rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第33部分

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　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；'　said　the　Professor　without　looking　round；　'it　will　take　most　of　Brentford　with　it。　You　have　nowhere　to　run　to。'
　'I　wasn't　running；'　said　Jim。　'Just　keeping　an　eye　on　the　alleyway；　that's　all。'　He　peered　over　the　net　curtain　into　a　yard　which　was　a　veritable　munitions　dump　of　spent　curry　tins。　'And　not　without　cause。　John；　stop　banging。'
　'I'm　getting　nowhere　with　all　these　interruptions；'　the　Irishman　plained。　'Look；　I've　nearly　got　this　brick　out。'
　'No；　stop；　stop！'　Pooley　ducked　down　below　window　level。　'There's　one　of　them　out　there。'
　'Ah；'　said　Professor　Slobe；　'I　had　the　feeling　that　they　would　not　be　very　far　from　the　Swan　this　night。'
　The　four　men　held　their　breath　until　they　could　do　it　no　more。　'Is　he　still　there？'　the　Professor　asked。
　Pooley　lifted　the　corner　of　the　net　curtain。　'No；　he's　gone。　Be　at　it；　John；　get　a　move　on　will　you？'
　'Perhaps　you'd　rather　do　the　work　yourself；　Pooley？'　said　Omally；　proffering　his　tools。
　'I　am　the　lookout；'　said　Pooley　haughtily；　'you　are　the　hammerman。'
　'Oh；　do　get　a　move　on；'　sighed　Norman。　'It's　nearly　a　quarter　to　eight。'
　Omally　swung　away　with　a　vengeance；　raising　a　fine　cloud　of　brick　dust；　and　dislodging　chunks　of　masonry　with　every　blow。　When　he　had　cleared　a　hole　of　sufficient　size；　the　Professor　stuck　his　head　through　and　shone　about　with　a　small　hand　torch。　'I　see　no　sign　of　touch　plates　or　sensory　activators。　Have　it　down；　John。'
　Omally　did　the　business。　As　Gammon's　final　selection　came　to　an　end　and　the　jukebox　switched　itself　off　for　another　decade；　the　saboteurs　stood　before　the　exposed　back　plate　of　the　Captain　Laser　Alien　Attack　Machine。
　Norman　opened　his　tool…box　and　took　out　a　pair　of　rubber　gloves；　which　he　dusted　with　talcum　powder；　and　drew　over　his　sensitive　digits。　Taking　up　a　long　slim　screwdriver；　he　teased　out　the　locking　screws。　As　the　others　crossed　their　fingers　and　held　their　breath；　he　gently　eased　away　the　back　plate。　The　Professor　shone　his　torch　in　through　the　crack　and　nodded。　Norman　yanked　the　plate　off；　exposing　the　machine's　inner　workings。
　A　great　gasp　went　up　from　the　pany。　'Holy　Mary；'　said　John　Omally；　'would　you　look　at　all　that　lot？'
　Norman　whistled　through　his　teeth。　'Magic；'　said　he。　Upon　the　dashboard　of　a　black　Cadillac　sedan　parked　in　a　nearby　side…road　a　green　light　began　to　flash　furiously。
　The　shopkeeper　leant　forward　and　stared　into　the　machine's　innards。　'It　is　wonderful；'　he　said。　'Beyond　belief。'
　'But　can　you　break　it　up？'　Omally　demanded。
　'Break　it　up？　That　would　be　a　crime　against　God。　Look　at　it；　the　precision；　the　design。　It　is　beyond　belief；　beyond　belief。'
　'Yes；　yes；　but　can　you　break　it　up？'
　Norman　shook　his　head；　'Given　time；　I　suppose。　But　look　here；　the　thing　must　serve　at　least　a　dozen　functions。　Each　of　these　modules　has　a　separate　input　and　output。'
　'Let　me　give　it　a　welt　with　my　hammer。'
　'No；　no；　just　a　minute。'　Norman　traced　the　circuitry　with　his　screwdriver；　whistling　all　the　while。　'Each　module　is　fed　by　the　main　power　supply；　somewhere　deep　within　the　Earth；　it　appears。　This　is　evidently　some　sort　of　munications　apparatus。　There　is　a　signalling　device　here；　obviously　for　some　sort　of　guidance　control。　Here　is　the　basic　circuitry　which　powers　the　games　centre。　Here　is　a　gravitational　field　device　to　draw　down　orbiting　objects　on　to　a　preprogrammed　landing　site。　The　whole　thing　is　here；　plete　tracking；　guidance；　munication　and　landing　controls。　There　are　various　other　subsidiary　ponents：　outward　defence　modifications；　protecting　the　frontal　circuitry；　alarm　systems；　etcetera。'
　The　Professor　nodded。　'Disconnect　the　guidance；　munications；　and　landing　systems；　if　you　please；　Norman。'
　Norman　delved　into　the　works；　skilfully　removing　certain　intricate　pieces　of　microcircuitry。　'It　occurs　to　me；'　he　said；　'speaking　purely　as　a　layman；　that　as　a　protective　measure　we　might　reverse　certain　sections　merely　by　changing　over　their　positive　and　negative　terminals。'
　Professor　Slobe　scratched　at　his　snowy　head。　'To　what　end？'
　'Well；　if　this　device　is　guiding　the　craft　in　by　means　of　gravitational　beams　locked　into　their　puter　guidance　systems；　if　we　were　to　reverse　the　polarity；　then　as　they　punch　in　their　coordinates　on　board　the　ships；　the　machine　will　short　them　out；　and　possibly　destroy　the　descending　craft。'
　'Will　it　work？'
　Norman　tapped　at　his　nose。　'Take　it　from　me；　it　won't　do　them　a　lot　of　good。　e　to　think　of　it；　it　might　even　be　possible　to　cross…link　the　guidance　system　with　the　actual　games　programme　on　the　video　machine。　Pot　the　bastards　right　out　of　the　sky　as　they　fly　in。'
　'Can　you　do　it？'
　'Can　I　do　it；　Professor？'　Norman　unscrewed　a　series　of　terminals　and　reconnected　them　accordingly。　He　also　removed　a　small　unobtrusive　portion　of　the　contrivance；　which　appeared　of　importance　only　to　himself；　and　secreted　it　within　his　toolbox。
　'Are　you　all　done？'　the　Professor　asked；　when　the　shopkeeper　finally　straightened　up。
　'All　done；'　said　Norman；　pulling　off　his　gloves　and　tossing　them　into　his　tool…box。　'A　piece　of　cake。'
　Professor　Slobe　rose　upon　creaking　knees　and　patted　the　brick　dust　from　his　tweeds。　He　put　a　hand　upon　the　shopkeeper's　shoulder　and　said；　'You　have　done　very　well；　Norman；　and　we　will　be　for　ever　in　your　debt。　The　night；　however；　is　far　from　over。　In　fact　it　has　just　begun。　Do　you　think　that　you　might　now　pull　off　the　double　by　winning　the　darts　match？'
　Norman　nodded。　He　had　every　intention　of　pulling　off　the　treble　this　night。　But　that　was　something　he　was　keeping　very　much　to　himself。
　The　Swan　was　filling　at　a　goodly　pace。　With　seven　local　teams　peting　for　the　cherished　shield；　business　was　already　being　brisk。　Neville　had　taken　on　extra　barstaff；　but　these　were　of　the　finger…counting；　change…confusing　variety；　and　were　already　costing　him　money。　The　part…tune　barman　was　doing　all　he　could；　but　his　good　eye　wandered　forever　towards　the　Swan's　door。
　When　at　quarter　past　eight　it　swung　open　to　herald　the　arrival　of　Omally；　Pooley；　Professor　Slobe　and　Norman；　the　barman　breathed　an　almighty　sigh　of　relief。　Omally　thrust　his　way　through　the　crowd　and　ordered　the　drinks。　'As　promised；'　he　announced；　as　the　Swan's　team　enveloped　Norman　in　their　midst　with　a　great　cheer。
　Neville　pulled　the　pints。　'I　am　grateful；　Omally；'　said　he；　'these　are　on　the　house。'
　'And　will　be　for　a　year；　as　soon　as　the　other　little　matter　is　taken　care　of。'
　'The　machine？'
　'You　will　have　to　bear　with　me　just　a　little　longer　on　that　one。　Whatever　occurs　tonight　you　must　stand　resolute　and　take　no　action。'
　Neville's　suspicions　were　immediately　aroused。　'What　is　likely　to　occur？'
　Omally　held　up　his　grimy　hands。　'The　matter　is　under　the　control　of　Professor　Slobe；　a　man　who；　I　am　sure　you　will　agree；　can　be　trusted　without　question。'
　'If　all　is　as　you　say；　then　I　will　turn　a　blind　eye　to　that　despoiler　of　my　loins　who　has　e　skulking　with　you。'　Omally　grinned　handsomely　beneath　his　whiskers。　Neville　loaded　the　drinks　on　to　a　tray　and　Omally　bore　them　away　to　the　Professor's　reserved　table。
　A　bell　rang　and　the　darts　tournament　began。　A　hired　Master　of　Ceremonies；　acting　as　adjudicator　and　positive　last　word；　clad　in　a　glittering　tuxedo　and　sporting　an　eyebrow…pencil　moustache；　announced　the　first　game。
　First　on　the　oche　were　the　teams　from　the　Four　Horsemen　and　the　New　Inn。　Jack　Lane；　resident　landlord　at　the　Four　Horsemen　these　forty…seven　long　years；　struggled　from　his　wheelchair　and　flung　the　very　first　dart　of　the　evening。
　'Double　top；　Four　Horsemen　away；'　announced　the　adjudicator　in　a　booming　voice。
　Outside　in　the　street；　two　figures　who　closely　resembled　a　pair　of　young　Jack　Palances；　and　who　smelt　strongly　of　creosote；　were　rapidly　approaching　the　Swan。　They　walked　with　automaton　precision；　and　their　double　footfalls　echoed　along　the　deserted　Haling　Road。
　'Double　top；'　boomed　the　adjudicator；　'New　Inn　away。'
　Pooley　and　Omally　sat　hi　their　grandstand　seats；　sipping　their　ale。　'Your　man　Jarvis　there　has　a　fine　overarm　swing；'　said　Omally。
　'He　is　a　little　too　showy　for　my　liking；'　Pooley　replied。　'I　will　take　five　to　four　on　the　Horsemen　if　you're　offering　it。'
　Omally；　who　had　already　opened　his　book　and　was　now　accepting　bets　from　all　ers；　spat　on　his　palm　and　smacked　it　down　into　that　of　his　panion。　'We　are　away　then；'　said　he。
　Bitow　bitow　bitow　went　the　Captain　Laser　Alien　Attack　Machine；　suddenly　jarring　the　two　men　from　their　appreciation　of　life's　finer　things；　and　causing　them　to　leap　from　their　chairs。　Omally　craned　his　neck　above　the　crowd　and　peered　towards　the　sinister　contrivance。　Through　the　swelling　throng　he　could　just　make　out　the　distinctive　lime…green　coiffure　of　Nicholas　Roger　Raffles　Rathbone。
　'It　is　the　young　ninny；'　said　John。　'Five　to　four　you　have　then；　I　will　draw　up　a　page　for　you。'
　Neville　was　by　now　moving　up　and　down　the　bar；　taking　orders　left；　right；　and　centre。　The　till　jangled　like　a　fire　alarm；　and　Croughton　the　pot…bellied　potman　was　already　in　a　lather。
　No…one　notice