Читать книгу Waif of the River - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 14

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A flaxen-haired, well-tailored Hercules tall as Black John, or very nearly, and of dominating presence, whose face, clean-shaven and bold of outline, was made the more remarkable by steely blue eyes shadowed by thick, black brows in startling contrast to his luxuriant blond hair and neatly trimmed side whiskers. Such was this strange visitor who, with no word or gesture of salutation, strode to the balustrade to scowl down at the river, apparently heedless of all else until Robin, scowling also, exclaimed:

"Well now, damme, but you're a cool customer! What the devil can your high mightiness want hereabouts?"

Without troubling to so much as turn his head, the stranger replied:

"Life! I come seeking life instead of death, to embrace the beloved living instead of mourning the hallowed dead."

"And why here of all places?"

"Because of all places here is one of many fouled by the tide of this accursed river."

"I resent your adjectives, sir. Thames is a glory and has been a blessing from time immemorial."

"And I repeat, it is accursed and the most damnable of all rivers if its murderous tide has stifled and borne from me the beloved whom I would have made my adored wife."

"If so," said Robin, still addressing his odd visitor's broad back, "you have my condolences—though your 'if' implies a doubt."

"A dreadful doubt!" sighed the stranger, shaking his fair head mournfully. "And it is to resolve this doubt and know the truth, good or ill, that I come seeking alongside this damned Thames—this insatiate, flesh-devouring monster! Have you seen or heard of any woman's body being washed ashore hereabout?"

"Oh yes, far too many, but none lately."

"When was the last?"

"Seven or eight nights ago."

"Ah, that would be about the time and could be my beloved one! Did you see her? Can you describe her—what she was like?"

"An armful o' filth!" quoth Mr. Shrig, for this was the moment he thought proper to become visible. And now lifting knobbed stick to hat-brim in grave salutation, he said very solemnly:

"Sir, a fee-male body came ashore below bridge this werry i-dentical morning."

Throwing up his long arms, the stranger reeled back as from an unseen blow and leant against the balustrade, head drooping, as if this blow had been mortal, or almost.

"Dead!" he gasped. "So ... she is ... dead?"

"Sir," replied Mr. Shrig, his roving glance suddenly fixed and very keen, "no poor creeter could be deader! Y'see, she ain't all there; her left foot, or, as you might say, her toddler, is clean gone and ditto her left arm's missing from below the elber, but——"

"Must I be nauseated by these abominable details?"

"Yessir, you must—for her head, or, as you might say, her tibby, don't show so damaged as you might expect, by reason of her long, thick, grey hair."

"Grey?" The pitifully drooping form straightened suddenly; the black brows twitched to a frown above eyes more steel-like than ever; the too-full lips parted to demand angrily: "D'you tell me her hair is—grey?"

"As any badger, sir."

"Then what the devil d'you mean by tricking me?"

"Eh? Tricking you, sir? How so?"

"By causing me to believe this grey-haired miserable old wretch was the dearly beloved I am hoping to find——"

"Dead, sir?" enquired Mr. Shrig blandly, and never had his expression been milder or more benign.

"What are you daring to suggest?"

"Only as them as Old Fayther Thames lays ashore is generally werry dead, sir; their sorrers and pains all forgot e-ternally—I hope!"

"Ha, now suppose you inform me precisely who and what you are!"

"A redbreast, sir; Shrig b' name, chief o' the Bow Street Office."

Here once again this strangest of arrogant strangers behaved unexpectedly, for with sudden, compelling gesture he seized Mr. Shrig's hand in immensely powerful grip, wrung it hard, shook it heartily, freed it as suddenly and said with the utmost finality:

"Now by all that's lucky you are the very fellow I require! So, Jasper Shrig, serve me you shall!"

"Sir," murmured Mr. Shrig, cherishing his crushed fingers, "all I responds is ar, so soon as you tell me the how, the wherefore and the when."

"And, my good fellow, your service shall be duly requited: the recovery or discovery of my beloved lost one. To the which end I will unfold my woeful tale, open my grievous heart to you——"

"Then," said Robin abruptly, "he'd better do it in the parlour, Jasper."

"Parlour indeed? My good Shrig, who is this graceless young man?"

"Sir, you—if you'll trouble to look, you'll behold Mr. Robin Dale, Ess-quire."

Here and for the first time the stranger turned to survey Robin, and even as they confronted one another antagonism was born. Then the stranger bowed with ironic flourish of his hat, Robin merely nodded, and Mr. Shrig spoke: "Mr. Robin, sir, the vord being 'parlour', let's go."