“Best so.”
The two fled away down the Ealing Road.
20
As they stood puffing and panting in the heat of the Professor’s back garden Pooley asked his companion why he thought it was that neither of them ever seemed to be able to visit the old gentleman without arriving in either a harrassed or a drunken condition.
“I have no idea whatever,” Omally wheezed. “It’s all go nowadays isn’t it?”
“Lunchtime drinking at the Swan is not the peaceful affair it once was.”
The metal shutters were drawn down upon the French windows, and only prolonged knockings, shoutings and rattlings finally succeeded in eliciting a reply from within. The shutters rose, exposing first carpet- slippered feet, then an expanse of tweed trousering, then a red velvet smoking jacket and quilted waistcoat and finally the old white head of Professor Slocombe.
He beamed upon them. He spotted the parcel Omally clutched in his perspiring hand. “Good lad, John,” he said. “The last book I require, excellent.” Closing and bolting the heavy iron shutters, he took the parcel from Omally’s outstretched hand and turned away to his desk. There was a brief rustle of waxen paper and he held the exposed book proudly aloft. “Excellent, and I see it has withstood the rigours of Post Office despatch unscathed.”
“Don’t ask,” said Pooley as he noticed Omally’s mouth opening, “it is probably better not to know.”
“You look somewhat dishevelled,” said the Professor, noticing for the first time the state of his guests. “Why is it, do you think, that neither of you ever seems able to visit me without arriving in either a harrassed or in a drunken condition?”
“We have wondered that ourselves,” said Jim.
“And now,” said the aged host as the two men slumped before him sipping scotch and sighing deeply, “to business, as they say. There are very few hours left for me to school you in all you must know regarding our prospective attackers. I do not expect that their master will take an active part in the proposed assault upon us. That would not be fitting to his dignity. He will despatch his five minions to us, and at least on this score we should be grateful.”
“Extremely,” said Pooley.
“Here’s to you, Alex boy,” said Omally, raising his glass.
“I admire your bravado,” the Professor said gravely, “for my own part I find the situation somewhat alarming. I would have hoped that we could have had a try at him before he has a try at us, if you get my meaning.”
“You are pretty secure here,” said Jim, “as long as you keep well bolted up.”
“I have considered several manoeuvres,” said Professor Slocombe. “Abandoning the house and taking refuge at some undisclosed location, for instance, but this I could not do, for it would mean leaving the books. I considered calling on some help, your friend Archroy I understand has recently mastered certain techniques which I struggled with to a lesser degree.”
“He has?” queried Pooley.
“Most interesting,” said Omally.
“But I do not wish to draw more folk than are strictly necessary into this unfortunate business, so I was left with only one option.”
“Which is?”
“That the three of us should remain on the premises to battle it out.”
Omally said, “Surely there are other options? Let us put some to a vote.”
“I would gladly stay, but have a pressing engagement elsewhere,” said Jim.
“You should have mentioned it earlier,” the Professor said, a wicked twinkle appearing for a moment in his eye, “and I would not have closed the shutter; you see I have set automatic time locks on all the doors and they will not open for another fifteen hours.”
Pooley’s face fell. “You can use the telephone if you wish,” said the Professor brightly.
“I might call a locksmith then?” Jim asked.
“I think not.”
Omally put his hands behind his head and smiled broadly. “When I was in the army,” said he, “I was a happy man, never had to make a decision; it is a pleasure to know those times once more.”
“Oh good old you,” said Jim, “I have never known the joys of army life and can find little to recommend in that of the trapped rat. I greatly prefer freedom.”
“I am sorry,” said Professor Slocombe, “to have brought you to this, but it must be the old musketeer philosophy I am afraid, all for one, one for all.”
“This one would have liked a choice in the matter,” said Jim sourly. “After all, the character at the Mission did not mention me by name.”
“Do you think he would destroy us and let you off scot free then?”
“I do not believe he thinks me as much of a threat.”
“Never fear.” The Professor tapped his nose.
“Never fear?” Pooley threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “After you with that decanter, John.”
Long hours passed. In the Professor’s study the temperature rose alarmingly, and the air became torpid and un-breathable. Jackets were removed and shirt-tails flapped aplenty. The Professor laboured away at his books as best he could and when Pooley found the energy he paced the floor like a caged animal. To add to his disgust Omally had the perfect effrontery to curl up in one of the Professor’s armchairs and fall asleep.
The mantelclock struck nine and Pooley tapped at the Victorian barometer which hung beside the marble fireplace. “Stormy” it read, but the temperature was still in the mid-80s.
The Professor looked up from his reading. “Try to relax, Jim,” he said, wiping the perspiration from his deeply lined forehead.
“Relax? I can hardly draw breath. We will suffocate in here for sure, we are all doomed.”
“Come now, control yourself.” The Professor closed the heavy damask curtains across the iron-shuttered French windows.
“Control myself? Three rats in a trap we are, you’ve brought us to this. I have no wish to control myself, I prefer to panic.” Pooley began delving amid the curtains and rattling at the iron shutters of the window. “Let me out,” he shouted, kicking at the lock with his steely toecaps, “I choose not to end my days here.”
Omally awoke with a start. “Do turn it in, Jim,” he yawned.
“I’m not turning anything in,” Jim said morosely, “I’m for panic, what say you?”
“I say that we stand by the Professor. After all we are as much to blame for his plight as he for ours.”
“I have no desire to die,” said Jim. “I am yet a young man, and a potential millionaire to boot.”
“Pooley, your sixth horse will never come up.”
“Not if I stay here, it won’t,” said Pooley petulantly.
The Professor raised his eyes once more from his books. “I think the time has come for us to discuss this matter fully,” he said. “We are in a state of siege; panic is a useless and negative commodity which we cannot afford.”
“It’s always served me well enough in the past,” Pooley grumbled.
“If we do not stand together,” the Professor continued, “we shall surely be doomed. Our
