rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第20部分

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obligingly　shortchanged　him。
　'Anything　new　with　you？'　Old　Pete　asked　the　barman　when　the　shock…headed　hooligan　had　returned　once　more　to　the　humming　machine。
　'Very　little；'　said　Neville。　'I　had　another　postcard　from　Archroy。　Delivered；　I　hasten　to　add；　by　a　relief　postman　of　charm　and　good　character；　who　chooses　to　deliver　a　fellow's　mail　unread。'
　Old　Pete　chuckled。　'Wee　Dave　still　shacked　up　in　the　loony　ward　at　the　Cottage　Hospital　then？'
　'No；　he's　out；　but　happily　he　has　not　returned　to　the　round。'
　'Vindictive；　grudge…bearing　wee　bastard；'　said　Old　Pete。　'So　what　of　Archroy；　how　fares　the　lad　upon　his　travels？'
　'He　claims　to　have　discovered　Noah's　Ark　upon　the　peak　of　Ararat；'　said　Neville　rather　proudly。　'His　last　card　said　that　he　has　employed　a　gang　of　Kurds　to　work　upon　chipping　the　lower　portion　of　the　great　vessel　from　the　glacial　floor。　It　is　tough　going　by　all　accounts。'
　'It　would　be。'　Old　Pete　stifled　a　snigger。
　Neville　shrugged。　'It　is　a　queer　business。　I　confess　that　I　do　not　know　exactly　what　to　make　of　it。　It　would　be　a　rare　one　if　it　were　true。　I　can't　help　feeling　that　there　is　a　catch　in　it　somewhere　and　that　it　will　cost　me　dearly。'
　'Well；'　said　Old　Pete；　in　a　tone　of　great　seriousness；　'do　not　get　me　wrong；　for　I　am　no　churchman；　but　I　will　tell　you　a　strange　thing。　During　the　Hitlerian　War　I　was　serving　as　warden　in　a　refugee　centre　in　South　London。　One　night　I　got　chatting　with　a　young　Russian；　and　he　showed　me　four　photographs　which　he　claimed　to　be　of　the　Ark　of　Noah。'　Neville's　good　eye　widened。　'They　were　old　grainy　sepia　prints；　much　travelled　and　much　stained；　but　he　treated　them　as　if　they　were　holy　relics。　He'd　been　torpedoed　off　a　troop　ship　and　he　claimed　that　the　photos　had　saved　his　life。　It　seems　that　the　folk　who　live　around　Ararat　have　always　known　of　the　Ark's　existence。　Apparently　it　is　visible　for　only　a　few　short　months；　once　or　twice　a　century；　and　during　this　time　their　holy　men　make　a　pilgrimage　up　the　mountainside　to　scrape　off　pitch　from　the　hull。　This　they　make　into　amulets　as　a　protection　against　drowning。'
　Neville　was　fascinated。　'But　how　did　this　fellow　e　by　the　photographs？'
　Old　Pete　rattled　his　empty　glass　on　the　counter　and　feigned　deafness。　Neville　snatched　it　up　from　his　fist　and　refilled　it。　Old　Pete　continued　with　his　story。　'Told　me　that　his　father　got　them　from　one　of　a　party　of　Russians　who　rediscovered　the　thing　during　the　time　of　the　Czar。'
　'And　did　you　think　them　genuine？'
　'Who　can　say？　They　were　definitely　photographs　of　some　very　old　and　very　large　vessel　half　submerged　in　a　glacier。　I　confess　that　I　never　took　a　lot　of　notice　of　them　at　the　tune。　There　was　an　air　raid　going　on。'
　'But　what　happened　to　the　young　Russian？'
　'Got　blown　up！'　said　Old　Pete　maliciously。　'Seems　that　the　photographs　offered　no　protection　against　that　kind　of　thing。'
　'You　made　it　all　up；'　sneered　Neville；　reaching　for　a　glass　and　his　polishing　cloth。
　Old　Pete　took　out　his　shabby…looking　wallet　and　laid　it　reverently　upon　the　bar。　'And　what　if　I　told　you　that　he　gave　me　one　of　the　photographs　and　that　I　have　been　carrying　it　with　me　for　more　than　thirty　years？　What　would　you　say　to　that；　oh　doubting　Thomas？'
　Neville's　twitch；　which　had　taken　a　temporary　leave　of　absence；　returned　reinvigorated。　'He　didn't？　You　haven't。。。　？'
　Old　Pete　swept　up　his　wallet　and　thrust　it　back　into　his　pocket。　'Course　I　bloody　haven't！'　he　said　triumphantly。　'You'll　believe　any　damn　thing　at　times；　won't　you；　Neville？'
　The　part…time　barman　bit　upon　a　filling。　That　was　twice　he　had　been　done　down　in　a　single　lunchtime　and　he　would　have　no　more　of　it。　Silently　he　swore　a　great　and　terrible　oath　to　his　pagan　deity；　that　he　would　unremittingly　bar　for　life　the　next　person；　no　matter　whom　it　might　be；　who　tried　to　get　one　over　on　him。　To　make　it　more　binding　he　pricked　his　finger　and　drew　the　blood　the　length　of　his　knobkerry。　There　was　no　getting　out　of　a　vow　like　that。
　'Give　me　the　same　again　please；　Neville；'　said　the　chuckling　ancient。
　Norman　entered　the　Flying　Swan　looking　somewhat　ashen。　Neville　hadn't　seen　him　for　some　time　and　he　marvelled　at　the　shopkeeper's　lack　of　eyebrows　and　apparently　hand…carved　wooden　teeth。　Some　new　frippery　of　fashion　amongst　the　shop…keeping　fraternity；　he　supposed。
　'Give　me　one　of　those；'　said　Norman；　gesturing　towards　the　scotch。
　'Closed　for　stock…taking？'　Neville　asked。　'Or　have　the　health　people　been　sampling　your　toffees　again？'
　'Just　pour　the　drink。'　Neville　did　so。
　Norman　suddenly　stiffened。　'Has　Small　Dave　been　in　here？'　he　asked；　squinting　about　the　bar。
　'No；'　said　Neville；　'but　I　think　I　am　about　ready　for　him　now。'
　'You're　not；'　moaned　Norman；　'take　my　word　for　it。'　As　he　had　already　thrown　the　scotch　down　his　throat；　Neville　refilled　his　glass。　'He　was　in　my　place　and　there　is　something　not　altogether　right　about　him。'
　'There　never　was。'
　'This　is　different。'　Norman　peered　over　his　shoulder　to　assure　himself　that　he　had　not　been　followed　in。　'He　knows　things。'
　'Course　he　knows　things；　he's　always　reading　your　damned　mail　and　squinting　through　people's　letter…boxes。　Vindictive；　grudge…bearing　wee。。。　'
　'Yes；　I　know　all　that；　but　listen！'　Norman　posed　himself。　Neville　took　the　opportunity　to　collect　payment　for　the　drinks。　'He　es　into　my　shop；'　said　Norman；　'wants　his　copy　of　Psychic　News。　Isn't　in；　says　I。　He　mutters　away　to　himself　for　a　moment　and　then；　it's　third　from　the　bottom　of　the　pile；　says　he。　With　the　bloody　corner　up；　says　I。'
　'Well　of　course　you　did；'　said　Neville。
　'May　I　continue？'　Neville　nodded　and　Norman　drew　him　closer　and　spoke　in　hushed　and　confidential　tones。　Old　Pete　turned　up　his　hearing　aid　and　placed　it　upon　the　counter。
　'I　root　through　the　pile　of　papers　and　there　it　is；　plain　as　plain；　third　up　from　the　bottom；　just　like　he'd　said。　Here　you　go　then；　says　I。　Five　Woodbine　also；　says　himself。　I　hand　him　a　packet；　he　has　another　mutter　then　tells　me　they're　stale。　Without　even　opening　them！　I　get　in　a　lather　then；　but　I　open　up　the　packet　just　to　be　polite；　and　damn　if　the　things　aren't　as　dry　as　dust。'　Neville　looked　at　Old　Pete；　who　merely　shrugged。　Young　Chips；　however；　was　taking　it　all　in。　'Anyway；'　Norman　continued；　'he　then　points　to　another　packet　on　the　shelf　and　says　that　he　understands　that　they　are　all　right　and　so　he'll　take　them。　If　this　wasn't　bad　enough；　as　he's　leaving　the　shop；　he　tells　me　that　my　false　teeth　are　going　mouldy　under　the　counter。'
　'And　were　they？'　asked　Old　Pete。
　Norman　drew　a　furry…looking　set　of　National　Healthers　from　his　pocket　and　tossed　them　on　to　the　bar　top。　'Lost　them　a　week　or　more　back。　He　couldn't　possibly　have　guessed　they　were　there。'
　'Curious；'　said　Neville；　scratching　at　his　greying　temples。
　'But　that's　not　the　worst　of　it。'
　'You　mean　there's　more？'
　'Oh　yes。'　Norman's　voice　had　a　disarmingly　tremulous　pitch　to　it。　'He　said　we　must　be　off　now。　We；　that's　what　he　said。　But　we　will　be　back。　With　that　the　shop　door　opens　by　itself；　he　walks　out　and　the　thing　closes　behind　him　of　its　own　accord。'
　'Norman；'　said　Neville　in　a　calm　and　even　voice；　'Norman；　you　are　barred　for　life。　Kindly　get　out　of　my　pub　and　never；　ever；　ever　return。'
　
　15
　Professor　Slobe　was　at　his　desk；　busily　at　work　amongst　his　books；　when　two　bedraggled　and　heavily　bearded　travellers　appeared　at　his　French　windows。　'e　in；　lads；'　he　said　cheerily；　'I　am　sure　I　do　not　need　to　inform　you　where　I　keep　the　decanter。'
　'Do　you　know　how　far　it　is　to　Penge？'　asked　John　Omally。
　'I've　never　troubled　to　find　out；　although　they　tell　me　that　it's　very　nice。'
　'Oh；　very　pleasant；'　said　Pooley；　'but　a　fair　hitch　from　Brentford。'
　'My　apologies；'　said　the　old　man；　when　the　two　men　were　both　seated　and　clutching　at　their　brimming　glasses。　'But　you　see；　I　had　no　wish　to　force　your　hands　over　this　matter。　I　was　not　altogether　certain　that　if　I　simply　confronted　you　with　the　truth　you　would　believe　it。　Rather；　I　considered　that　if　matters　were　simply　allowed　to　run　their　course；　your　inquisitiveness　would　get　the　better　of　you　and　you　would　involve　yourselves。　My　surmise　was　accurate；　I　see。'
　'As　ever；'　said　Pooley。
　'You　quite　suit　the　beards。'
　'Soap　Distant　doesn't　own　a　razor。'
　'Apparently　he　hasn't　grown　a　hair　on　his　face　in　five　years。'
　'An　interesting　man；'　said　the　Professor；　'if　a　trifle　eccentric。'
　Omally's　attention　had　bee　drawn　to　an　elaborate　brass　device　which　now　stood　upon　a　pedestal　in　the　centre　of　the　Professor's　study。　'What　is　that　body？'　he　asked。
　'An　orrery；'　said　the　old　gentleman。　'I　thought　it　might　interest　you。'
　'Pre…eminently；'　said　Omally。　'I　find　little　in　life　more　interesting　than　an　orrery。'
　Professor　Slobe　raised　an　admonitory　eyebrow；　but　after　a　moment　of　brief　consideration　regarding　the　deprivations　suffered　by　his　guests　over　the　last　few　days　he　lowered　it　again。
　'Let　me　show　you；'　he　said；　gesturing　towards　the　instrument。　The　two　men　grudgingly　rose　from　their　fy　chairs；　carefully　bearing　their　glasses。
　'It's　a　mechanical　device　of　great　age；'　the　Professor　explained；　'demonstrating　the　movement　of　the　planets　about　our　Sun　and　their　relative　positions