rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第39部分

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　Every　eye；　apart　from　one　ill…matched　pair；　was　upon　that　dart。　Supporters　of　both　Swan　and　Horsemen　alike　wrinkled　their　brows　and　strained　their　brains　upon　that　dart。　Beads　of　perspiration　appeared　a…plenty　and　fell；　ruining　many　a　good　pint。
　The　dart　eased　forward　another　six　inches。　Professor　Slobe　turned　his　stare　towards　the　glowing　red　eyes　of　his　opponent。　The　dart　retreated。
　Young　Jack　drew　a　deep　breath　and　the　dart　edged　once　more　towards　its　target。
　'You　wouldn't　get　this　on　the　telly；'　whispered　Jim　Pooley。
　Old　Jack　suddenly　put　his　wrinkled　hands　to　the　wheels　of　his　chair　and　propelled　himself　towards　the　Professor。
　'Restrain　that　man！'　yelled　Omally。
　Pooley　lurched　from　his　seat；　but；　in　his　haste　to　halt　the　wheeling　ancient；　caught　his　foot　upon　a　chair　leg　and　tripped。　He　clutched　at　the　table；　overturning　it；　and　blundered　into　Professor　Slobe；　propelling　him　into　the　crowd。　At　this　moment　of　truth　the　proverbial　all　hell　was　let　loose。
　The　night…black　dart　set　forth　once　more　upon　its　journey　and　thundered　towards　the　board。　Young　Jack　stood　grinning　as　Pooley　upset　his　infirm　father　and　brought　down　at　least　another　four　people　in　his　desperation。　Omally　struggled　up　and　struck　the　nearest　man　a　vicious　blow　to　the　skull。
　Before　the　eyes　of　those　stunned　patrons　who　were　not　yet　engaged　in　the　fracas　the　dart　struck　the　board。　As　it　did　so　a　devastating　explosion　occurred　overhead　which　shattered　the　bar　optics；　brought　down　great　lumps　of　plaster　from　the　ceiling　and　upset　the　part…time　barman　into　the　crowd。
　'It　is　God！'　shouted　Omally；　hitting　with　a　will。　'He　will　stand　no　more！'
　Nicholas　Roger　Raffles　Rathbone　fell　away　from　the　Captain　Laser　machine。　'It　wasn't　me；'　he　whimpered；　'I　didn't　do　it。'
　The　lights　of　the　Swan　suddenly　dimmed　as　the　entire　world　which　was　Brentford　proper　went　mad。
　'It　wasn't　me；　it　wasn't　me；　I　swear　it。'
　Nobody　really　cared。　Outside　something　terrific　was　happening。　Possibly　it　was　the　prelude　to　the　long…awaited　Armageddon；　possibly　earthquake；　or　tidal　wave。　Whatever　it　was；　the　darts　fans　were　not　going　to　be　caught　napping；　and　the　stampede　towards　the　door　was　all…consuming。　A　single　darkly…clad　figure　wearing　a　brand　of　creosote　aftershave　was　immediately　trampled　to　oblivion　beneath　the　rush。
　As　the　patrons　poured　into　the　night　the　enormity　of　what　had　occurred　became　apparent。　Shards　of　flaming　metal　were　hurtling　down　upon　Brentford。　Great　sheets　of　fire　were　rising　from　the　tarmac　of　the　Haling　Road　as　the　surface　met　each　blazing　assault。　Several　front　gardens　were　ablaze。
　Pooley　and　Omally　helped　the　fallen　Professor　to　his　feet。　'It　has　begun；'　said　John。　'What　do　we　do？'
　'To　the　machine；'　yelled　the　old　man。　'It　would　appear　that　Norman　has　served　us　right。'
　Nicholas　Roger　Raffles　Rathbone　stood　blankly　staring　at　the　screen。　'I　didn't　do　it；'　he　said　repeatedly。
　Omally　was　at　his　side　in　an　instant。　'Play　it；'　he　roared。　'You　are　the　kiddie；　play　it。'
　Rathbone　drew　back　in　horror；　'No；'　he　shouted。　'Something　is　wrong。　I　will　have　no　part　of　it。'
　'Play　it！'　Omally　grabbed　at　the　green　hair　and　drew　the　stinker　close　to　the　machine。　'You　are　the　unbeatable　master；　play　it。'
　Nick　drew　up　his　head　in　a　gesture　of　defiance。　As　he　did　so；　he　stumbled　upon　a　chunk　of　fallen　ceiling　and　fell　backwards；　leaving　Omally　clutching　a　bundle　of　green　hair　and　what　appeared　to　be　an　india…rubber　face　mask。　The　figure　who　collapsed　to　the　Swan's　floor；　now　bereft　of　his　disguise；　resembled　nothing　more　nor　less　than　a　young　Jack　Palance。
　'He's　one　of　them；'　screamed　Omally；　pointing　to　the　fallen　Cerean；　and　dancing　up　and　down　dementedly。　'He　was　never　playing　the　machine；　he　was　signalling　with　it。　Get　him；　get　him！'
　Pooley　hastened　to　obey。　'The　left　armpit；　isn't　it？'　he　growled。
　The　erstwhile　paperboy　backed　away；　covering　his　wedding　tackle。　'Not　the　armpit；'　he　whimpered。　'Anything　but　the　armpit。'
　Professor　Slobe　was　at　the　machine。　'How　does　it　work？'　he　cried。　'How　does　it　work？'
　'Leave　him；　Jim；'　yelled　Omally；　'play　the　machine；　shoot　the　bastards　down。'
　Upon　the　allotments　columns　of　pure　white　light　were　rising　into　the　sky。　The　door　of　Soap　Distant's　hut　was　wide　open　and　a　great　glow　poured　from　it；　silhouetting　dozens　of　identical　figures　gliding　through　the　opening。
　When　the　first　great　explosion　occurred；　a　small　dwarf　in　a　soiled　postman's　suit　had　flattened　himself　into　a　sprout　bed；　but　now　he　arose　to　his　full　height　and　stared　about　in　horror　at　the　bizarre　spectacle。
　He　danced　up　and　down　and　flapped　his　arms；　'Edgar；'　he　shouted；　'Edgar；　help　me；　help　me。'　The　figures　now　pouring　through　the　shed　doorway　were　bearing　down　upon　him；　and　the　postman　took　to　his　tiny　heels　and　fled。　He　plunged　through　the　open　allotment　gates　and　paused　only　to　assure　himself　that　he　still　had　a　tight　hold　upon　the　pair　of　bolt…cutters　he　had　been　carrying。　Without　further　ado　he　continued　his　journey；　bound　for　a　certain　lock…up　garage　upon　the　Butts　Estate；　and　destiny。
　In　the　Swan；　Pooley　was　at　the　controls。　'There's　eight　of　them；'　he　said；　'moving　in　a　V　formation。'　His　finger　rattled　upon　the　neutron　bomb　release　button；　and　tiny　beads　of　yellow　light　swept　upwards　towards　the　bobbing　cones　at　the　top　of　the　screen。
　'Get　them；　Jim；'　screamed　Omally。　'e　on　now；　you　know　how　it's　done。'
　'I'm　trying；　aren't　I？　Get　us　a　drink　for　God's　sake。'
　Neville；　who　had　fallen　rather　heavily　but　happily　not　upon　his　tender　parts；　was　on　all　fours　in　the　middle　of　the　floor。　'What　the　hell　is　going　on？'　he　gasped。　'Get　away　from　the　counter；　Omally。'
　'We're　breaking　your　machine；'　said　the　breathless　Irishman；　'don't　knock　it。'
　'But　what　was　that　explosion？　My　God！'　Neville　pointed　out　through　the　Swan's　front　windows。　'Half　the　Baling　Road's　on　fire。　Call　the　appliances。'
　Pooley　bashed　at　the　button　with　his　fist　and　jumped　up　and　down。　'I've　got　one！　I've　got　one！'
　Overhead；　but　a　little　less　loudly　this　time；　there　was　another　explosion；　followed　by　the　sound　of　faltering　engines　and　a　Messerschmitt　dive…bomber　scream。
　Those　present　at　the　Swan　ducked　their　heads　as　something　thundered　by　at　close　quarters　and　whistled　away　into　the　distance。　There　was　a　moment's　deadly　silence　followed　by　a　muted　but　obviously　powerful　report。
　Another　Cerean　craft　had　fallen　to　Earth　upon　Brentford；　given　its　point　of　impact；　it　was　unlikely　that　Jim　Pooley　would　ever　again　receive　a　threatening　letter　regarding　an　overdue　library　book。
　'There！　There！'　Neville　was　pointing　and　ranting。　'It　is　the　third　world　war　and　we　never　got　the　four…minute　warning。　I　am　withholding　my　vote　at　the　next　election。'
　Small　Dave　struggled　up　from　the　gutter　and　shrieked　with　pain。　He　had　been　rather　nearer　to　the　library's　destruction　and　a　sliver　of　shrapnel　from　the　founder's　plaque　had　caught　him　in　the　backside。
　'Oh　woe；　oh　woe；　oh　damn！'　he　wailed。　A　less　determined　man　would　by　now　have　called　it　a　day　and　dived　for　the　nearest　foxhole；　but　loathing　and　hatred　overwhelmed　the　postman；　and　nothing　would　turn　him　from　his　vendetta。　Feeling　tenderly　at　his　bleeding　bum；　he　raised　the　bolt…cutter　to　the　garage　lock　and　applied　all　his　strength。　He　strained　and　sweated　as　he　fought　with　the　steel　clasp。　Finally；　with　a　sickening　crunch　the　metal　gave；　and　the　garage　door　swung　upwards。
　Small　Dave　stood　panting　in　the　opening；　his　features　shining　pinkly　by　the　light　of　ten　thousand　blazing　dog…eared　library　books。　Sweat　poured　from　his　face　as　he　surveyed　the　object　of　his　quest。　Snorting　and　wriggling　in　the　eaves　of　the　lock…up　garage　was　Simon。　A　camel　far　from　home。
　'Now　that　you　have　it；'　said　a　voice　which　loosened　Small　Dave's　bowels；　'what　are　you　going　to　do　with　it？'
　The　postman　swung　upon　his　blakeys。　'Edgar；'　he　said；　'where　in　the　holy　blazes　have　you　been？'
　Norman　had　been　almost　the　first　man　out　of　the　Swan。　As　the　explosion　rang　in　his　ears　he　had　realized　that　big　trouble　was　in　store　and　that　if　he　was　to　take　his　great　quest　to　its　ultimate　conclusion；　now　was　going　to　have　to　be　the　time。
　Clutching　his　purloined　microcircuit　to　his　bosom　he　had　braved　the　rain　of　fire　and　legged　it　back　to　his　shop　and　his　workroom。　Now；　as　the　explosions　came　thick　and　fast　from　all　points　of　the　pass；　he　fiddled　with　a　screwdriver　and　slotted　the　thing　into　place。
　'Power　inductor；'　he　said　to　himself；　'will　channel　all　the　power　from　miles　around　directly　into　the　apparatus。　Wonderful；　wonderful！'
　Norman　threw　the　much…loved　'we　belong　dead'　switch　and　his　equipment　sprang　into　life。
　In　the　Swan；　the　lights　momentarily　dimmed。　'Another　power　cut；'　groaned　Neville。　'All　I　bloody　need；　another　power　cut。　Typical　it　is；　bloody　typical。'
　Pooley　thundered　away　at　the　machine；　watched　by　the　Professor　and　John　Omally；　who　was　feeding　the　lad　with　scotch。
　'Go　to　it；　Jim；'　Omally　bashed　Pooley　repeatedly　upon　the　back。　'You've　got　them　on　the　run。　Here　you　missed　that　one；　pay　attention；　will　you？'
　Pooley　laboured　away　beneath　the　Irishman's　assault。　'Lay　off　me；　John；'　he　implored。　'They're　firing　back。　Look　at　that。'
　The　skyline　upon　the　screen　had　sud