Читать книгу The Bravo of London - Bramah Ernest - Страница 7

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AS Mr. Carrados and Parkinson left the shop they startled a little group of street children who after the habit of their kind were whispering together, giggling, pushing one another about, screaming mysterious taunts, comparing sores and amusing themselves in the unaccountable but perfectly satisfactory manner of street childhood. Reassured by the harmless appearance of the two intruders the impulse of panic at once passed and a couple of the most precocious little girls went even so far as to smile up at the strangers. More remarkable still, although Parkinson felt constrained by his imperviable dignity to look away, Mr. Carrados unerringly returned the innocent greeting.

This incident entailed a break in which the appearance of the visitors, their position in life, place of residence, object in coming and the probable amount of money possessed by each were frankly canvassed, but when that source of entertainment failed the band fell back on what had been their stock game at the moment of interruption. This apparently consisted in daring one another to do various things and in backing out of the contest when the challenge was reciprocated. At last, however, one small maiden, spurred to desperation by repeated "dares," after imploring the others to watch her do it, crept up the step of Mr. Joolby's shop, cautiously pushed open the door and standing well inside (the essence of the test as laid down), chanted in the peculiarly irritating sing-song of her tribe:

"Toady, toady Jewlicks;

Crawls about on two sticks.

Toady, toady—"

"Makee go away," called out Won Chou from his post, and this not being at once effective he advanced towards the door with a mildly threatening gesture. "Makee go much quickly, littee cow-child. Shall do if not gone is."

The young imp had been prepared for immediate flight the instant anyone appeared, but for some reason Won Chou's not very aggressive behest must have conveyed a peculiarly galling insult for its effect was to transform the wary gamin into a bristling little spitfire, who hurled back the accumulated scandal of the quarter.

"'Ere, don't you call me a cow-child, you 'eathen swine," she shrilled, standing her ground pugnaciously. "Pig-tail!" And as Won Chou, conscious of his disadvantage in such an encounter, advanced: "Oo made the puppy pie? Oo et Jimmy 'Iggs's white mice? Oo lives on black beetles? Oo pinched the yaller duck and—" but at this intriguing point, being suddenly precipitated further into the shop by a mischievous child behind, and honour being fully satisfied by now, she dodged out again and rejoined the fleeing band which was retiring down the street to a noisy accompaniment of feigned alarm, squiggles of meaningless laughter, and the diminishing chant of:

"Toady, toady Jewlicks;

Goes abaht on two sticks.

Toady, toady—"

Sadly conscious of the inadequacy of his control in a land where for so slight a matter as a clouted child an indignant mother would as soon pull his pig-tail out as look, Won Chou continued his progress in order to close the door. There, however, he came face to face with a stout, consequential gentleman whose presence, opulent complexion, ample beard and slightly alien cut of clothes would have suggested a foreign source even without the ruffled: "Tevils! tevils! little tevils!" drawn from the portly visitor as the result of his somewhat undignified collision with the flying rabble.

"Plenty childrens," remarked Won Chou, agreeably conversational. "Makee go much quickly now is."

"Little tevils," repeated the annoyed visitor, still dusting various sections of his resplendent attire to remove the last traces of infantile contamination. "Comrade Joolby is at home? He would expect me."

"Make come in," invited Won Chou. "Him belong say plaps you is blimby."

"The little tevils need control They shall have when—" grumbled the new-comer, brought back to his grievance by the discovery of a glutinous patch marring an immaculate waistcoat. "However, that is not your fault, Won Chou," and being now within the shop and away from possibly derisive comment, he kissed the attendant sketchily on each cheek. "Peace, little oppressed brother!"

Not apparently inordinately gratified by this act of condescension, Won Chou crossed the shop and pushing open the inner door announced the new arrival to anyone beyond in his usual characteristic lingo:

"Comlade Blonsky come this side."

"Shall I to him go through?" inquired Mr. Bronsky, bustling with activity, but having already correctly interpreted the sounds from that direction Won Chou indicated the position by the sufficient remark: "Him will. You is," and withdrew into a further period of introspection.

In the sacred cause of universal brotherhood comrade Bronsky knew no boundaries and he hastened forward to meet Mr. Joolby with the same fraternal greeting already bestowed on Won Chou, forgetting for the moment what sort of man he was about to encounter. The reminder was sharp and revolting: his outstretched arms dropped to his sides and he turned, affecting to be taken with some object in the shop until he could recompose his agitated faculties. Joolby's slitlike mouth lengthened into the ghost of an enigmatical grin as he recognised the awkwardness of the comrade's position.

Bronsky, for his part, felt that he must say something exceptional to pass off the unfortunate situation and he fell back on a highly coloured account of the derangement he had just suffered through being charged and buffeted by a mob of "little tevils"—an encounter so upsetting that even yet he scarcely knew which way up he was standing. Any irregularity of his salutation having thus been neatly accounted for he shook Joolby's two hands with accumulated warmness and expressed an inordinate pleasure in the meeting.

"But I am forgetting, comrade," he broke off from these amiable courtesies when the indiscretion might be deemed sufficiently expiated; "those sticky little bastads drove everything from my mind until I just remember. I met two men further off and from what I could see at the distance they seemed to have come out from here?"

"There were a couple of men here a few minutes ago," agreed Mr. Joolby. "What about it, comrade?"

"I appear to recognise the look of one, but for life of me I cannot get him. Do you know them, comrade Joolby?"

"Not from Mahomet. Said his name was Carrados—his nibs. The other was a flunkey."

"Max Carrados!" exclaimed Mr. Bronsky with startled enlightenment. "What in name of tevil was he doing here in your shop, Joolby?"

"Wasting his time," was the indifferent reply. "My time also."

"Do you not believe it," retorted Bronsky emphatically. "He never waste his time, that man. Julian Joolby, do you not realise who has been here with you?"

"Never heard of him in my life before. Never want to again either."

"Well, it is time for yourself that you should be put wiser. It was Max Carrados who fixed the rope round Serge Laskie's neck. And stopped the Rimsky explosion when everything was going so well; and, oh, did a lot more harm. I tell you he is no good, comrade. He is a bad man."

"Anyhow, he can't interfere with us in this business, whatever he's done in the past," replied Joolby, who might be pardoned after his recent experience for feeling that there would be more agreeable subjects of conversation. "He's blind now."

"'Blind now'—hear him!" appealed Bronsky with a derisive cackle. "Tell me this however notwithstanding: did you make anything out of him, eh, Joolby?"

"No," admitted Joolby, determinedly impervious to Bronsky's agitation; "we did no business as it happens. He knew more than a customer has any right to know. In fact"—with an uneasy recollection of the Greek coin—"he may have known more than I did."

"That is always the way. Blind: and he knows more than we who not are. Blind: and he stretch out his cunning wicked fingers and they tell him all that our clever eyes have missed to see."

"So he said, Bronsky. Indeed, to hear him talk—"

"Yes, but wait to hear," entreated the comrade, anxious not to be deprived of his narration. "He sniffs—at a bit of paper, let us haphazard, and lo behold, where it has been, who has touched it, what pocket it has laid in—all are disclose to him. He listen to a breath of wind that no one else would hear and it tell him that—that, well, perhaps that two men are ready round the corner for him with a sand-bag."

"Oh-ho!" said Joolby, sardonically amused; "so you've tried it, have you?"

"Tried! You use the right word, comrade Joolby. Listen how. At Cairo he was given some sandwiches to ate on a journey. He did ate three and the fourth he had between his teeth when he change his mind and throw it to a pi- dog. That dog died very hastily."

"Anyone may recognise a taste or smell. Your people mixed the wrong sort of mustard."

"Anyone may recognise a taste or smell but yet plenty of people die of poison. Listen more. One night at Marseilles he was walking along a street when absolutely without any warning he turn and hit a poor man who happened to be following him on the head—hit him so hard that our friend had to drop the knife he was holding and to take to heels. And yet he was wearing rubber shoes. It is not right. Julian Joolby; it is not fair when a blind man can do like that. The good comrade who warned me of him say: He can smell a thought and hear a look. And that is not all. I have heard that he has the sixth sense too—"

"Let him have; I tell you, Bronsky, he is nothing to us. He only chanced along here. He wanted Greek coins."

"Greek coins!" This was reassuring for it agreed with something further about Max Carrados that Bronsky remembered hearing. "That may be very true after all as it is well known that he is crazy about collecting—thinks nothing of paying five hundred roubles for a single drachma...Yes, Julian Joolby, if it should become necessary it might be that a hook baited with a rare coin—"

"Don't worry. Next week we shall have moved to our new quarters and nothing going on here will matter then."

"Ah; that is arrange? I was getting anxious. Our friends in Moscow are becoming more and more impatient as time goes on. The man who pays the piper calls for a tune, as these fool English say it, and the Committee are insist that as they have allow so much for expenses already they must now see results. I am here with authority to investigate about that, comrade Joolby."

"They shall see results all right," promised Joolby, swelling darkly at the suggestion of interference. "And since you fancy English proverbs, comrade, it is well to remember that Rome was not built in a day, one cannot make bricks without clay, and it is not wise to spoil the ship for the sake of a kopecks worth of caulking."

"That is never fear," said Bronsky with a graciously reassuring wave of his hand; "nobody mistrusts you of yourself, comrade, and it is only as good friend that I tell you for information what is being thought at headquarters. This is going to be big thing, Joolby."

"I don't doubt it," agreed the other, regarding his visitor's comfortable self-satisfaction with his twisted look of private appreciation. "I shall do my best in that way, comrade."

"Extraordinary care is being take to make sure for wide and quick distribution in China, Japan and India and everywhere agents signify good prospects. The Committee are confident that this move, successfully engined, will destroy British commercial prestige in the East for at least a generation—and by the end of that time there will not be any British in the East. Meanwhile there must be no weak link in the chain. Now, Julian Joolby, what can I report to the Commissar?"

"You will know that within the next few hours. I've called them for eleven. Larch is working on the plates at a safe place now and as soon as dusk we will fill in the time by going to see what he has done and approve or not according to what you think of them."

"Good. That sounds as business. But why should we go there? Surely it is more fitly that a workman would come and wait on our convenience at your place of living?"

"It isn't a matter of fitness—it's a matter of ordinary prudence. Have I ever been what is call 'in trouble,' Bronsky?"

"Not as far as to my knowledge," admitted the comrade. "I have always understand that you keep you hand clean however."

"So. And I have done that by sticking to one rule: never to have anything in my place that isn't capable of a reasonable explanation. Most things can be explained away but not the copper plate of a bank note found underneath your flooring. That is Larch's look-out."

"You are right. It would never do—especially when I is here. We cannot be too much careful. Now this Larch—was he not in it once before when things did not go rightly?"

Joolby nodded and the visitor noticed that his bulging throat sagged unpleasantly.

"That's the chap. There was a split and Larch didn't get his fingers out quickly enough. Three years he was sentence and he came out less than six weeks ago."

"He is safe though? He has no bad feeling?"

"Why should he have?" demanded Joolby, looking at Mr. Bronsky with challenging directness. "I had nothing to do with him being put away. It was just a matter of luck that while Larch had the stuff when he was nabbed nothing could have been found on me if they had looked for ever—luck or good management."

"Good management if you say to me," propounded Bronsky wisely. "Notwithstanding."

"The one who has the plates is bound to get it in the ear if it comes to trouble. Larch knows that all right when he goes in it."

"But you are able to persuade him to risk it again? Well, that is real cleverness, Joolby."

"Oh yes; I was able as you say it, to persuade him. George is the best copper-plate engraver of his line in England; he came out with a splendid character from the prison Governor—and not an earthly chance of getting a better job than rag-picking. I've had harder propositions than persuading him in the circumstances, if it comes to that, Bronsky."

"It is to your good notwithstanding," declared Mr. Bronsky urbanely. "The Committee of course officially know nothing of details and are in position to deny whatever is say or done but they is not unmindful of zeal, as you may rely in it, comrade. That is the occasion of my report. Now as regards this business of eleven?"

"You will meet them all then and hear what is being done in other directions. Nickle will be here by that time and we shall be able to decide about Tapsfield."

"Tapsfield? That is a new one surely? I have not heard—"

"Place where the mills are that make all the official Bank paper," explained Joolby. "Naturally the paper is our chief trouble—always has been: always will be. Larch can make perfect plates, but with what we're aiming at this time nothing but the actual paper the Bank of England itself uses will pass muster. Well, there's plenty of it down at Tapsfield and we're going to lift it somehow."

"I quite agree that we must have the right paper however. But this person Nickle—he is not unknown to some of us—is he quite—?"

"In what way?"

"Well, there is a feeling that he appear to think more of what he can get out of our holy crusade than of the ultimate benefit of mankind. He has not got the true international spirit, Julian Joolby. I suspect that he has taint of what he would doubtless call 'patriotism'—which mean that he has yet to learn that any other country is preferable to his own. To be short, I have found this young man vulgar and it is not beyond that he may also prove restive."

"Leave that to me," said Joolby with a note of authority, and his unshapely form gave the impression of increasing in bulk as if to meet the prospect of aggression. "This is London, not Moscow, Bronsky; I'm in charge here and I have to pick my people and adapt my methods. Nickle will fall into line all right and serve us just so far as suits our purpose. So long as he is doing that he can sing 'Rule Britannia' in his spare time for all it matters."

"But in the cause—"

"In the meantime we can not be too particular about the exact shape of the tool we use to open closed doors with," continued Joolby, smothering the interruption with masterful insistence. "We are going to flood China, India, and the East with absolutely perfect Bank of England paper so that in the end it will be sheerly impossible for English trade to go on there, and so pave the way for Soviet rule. But it is not necessary to shout that sacred message into every ear, even if for the time they work hand in hand with us. Let them think that they are out to make easy money. Few men work any the worse for the expectation that they are in the way to get fortunes. Does that not satisfy you, comrade Bronsky?"

"So long as it goes forward," admitted Mr. Bronsky with slightly ungracious acceptance, for he could not blink the suspicion that while he himself was an extremely important figure, this subordinate monstrosity would do precisely as he intended.

"It is going forward—as you shall convince yourself completely. In the meanwhiles—you have not, I hope, made dinner?"

"Well, no," admitted the visitor, with a flutter of misgiving at the prospect, "but—"

"That is well—you need have no qualms; I can produce something better than kahetia or vodka, and as to food—Won Chou there is equal to anything you would find at your own place or in Soho. Won Chou—number one topside feed, me him, plenty quick. Not is? Is?"

"Can do. Is," replied Won Chou with impassive precision.

"There you see," amplified Joolby, with the pride of a conjurer bringing off a successful trick, "he can do it all right—take no longer in the end than if you went out somewhere. And," he added, with an inward appreciation of the effect that he knew the boast would have on his guest's composure, "all that he will use for a six course spread may be a gas-ring and two or perhaps three old biscuit tins."