I
When Mr.¬ÝOakroyd dashed out of the house and hurried down Ogden Street with his little basket trunk in one hand and his bag of tools in the other, he had no idea where he was going. He only knew he was going somewhere, that night, at once. The thought of taking a train at such a late hour somehow frightened him, for it seemed the act of a desperado. He had only once taken a train at night in all his life and that had been in the company of six hundred other citizens of Bruddersford. He saw himself being arrested at the ticket office.
“Na Jess!” somebody cried.
“Na lad!” he called back, hurrying on and wondering who it was. He walked so quickly now and was so busy with his thoughts that outside T’Mucky Duck, turning into Woolgate, he ran full tilt into somebody, a big man.
“ ’Ere, weer the ’ell are yer coming to!” shouted the big man. Then he saw who it was. “Eh, it’s Jess Oakroyd. Weer yer going, Jess?”
‚ÄúOff for me holidays, Sam,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, slipping away and leaving the big man staring.
These little encounters seemed to make the situation more desperate. It was then that he thought of Ted Oglethorpe‚Äôs nephew, who had said last night that he could have a trip whenever he wanted one. Loading at Merryweather‚Äôs in Tapp Street, up to eleven o‚Äôclock or after, and then going somewhere down South‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhere was it?‚ÅÝ‚ÄîNuneaton. That was it. He felt immensely relieved at the thought that Ted would give him a lift down South. It would probably mean sitting on the bales at the back of the lorry all night, but this prospect did not daunt him. He rather liked the idea of jolting his way out of Bruddersford in this fashion.
Tapp Street, near the centre of the town, is a short street full of offices and warehouses, and any time after seven it looks dark and is almost deserted. There was only one sound now to be heard in the street, but no sooner had Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, turning the corner, heard it, than he quickened his pace at once. It was the sound of a lorry engine, an urgent throb-throb. As Mr.¬ÝOakroyd trotted up towards it, the engine burst into a roar. In another minute the lorry would be off. ‚ÄúHi!‚Äù cried Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, and fairly ran now. It was quivering with impatience.
‚ÄúHere, Ted,‚Äù shouted Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, ‚ÄúI‚Äôm coming wi‚Äô yer.‚Äù
A face he could not see distinctly looked from the driver’s seat. “Less noise, mate,” it said hoarsely. “An’ if yer coming, yer’ll have to get on at the back. There’s only room for two ’ere in front. ’Urry up. Take it or leave it.”
This was certainly not Ted‚Äôs voice, but Mr.¬ÝOakroyd did not trouble his head about that. ‚ÄúAll right,‚Äù he gasped, and hoisted his two bags on the back. Fortunately the lorry was not fully loaded and there was room at the sides, where the tarpaulin-covered bales or pieces did not come to the very edge. But he had still to hoist himself up, and he had not succeeded in doing this when the lorry started, so that he was carried several yards down Tapp Street with his legs swinging in midair. It was only by a tremendous effort that he pulled himself over the side, and even then he barked his shins and knees. After resting a minute or two, he contrived to remove himself and his two bags to where there was space enough between the backboard and the tarpaulin pile for him to sit down and make himself snug.
It was grand. They bumped and rattled on at a surprising pace, and Mr.¬ÝOakroyd in triumph watched the Bruddersford warehouses and shops and trams start up, quiver, and then retreat. With great dexterity, he filled and lighted a pipe of Old Salt, which had itself somehow achieved a new and adventurous flavour, and smoked it with a real old saltish air, like a man on the lookout to make the landfall of Cape Cambodia. Through valedictory puffs of smoke, he saw Bruddersford itself slide away, the hills rise up, a vague blackness, the streetlamps of distant and ever-retreating suburbs take on the shape and glitter of constellations. Other towns, Dewsbury, Wakefield, closed round him and then shook themselves off again. It was colder now, and he shivered a little in his thin mackintosh. He was still warmed, however, by a feeling of triumphant escape. He didn‚Äôt care where they landed in the morning. They were going on and on, and it was grand.
Then there came a great moment. He had been dozing a little but was roused by the lorry slowing down, sounding its horn, then swinging round into a road that was different from any they had been on so far. It was as smooth and straight as a chisel, and passing lights showed him huge double telegraph-posts and a surface that seemed to slip away from them like dark water. Other cars shot past, came with a blare and a hoot and were suddenly gone, but the lorry itself was now travelling faster than he thought any lorry had a right to travel. But at one place they had to slow down a little, and then Mr.¬ÝOakroyd read the words painted in large black letters on a whitewashed wall. The Great North Road. They were actually going down the Great North Road. He could have shouted. He didn‚Äôt care what happened after this. He could hear himself telling somebody‚ÅÝ‚ÄîLily it ought to be‚ÅÝ‚Äîall about it. ‚ÄúMiddle o‚Äô t‚Äônight,‚Äù he was saying, ‚Äúwe got on t‚ÄôGreat North Road.‚Äù Here was another town, and the road was cutting through it like a knife through cheese. Doncaster, it was. No trams now; everybody gone to bed, except the lucky ones going down South on the Great North Road.
“By gow!” he cried, “this is a bit o’ life, this is. Good old Ted! Good old Oglethorpe! I owe him summat for this.” And he yearned with gratitude towards the thought of Ted and his companion at the wheel, settled himself as snugly as he could, and in spite of his excitement soon began to doze again.
He might have fallen fast asleep had he not been wakened by a very curious incident. There was somebody shouting. The lorry made a grinding noise, seemed to hesitate. ‚ÄúHey there!‚Äù came the shout. ‚ÄúWait a minute, wait a minute.‚Äù It was a policeman. The lorry had passed him now, but he came running after it. There was a roar, a fearful rattling, and the lorry rushed on, obviously being pressed to go as hard as it could. The policeman dropped behind, but he was near enough for Mr.¬ÝOakroyd to see him. He stood still but moved his hand. Above the din of the lorry sounded the policeman‚Äôs whistle, that horribly urgent shrilling. Again and again it sounded, but now they were rapidly gaining speed and soon left it far behind. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, looking and listening still, his face above the rattling backboard, was startled and amazed. The whistle rang in his ears yet, asking questions. What did it mean? What was Ted up to? Why had the policeman tried to stop them? Had they been going too quickly? This was the obvious explanation, but somehow it did not satisfy himself. There was something very queer about this. He was quite awake now.
Having decided to act queerly, the lorry did not return to normal behaviour. It raced along at a monstrous pace, jolting Mr.¬ÝOakroyd until he was breathless, bruised, and terrified, and several times it seemed in danger of crashing into other cars, only swerving at the last moment and being followed by angry shouts. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had begun to wonder whether it would be possible to creep along to the front to yell at Ted, ask him if he had gone crazy, when suddenly the lorry swung round, throwing him against the backboard, and turned down a narrow side-street. It went several miles down this road at the same mad pace, and the jolting was now worse than ever. Then it turned again, this time into a road still narrower, a winding lane full of ruts and overhanging branches of trees that seemed to miss them by inches, and now it was compelled to slow down to what seemed in comparison a mere crawl. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was able to take breath, look about him into the mysterious night, and think a little. He had hardly collected his thoughts, however, before the lorry, arriving at a tiny open space where this road met another, came to a standstill, much to his relief. It was all right going down the Great North Road in the middle of the night, but this had been a bit too much. He rose, gingerly, to his feet.
“Where’s that screwdriver?” he heard from the front. It was the voice of the man who had spoken to him in Tapp Street.
It went on: “That’s right. Better stay ’ere, Nobby, and gimme the office if yer see anybody.” The man was climbing out.
“D’yer think ’e took it?” asked the other.
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was astonished. That wasn‚Äôt Ted‚Äôs voice. Ted was not on the lorry at all, then.
“Whether ’e ’as or ’e ’asn’t, I’m risking nothing,” said the first man. “There’s no going straight through now, and ’owever far we go round, this lorry’s got to ’ave another bloody number before we see daylight. ’Ere, Nobby, yer might as well get down. Chuck us them number plates.”
At this point Mr.¬ÝOakroyd thought that he might as well get down too. He fell rather than climbed out‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor he was stiff and shivering with cold‚ÅÝ‚Äîand tottered round to the front, rubbing his hands.
“ ’Ello, ’ello!” cried the first man, staring. “I’d fergotten all about yer, mate. You’ve ’ad yer liver and lights shaken up all right, ’aven’t yer?”
‚ÄúI have an‚Äô all,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd grimly. ‚ÄúBut where‚Äôs Ted?‚Äù
‚ÄúTed? Ted? Oo the ‚Äôell‚Äôs Ted?‚Äù demanded the other. And then he stepped forward and peered into Mr.¬ÝOakroyd‚Äôs face. ‚ÄúAnd oo the ‚Äôell are you, anyhow? ‚ÄôEre, Nobby, this isn‚Äôt ‚Äôim.‚Äù
‚ÄúIsn‚Äôt it?‚Äù said Nobby, stepping forward too. He was a large man, well muffled up, with a very small hat crammed down on his head. It was his turn now to stare at Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúNo begod, it isn‚Äôt at all. It‚Äôs a stranger. He‚Äôs a stranger to me, Fred.‚Äù
“And to me. ’Ere, wot’s the idea?” he demanded fiercely.
‚ÄúAr d‚Äôyer mean wot‚Äôs the idea?‚Äù asked Mr.¬ÝOakroyd valiantly.
“I mean wot’s the bloody idea, that’s wot I mean,” he repeated with passion.
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd felt very uncomfortable indeed. ‚ÄúWell, this is Ted Oglethorpe‚Äôs lorry, isn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
“No, it isn’t Ted anybody’s lorry, this isn’t. It’s our lorry, this is, and I want ter know wot yer doing on it.” This Fred was a hoarse-voiced truculent sort of fellow, one of those who pushed their faces close to yours when they talked, and at every succeeding word he seemed to grow angrier.
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd might feel uncomfortable, and indeed he could not help feeling a little lost and forlorn, miles from anywhere in the night as he was, in the company of two fellows whom he now suspected to be downright rogues; but he was anything but a coward and he had his own share of pugnacity. ‚ÄúI come on it because I thought it belonged to a friend o‚Äô mine,‚Äù he said sturdily. ‚ÄúAnd you said nowt to stop me neither when I said I were coming.‚Äù
“I took yer for somebody else,” said Fred sullenly.
‚ÄúAnd I took you for somebody else,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúSo that‚Äôs that.‚Äù
‚ÄúWell, yer came and yer ‚Äôere and now yer‚Äôd better be moving on.‚Äù And Fred, turning his back on Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, began whistling.
‚ÄúHalf a minute, though,‚Äù said Nobby, ‚Äúwe‚Äôd better have a bit of a talk about this.‚Äù And he beckoned Fred, and the two of them walked away and began whispering. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd overheard several phrases, of which one‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúknows too much‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîwas repeated more than once by Nobby.
‚ÄúIf you want to change these numbers,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd called out, ‚Äúget on wi‚Äô it. It‚Äôs nowt to do wi‚Äô me.‚Äù
“Not so loud, not so loud,” said Fred, returning with his companion. “All right, Nobby, I’ll get on with it. You can do the patter. Only for God’s sake keep it quiet.” He busied himself with the front number plate.
Nobby brought his large mysterious bulk close to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, and when he spoke his accents were bland and conciliatory. ‚ÄúAnd where might you be making for, Mister?‚Äù
‚ÄúWell, you see, I thowt I‚Äôd move down South for a bit,‚Äù explained Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúLeicester way p‚Äôraps. I‚Äôve been there afore an‚Äô I‚Äôm out of a job and so I thowt I‚Äôd try a move.‚Äù
“Going at a funny time, wasn’t you?” pursued Nobby, still blandly but with a certain significant emphasis.
‚ÄúAy, I was moving late‚ÅÝ‚Äîlike you. But this ‚Äôere friend o‚Äô mine had told me he‚Äôd be there late, you see, at Merryweather‚Äôs i‚Äô Tapp Street.‚Äù
“That’s all right, Nobby,” grunted Fred, bending over his task. “Saw it further down and it got off about ten minutes afore we did.”
‚ÄúQuite so, quite so,‚Äù said Nobby smoothly. Then he lowered his voice. ‚ÄúThe fact of the matter is, Mister‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI dare say you thought one or two things about this job was a bit queer like, didn‚Äôt you?‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut the fact of the matter is, me and Fred here hasn‚Äôt got a licence‚ÅÝ‚Äîdriving licence, you know‚ÅÝ‚Äîbetween us, and so we‚Äôre having to do a bit of dodging.‚Äù
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs no business o‚Äô mine,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd reflectively, ‚Äúbut I don‚Äôt see how changing t‚Äônumbers is going to help you if you haven‚Äôt got a licence. You can be pulled up, just t‚Äôsame. Still, you know your own business.‚Äù
Nobby made a smacking noise with his lips, perhaps to suggest that he was thinking deeply. “It’s no good, Mister,” he said at length, “I can see it’s no good trying to deceive you. You’re too smart for that. Well, it’s like this.” And now he whispered with a most engaging conspiratorial air. “A genelman of my acquaintance is a partner in a firm. Right. He has a bit of a barney with the other two partners, decides to have a split. Right. He takes so much stock, they take so much. But he can’t get his, they won’t part. It’s his but they won’t part till they’re forced. He comes to me and asks me to get it away for him. Once it’s gone, all right, no trouble. It’ll save a law job. They can’t get at him ’cos it’s his stuff, but they could get at us for getting it out of the warehouse. We knew that, me and Fred, when we took it on, but we’re sportsmen, we are, and we’ll take a bit of a risk obliging a friend, we will.”
‚ÄúAy,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who did not believe a word of all this. ‚ÄúSo you‚Äôre keeping it quiet like. And who did you think I was?‚Äù
“Well, you see, Mister, there was a feller in the warehouse we’d got to know,” began Nobby hopefully.
‚ÄúAy,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, cutting him short. He had suspected some time that he had travelled with a lorry-load of stolen goods, probably pieces of expensive cloth. The trick had been worked before in Bruddersford, and he knew all about it. At the moment he did not feel any particular loyalty towards the manufacturers of his native town, whose warehouses could all be rifled for all he cared, so that his conscience did not trouble him overmuch, but at the same time it was not easy to feel comfortable in such company and he thought that the sooner he left it the better. Yet when he considered the chill darkness, the lonely place, his own position, any company seemed better than none for the time being.
Fred appeared now. ‚ÄúIf they‚Äôre looking for WR 7684, they‚Äôll be looking a bloody long time,‚Äù he announced. ‚ÄúNow what‚Äôs on? Is this where ‚Äôe gets off or does ‚Äôe work ‚Äôis passage a bit farther?‚Äù And he glanced from Nobby to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd.
The latter regarded him without enthusiasm. “T’other’s bigger rogue, I’ll be bound,” he told himself, “but he is a bit friendly wi’ it. This chap ’ud knock you on t’head wi’ a big spanner as soon as look at you.” He thought it wiser to let Nobby answer for him.
“He’s all right,” said Nobby. “We can take him a bit farther. He’s a sportsman, he is. Best thing we can do is to lay up a bit. Can’t get through to London, now,” he added, lowering his voice and addressing himself to Fred; “that’s finished. We’ll have to wire him tomorrow and make the other way.”
“All right, mate,” said Fred. “I could do with a bit of shuteye and a drink and a bite of something.”
“So could I,” said Nobby, who seemed to be thinking deeply.
And Mr.¬ÝOakroyd realized that he could, too. He felt cold and hungry, heavy for lack of sleep.
“Not a bleedin’ chance round ’ere,” said Fred disgustedly. “We’re right off the rotten map.”
“Half a minute, half a minute,” cried Nobby. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere between Rotherham and Nottingham. There’s a signpost there. See wot it says. But ’urry up, for God’s sake. Let’s get moving.”
“Good enough!” cried Nobby, after he had inspected the signpost. “I’ve been round here before all right. You can’t lose me, chum.”
“Wot’s the idea?”
“I’ll show you,” said Nobby, with enthusiasm. “You shut your eyes and open your mouth and see what God sends you. We can lay her up a bit and have our drink and shuteye all right. Drive on, Fred. I’ll show you. Get up at the back, Mister, if you’re coming with us.”
‚ÄúI‚Äôm coming all right,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who had been shivering for the last ten minutes. He moved off, to climb up again.
“Big Annie. Keeps the Kirkworth Inn,” he heard Nobby say, in reply to some further question from Fred. “You must have been there, or heard of her. She’s all right, Annie is.”
For the next hour and a half they threaded their way slowly and drearily through narrow byroads, sometimes having to go back for a missed turning. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was very sleepy now, but he felt chilled through and as empty as a drum, and so could do nothing but fall into an uneasy doze for a minute or two. All the earlier excitement of the night had left him, and more than once he could not help wishing, in spite of himself, that he was back in his own bed. As the lorry went rattling and jolting into the most cheerless hours of the night, he began to regret, in a numbed fashion, that he had ever set eyes on it.
When they pulled up at last outside the Kirkworth Inn, a lonely house at a crossroads, with a wide entrance to a yard at one side, the situation did not seem to be much better. The inn stared at them through the gloom with blind eyes. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd could not see them ever finding their way into it. But he climbed down with the others and stood looking up at its shuttered windows.
“Sure it’ll be all right?” asked Fred uneasily. “We’ve made a ’ell of a bad break if we tell ’er oo we are and then there’s nothing doin’. Got us taped then.”
But Nobby was still confident. “Leave it to me. She knows me and I know her. It’ll be all right.” And he walked boldly up to the door and rapped upon it. Nothing happened, so after waiting a minute or two he rapped again. They heard a window being pushed up, and then a very angry female voice cried: “Wot is it? Wot yer making that noise for? Wot d’yer want?”
Nobby called up: “Is that you, Annie? It’s me, Nobby Clarke. You remember me?”
“Who is it?” she screeched.
“Nobby Clarke. You remember me. Been here before, pal of Chuffy and Steve and that lot. Remember the Yarmouth do, Annie?”
“Oh, it’s you, is it? Well, wot yer want coming at this time for, knocking me up?”
“You slip down and I’ll tell you all about it, Annie. Me teeth’s chattering here so much I can’t talk.”
The head withdrew, grumbling, and after a minute or two the door was opened and Nobby went in.
‚ÄúNobby‚Äôs pullin‚Äô it off,‚Äù the relieved Fred confided to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúSoon as I see ‚Äôer come down, I knew it was all right. They‚Äôve only got to listen an‚Äô Nobby‚Äôll talk ‚Äôem into anything. Gor, ‚Äôe can talk.‚Äù And Fred spat out very noisily to show his appreciation, then lit about half an inch of cigarette.
Nobby came bustling out in triumph. “All right, chums,” he cried. “It’s a go. We can camp here a bit. Shove the old bus round at the back, Fred, up in the yard. You go round with him, Mister. We’ll let you both in there.”
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd followed the lorry round the yard, took out his little basket trunk and bag of tools, and was then admitted with Fred into a kitchen at the back of the inn. A lamp had already been lit there, and Nobby, now revealed as a tall fattish fellow, with close-cropped hair, a purple expanse of cheek, and a huge loose mouth, was blowing at the hot ashes, now heaped up with fresh wood, with a gigantic pair of bellows. The kitchen was untidy and dirty, and its owner was untidier and dirtier still, an enormous figure of a middle-aged woman mysteriously wrapped about in yards and yards of filthy flannel.
‚ÄúThis is Annie, Mrs.¬ÝCroucher,‚Äù said Nobby, putting down the bellows to wave a hand. ‚ÄúAnd this is Fred‚ÅÝ‚ÄîFred‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Smith,” put in that gentleman, whose appearance was even less reassuring than his talk. His face was long and thin and was all twisted to one side, and he might have been any age between twenty-five and forty-five.
‚ÄúFred Smith,‚Äù continued Nobby blandly. ‚ÄúAnd he‚Äôs on the job with me, he is. And this other‚Äôs a chap who‚Äôs been travelling with us owing to a bit of a mistake.‚Äù And he looked questioningly at Mr.¬ÝOakroyd.
“Oakroyd’s my name.”
“Oakroyd’s his name, and he’s a sportsman else he wouldn’t be with us.” And Nobby fell to blowing the fire again and soon had it blazing.
“Well, lads, wot’s it yer want?” demanded their hostess. “ ’Cos if it’s steaks and chips and feather beds, you’ve got a bloody hope.”
“Anything, Annie, anything,” replied Nobby. “A bit of bread and meat, if you’ve got it. And a drink. What’s it to be, chum? Beer’s too cold. I’ll tell you what. I’d like a drop o’ tea with some rum in it, good old sergeant-major’s.”
“That’s the stuff, mate,” said Fred.
‚ÄúIt‚Äôll do me a treat,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who was just beginning to feel warm again but still suffered from a gnawing hollow inside him. He looked hopefully at the formidable Annie.
‚ÄúAnything to oblige,‚Äù said Annie, ‚Äúand I‚Äôll take a drop wi‚Äô yer. ‚ÄôEre, Nobby, put this kettle on.‚Äù She produced the remains of a cold joint of beef, a loaf of bread and some butter, four half-pint mugs and a bottle of rum. She and Nobby made the tea, Fred hacked away at the joint, and Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, not to be left out, cut half a dozen thick slices of bread. He was beginning to enjoy himself again. This was a queer lot, to be sure, but it would all make a grand tale to tell. He rubbed his hands as Nobby brought the steaming teapot on to the table, and the landlady, who was not disposed to be incautious even at this hour of the night, measured out a noggin of rum.
All three of them fell with fury upon their sandwiches and washed them down noisily and happily with the tea, which was very strong, very sweet, and well laced with rum. After the landlady had gulped down a hot mixture that was as much liquor as tea, she set her massive flannelled bulk, arms akimbo, before the crackling fire, and watched them with an indulgent, almost maternal eye. “That’s putting some ’eart into yer, I can see,” she observed complacently. “And wot’s the next move, lads?”
“Shuteye,” announced Fred, from the depths of his enormous sandwich.
“That’s right,” said Nobby. “Just pass the little old brown jug, will you, Mister? This’ll stand a bit more rum. Yes, we’ll have to kip down for an hour or two, Annie.”
“It’ll ’ave to be down ’ere,” said Annie. “But put a bit o’ wood on the fire an’ you’ll be all right.”
“Leave it to us, Annie. And here’s the best.” Nobby raised his mug and emptied it in her honour. “You’ve done us proud, you have. We’re all right. Leave it to us.”
“Going to,” said Annie. “Gettin’ back to bed now. I’ll ’ear ’ow the game’s goin’ and all the news in the morning. And for God’s sake don’t show a light in front. And ’ere, I’ll take the damages now. It’ll be six shillings the lot, which is cheap enough, seein’ yer’ve ’ad a noggin o’ rum between yer.”
“Good enough,” said Nobby, fumbling in his pockets.
Then Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, full of tea and rum and beef and bread, feeling cosy, companionable, and sleepy, did a foolish thing. ‚ÄúHere,‚Äù he cried, ‚ÄúI‚Äôm a chap as likes to stand me corner. I‚Äôll pay for this. Six shillin‚Äô, is it?‚Äù He searched his pockets but could only discover a solitary sixpence. He must have put all the loose money he had with his week‚Äôs wages on the table at home. But he had four five-pound notes enclosed in an old envelope and tucked away in his breast pocket. ‚ÄúHalf a minute,‚Äù he said, and in his anxiety to foot the bill promptly, he was clumsy and brought out all four banknotes.
‚ÄúGor!‚Äù cried Fred, bending forward. ‚ÄúOo‚Äôs this we ‚Äôave with us?‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMr.¬Ýbloody Rockiefeller. Been touchin‚Äô up a bank, mate?‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd looked, to see three pairs of eyes fixed on his banknotes and, feeling uncomfortable, he hastily put three of them back in the envelope and held out the fourth. ‚ÄúCan you change this, Missis?‚Äù
“No, I can’t,” she replied very emphatically. “An’ if I could, I wouldn’t. Yer don’t land me with one of ’em, oh no! Yer’ve been doin’ well, ’aven’t yer?” she added significantly.
“All right, Mister. All right, Annie,” Nobby put in smoothly. “I’ll settle this. Six shillings.”
‚ÄúBe good then, an‚Äô turn that light out as soon as you get down to it.‚Äù And Big Annie removed the bottle of rum, locked the door of the bar, and retired. The three men yawned and, on the advice of Nobby, who insisted upon repeating: ‚ÄúBoots off‚Äôs half a bed,‚Äù they took off their boots. In the survey of the room and discussion that immediately followed, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, to his gratified surprise, was awarded the old sofa in the corner.
“You’re best off there, Mister,” said Nobby earnestly, “and you’re entitled to it, as a sportsman. Isn’t he, Fred?”
“ ’E can ’ave it for me,” muttered Fred, spreading himself across two chairs.
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd would have liked to have smoked a last and even more adventurous pipe of Old Salt, to have heard tales of Big Annie and Chuffy and the ‚ÄúYarmouth do,‚Äù to have talked about the Great North Road, but he was tired out and now that he was warm and comfortably stretched out on the sofa, with a little glow of rum inside him, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He was aware vaguely that Nobby was bending over the lamp, blowing it out, that now there was only a flicker of firelight; dreamily he felt the lorry jolting him again, caught a ghastly glimpse of the Great North Road; and then fell fast asleep.