yet　you　still　exist？　Show　me　your　palms；　sir。'
　'Show　me　your　palms？　Jim；　where　do　you　meet　these　people？'　A　sudden　clout　on　the　back　of　the　head　sent　the　shopkeeper　sprawling。
　'Here；　steady　on；'　cried　Jim。　'There's　no　need　for　any　of　that。　Sherlock　Holmes　never　engaged　in　that　kind　of　practice。'
　'Changing　times；'　the　detective　pronounced；　examining　his　knuckles。
　'Sherlock　Holmes？'　sneered　Norman　from　the　desk。　'Is　that　who　he　thinks　he　is？'
　'Your　servant；　sir；'　said　Holmes；　bowing　slightly　from　the　waist。
　'Oh　yes？'　Norman　cowered　in　the　corner　shielding　his　privy　parts。　'Well　if　you're　Sherlock　Holmes　then　tell　me；　what　are　the　thirty…nine　steps？'
　'This　is　where　I　came　in；'　said　Jim。
　Holmes　leant　forward　and　waggled　his　waxy　finger　towards　Norman。　'Spill　the　beans；　you；'　he　cried。　'Spill　the　beans！'
　'He's　been　watching　the　Basil　Rathbone　reruns；'　Pooley　whispered　to　Omally。
　'If　you　don't　mind；'　said　John；　'I　think　Jim　and　I　will　take　our　leave　now。　We　are　men　of　peace；　and　displays　of　gratuitous　violence　trouble　our　sensitivities。　Even　in　the　cause　of　justice　and　the　quest　for　truth；　we　find　them　upsetting。'
　Pooley　nodded。　'If　you　are　now　preparing　to　wade　in　with　the　old　rubber　truncheon；　kindly　wait　until　we　have　taken　our　leave。'
　'Fellas；'　whined　the　fallen　shopkeeper；　'fellas；　don't　leave　me　here　with　this　lunatic。'
　'Sorry；'　said　Jim；　'but　this　is　none　of　our　business。'
　'If　you　really　wish　to　make　a　fight　of　it；　your　Dimac　should　be　a　match　for　his　Barritso。'　Omally　pointed　to　the　still　prominent　lump　upon　his　forehead；　which　bore　a　silent　if　painful　testimony　to　his　previous　encounter　with　the　martial　shopman。
　'That　wasn't　me；　John；　I　swear　it。'
　'So；'　said　Sherlock　Holmes；　'then　spill　the　beans；　buddy。'
　'All　right；　all　right；　but　no　more　hitting。'
　'No　more　hitting；'　said　Sherlock　Holmes。
　Buddy　prepared　himself　to　spill　all　the　beans。
　
　19
　Old　Pete　thrust　his　wrinkled　hand　beneath　the　shining　Plexiglas　counter…shield　of　the　sub…post　office。　The　dark　young　man　now　serving　behind　the　jump　did　not　remove　his　minuscule　headphones　but　merely　nodded　as　he　passed　the　electronic　light…wand　across　the　ancient's　palm。　He　punched　a　few　details　into　the　puter　terminal　and　awaited　the　forthing　readout。　Upon　its　arrival　he　raised　a　quizzical　eyebrow　towards　the　pensioner　and　said；　'There　appears　to　be　some　discrepancy　here；　sir。　I　suggest　that　you　e　back　next　week。'
　Old　Pete　glared　daggers　at　the　dark　young　fellow…me…lad　behind　the　tinted　screen。　'What　damned　discrepancy？'　he　demanded。
　The　young　man　sighed　tolerantly。　'The　puter　registers　a　discrepancy；'　he　said。　'It　states　that　for　the　last　ten　years　you　have　been　receiving　two　pensions　each　week。　Such　a　thing　could　not；　of　course；　happen　now　under　the　new　advanced　system。　But　with　the　old　Giro；　well　who　knows？　We　shall　just　have　to　resubmit　the　data　and　await　a　decision。'
　'And　how　long　will　that　take？'
　'Well；　puter　time　is　valuable；　you　are　allotted　six　seconds　weekly；　we　will　see　what　happens　when　your　turn　es　around　again。'
　'And　in　the　meantime？'　foamed　Old　Pete。　'Do　you　mean　that　until　your　filthy　electronic　box　of　tricks　gives　you　the　go…ahead　I　am　penniless？'
　'The　word　〃penniless〃　no　longer　applies。　It　is　simply　that；　pending　investigations；　your　credit　is　temporarily　suspended。　You　must　understand　that　this　is　for　the　public　good。　We　are　trying　to　institute　the　new　system　hereabouts　in　a　manner　that　will　cause　minimum　civil　unrest。'
　'You'll　get　maximum　civil　unrest　if　I　don't　get　my　damned　pensions；　I　mean；　pension！'　Young　Chips　growled　in　agreement　and　bared　his　fangs。
　'Next　customer；　please；'　the　dark　young　man　said。
　'Hold　hard；'　cried　Old　Pete　raising　his　stick。　'I　want　to　speak　to　the　manager。'
　'This　branch　no　longer　has　a　manager；　sir；　but　an　operator；　fully　conversant；　I　hasten　to　add；　with　all　current　trends　in　new　technology。'
　'A　pox　upon　your　technology。　Who　do　I　see　about　my　pension？'
　'Well　you　might　fill　in　a　form　which　we　will　forward　in　due　course　to　Head　Office；　requesting　a　manual　systems　over…ride；　although　the　procedure　is　somewhat　archaic　and　extremely　lengthy。'
　'Then　I'll　go　up　to　your　Head　Office　and　speak　with　them。'
　The　dark　young　man　laughed　malevolently。　'One　does　not　simply　go　up　to　Lateinos　and　Romiiths　and　speak　to　them。　Whoever　heard　of　such　a　thing？'　He　smirked　towards　his　assistant；　who　tittered　behind　her　hand　and　turn