rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第32部分

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u　will　pardon　me；　I　suggest　that　we　bring　this　meeting　to　a　close；　I　have　several　loose　ends　still　to　tie　up。'
　The　old　man　took　a　scrap　of　paper　from　his　pocket　and　held　it　to　each　man　in　turn。　'We　will　meet　tomorrow；　seven…thirty　p。m。　sharp　at　this　address。　Please　do　not　speak　it　aloud。'
　The　three　men　mitted　the　thing　to　memory。　With　the　briefest　of　goodbyes　and　no　hand…shaking；　they　took　their　leave。
　Professor　Slobe　closed　the　French　windows　behind　them　and　bolted　the　shutters。　'Now；'　he　said；　turning　upon　the　silent　room；　'will　you　make　yourself　known　to　me　of　your　own　accord；　Mr　Poe；　or　must　I　summon　you　into　visibility？'
　'I　should　prefer　that　we　did　it　the　easy　way；'　said　Edgar　Allan　Poe。　'We　have　much　to　speak　of。'
　
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　Neville　the　part…time　barman　took　up　his　mail　from　the　mat　and　thrust　it　into　his　dressing…gown　pocket。　Amongst　the　bills　and　circulars　were　no　less　than　three　postcards　sporting　rooftop　views　of　Brentford；　but　the　barman　did　not　give　these　even　a　cursory　glance。
　He　had　been　up　half　the　night　trying　to　work　out　a　deal　with　his　pagan　deity　over　his　ill…considered　blood　oath；　but　was　still　far　from　certain　that　the　matter　would　be　allowed　to　rest。　It　was　always　a　hairy　business　wheeling　and　dealing　with　the　Elder　Gods　of　Ancient　Earth。
　Neville　drew　the　brass　bolts　and　flung　the　door　open　to　sniff　the　morning　air。　It　smelt　far　from　promising。　He　took　a　deep　breath；　scratched　at　his　bony　ribs；　and　gave　the　world　a　bit　of　first　thing　perusal。　It　had　all　the　makings　of　a　beautiful　day　but　Neville　could　not　find　any　joy　to　be　had　in　the　twinkling　sunlight　and　precocious　bird　song。
　Like　others　who　had　gone　before　him；　Neville　the　part…time　barman　was　a　very　worried　man。　The　day　he　had　been　dreading　had　e　to　pass。　All　over　Brentford；　dartsmen　were　awakening；　flexing　their　sensitive　fingers；　and　preparing　themselves　for　the　biggest　night　of　the　year。　The　Swan's　team　had　been　growing　surlier　by　the　day。　Where　was　Norman？　they　asked。　Why　was　he　not　practising　with　them？　Neville's　excuses　had　been　wearing　thinner　than　the　seat　of　his　trousers。　If　Norman　did　not　turn　up　for　the　tournament　the　consequences　did　not　bear　thinking　about。
　Neville　looked　thoughtfully　up　the　road　towards　the　corner　shop。　Perhaps　he　should　just　slip　along　now　and　smooth　the　matter　over。　Throw　himself　on　Norman's　mercy　if　necessary；　promise　him　anything。　Omally　had　said　that　the　shopkeeper　would　be　present；　but　was　he　ever　to　be　trusted？
　Neville　hovered　upon　his　slippered　toes。　It　would　be　but　the　work　of　a　minute。　Norman　would　be　numbering　up　his　papers；　he　could　say　he　just　called　in　for　a　box　of　matches；　exchange　a　few　niceties；　then　leave　with　a　casual　'Look　forward　to　seeing　you　tonight。'　Something　like　that。
　Neville　took　a　step　forward。　At　that　moment；　in　the　distance；　a　figure　appeared　from　the　shop　doorway。　Neville's　heart　rose；　it　was　telepathy　surely。　The　shopkeeper　was　ing　to　make　his　peace。　All　his　troubles　were　over。
　Nicholas　Roger　Raffles　Rathbone　hoisted　his　paperbag　into　the　sunlight。　Neville's　heart　fell。　'Bugger；　bugger；　bugger；'　said　the　part…time　barman；　returning　to　the　saloon…bar；　and　slamming　the　door　behind　him。
　Parked　close　to　the　kerb　in　a　side　road　opposite　to　the　Swan；　and　lost　for　the　most　part　in　the　shadow　of　one　of　the　flatblocks；　was　a　long　sleek　black　automobile　with　high　fins。　In　the　front　seat　of　this　gleaming　motor　car　sat　a　man　of　average　height；　with　a　slightly　tanned　plexion　and　high　cheek…bones。　He　bore　an　uncanny　resemblance　to　a　young　Jack　Palance；　as　did　his　passenger；　who　lounged　in　a　rear　seat；　smoking　a　green　cheroot。　The　two　watched　the　paperboy　as　he　passed　within　a　few　feet　of　their　highly　polished　front　bumper　and　vanished　into　one　of　the　flatblocks。
　No　words　passed　between　these　two　individuals；　but　the　driver　glanced　a　moment　into　his　rear…view　mirror；　and　his　passenger　acknowledged　the　reflected　eyes　with　a　knowing　nod。
　The　day　passed　in　an　agonizing　fashion。　Pooley　and　Omally　took　their　lunchtime's　pleasure　in　a　neutral　drinking　house　at　Kew；　where　they　sat　huddled　in　an　anonymous　corner；　speaking　in　hushed　tones；　bitterly　bewailing　the　exorbitant　prices；　and　casting　suspicious　glances　at　every　opening　of　the　saloon…bar　door。
　Norman　closed　up　his　shop　at　one　and　busied　himself　in　his　kitchenette。　What　he　did　there　was　strictly　his　own　business；　and　he　had　no　intention　of　letting　anything；　no　matter　how　alien；　interfere　with　his　afternoon's　work。
　In　his　sewage　outlet　pipe；　Small　Dave　paced　up　and　down。　His　hair　was　bed　forward　across　his　forehead　and　his　left　hand　was　thrust　into　his　shirt　in　a　fashion　much　favoured　by　a　diminutive　French　dictator　of　days　gone　by。　As　he　paced　he　muttered；　and　the　more　he　muttered　the　more　apparent　it　became　that　he　was　plotting　something　which　was　to　cause　great　ill　to　any　camel　owners　in　Brentford。
　At　intervals　he　ceased　his　frenzied　pacing　and　peered　up　and　down　the　hideous　pipe；　as　if　expecting　the　arrival　of　some　fellow　conspirator。　None；　however；　made　an　appearance。
　Professor　Slobe　was　not　to　be　found　at　his　desk　that　afternoon。　He　had　pressing　business　elsewhere。　Whilst　the　sun　shone　down　upon　Brentford　and　the　Brentonians　went　about　whatever　business　they　had；　he　was　conversing　earnestly　with　a　pink…eyed　man　of　apparent　albino　extraction；　who　had　given　up　such　doubtful　pleasures　to　dedicate　himself　to　the　search　for　far　greater　truths。
　Even　now；　the　Professor　sat　in　what　was　to　all　appearances　a　normal　Brentford　front　room；　but　which　was；　in　fact；　situated　more　than　a　mile　beneath　Penge；　which　I　understand　is　a　very　nice　place；　although　I　have　never　been　there　myself。
　At　a　little　after　three；　Neville　drew　the　bolts　upon　the　Swan's　door　and　retired　to　his　chambers。　He　had　been　anaesthetizing　himself　with　scotch　since　eleven　and　was　now　feeling　less　concerned　about　what　was　to　happen　during　the　ing　evening。　He　was；　however；　having　a　great　deal　of　trouble　keeping　the　world　in　focus。　He　falteringly　set　his　alarm　clock　for　five　and　blissfully　fell　asleep　upon　his　bed。
　
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　At　long　last　the　Memorial　Library　clock　struck　a　meaningful　seven…thirty。　The　Swan　was　already　a…buzz　with　conversation。　Pints　were　being　pulled　a…plenty　and　team　members　from　the　half…dozen　pubs　peting　this　year　were　already　limbering　up　upon　the　row　of　dartboards　arranged　along　the　saloon…bar　wall。　The　closed　sign　had　long　been　up　upon　the　Star　of　Bombay　Curry　Garden；　and　within　the　Swan；　Gammon；　in　the　unlikely　guise　of　an　Eastern　swami；　engaged　Archie　Karachi　in　fervent　debate。
　In　the　back　room　of　number　seven　Mafeking　Avenue　four　men　held　a　council　of　war。
　'The　thing　must　be　performed　with　all　expediency；'　said　Professor　Slobe。　'We　do　not　want　Norman　to　miss　the　match。　I　have；　as　the　colonials　would　have　it；　big　bucks　riding　upon　this　year's　petition。'
　The　shopkeeper　grinned。　'Have　no　fear；　Professor；'　said　he。
　'Omally；　do　you　have　your　tools？'　John　patted　at　the　bulging　plumber's　bag　he　had　mandeered　during　the　afternoon　from　a　dozing　council　worker。　'Then　it　is　off　down　the　alley　and　fingers　crossed。'
　Without　further　ado；　the　four　men　passed　out　into　a　small　back　yard　and　down　a　dustbin…crowded　alleyway　towards　the　rear　of　the　Star　of　Bombay　Curry　Garden。
　Norman　was　but　a　moment　at　the　lock　before　the　four　found　themselves　within　the　ghastly　kitchenette；　their　noses　assailed　by　the　horrendous　odours　of　stale　vindaloo　and　mouldy　madras。　Kali's　face　peered　down　from　a　garish　wall…calendar；　registering　a　look　of　some　foreboding　at　the　prospect　of　what　was　to　be　done　to　the　premises　of　one　of　her　followers。
　'A　moment　please；'　said　Professor　Slobe。　'We　must　be　certain　that　all　is　secure。'
　Within　the　Swan；　Gammon　suddenly　interrupted　his　conversation；　excused　himself　momentarily　from　Archie's　pany；　and　thrust　a　handful　of　change　into　the　Swan's　jukebox。　As　the　thing　roared　into　unstoppable　action；　Neville；　who　had　taken　great　pains　to　arrange　for　the　disabling　of　that　particular　piece　of　pub　paraphernalia　years　before；　and　had　never　actually　heard　it　play；　marvelled　at　its　sudden　return　to　life。　The　Professor　had　left　nothing　to　chance。
　'To　the　wall；　John；'　said　Professor　Slobe。
　'Whereabouts？'
　'Just　there。'
　'Fair　enough。'　Omally　swung　his　seven…pound　club　hammer　and　the　cold　chisel　penetrated　the　gaudy　wallpaper。　The　mouldy　plasterwork　fell　away　in　great　map　chunks；　and　within　a　minute　or　two　Omally　had　bared　an　area　of　brickwork　roughly　five　feet　in　height　and　two　in　width。
　'Better　penetrate　from　the　very　centre；'　the　Professor　advised。　'Take　it　easy　and　we　will　have　a　little　check…about；　in　case　the　thing　is　booby…trapped。'　Omally　belted　the　chisel　into　the　brickwork。
　Within　the　Swan　the　jukebox　was　belting　out　a　deafening　selection　of　hits　from　the　early　sixties。　The　sounds　of　demolition　were　swallowed　up　by　the　cacophony。
　'Stop！'　said　the　Professor　suddenly。
　'What　is　it？'　The　words　came　simultaneously　from　three　death…white　faces。
　'Changing　the　record；　that's　all。　You　can　go　on　again　now。'
　Pooley　was　skulking　near　to　the　back　door。　With　every　blow　to　the　brickwork　his　nerve　was　taking　a　similar　hammering。　His　hand　wavered　above　the　door　handle。
　'If　it　goes　up；　Jim