rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第34部分
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No…one noticed as two men with high cheekbones and immaculate black suits entered the Swan and lost themselves in the crowds。 No…one； that is； but for a single disembodied soul who lightly tapped the Professor upon the shoulder。 'All right；' said the old man； without drawing his eyes from the match in play。 'Kindly keep me informed。'
The Four Horsemen was faring rather badly。 The lads from the New Inn had enlisted the support of one Thomas 'Squires' Trelawny； a flightsmaster from Chiswick。 'Who brought him in？' asked Pooley。 'His name is not on the card。'
'A late entry； I suppose； do I hear a change in the odds？'
'Treacherous to the end； Omally；' said Jim Pooley。 'I will not shorten the odds； who is the next man up？'
'Jack's son； Young Jack。'
Young Jack； who was enjoying his tenth year in retirement； and looked not a day over forty； put his toe to the line and sent his feathered missile upon its unerring course into the treble twenty。
A great cheer went up from the Horsemen's supporters。 'He once got three hundred and one in five darts；' Omally told Jim。
'He is in league with the devil though but。'
'True； that does give him an edge。'
Somehow Young Jack had already managed to score one hundred and eighty…one with three darts； and this pleased the lads from the Four Horsemen no end。 To much applause； he concluded his performance by downing a pint of mild in less than four seconds。
'He is wearing very well considering his age；' said Omally。
'You should see the state of his portrait in the attic。'
'I'll get the round in then；' said Professor Slobe； rising upon his cane。
'Make sure he doesn't charge you for mine；' called Omally； who could see a long and happy year ahead； should the weather hold。 With no words spoken the crowd parted before the old man； allowing him immediate access' to the bar。
Beneath his table Young Jack made a satanic gesture； but he knew he was well outclassed by the great scholar。
'Same again；' said Professor Slobe。 Neville did the honours。 'All is well with you； I trust； barman？' the old gentleman asked。 'You wear something of a hunted look。'
'I am sorely tried； Professor；' said Neville。 'I can smell disaster； and this very night。 The scent is souring my nostrils even now as we speak。 It smells like creosote； but I know it to be disaster。 If we survive this night I am going to take a very long holiday。'
'You might try Penge； then；' said the old man brightly； 'I understand that it is very nice； although。。。 ' His words were suddenly swallowed up by a battery of Bitows from the nearby games machine。
Neville scowled through the crowd at the hunched back of the paperboy。 'Perhaps I will simply slay him now and take my holiday in Dartmoor； they say the air is very healthy thereabouts。'
'Never fear；' said Professor Slobe； but his eyes too had bee fixed upon the green…haired youth。 Speaking rapidly into Nick's ear was a man of average height； slightly tanned and with high cheek…bones。 The Professor couldn't help thinking that he put him hi mind of a young Jack Palance。 The youth； however； appeared so engrossed in his play as to be oblivious to the urgent chatter of the darkly…clad stranger。
Neville chalked the bill on to the Professor's private account； and the old gentleman freighted his tray back to his table。 'How goes the state of play？' he asked Omally。
'Squires Trelawny is disputing Young Jack's score；' said John； unloading the tray on to the table。 'He is obviously not altogether au fait with Jack's technique。'
'Oh dear；' said Pooley pointing towards the dispute。 'Young Jack is not going to like that。'
Trelawny； a temperamental fellow of the limp…wristed brotherhood； frustrated by the apparent wall of indifference his objections ran up against； had poked one of the Horsemen's leading players in the eye with his finger。
'Trelawny is disqualified；' said the adjudicator。
'You what？' Squires turned upon the man in the rented tuxedo and stamped his feet in rage。
'Out； finished；' said the other。 'We brook no violence here。'
'You are all bloody mad；' screamed the disgruntled player； in a high piping voice。 The crowd made hooting noises and somebody pinched his bum。
'Out of my way then！' Flinging down his set of Asprey's darts （the expensive ones with the roc…feather flights）； he thrust his way through the guffawing crowd and departed the Swan。 Young Jack； who numbered among his personal loathings a very special hatred for poofs； made an unnoticeable gesture beneath table level； and as he blustered into the street Trelawny slipped upon an imaginary banana skin and fell heavily to the pavement。 As he did so； the front two tyres of his Morris Minor went simultaneously flat。
'This has all the makings of a most eventful evening；' said Jim Pooley。 'The first eliminator not yet over and blood already drawn。'
The adjudicator wiped away the New Inn's name from the board。 With their best player disqualified； morale had suffered a devastating and irrevocable blow； and the New Inn had retired from the petition。
Next up were the North Star and the Princess Royal。 The North Star's team never failed to raise eyebrows no matter where they travelled； being five stout brothers of almost identical appearance。 They ranged from the youngest； Wee Tarn； at five feet five； to the eldest； Big Bob； at six foot two； and had more the look of a set of Russian dolls about them than a darts team。 Their presence in public always had a most sobering effect upon the more drunken clientele。
Their opponents； upon the other hand； could not have looked less alike had they set out to do so。 They numbered among their incongruous ranks； two garage mechanic ne'er…do…wells； a bearded ex…vicar； a tall lift engineer with small ears； and a clerk of works with large ones。 They also boasted the only Chinese player in Brentford。 Tommy Lee was the grand master to the Brentford Temple of Dimac and was most highly danned； even amongst very danned people indeed。 Few folk in the Borough ever chose to dispute with him over a doubtful throw。
However； Tommy； who had taken the Dimac oath which bound him never to use any of the horrendous； maiming； tearing； crippling and disfiguring techniques unless his back was really up against the wall； was a fair and honest man and very popular locally。 He was also the only player known to throw underarm。 He fared reasonably well； and as usual it took two strong lads to withdraw his hand…carved ivory darts from the board。
'I'll bet that took the remaining plaster off Archie's back parlour wall；' said Omally。 'By the way； Professor； I hope the man from Bombay is being well…catered for。 We wouldn't want him popping next door to grill up a popadum； would we？'
Professor Slobe tapped his sinuous nose。 One or other of the North Star's men was throwing； but it was hard to tell which when they were detached from the set and you couldn't judge them by height。
'One hundred；' bawled the adjudicator。
'What odds are you offering at present upon the North Star？' the Professor asked。 Out of professional etiquette John answered him tic…tac fashion。 'I will take your pony on that； then。'
'From your account？'
'Omally； you know I never carry money。'
'The Princess Royal need one hundred and fifty…six；' boomed the adjudicator； taking up the chalks。
The lift engineer； making much of his every movement； stepped on to the oche。 There was a ripple amongst the crowd as his first dart entered the treble twenty。 A whistle as his second joined it and a great cry of horror as his third skimmed the double eighteen by a hairbreadth。 Crimson to the tips of his small and shell…likes； the lift engineer returned to his chair； and the obscurity from which he had momentarily emerged。
'Unfortunate；' said Professor Slobe； rubbing his hands together； 'I have noticed in matches past that the lift engineer has a tendency to buckle under pressure。'
Omally made a sour face； he had noticed it also； but in the heat of the betting had neglected to note the running order of the players。 'The North Star needs eighty…seven。'
Amidst much cheering； this figure was easily acplished； with a single nineteen； a double nineteen and a double fifteen。
'I am up already；' said Professor Slobe to the scowling Irishman。
'And I；' said Pooley。
Now began the usual debate which always marred championship matches。 A member of the Princess Royal's team accused the men from the Star of playing out of order。 The adjudicator； who had not taken the obvious course of forcing them to sport name tags； found himself at a disadvantage。
Omally； who had spotted the omission early in the game； shook his head towards Professor Slobe。 'I can see all betting on this one being null and void；' said he。
'I might possibly intervene。'
That would hardly be sporting now； would it； Professor？'
'You are suggesting that I might have a bias？'
'Perish the thought。 It is your round is it not； Jim？'
Pooley； who had been meaning to broach the subject of a loan； set against his potential winnings； began to pat at his pockets。 'You find me financially embarrassed at present；' he said。
'I think not；' said Professor Slobe。 'I recall asking you for a pound's…worth of change from the Swan
