rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第7部分

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　All　over　Brentford　electric　appliances　were　beginning　to　fail：　kettles　ceased　their　whistlings；　television　pictures　suddenly　shrank　to　the　size　of　matchboxes；　the　automated　beer　pumps　at　the　New　Inn　trickled　to　a　halt　in　mid…flow；　and　at　the　Swan　the　lights　went　out；　leaving　the　rear　section　of　the　saloon…bar　in　darkness　and　the　patrons　blindly　searching　for　their　pints。
　Omally　groaned。　'It　is　the　end　of　mankind　as　we　know　it；'　he　said。　'I　should　never　have　got　up　so　early　today。'
　Pooley；　who　had　had　carrots　the　night　before；　topped　up　his　pint　from　the　Irishman's　glass。　'Steady　on；　John；'　he　said　in　a　soothing　voice。　'It　is　a　power　cut；　nothing　more。　We　have　been　getting　them　more　or　less　every　Wednesday　afternoon　for　months　now。'
　'But　not　like　this。'
　Old　Pete's　dog　Chips　set　up　a　dismal　howl　which　was　unexpectedly　taken　up　by　Neville　the　part…time　barman。　'Look　at　it！　Look　at　it！'　he　wailed；　pointing　invisibly　in　the　darkness。　'Look　at　the　bloody　thing！'
　Bitow　Bitow　Bitow　Bitow　went　the　Captain　Laser　Alien　Attack　Machine；　scornfully　indifferent　to　the　whims　of　the　Southern　Electricity　Board；　or　anyone　else　for　that　matter。
　In　the　tiny　kitchenette　to　the　rear　of　the　corner　shop　there　was　a　sharp　and　deafening　twang；　and　a　great　bolt　of　lightning　burst　forth；　charring　the　walls　and　upturning　the　banks　of　pulsating　equipment。　There　followed　a　moment　or　two　of　very　extreme　silence。　Smoke　hung　heavily　in　the　air；　cables　swung　to　and　fro　like　smouldering　leander　vines　and　the　general　atmosphere　of　the　place　had　more　than　the　hint　of　the　charnel　house　about　it。
　At　length；　from　beneath　the　fallen　wreckage；　something　stirred。　Slowly；　and　with　much　coughing；　gasping　and　sighing；　a　blackened　toothless　figure　rose　painfully　to　his　feet。　He　now　lacked　not　only　his　upper　set　but　also　his　eyebrows　and　sported　a　fetching；　if　somewhat　bizarre；　charcoal　forelock。　He　kicked　away　the　debris　and　fumbled　about　amidst　the　heaps　of　burned…out　valves　and　twisted　gubbins。　'Ahs；'　he　said；　suddenly　wielding　a　smoke…veiled　gauge　into　view；　'success　I　thinks。'
　Something　had　e　through；　and　by　the　measurement　upon　that　gauge　it　was　a　relatively　substantial；　goodly　few　hundredweight　of　something。
　Norman　wiped　away　a　few　loose　eyelashes　with　a　grimy　knuckle；　satisfied　himself　that　there　was　no　immediate　danger　of　fire　and　sought　his　overcoat。
　Small　Dave　had　finished　his　midday　deliveries　and　was　taking　his　usual　short　cut　back　from　the　Butts　Estate　towards　the　Flying　Swan　for　a　well　deserved　pint　of　Large。　As　he　shuffled　across　the　allotment；　his　size　four　feet　kicking　up　little　dusty　explosions；　he　whistled　a　plaintive　lament；　the　title　of　which　he　had　long　forgotten。　He　had　not　travelled　twenty　yards　down　the　path；　however；　when　he　caught　sight　of　something　which　made　him　halt　in　mid…pace　and　doubt　that　sanity　which　so　many　had　previously　doubted　hi　him。
　Small　Dave　took　off　his　cap　and　wiped　it　across　his　eyes。　Was　this　a　mirage；　he　wondered；　or　was　he　seeing　things？　Something　overlarge　and　definitely　out　of　place　was　grazing　amongst　his　cabbages。　It　was　a　foul　and　scruffy…looking　something　of　bulky　proportion　and　it　was　emitting　dismal　grumbling　sounds　between　great　munches　upon　his　prize…winning　Pringlea　antiscorbutica。
　Dave　screwed　up　his　eyes。　Could　this　be　the　Sasquatch　perhaps？　Or　the　Surrey　Puma？　Possibly　it　was　the　giant　feral　torn；　which；　legend　held；　stalked　the　allotments　by　night。　The　postman　drew　cautiously　nearer；　keeping　even　lower　to　the　ground　than　cruel　fate　had　naturally　decreed。　Ahead　of　him　the　creature's　outline　became　more　clearly　defined　and　Small　Dave　knew　that　at　least　he　was　staring　upon　a　beast　of　a　known　genus。　Although　this　gave　him　little　in　the　way　of　consolation。
　The　thing　was　of　the　genus　Camelus　bactrianus。　It　was　a　camel！
　Small　Dave's　thoughts　all　became　a　little　confused　at　this　moment。　He　was　never　very　good　when　it　came　to　a　confrontation　with　the　unexpected。　Arriving　with　a　six…inch　letter　to　discover　a　five…inch　letter…box　was　enough　to　set　him　foaming　at　the　mouth。　Now；　a　camel　on　the　allotment；　a　camel　that　was　eating　his　precious　cabbages；　that　was　a　something　quite　in　a　class　by　itself。
　Dave's　first　thought；　naturally　enough；　was　that　the　thing　should　be　driven　off　without　delay。　His　second　was　that　it　was　a　very　large　camel　and　that　as　a　species　camels　are　notoriously　malevolent　creatures；　who　do　not　take　kindly　to　interference　during　meal　times。　His　third　was　that　they　are　also　valuable　and　there　would　no　doubt　be　a　handsome　reward　for　anyone　who　should　return　a　stray。
　His　fourth；　fifth；　sixth　and　seventh　thoughts　were　loosely　concerned　with　circuses；　Romany　showmen　who　were　apt　to　snatch　dwarves　away　for　side…shows；　an　old　Tod　Browning　movie　he　had　once　seen；　and　the　rising　cost　of　cabbages。
　Small　Dave's　lower　lip　began　to　tremble　and　a　look　of　plete　imbecility　spread　over　his　gnomish　countenance。　He　dithered　a　moment　or　two　not　knowing　what　to　do；　flapped　his　hands　up　and　down　as　if　in　an　attempt　to　gain　flight；　gave　a　great　cry　of　despair；　took　to　his　heels　and　finally　ran　screaming　from　the　allotment。
　He　had　not　been　gone　but　a　moment　or　two　when　a　soot…besmirched　head　arose　from　behind　a　nearby　water…butt。　Apart　from　its　lack　of　teeth　and　eyebrows；　it　bore　a　striking　resemblance　to　Sir　Lawrence　Olivier　in　his　famous　portrayal　of　Othello。
　A　broad　and　slightly　lunatic　smile　cleft　the　blackened　face　in　two　and　a　wicked　chuckle　rose　in　the　throat　of　the　watcher。
　'Success　indeed；'　whistled　Norman；　rubbing　his　hands　together　and　dancing　out　from　his　hiding　place。　With　a　quick　glance　about　to　assure　himself　that　he　was　now　alone；　he　skipped　over　to　the　cabbage…chewing　camel　and　snatched　up　its　trailing　halter　line。　'Huts；　huts；'　he　said。　'Imshees　yallahs。'　With　hardly　the　slightest　degree　of　persuasion　and　little　or　no　force　at　all；　Norman　led　the　surprisingly　docile　brute　away。
　From　behind　Soap　Distant's　padlocked　shed；　yet　another　figure　now　emerged。　This　one　wore　a　grey　coverall　suit；　was　of　average　height；　with　a　slightly　tanned　plexion　and　high　cheek…bones。　He　looked　for　all　the　world　like　a　young　Jack　Palance。　Through　oval　amber　eyes　he　watched　the　shopkeeper　and　his　anomalous　charge　depart。　Drawing　from　a　concealed　pocket　an　instrument　somewhat　resembling　a　brass　divining　rod；　he　traced　a　runic　symbol　into　the　dusty　soil　of　the　allotment　and　then　also　departed　upon　light　and　silent　feet。
　
　7
　When　the　lights　returned　once　more　to　the　Flying　Swan；　a　moment　or　two　after　the　holocaust　in　Norman's　kitchenette；　they　exposed　a　frozen　tableau　of　deceit　and　duplicity；　which　was　a　sad　indictment　upon　the　state　of　our　society。
　Neville　stood　poised　behind　the　counter；　knobkerry　at　the　ready；　to　defend　his　optics　against　any　straining　hands。
　Pooley　held　Omally's　glass　above　his　own；　a　stupefied　expression　upon　his　guilty　face。　Two　professional　domino　players　each　had　their　hands　in　the　spares　box。　Old　Pete's　dog　was　standing；　leg　raised；　to　the　piano；　and　a　veritable　rogues'　gallery　of　similar　deeds　was　exposed　the　entire　length　of　the　bar。
　Neville　shook　his　head　in　disgust；　'You　miserable　bunch；'　was　all　that　he　could　say。
　The　only　patron　who　had　not　shifted　his　position　during　the　unscheduled　blackout　was　a　green…haired　youth；　who　had　been　so　engrossed　in　his　war　against　the　aliens　that　he　had　been　totally　oblivious　to　the　entire　event。　Bitow　Bitow　Bitow　Bitow　crackled　the　machine。　Bitow；　Bitow。。。　'Bugger！'　The　lad　restrained　a　petulant　foot　and　slouched　over　to　the　bar　counter。　'Where's　me　drink　gone；　Nev？'　he　asked。
　The　part…time　barman　shrugged。　'Ask　this　mutinous　crew；'　he　suggested。　Raffles　Rathbone　turned　towards　the　assembled　multitude；　but　they　had　by　now　returned　to　their　previous　occupations。　Conversations　hummed；　darts　whispered　and　glasses　rose　and　fell。　All　was　as　it　had　ever　been。
　'Same　again　then　is　it？'
　'Why　not？　Got　sixteen　thousand；　personal　high　score；　got　me　initials　up　there　three　times。'
　'Oh　goody　goody；'　sneered　Neville。　'Are　you　sure　you　only　want　the　half　of　shandy；　I　shouldn't　crack　a　bottle　of　Bollinger；　should　I？'
　'The　half　will　be　fine；　thank　you。'　Neville　did　the　honours。
　The　Swan　settled　down　once　more　to　its　lunchtime　normality；　and　such　it　would　no　doubt　have　enjoyed；　had　it　not　been　for　certain　distant　screams；　which　were　borne　upon　the　light　spring　breeze　to　announce　the　approach　of　a　certain　small　and　disconsolate　postman。
　'Camels！　Camels　on　the　allotment！'　The　cry　reached　the　Swan　shortly　before　Small　Dave。
　Omally　choked　into　his　beer。　'No　more！'　he　spluttered；　crossing　himself。　Pooley　shook　his　head；　it　was　proving　to　be　a　most　eventful　day　and　it　was　early　yet。　Neville　reached　once　more　for　his　knobkerry　and　Raffles　Rathbone　stood　before　the　video　machine；　oblivious　to　the　world　about　him。
　Small　Dave　burst　into　the　Swan；　looking　very　much　the　worse　for　wear。　He　lurched　up　to　the　counter　and　ordered　a　large　scotch。　Neville　looked　down　at　the　distraught　postman；　and　it　must　be　said　that　the　makings　of　a　fine　smirk　began　to　form　at　the　edges　of　his　mouth。　Turning　away　he　drew　off　a　single　for　which　he　accepted　double　price。　Small　Dave　tossed　it　back　in　one　gulp　as　Neville　had　calcul