Читать книгу The Secret of the Barbican and Other Stories - J. S. Fletcher - Страница 5

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Ledbitter strolled along, almost aimlessly, sick at heart, until, on the wide, open space beyond the landing-stage, he ran up against a policeman. That gave him an idea.

“Can you tell me where Orange Court is?” he asked.

The policeman immediately pointed along the road which flanked the line of docks.

“Third to your right, second to the left o’ that,” he answered. “Nice place, too!”

“Dangerous?” asked Ledbitter, almost indifferently.

“Roughish part down there,” said the policeman. “What might you be wanting, now, if it’s a fair question?”

Ledbitter was so hungry for human sympathy that he gave this casual acquaintance a brief account of his trouble. The policeman whistled.

“Nice job!” he remarked. “Well, you might find this man. And, again, you mightn’t. Some of ’em’s there for a night, and then the world swallows ’em up again. Come and go, d’ye see, in a manner of speaking. But I’ll give you a tip: Don’t you go pulling your money out inside Brannigan’s. If you find this man get him to walk up into the main road there with you. Don’t let him see what you’ve got about you—in Brannigan’s at any rate.”

Ledbitter thanked his informant and went off in the direction indicated. He was presently plunged into a network of unsavoury courts and alleys, and when he eventually found Brannigan’s he felt uncommonly timid about crossing its threshold. But a man who stood at the door in his shirt sleeves, smoking his pipe and reading the Sunday newspaper, eyed him as with authority.

“Wanting somebody in here, Mister?” he demanded cautiously. “You ain’t a police chap, I know, ’cause yer wouldn’t be alone if you were. What’s your game? Scripcher reader? Mission’ry?”

“Are you the lodging-house keeper?” asked Ledbitter.

“That’s me, guv’nor,” admitted the man. “And I asks again—what might you be?”

Ledbitter thought it best to be candid. He told his story, carefully insisting on the fact that the letter contained nothing of any value, not even a postal-order. But—“was that man there?”

The lodging-house keeper pocketed Ledbitter’s half-crown, and nodded.

“Shifty!” he said. “That’s the bloke! Shifty so called ’cause he squints. Don’t know no other name for him. He’s here now, asleep. Make it another half-dollar, guv’nor, and I’ll have him out to you in a jiffy!”

Ledbitter parted with a further two-and-sixpence, and waited on the flags outside the lodging-house. And presently there emerged a little, suspicious, furtive-eyed rat of a man, who looked his visitor well over from top to toe before he drew near him. Ledbitter had to reassure him at some yards distance before he would approach. It was for all the world like coaxing a wild animal who fears a trap.

But eventually he persuaded the man to walk up the court with him, and to convince him that all he wanted was the waistcoat which he had bought from the red-haired stranger the day before. And then, for the second time that morning Ledbitter nearly fainted when Shifty replied that he hadn’t got the much-desired garment.

Ledbitter stood like a statue of despair while Shifty explained matters. He, Shifty, had been in funds when Terry was overhauling his kit and offering some of its contents for sale, and he had bought a few articles, the waistcoat amongst them. But later he and some of his mates had got playing pitch-and-toss, and he had lost his money. Therefore to see him over the Sunday, he had bundled up his purchases, repaired to the pawnbroker’s, and raised four bob on them.

Accordingly, the waistcoat was now at Mr. Mordecai Aaron’s establishment round the second corner.

“Which, guv’nor, is a safe place,” concluded Shifty. “So your bit of a letter can’t come to no harm. Only”—here he paused and regarded his interviewer with a squint of extraordinary strength—“pawnbrokers isn’t open on Sundays. And I’m off Wigan way to-night. Got a job there at six to-morrow morning.”

“I must have that waistcoat?” said Ledbitter firmly. “Can’t you stop?”

“There’s a way, guv’nor,” interrupted Shifty, squinting more than ever. “I can’t stop, nohow. But you buys that pawn-ticket off of me! See? Then to-morrow morning you goes and takes them things out o’ pawn, and you gets your letter. How’s that guv’nor?”

Supplementing this, Shifty put his hand somewhere inside his clothing and drew out a pawn-ticket. He held it before Ledbitter’s eyes, pointing to various items.

“Pair o’ cloth trousers,” he said, “weskit—that’s your’n, guv’nor—knitted cardigan—three on ’em. Pawned for four bob. Now, as yer p’r’aps don’t know, guv’nor, a pawnbroker never lends more nor one-fourth the vally of a article. Accordingly, them things is worth sixteen bob. Then, of course, there’s my loss of ’em. I should ha’ took ’em out next time I was in Liverpool. So make it a quid, guv’nor, and the ticket’s yours.”

Ledbitter had to give way. He extracted a sovereign from his decreasing store, took the pawn-ticket and hurried off to more salubrious regions. And when he reached a respectable street he turned into the first respectable tavern he saw, and spent fourpence on a bottle of ale, with intense joy. He would get it first thing Monday morning; he would catch the next train to London with it.

At this point he suddenly thought of his financial resources, and he sat down in the corner of the saloon bar into which he had wandered, and with a bit of pencil and a scrap of paper did a little reckoning. He had set out from home with £4 7s. Up to that moment, what with various expenses—boatmen, the tips to the purser and to the lodging-house keeper, and the sovereign paid for the pawn-ticket—he had laid out £2 15s.; he had accordingly had £1 12s. left. Out of that he had to find himself in food and lodgings until next morning; there would be four shillings and a copper or two to pay at the pawnbroker’s; he would have to reserve at least a sovereign for his fare to London. So it came to this—he had about four shillings whereon to live, to eat, drink, sleep until next day. Of course he could do it—he would have to do it—he must do it. Only let him get that letter; only let him get to London and to Steel and Cardyke’s office, there, by four o’clock on Monday afternoon, and all would be well. As to getting home again from London to Walford—well, he would trust to luck. Nothing mattered but the handing in of the tender by the specified time.

That was the most miserable Sunday Ledbitter had ever spent in his life. The sea air blowing off the Irish Channel made him hungry, and he dared not eat—at least to satisfaction. He lunched off bread and cheese and beer; he spent the afternoon wandering about Liverpool. He indulged in a meat tea in a cheap restaurant when evening came. He wandered about again, and went supperless to bed in a place where you could stop the night for a shilling. He had another sleepless night. Next morning he breakfasted at a coffee-stall for threepence. And at nine o’clock he was at Mordecai Aaron’s establishment, and by five minutes past had explained matters, produced the pawn-ticket, and put down the necessary principal and interest. Two minutes later the much-desired waistcoat was in his hands. Trembling with excitement, he plunged his fingers into the inner pocket.

Empty!

“Th’elp me if I thought ath how you’d find anythink, mithter,” said the Jew youth to whom Ledbitter had explained matters. “Afther pathing through all them handth wathn’t likely ath how you would find it, wath it, now?”

Ledbitter made certain. Then he flung the redeemed articles down and turned on his heel.

“Wath to be done with theeth, mithter?” asked the Jew youth.

But Ledbitter walked out without answering, and he had gone a good mile away from that shop before he realized that he had really left it. Then he suddenly woke up from his abstraction and saw that he was at the Exchange Station.

It was all over now. Of course he was ruined. The firm would sack him at once. He would never get another job. He and his wife and the kid would all have to go the poor-house. All right. It was fate. No, it was his own confounded carelessness. No, something had gone wrong with his beastly head. No, it was—he did not know what it was. But it had happened. It was all over. He was down—deep, deep, deep down—and out.

And suddenly he realized that there would be no going to London and that the sovereign which he had reserved for that purpose was in his pocket. He realized something else, too; he was ravenously hungry. And the fare home to Walford was only eight-and-nine.

Without a word he walked into the station restaurant. Magnificent in his acceptance of defeat, he ordered a waiter to bring him two boiled eggs and a couple of thick mutton chops. Then he picked up a newspaper, and for an hour ate and drank and trifled with the news. There was an account in the newspaper of the execution of a criminal—the unfortunate man, it said, ate a hearty breakfast before walking to his doom. Ledbitter understood him.

He felt better after that breakfast, but he had to go home. And after trifling about a bit, and wondering whether he had better not sneak into Walford at night, he took heart and boarded an express.

At three o’clock that afternoon he quietly walked into his own parlour, and found his wife calmly sewing a new pinafore for the baby.

Mrs. Ledbitter screamed, and threw her arms round him. Ledbitter gently disengaged her, sat down and fixed her with a look.

“Fanny,” he said, “we’re ruined! There was a letter in that waistcoat which I’d forgotten to post. I’ve been to Liverpool after it, and it’s—lost. To-morrow morning I shall get the sack. I——”

Mrs. Ledbitter, not to be repressed, threw her arms round him again.

“Herbert!” she exclaimed. “Oh, if you’d only waited one second when you rushed off! I called you back, and you wouldn’t look round. Milson called you back when you ran away from his shop. He came up to tell me, guessing what you were after, but you wouldn’t listen to him. I found the letter when I sold him the things, Friday, and I went out and posted and registered it at once. Here’s the receipt. I forgot all about it on Friday and Saturday, too, because of baby’s teeth. And you needn’t bother at all about the firm. I sent them a note this morning, saying you were in bed with a sick headache.”

Ledbitter took the scrap of paper, looked at it to reassure himself, and then lifted his hand and shook his fist. He was about to swear that he would have Milson’s blood for not pursuing him to the station, when he suddenly remembered that out of the wreck of his week’s money he had bought his wife and the baby a box of chocolates. In that remembrance the recollection of his week-end misery floated into thin air.