old Bentley engine block beneath the layer of thick dust and greasy
filth.
His hands with the big square palms and thick spatulate fingers went
out to touch it with what was almost a caress.
'The bastards have beaten you up, darling,' he whispered.
'But we will have you singing again as lovely as ever, that's a
promise.' He pulled the dipstick from the engine sump and took a drop
of oil between his fingers.
'Shit!' he grunted with disgust, as he felt the grittiness, and he
thrust the stick back into its slot. He pulled the plugs and, with the
promise of a shilling, had a loitering African swing the crank for him
while he felt the compression against the palm of his hand.
Swiftly he moved along the line of armoured cars, checking,
probing and testing, and when he reached the last of them he knew he
could have three of them running again for certain and four maybe.
One was shot beyond hope. There was a crack in the engine block
through which he could have ridden a horse, and the pistons had seized
so solid in their pots that not even the combined muscle upon the crank
handle of Jake and his helper could move them.
Two of them had the entire carburettor assemblies missing, but he could
cannibalize from the wreck. That left him short of one carburettor and
he felt only gloom at his chances of finding another in Dares Salaam.
Three, then, he could reckon on with certainty. At one hundred and ten
pounds apiece, that was 030. Less an estimated outlay of one hundred,
it gave him a clear profit of two hundred and thirty pounds for surely
he would not have to bid more than twenty pounds each for these
wrecks.
Jake felt a warm spreading glow of satisfaction as he tossed his
African helper the promised shilling. Two hundred and thirty pounds
was a great deal of money in these lean and hungry times.
A quick glance at the fob-watch he hauled from his back pocket showed
him there was still over two hours before the advertised time of the
commencement of the sale. He was impatient to begin work on those
Bentleys not only for the money. For Jake it would be a labour of
love.
The one in the centre of the line seemed the best bet for quick
results. He placed his carpet bag on the armoured wing of the mudguard
and selected a Yth-inch spanner.
Immediately he was totally absorbed.
After half an hour he pulled his head out of the engine, wiped his
hands on a handful of cotton waste and hurried around to the front of
the car.
The big muscles in his right arm bunched and rippled as he swung the
crank handle, spinning the heavy engine easily with a steady whirring
rhythm. After a minute of this, he released the handle and wiped off
his sweat with the cotton waste that left grease marks down his cheeks.
He was breathing quickly but lightly.
'I knew you for a temperamental bitch the moment I laid eyes on you,'
he muttered. 'But you are going to do it my way, darling. You really
