rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第25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！


；　whose　behaviour　that　evening　had　not　exactly　been　exemplary；　had　gone　for　Pooley；　and　that　the　man　in　black　was　one　of　the　brewery's　dark　forces；　assisting　in　that　loyal　patron's　expulsion　from　the　Swan。　A　third；　which　counted　but　one　in　its　number；　and　this　a　son　of　Eire；　was　of　an　entirely　different　opinion　altogether。
　It　must　be　stated　that　other　factions　existed　also。　These　were　formed　either　from　fellows　who　felt　that　now　was　as　good　a　time　as　any　to　end　some　personal　vendetta；　or　from　those　who　by　their　very　natures　necessarily　misinterpret　any　given　situation。　Their　participation　was　notable　mainly　for　its　enthusiastic　and　seemingly　indiscriminate　violence。
　Young　Chips；　who　could　smell　a　nigger　in　a　woodpile　even　with　his　nose　bandaged；　set　immediately　to　work　upon　the　Cerean's　ankles。
　Pooley　had　by　now；　under　the　welter　of　blows；　lost　hold　upon　Neville's　apron；　and；　as　the　part…time　barman　lapsed　from　consciousness　and　sank　gracefully　behind　the　bar；　found　himself　being　borne　once　more　towards　the　doorway。　Towards　the　very　doorway；　in　fact；　where　John　Omally　now　stood；　brandishing　a　beer　bottle。
　'Leave　hold；'　roared　the　Irishman。　Pooley's　mouth　opened　and　closed　and　a　lip　reader　would　have　covered　his　eyes　at　the　obscenity。
　The　Cerean　squared　up　to　the　obstacle　in　his　path　and　raised　his　left　hand　to　strike。　Omally　swung　his　bottle　and；　it　must　be　reasoned；　more　from　luck　than　judgement；　struck　the　villain　a　devastating　blow　to　the　left　armpit。
　As　he　lost　his　grip　upon　Pooley；　several　of　the　pro…Neville　brigade　fell　upon　the　barman's　attacker　with　relish。
　The　Cerean　staggered　towards　Omally；　who；　having　the　advantage　of　fighting　upon　home　territory；　stepped　nimbly　aside　and　tripped　him　through　the　Swan's　open　doorway　and　into　the　street。
　Outside；　parked　close　to　the　kerb；　stood　an　automobile　that　was　a　collector's　dream。　It　was　ink…black　and　gleaming；　a　showroom　piece。　The　handbook　had　it　down　as　a　nineteen…fifty…eight　Cadillac　Sedan；　the　deluxe　model。　In　the　driving　seat　sat　a　man　of　average　height；　wearing　an　immaculate　black　suit。　He　bore　an　uncanny　resemblance　to　a　young　Jack　Palance　and　favoured　a　creosote　aftershave。　It　took　him　but　a　moment　to　leave　the　car　and　gain　the　pavement；　but　by　then　the　chaos　of　flailing　fists　which　now　filled　the　Swan　was　spilling　into　the　street。
　The　pro…Pooley　faction；　who　knew　a　brewery　henchman　when　they　saw　one；　and　who　were　currently　occupied　in　assaulting　the　one　who　was　rolling　about　clutching　at　his　armpit；　saw　another　quarry　and　wasted　little　time　in　taking　the　opportunity　to　vent　their　spleen。
　Archie　Karachi；　who　ran　the　Star　of　Bombay　Curry　Garden　next　door　to　the　Swan；　was　a　man　who　knew　a　race　riot　when　he　saw　one。　Thrusting　a　vindaloo…stained　digit　into　his　telephone　dial；　he　rang　out　a　rapid　nine；　nine；　nine。　Being　also　a　man　of　few　words；　and　most　of　those　Hindi；　his　message　was　succinct　and　to　the　point。　'Bloody　big　riot　in　Swan；'　he　bawled　above　the　ever　increasing　din；　'many　men　injured；　many　dead。'
　The　blue　serge　lads　of　the　Brentford　nick　were　not　long　in　responding　to　this　alarm　call。　With　the　station　grossly　over…manned；　as　befits　a　district　with　a　low　crime　rate；　what　they　craved　was　a　bit　of　real　police　action。　A　bit　of　truncheon…wielding；　collarbone…breaking；　down　to　the　cells　for　a　bit　of　summary　justice；　real　police　action。　Within　minutes；　several　squad　cars　and　a　meat　wagon　were　haring　along　the　wrong　side　of　Brentford　High　Street；　through　the　red　lights；　and　up　the　down　lane　of　the　one…way　system；　bound　for　the　Flying　Swan。　Within　the　wheel…screeching　vehicles　constables　were　belting　on　flak　jackets；　tinkering　with　the　fittings　of　their　riot　shields；　and　drumming　CS　gas　canisters　into　their　open　left　palms　with　increasing　vigour。
　What　had　started　out　as　a　localized　punch…up；　had　now　developed　into　wholesale　slaughter。　The　numbers　involved　in　the　mêlée　had　been　swelled　significantly　by　the　arrival　of　a　gang　of　yobbos　from　the　flatblocks　opposite。　Those　crop…headed　aficionados　of　the　steely　toecap　had　been　met　head　on　by　the　students　of　the　Brentford　Temple　of　Dimac　Martial　Arts　Society；　who　had　been　＇warming＇　up　for　their　evening's　training　schedule　with　a　fifteen…mile　run。　Neither　of　these　warrior　bands　having　the　slightest　idea　what　all　the　fuss　was　about；　or　which　was　the　favourable　side　to　support；　had　contented　themselves　with　exercising　their　respective　martial　skills　upon　one　another。　Although　this　did　nothing　to　ease　the　situation；　to　the　crowds　of　onlookers　who　now　lined　the　opposite　pavements　and　crammed　into　every　available　upstairs　window；　it　added　that　little　extra　something　which　makes　a　really　decent　riot　worthwhile。
　With　sirens　blaring　and　amber　lights　flashing；　the　squad　cars　slewed　to　a　halt　at　the　rear　of　a　war…torn　Cadillac。　This　development　was　wildly　applauded　by　the　onlookers；　many　of　whom　had　thought　to　bring　out　stools　and　kitchen　chairs；　that　they　might　better　enjoy　the　event。　As　hot…dog　men　and　ice…cream　sellers；　who　have　an　almost　magical　knack　of　appearing　at　such　moments；　moved　amongst　the　spectators；　the　Brentford　bobbies　went　about　their　business　with　a　will；　striking　down　friend　and　foe　alike。　With　every　concussion　inflicted　the　crowd　hoorahed　anew　and；　like　the　season…ticket　holders　at　the　Circus　Maximus　in　days　gone　by；　turned　their　thumbs　towards　the　pavement。
　To　the　very　rear　of　this　scene　of　massacre；　pressed　close　to　the　wall　of　the　Flying　Swan；　two　bearded　golfing　types　watched　the　carnage　with　expressions　of　dire　perplexity。　'Gather　up　the　map；'　said　John　Omally。　'I　feel　that　we　have　pressing　business　elsewhere。'
　Easing　their　way　with　as　little　fuss　as　possible　through　the　Swan's　doorway；　they　passed　into　the　now　deserted　saloon…bar。　Deserted　that　is；　but　for　a　certain　part…time　barman　who　now　lay　painlessly　unconscious　in　the　foetal　position　behind　the　jump；　and　an　old　gentleman　and　his　dog；　who　were　playing　dominoes　at　a　side…table。
　'Goodnight　to　you　Pooley　and　Omally；'　said　Old　Pete。　'You　will　be　taking　your　leave　via　the　rear　wall　I　have　no　doubt。'
　Pooley　scooped　up　the　map　and　stuffed　it　into　an　inside　pocket。　'Offer　my　condolences　to　Neville；'　he　said。　'I　expect　that　it　is　too　much　to　hope　that　he　will　awake　with　amnesia。'
　'You　never　can　tell；'　said　the　ancient；　returning　to　his　game。　'Give　my　regards　to　Professor　Slobe。'
　
　17
　Professor　Slobe　peered　over　the　pen…besmirched；　match…riddled　map　with　profound　interest。　At　length　he　leant　back　in　his　chair　and　stared　a　goodly　while　into　space。
　'Well？'　asked　John；　who　had　been　shifting　from　one　foot　to　the　other　for　what　seemed　like　an　age。　'Has　Pooley　found　it？'
　The　Professor　pulled　himself　from　his　chair　and　crossed　the　room　to　one　of　his　bookcases。　Easing　out　an　overlarge　tome；　he　returned　with　it　to　his　desk。　'Undoubtedly；'　he　said；　in　a　toneless　voice。　'If　you　will　pardon　my　professional　pride；　I　might　say　I　am　a　little　miffed。　I　have　sought　the　pattern　for　weeks　and　you　find　it　in　a　couple　of　hours。'
　'I　think　we　had　the　natural　edge；'　said　Omally。
　Pooley；　whose　injured　parts　were　now　beginning　to　pain　him　like　the　very　devil；　lay　slumped　in　an　armchair；　a　hand　clasping　the　neck　of　the　whisky　decanter。　'I　only　hope　that　it　will　help；'　he　said。　'Those　lads　are　on　to　us；　and　I　escaped　death　by　a　mere　hairbreadth　this　night。'
　'We　have　by　no　means　reached　a　solution；'　said　the　Professor；　in　a　leaden　tone。　'But　we　are　on　the　way。'
　Omally　peered　over　the　old　man's　shoulders　as　he　leafed　through　his　great　book。　'What　are　you　looking　for　now？'
　This　book　is　the　Brentford　Land　Register；'　the　Professor　explained。　'The　pubs　you　have　plotted　were　all　built　during　the　last　one　hundred　years。　It　will　be　instructive　to　learn　what　existed　upon　the　sites　prior　to　their　construction。'
　'Ah；'　said　John；　'I　think　I　follow　your　line　of　thought。'
　'I　think　my　right　elbow　is　fractured；'　said　Jim　Pooley。
　The　Professor　thumbed　over　several　pages。　'Yes；'　he　said。　'Here　we　have　it。　The　Four　Horsemen；　built　upon　the　site　of　the　cattle　trough　and　village　hand　pump。'　He　turned　several　more　pages。　'The　New　Inn；　upon　this　site　there　has　been　a　coaching　house　for　several　hundred　years；　it　has　always　boasted　an　excellent　cellar　and　a　natural　water　supply。　Built　in　1898；　the　North　Star；　a　significant　name　you　will　agree；　founded　upon　Brentford's　deepest　freshwater　well。'　The　Professor　slammed　the　book　shut。　'I　need　not　continue；'　he　said；　'I　think　the　point　is　clearly　made。'
　'My　collarbone　is　gone　in　at　least　three　places；'　said　Jim。
　'It　can't　be　the　water　supply；'　said　Omally。　'That　is　ludicrous。　Aliens　do　not　steer　themselves　through　space　guided　by　the　village　waterworks。　Anyway；　every　house　in　Brentford　has　water；　every　house　in　the　country；　surely？'
　'You　fail　to　grasp　it；'　said　the　Professor。　'What　we　have　here　is　a　carefully　guided　natural　watercourse；　with　the　acpanying　electrical　field　which　all　underground　water　naturally　carries；　culminating　in　a　series　of　node　points。　The　node　points　channel　the　ley　earth…forces　through　the　system；　terminating　at　the　Flying　Swan。　If　you　will　look　upon　the　map　you　will　see　that　the　Swan　is　built　exactly　one　third　up　from　the　Thames　base　line　of　the　Brentford　Trian