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Ben Sees It Through
J. Jefferson Farjeon
With his usual knack of getting into trouble, Ben the tramp finds himself hunted by the law and the lawless.in this breathless adventure.Returning home to his Cockney roots after a trip to Spain, Ben meets a mysterious stranger on a cross-Channel steamer and is promised a job. On arrival at Southampton they take a taxi. Ben gets out to post a letter, but on returning to the cab finds the stranger has been murdered! Pursued by a mysterious foreigner, Ben escapes his clutches, only to find the police are now after him and the whole political establishment is in danger.Combining laughs and thrills, J. Jefferson Farjeon’s sinister tale of murder and blackmail is made all the more exciting thanks to the presence of Ben, the big-hearted vagabond who gets himself into scrape after scrape.



J. JEFFERSON FARJEON
Ben Sees It Through





Copyright (#ufde9a017-db44-5fb0-818a-8ee4ce295cb0)
COLLINS CRIME CLUB
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain for Crime Club by W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1932
Copyright © Estate of J. Jefferson Farjeon 1932
Cover design by Mike Topping © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover background images © shutterstock.com (http://shutterstock.com)
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008155940
Ebook Edition © August 2016 ISBN: 9780008155957
Version: 2016-07-07
Table of Contents
Cover (#u39b42d9a-9442-5ea4-95b6-16ac89106d47)
Title Page (#u212dda93-9826-57ea-8539-a6604ac00cd0)
Copyright (#u993ae236-29b4-528c-b5af-c630d89800a3)
Chapter 1: The Cap That Started It (#udf25dc84-7b76-5f1f-b70d-dff525e63770)
Chapter 2: Two in a Taxi (#u88b599b7-6de3-5e81-b2a8-a7f6314b31ae)
Chapter 3: Flight (#ub447a35b-0598-5d70-824e-caf2b4ec1ea2)

Chapter 4: Diablo! (#u7c19dc62-6672-54bc-8df6-45008663f71e)

Chapter 5: Drama in a Bar (#u52b65002-8b9f-582e-b289-cde32effe4da)

Chapter 6: Sanctuary in a Barn (#u554fc96f-14fb-560a-8864-bfc1623b00ef)

Chapter 7: Wanted, an Address (#uf182b73b-d9be-5931-a636-03db49f96077)

Chapter 8: Largely Concerning Ben’s Clothes (#u2104a641-aa2c-57e9-af1f-f035e01ffa89)

Chapter 9: ‘Where’s the Sailor?’ (#u4684235a-81c5-51f8-a115-3a52b2e62119)

Chapter 10: Incidents in North Lane (#u3077cccf-2f3e-557a-b352-dc884576e146)

Chapter 11: Hunt the Corpse (#ub87bf7b0-3b77-559e-85f3-a5e55ff34e1c)

Chapter 12: The House of Dimness (#u18b4f2b7-53d5-5ca8-a343-574cc8d53dad)

Chapter 13: The Attraction of Pink (#u2dcf9051-df5e-581a-8075-9d8e851a1f32)

Chapter 14: The Mysterious Caller (#u65a0044f-7e18-5ac4-85df-3aa2a7873a75)

Chapter 15: Down Agine (#u410cb72b-e2e0-596b-a988-d2df1446585e)

Chapter 16: Quadruple-Crossing (#u45b4969e-70cf-536f-9183-9505f90391f9)

Chapter 17: Secrets Behind Doors (#u25b79fbb-715e-58d5-9335-ab5c8fa5b744)

Chapter 18: Molly’s Story (#u81869121-8480-5ade-b896-2ac009973b63)

Chapter 19: Don Pasquali (#u886e3cb4-dd29-5b6a-94da-20e136477a53)

Chapter 20: The Contents of a Chimney (#u70c97f60-1a5b-5627-a309-afe10ba7fa41)

Chapter 21: Back to Waterloo (#u1556a5f2-1206-5a51-8763-a0d09700ebb1)

Chapter 22: Re-Enter the Cap (#u7417e32d-52b0-59ac-befb-3a7d3597716a)

Chapter 23: Ben Versus London (#u42414da2-4a17-5f6b-a8bf-a90d7ccd6186)

Chapter 24: Back to Horror House (#u1fdee32a-eb98-50b7-8e12-173f0b6421b4)

Chapter 25: Played in the Darkness (#u364cb2c2-9fb5-5fd1-9de9-ee83ddfad578)

Chapter 26: The Cap’s Secret (#ue30bad9b-d27f-5bed-843a-87b29c6e7f97)

Chapter 27: Blade Against Bullet (#u05dde2b2-9196-5920-bd31-d79c7e837573)

Chapter 28: Cornered (#uc7f3a8d7-cd8c-5a5b-8b31-4b7489c157c9)

Chapter 29: The Mind of Mr Lovelace (#udad3db47-f3a6-5b8b-ad9e-1efd02688ca9)

Chapter 30: The Mind of Don Pasquali (#u8496ae07-bb71-55a7-b026-789a05156534)

Chapter 31: The Mind of Ben (#uaf79616e-5e7f-5a8b-94d2-88e388d27d0e)

Chapter 32: Conversion of a Constable (#u9a9fc730-707c-5a1a-85c7-12e5dc845aeb)

Chapter 33: Good and Bad (#udaa62034-f69f-58e0-9bd1-b056ff34a926)

Chapter 34: At Mallow Court (#udc49f12f-a647-54fe-9775-904acd02af5a)

Chapter 35: Voices—Present and Past (#u14956913-1b3e-5ca0-94aa-897c064c3be2)

Chapter 36: Meanwhile, at Wimbledon— (#u4a7f3b9b-5d48-50ef-8138-377dd8503305)

Chapter 37: ‘I’m Goin’!’ (#uec3dd43e-e3e9-5eb7-8014-ae678abdf700)
Keep Reading … (#u906c8e8f-2a85-5a97-94a7-f4215617bebf)

About the Author (#ue0f926c7-dcc2-5687-9077-23e0213e266b)

Also in This Series (#u446fc350-1834-5c40-bcd7-7fb4ddcb4d9b)

About the Publisher (#u8d474cc0-2a6f-51df-9d48-a17adaed7fdf)

1 (#ufde9a017-db44-5fb0-818a-8ee4ce295cb0)
The Cap That Started It (#ufde9a017-db44-5fb0-818a-8ee4ce295cb0)
As England grew nearer and nearer, the deck rose and fell, and so did Ben’s stomach; for Ben’s stomach wasn’t what it used to be, and it rebelled against all but the most gentle treatment. It rebelled against the coast that could not keep still, against the taff-rail that went down when the coast went up, and up when the coast went down, against the Channel spray that leapt into the air and descended over you like a venomous fountain, against the wind that sent you bounding forward again after you had bounded back to escape from the spray. Yes, particularly against the wind, for that attacked your meagre raiment, and sent the best piece flying!… Oi!…
As Ben’s cap flew into the air, Ben flew after it. You or I, richer in earthly possessions, would not have followed it into the ether, but Ben’s possessions had a special value on account of their rarity, and the departure of anyone spelt tragedy. Thus, starting from scratch, he lurched in the cap’s wake, spraying out from the ship’s side like an untidy rocket.
Then, fortunately, the head that had ill-advised this unwise adventure realised its mistake, and sent an urgent S.O.S. to the boots at the other end. The boots, responding smartly, hooked themselves round the taff-rail. There was a sharp wrench as boots fought Eternity. A moment later, Ben’s head, instead of proceeding outwards, curved downwards, ending upside-down against a port-hole.
There followed a fleeting glimpse of a converted world. A chair grew down from a ceiling, and a suspended electric lamp grew up from a floor. Then the chair and the electric lamp shot in one direction while Ben shot in another. He felt his nose scraping upwards against the side of the ship. Finally came a bumping; a sensation like an outraged croquet-hoop; and momentary oblivion. When the oblivion was over, Ben found himself back on deck, with the man who had pulled him up bending over him.
‘By Jove! That was a narrow shave!’ exclaimed the benefactor.
‘Go on!’ mumbled Ben, as he came back to the doubtful gift of life. ‘That ain’t nothink ter some I’ve ’ad!’
‘Feeling all right, then?’
‘Corse! It does yer good!’
Reassured, the benefactor took out his cigarette-case. He was a tall young man, with a face that ought to have been pleasant but that somehow was not. He opened the case, and held it out.
‘Have one?’ he asked.
Ben rose unsteadily to his feet and considered the matter. He considered it cautiously. Was it wise to smoke on a stomach that was doing all the things his was doing and that was trying to do many things more?
‘I owe you some compensation,’ urged the young man, ‘for I’m afraid it was I who bumped into you.’
‘That’s orl right,’ muttered Ben. ‘I was born ter be bumped.’
The cigarette was gold-tipped, so Ben risked it. After all, you couldn’t feel worse than you felt when you couldn’t feel worse, could you?
‘Thank ’e, guv’nor,’ he said.
‘Not at all,’ responded the young man, amiably.
That ought to have been the end of it. Later, Ben wished devoutly that it had been. The young man seemed disposed to continue the conversation, however, and took up a position beside the piece of ragged misery who was smoking, somewhat anxiously, his first State Express 999.
‘Been away from England long?’ inquired the young man, amiably.
‘Eh?’ blinked Ben.
His mind was receiving slowly.
‘I asked whether you had been away from England long,’ repeated the young man.
‘Oh,’ said Ben. ‘Cupple o’ cenchuries.’
‘And where did you spend the couple of centuries?’ smiled the young man.
‘Spine,’ answered Ben. ‘With Alfonzo.’
‘That must have been terribly nice for him,’ grinned the young man. ‘Then you can speak Spanish, I suppose?’
‘I can say oosted,’ replied Ben, ‘but I don’t know wot it means.’
He wished the young man would go. He wanted to be quiet, so he could find out whether he was enjoying the cigarette or not.
‘What did you do in Spain?’ the young man persisted.
‘Tried ter git ’ome agine,’ said Ben.
‘Didn’t like the place, eh?’
‘It ain’t a plice, it’s a nightmare. They does nothink but chise yer.’
‘Really! Well—don’t look so glum. You’ll be ’ome agine very soon now.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Where is your home?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What?’
‘’Oo?’
‘I said, where is your home?’
‘Oh,’ said Ben. ‘I ain’t got none.’
‘Ain’t got none,’ murmured the young man, reflectively. ‘I see. I see.’
The homelessness of Ben appeared to interest him. A sudden burst of spray interrupted the interest and sent them both back. But it did not separate them. When Ben returned to the taff-rail he found the young man still by his side. He seemed to have drawn an inch or two closer.
‘No home,’ said the young man, sympathetically. ‘That’s unfortunate. What’ll you do?’
‘Well, I ain’t rightly decided yet,’ answered Ben. ‘They wants me in the Cabbynet.’
‘In the Ministry of Repartee?’
‘’Oo?’
‘Never mind. Don’t let’s start that again. But seriously—haven’t you got a job?’
‘Wot? Work?’
‘You’ve been working on this ship.’
‘Yus, I ’ad ter. On’y way ter git me passage ’ome, see. “Can you look arter a cow?” they ses. “Yus,” I ses. That’s the way ter git on, that is. Say “Yus,” and ’ope. But I ’oped fer one cow, and they give me fifty. And forty-nine kicked me. Everyone bar Molly.’
The young man laughed, but Ben didn’t. He was thinking of Molly. Molly had the nicest eyes, and he’d named her after someone he’d left behind him in Spain. Someone who had not been fortunate enough to get a job on a ship, but who was going to return to England somehow or other the moment she got the chance!
The coast of England continued to bob up and down. Only, for a few seconds, it ceased to be the coast of England, and became the coast of Spain. The long straight smudge that would presently materialise into Southampton changed temporarily into a mountainous outline, with dead men upon it, and bulging black moustaches, and daggers so long that they could go right through you and still have room for a couple more. But there was something else, also, upon that mountainous outline. Something that gave a queer beauty to the hideousness … something that made one almost regretful one had left it … companionship …
‘If you want a job when we land, I dare say I could find it for you.’
Ben came to with a jerk.
‘You’ve got to eat, I expect, like the rest of us, eh? And you can’t get cake for nothing.’
‘Wot sort of a job?’ asked Ben.
‘Well—how about that job you’ve dreamed of?’ smiled the young man. ‘Good pay and no work?’
‘Go on!’ said Ben.
The young man laughed. He grinned down on Ben, while Ben squinted up at him. Ben’s head ended where the young man’s chin began.
‘I know a job like that,’ remarked the young man. ‘Maybe, for once in your life, you’re going to be lucky!’
‘Yus, but why should yer give it ter me?’ demanded Ben, suspiciously. ‘’Oo’s toldjer I’ve got the qualiticashuns?’
‘What! To receive a couple of quid a week for doing nothing?’ retorted the young man. ‘You can hold out your hand, can’t you?’
‘Eh?’ muttered Ben. ‘Cupple o’ quid?’
Forty pounds of chedder!
‘And, after all, I owe you something, don’t I, for bumping into you like that and making you lose your cap. By the way, I’ll have to buy you another.’
So it was this young fellow who had made him lose his cap, was it? Well, the gust of wind had certainly seemed a bit solid, now Ben came to think of it! But, at the moment, there were more important things to think of. This job! Go on! Did he really mean it?
Ben did not like work. Not, at least, the kind of work he was given on the rare occasions when work came his way. You can’t dream that all the figures in Madame Tussaud’s are made of gorganzoler, or that you are hibernating in a hole in gruyere, while you are rubbing cows with a clothes-brush and trying to avoid their feet. But Ben realised that, as a general principle, you can’t make money in this ill-managed world without being expected to do something for it—and two pounds a week for the simple operation of holding out one’s hand was arresting.
‘Wot’d I ’ave ter do?’ he inquired.
‘I’ve told you,’ answered the young man. ‘Nothing.’
‘Yus, but I mean—ter git it?’
‘Oh, just call at an address I’d give you.’
‘Where?’
‘In London.’
‘’Ow’d I git ter Lunnon?’
‘Fare’s included. And—as I mentioned—that new cap.’
‘Go on!’
‘I’ve gone on. Now it’s your turn.’
‘Look ’ere,’ said Ben, coming to grips. ‘D’yer mean ter tell me that orl I’ve gotter do is jest ter say Yus?’
‘Yus,’ nodded the young man. ‘Provided my friend also says Yus.’
‘’Oo’s ’e?’
‘I’ll tell you, if you want the job.’
Ben closed his eyes and thought hard. He always closed his eyes when he thought hard. When you think hard you have to push, like, against the darkness. Yet was there, in this case, anything to think hard about?
Life had made Ben suspicious of everything and everybody. The cow Molly, and the girl the cow had been named after, were the only earthly items he would recommend to God when asked for his opinion; the only items that hadn’t got a catch in them somewhere. This young fellow beside him probably had dozens of catches in him! Just the same, with two quid a week and nothing to do—could one go wrong?
‘I’m on!’ said Ben, suddenly opening his eyes.
‘Good,’ answered the young man. ‘Then I’ll see you again when we’re off the boat, eh?’
The next moment, he was gone.
Ben stared after him. When they were off the boat, eh? P’r’aps that was the catch!
But the future, on a heaving ship, is less vital than the present, and the disappearance of the young man brought thoughts back to one’s stomach. A wave struck the ship’s side with a hearty smack. ‘Fust was right,’ reflected Ben, as the spray showered down upon him. ‘I didn’t orter’ve ’ad that fag.’
Another figure approached. It was the petty officer who looked after the man who looked after the cows.
‘Taking a little holiday?’ he inquired, with good-humoured sarcasm.
‘You gotter come up from cows sometimes,’ Ben defended himself. ‘They ain’t vilette der parme!’
‘That’s all right,’ nodded the officer. ‘You look a bit green.’
‘Put green by me, and you wouldn’t recekernise it,’ answered Ben. ‘’Ow long afore we’re goin’ ter stand on somethink that don’t wobble?’
‘We’ll soon be in now,’ smiled the officer, ‘and I can’t say I’ll be sorry, either, after this dirty bit o’ Channel. But, I say, you’re not supposed to jaw with the nobs, you know!’
He glanced at the gold-tipped cigarette, as he spoke. Ben was still sticking it.
‘’E begun it,’ replied Ben. ‘’Oo is ’e?’
‘Not seen him before, eh?’
‘Never set eyes on ’im.’
‘Well, he’s had his eyes on you more than once during the voyage. Supercargo. Came on board the same port you did. Hallo, what’s happened to your top hat?’
‘Gorn hoverboard, arter me yeller gloves,’ answered Ben.
‘Well, see you don’t foller them!’ grinned the officer, as the ship gave another heave. ‘It’s time you were getting below again.’
Ben nodded. After all, it didn’t really matter. It was equally uncomfortable everywhere.
The cow Molly greeted him with friendliness. He swore that she knew him, just as he knew her. Her mouth, and the tongue that came out of it to lick his fingers, was especially soft, and when the man and the animal stared wordlessly into each other’s eyes, they understood each other. ‘Life’s not much fun,’ said the cow’s eyes. ‘Mouldy,’ replied Ben’s. ‘Frightening,’ said the cow’s. ‘’Orrible,’ said Ben’s. ‘But you seem all right,’ said the cow’s. ‘You ain’t so bad yerself,’ said Ben’s.
Then he scratched the cow where cows like it, behind the ears, and then held out his hand to be licked. It was a very young cow, and Ben, despite his lines, had never really grown up.
Now, while the boat drew into Southampton Water, he stared at Molly for the last time, and a very queer sensation assailed him. If you had asked him whether it was sentiment or sea-sickness, he’d have tossed for it.
‘I ’ope they’re good ter yer,’ he said. ‘If they ain’t, jest drop us a line.’
The cow looked back, solemnly. And who shall prove that, within the muddy mournfulness of its limited comprehension, it did not receive some fragment of Ben’s message?
But the business of bringing a boat into port makes no allowance for either sentiment or sea-sickness, and before long Ben was busy with, not one cow, but fifty. They had to be examined. They had to be disturbed. They had to be shooed into new places where they belonged, and out of other places where they didn’t; round a yawning hole; over a board flooring, down a gangway, into a fenced enclosure. Then fresh officials took charge, driving them into a waiting truck.
And so the fifty cows passed out of Ben’s life, and at last he found himself a free man again.
A free man? Technically, yes. But, in a sense, he envied the cows as he stood on the dock with neither plan nor prospect. They, at least, had somewhere to go!
‘Well—here we are again,’ said a voice beside him.
It was the supercargo. In the midst of kicking cattle, Ben had forgotten him!
‘Oh—you agine?’ he blinked.
‘Yes, me agine,’ answered the young man. ‘Have you got your discharge?’
‘Eh? Yus.’
‘Splendid! Then let’s be getting along!’
Ben stared at the young man, incredulously. So it wasn’t a catch, after all?
‘Yer mean—that job?’ he asked.
‘Course,’ nodded the young man. ‘What did you take me for? I’m the sort that sticks to my word, I am. Step lively.’
He seemed in a hurry to be off. In such a hurry, in fact, that he suddenly seized Ben’s arm, and began trundling him away.
‘Oi! Are we goin’ in fer a air record or somethink?’ demanded Ben.
‘We’ve got to find a shop before it closes, haven’t we?’ replied the young man. ‘No, no! Not that way—this way!’
He swung Ben round a corner, and then round another corner. Ben began to gasp. Then a taxi loomed before them and Ben found himself shooting in. The door slammed. The taxi began to move.
‘Wot’s orl this?’ panted Ben.
‘I’m a hustler,’ admitted the young man, ‘when there’s a reason.’
‘Yus, but wot’s the reason?’
The young man considered for a moment, then gave a reason.
‘If we hadn’t hurried, we’d have missed this taxi,’ he explained, ‘and if we’d missed this taxi we might have missed our shop.’
‘Wot shop?’
‘Where’s your memory, man? I’m getting you a new cap, aren’t I? And now suppose we stop talking, and try thinking? Thinking’s so much more restful, isn’t it?’
Ben subsided. Thinking was certainly more restful. The only trouble was, one didn’t know quite what to think. The taxi made its way inland, and soon the docks were well in their rear. Narrow streets widened. The sense of ships grew less. Shops replaced blank brick walls, and chimneys funnels.
‘Oi!’ cried Ben, suddenly. ‘There’s ’ats!’
‘Eh?’ exclaimed his companion, jerked out of a reverie.
‘’Ats,’ repeated Ben. ‘’At shop. ’Ats.’
The young man called to the driver to stop, and the taxi drew up by the curb.
‘Wait here,’ instructed the young man.
‘Wot, ain’t I goin’ in with yer?’ answered Ben.
‘Wait here!’ repeated the young man.
‘Corse, the size don’t matter!’ observed Ben.
Apparently it didn’t. The young man was already out of the taxi.
‘Orl right, ’ave it yer own way,’ muttered Ben, ‘but ’ow’s ’e goin’ ter know if me ’ead’s like a pea or a hefelant?’
He closed his eyes. An instant later he opened them again. The young man was back beside him.
‘Well, I’m blowed!’ said Ben. ‘That was quick! Did ’e see yer comin’ and toss yer one aht of the shop?’
‘Don’t be an ass!’ retorted the young man. ‘They were no good—didn’t like the look of them.’
‘Wot! Yer mean, yer went in?’ exclaimed Ben. ‘In that cupple o’ blinks?’
‘Shops have windows, haven’t they?’ growled the young man. ‘Shut up!’
The taxi moved on. Ben noticed that the young man’s forehead was dripping.

2 (#ufde9a017-db44-5fb0-818a-8ee4ce295cb0)
Two in a Taxi (#ufde9a017-db44-5fb0-818a-8ee4ce295cb0)
If you had found yourself in Ben’s position, you would very soon have ended it. You would not have submitted to the will of a strange young man who, however fair his promises, lugged you rapidly round corners, thrust you into a taxi-cab, invested the simple operation of buying a cap with queer significance, and burst, for no apparent reason, into sudden perspiration. You would have required some explanation of these things, or you would have contrived some means of leaving him.
But, after all, you could not have found yourself in Ben’s position. As Ben himself would have told you, ‘The kind o’ persishuns I gits in ain’t mide fer nobody helse!’ And in this argument lies the reason of Ben’s inactivity.
Things always happened to him. They always had, and they always would. If you tried to stop one thing, you’d only walk into another, so why waste energy? And, so far, Ben’s present position was mild compared with others that lay behind him, and others that lay ahead of him.
Wherefore he did not comment upon his companion’s perspiration. He did not comment upon the speed with which they drove away from the hat-shop (the driver had clearly received an instruction to hurry), or upon the number of other hat-shops that were passed without pausing. And when, at last, the taxi made its second halt, he did not protest on receiving, once more, the injunction to stay where he was while fresh headgear was being obtained.
‘I ain’t payin’ fer the cap,’ he reflected, philosophically, ‘so if I looks like a pea-nut hunder it, it ain’t fer me ter compline!’
But he did wonder, when he saw the young man emerge from the shop with a small parcel, why the young man did not return immediately to the taxi-cab.
‘’E was in a ’urry afore,’ thought Ben, as the young man walked leisurely round a corner, ‘but time don’t seem nothink ter ’im now!’
A minute went by. Two. Three. An unpleasant theory began to develop in Ben’s brain. Was this the catch? Had the young man gone off, leaving Ben to pay the fare?
Apparently this theory was being developed also on the driver’s seat. The taximan descended, and poked his head through the window.
‘Where’s he gone?’ inquired the taximan.
‘I dunno,’ replied Ben.
‘But you’re with him,’ objected the taximan.
‘Then ’e carn’t be gorn,’ Ben pointed out.
This was beyond the taximan, who returned with a grunt to his seat. But after another three minutes had gone by, he descended again, and once more poked his head through the window.
‘I suppose he is coming back?’ he frowned.
‘I s’pose ’e is,’ replied Ben.
‘Suppose he don’t?’ said the taximan.
‘Then ’e won’t,’ answered Ben.
The taximan’s frown grew, and focused itself directly on Ben.
‘I’m going to get my fare,’ he declared, with a hint of a threat.
‘That’s orl right,’ nodded Ben. ‘I’ll sendjer a cheque.’
During the next three minutes the young man returned, and a crisis was averted. He gave an instruction to the driver, entered the taxi, and the journey was resumed.
‘We thort we’d lorst yer,’ said Ben.
‘I had to go to another shop,’ explained the young man, with no trace of apology, ‘and while I was there I met a friend.’
‘I see. And ’ad one,’ replied Ben. ‘And where are we goin’ now?’
‘To the station.’
Ben opened his eyes wide.
‘Wot for?’ he demanded.
‘For the job,’ answered the young man. ‘There’s a train at 6.22, and you can just catch it.’
‘Me?’
‘You!’
‘Yus, but—’ Ben paused. There was a rather disturbing sense in all this of being shoved about. ‘Ain’t you goin’, too?’
‘Never mind about me. Now, listen. The train goes at 6.22, and gets into London in a couple of hours. Waterloo. Do you know Waterloo? Your peculiarly pleasant accent suggests a knowledge of London. I hope you know your way about?’
‘Wot! Lunnon?’
‘Even so. Lunnon.’
‘Without me,’ said Ben, ‘Lunnon ain’t Lunnon.’
‘Really! One of the sights?’
‘Didn’t yer know? When them Americans come hover, if I ain’t there they turns rahnd and goes back agine.’
‘Upon my soul, I’m honoured to have met you!’ laughed the young man, and Ben found himself counting his teeth. ‘I hope, in the circumstances, you won’t feel above travelling third-class?’
‘Well—jest fer once, like.’
‘Splendid! Now, listen again. All this is very entertaining, but we mustn’t forget that life’s a serious matter—and especially,’ he added significantly, ‘when we’re job-hunting. The fare to Waterloo is nine-and-tenpence. From Waterloo you will have to get to Wimbledon. Do you know Wimbledon?’
‘That’s right,’ nodded Ben. ‘That’s where Tilden and me ’as our little knock-up.’
A slight frown appeared on the young man’s face.
‘I wonder,’ he mused, gravely, ‘whether, after all, you have too much humour for this job?’
‘Don’t you worry, sir,’ Ben stuck to him. ‘If it’s wanted, I can cry like I got a fly in me eye.’
The young man weighed the information. He did not seem to find it immediately convincing. He studied Ben with a new interest and attention, and Ben felt that his fate was being decided. It was. The toss went against him, and the young man smiled again.
‘Yes—after all, I think you’ll do,’ he said, ‘although I’m afraid there won’t be any tennis for you. The house you’re going to is at Wimbledon Common. Are you good at remembering names?’
‘Yus,’ answered Ben. ‘I can remember ’arf me own.’
‘Yes, by the way, what is it?’
‘Ben.’
‘And you’ve forgotten the other half?’
‘Yus.’
‘Conveniently?’
‘Wotchermean?’
‘Oh, nothing. But sometimes people make a habit of forgetting their names. Well, so you won’t forget this one—’
‘Oo?’
‘—the name of the house you’ve got to go to—’
‘Oh.’
‘Please don’t keep on saying “Oo” and “Oh.” It’s getting a bit on my nerves. So you won’t forget the name of the house you’re going to, I’ll write it down on a piece of paper, and you can stick it in your pocket. I suppose,’ he added, looking at Ben’s ragged suit, ‘you’ve got a pocket?’
‘You can put anythink in me anywhere,’ Ben told him.
‘Well, find a place where this will stay in,’ replied the young man, as he took out a note-book.
He tore out a sheet and scribbled upon it. Then he handed it to Ben and asked whether he could read it.
‘Corse I can!’ retorted Ben, and held the paper hard against his best eye. ‘“Greystones,” ain’t it?’
‘Splendid! Go on.’
‘“Greystones,”’ repeated Ben, to gain time. ‘And the next is “North Lane.” But where’s the Common?’
‘No need to write that,’ responded the young man. ‘You can remember Wimbledon Common, can’t you? And if you lost that little piece of paper with the complete address on it, somebody else might find it and go after your job.’
‘So they might,’ murmured Ben, impressed.
‘Now, I’m going to give you a pound,’ proceeded the young man, ‘and that will cover your expenses all the way.’
It would more than cover them. Ben kept very still, lest his companion should realise it.
‘When you get to the house,’ went on the young man, ‘you will say that—Mr White sent you—’
‘I’m bein’ you, like?’
‘—and you will hand over the piece of paper with the address on.’
‘Yus, but ’oo—’
‘I’m coming to that, now. The gentleman you will ask for, and hand the paper to, is Mr Lovelace—’
‘Go on!’
‘What’s the matter now?’
‘Nothink!’
‘Then what did you say “Go on” for?’
‘Well—Lovelice! I thort you was makin’ the nime hup, like.’
‘Try to think a little less when you get to Wimbledon Common,’ said the young man dryly. ‘If Mr Lovelace can stand your interruption and likes your face, he’ll take you. If he can’t and doesn’t—’ The young man shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, in that case you’ll have had your fare to London, with a bob or two over.’
The taxi swung round a corner. A hundred yards ahead loomed the station.
‘And that’s orl?’ murmured Ben.
‘Yes—when I’ve given you your cap,’ answered the young man.
He undid the little parcel. A dark brown cap of rough material bulged out of it.
‘Have I suited your particular style of beauty?’ asked the young man, as he put it on Ben’s head.
Ben stared at a small mirror fixed in the taxi. The young man stared at Ben. Both were intent.
‘Bit of orl right,’ commented Ben.
‘Good,’ said the young man. He looked pleased. Then all at once he looked less pleased, for a blank expression suddenly replaced the self-conscious grin with which Ben had been regarding his face in the mirror. ‘What’s the trouble this time?’ he demanded, sharply.
‘Jest thort o’ somethink,’ muttered Ben.
‘I advised you not to think,’ retorted the young man.
‘Yus, but—well, this is somethink I fergot, see?’
‘All I see is that you’ll have to go on forgetting it!’
And, as though to clinch matters and to end wavering, the young man whipped out his case and handed Ben the promised pound-note.
Ben clutched the note, but his soul was not soothed. The thing he had forgotten was important. More important, even, than a pound-note.
‘It’s a letter,’ said Ben.
‘Write it from London,’ answered the young man.
‘That might be too late, see,’ replied Ben, doggedly. ‘It might miss the person.’
‘Who is the person?’ asked the young man.
Ben hesitated. He didn’t feel inclined to admit that the person was a girl he had left in Spain, who wouldn’t know where to connect up with him when she got back to England unless she found a note waiting for her at Southampton Post Office. Such an admission, besides treading on sacred ground, would reinforce the young man’s proposal that the note should be sent from London, since it was hardly likely that Molly Smith would reach Southampton hot upon Ben’s heels.
‘Yus, but she might,’ reflected Ben, ‘and I ain’t takin’ no charnces! Lunnon’s a long way orf, and while I’m ’ere I’m ’ere!’
So he told the young man that the person was a bloke wot owed him a fiver and that he wasn’t going to waste no time in getting after it.
This story, coupled with the queer doggedness by which Ben occasionally got his way at unexpected moments, produced a halt of two minutes outside a small stationer’s shop. In these two minutes, while the young man waited in the taxi, Ben bought a sheet of paper and an envelope and a penny-halfpenny stamp, borrowed a pen, wrote: ‘Dere Molly i’m ere graystones north lane wimbledon Common,’ stuffed it in the envelope, addressed it to ‘Miss Molly Smith, Post Orfis, Southamton,’ thumped on the stamp, and posted the lot in a pillar-box.
‘’Ow’s that fer quick?’ he exclaimed, as he got back into the taxi.
The young man made no reply.
‘Oi! I ses ’ow’s that fer quick?’ repeated Ben.
The young man still made no reply. Suddenly, Ben looked at him.
As a rule, Ben moved slowly. His motto was that you never got nowhere, so why ’urry? But, at chosen moments, he moved with a rapidity that baffled logic. He could get down three flights of stairs in two seconds, and round two corners in one. He had never got down stairs or round corners, however, with half the rapidity at which he now got out of the taxi. The driver was still in first gear, driving a dead man to a station, while Ben was legging it four blocks away.
And on Ben’s head was a cap, and in his pocket was a pound-note, which the dead man had given him.
‘Now, you!’ exclaimed a voice in his ear.
A hand grabbed his coat. With a yelp, he wrenched himself free. And, as he did so, he wondered why Fate never gave him a decent deal, and why the hand he had wrenched himself away from was not an ordinary hand, but bore a livid red scar.

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