Blackburn came down with his boots… But what significance could that have either way?
I drank my beer and looked about the pub. The more booze that went down, the more I was looking forward to going back to Paradise and seeing Amanda Rickerby. I wanted to take her on, one way or another.
'What about those cards?' I asked Tommy after a while. 'Why do you suppose Vaughan showed them to me when he'd already got into bother for showing them to Blackburn?'
'I've an idea about that,' said Tommy.
'Same here,' I said, and as Tommy stopped one of the serving girls and bought us another couple of glasses of ale, I gave him the benefit of my idea:
'I reckon Vaughan showed me the cards for a reason, and it was nothing to do with selling them on to me and making money. He knew he was on the spot. He knew there was suspicion about what had happened as a result of him showing them to Blackburn, who was a very straight bit of goods, remember. Vaughan wanted to make out that he was free and easy with the cards; that he might show them to anyone and nothing would come of it – that it really was all a bit of a laugh.'
(I suddenly recalled Mr Ellis, the old boy who'd sold galoshes, and had just quit the guest house. Vaughan had perhaps held off from showing him the cards on account of his age, and the fact that he was never likely to be interested.)
Tommy Nugent was nodding his head.
'That's it,' he said. 'If the coppers came at him again, he'd be able to say, 'I showed this other bloke the cards as well. Why would I do that if it had caused any trouble with the first one?''
'Right,' I said, stepping aside to let a bloke come by. 'That's exactly…'
Theo Vaughan was standing immediately to my right. He had his cape over his arm, and held a glass of ale half drunk and a cigar half smoked, which meant he'd been in for a while. Cramming the witness statements into my suit-coat pocket, I turned towards him. He gave a start when he saw me, then he grinned and I thought: Either he's a bloody good actor or he's only just this minute clocked me, in which case he would not have heard what I'd said.
He said, 'How do, Jim!'
I introduced Tommy Nugent as my driver and Vaughan shook his hand warmly.
'Where've you been?' I asked him, and he looked at me as if, just for once, I'd been over-familiar instead of him.
'Around and about,' he said. 'Errands,' he added, swaying slightly on his boot heels. 'Meant to tell you about this place, Jim… Pub run entirely by women, and you don't see that often. Decent looking fillies into the bargain,' and he practically winked at us both. 'What about your engine?'
'It isn't quite right,' I said, 'so it looks like I'll be staying another night.'
'Good-o,' he said.
Tommy Nugent didn't know where to look, for of course he'd only just been reading about Vaughan and his very particular line of business. I think it was to cover up his embarrassment that he muttered something about fetching some more beers and wandered off in search of a waitress. I too was feeling rather knocked, so I said, 'I'm just off to the gents, Theo.'
But he said, 'I'll come with you, Jim.'
He set down his glass and followed me, cigar in hand, out into a white-washed back yard – where the rain flew, and the roaring sea echoed – and into a tiny gentlemen's lavatories with two stalls for pissing. Vaughan stood close enough for me to hear his breathing, which he did loudly, through both his nose and his moustache. I wondered what he'd been doing all morning. Evidently, he'd been drinking for a good part of it. Well, his money had arrived by the post from Streatham; he was in funds. As he started to piss, he had the cigar in his mouth; he then lowered the cigar and when he turned away from the stall I saw that it was extinguished. He was stowing the remnant of it in his waistcoat pocket as I asked, 'How d'you put that cigar out?'
'Private method, Jim,' he said.
'All right then,' I said. 'Why did you put it out?'
'Can't smoke in the rain, and I'm off back to the house, Jim,' he said. 'Shall I tell them you're expected for luncheon?'
I did not answer immediately. My life, I knew, would be a good deal simpler if I did not go back, and it might be a good deal longer.
'All right,' I said. 'What time?'
'It's generally about one-ish, Jim.'
'Right you are,' I said, in as light a tone as I could. 'Yes,' I said, 'tell Miss Rickerby I'll be in for one.'
I looked at my watch: midday. I did not care for the constant march of the second hand. It wouldn't take Vaughan an hour to reach Paradise, but he went off directly, and when I regained the bar I found out from Tommy that he'd done it in double quick time as well – hadn't even finished his drink. None of this was at all like him, and his behaviour had increased my state of nerves, so that I was fairly short with Tommy as he quizzed me about Vaughan: short to the point that he gave up talking, and just fell to watching the rain and the serving girls with a hopeless sort of expression that made me feel guilty.
It was Amanda Rickerby – she brought out the worst in me. Half the reason I wanted rid of Tommy was so that I could have her glances to myself. I couldn't help thinking that I had a clear run at Paradise, what with Vaughan being such an off- putting sort of bloke, and Fielding being… well, was he queer? What was my intention? I did not mean to try and ride the lady exactly, but I certainly meant to do something with her: to arrest her, for instance; have it out with her about Blackburn. I would tangle with her somehow, and I wondered whether my real intention was to get revenge for the way Lydia had tried to push me about. But I knew that I ought not to think this way. If my wife pushed me about, it was because I let her.
I said to Tommy, 'When I go off, will you send a wire to my wife? You might go back to the station, or do it anywhere. The address is the post office, Thorpe-on-Ouse.'
'Saying what?' he asked, and I thought: Saying kind things in general.
'Tell her I'll see her tomorrow,' I said.
He nodded.
'I'm off, Tommy,' I said, and it was surprisingly easy to get away from him, and without even making an arrangement for the next day. Or perhaps not exactly surprising, I thought, as I walked along the Prom, with head down and coat collar up, trying hard to keep a straight course against the battering of the wind. After all, he'd seen that the situation at Paradise was pretty involved, and he was back there, warm and dry in the women's pub with a glass of beer in his hand and the guns at his feet should any trouble arise. But it didn't seem likely to – not where Tommy was, anyhow.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The iron wall of the chain locker cracked and the grey Mate stood in the gloom of the companionway holding the pocket revolver.
'How are you, my friend?'
'We've anchored,' I said.
'Come along with me,' he said, and he was holding the outer door open.
'What became of the kid?' I asked. 'Did he jump?'
'Nothing,' said the Mate'… He got wet,' he added, at length.
'Why did he jump?'
'Yes,' said the Mate. 'Why? I would like to know too.'
Stumbling onto the deck, I saw that our ship had arrived at its rightful home, for it was now one of hundreds or so it appeared. Under the dark blue, roaring night sky, I had the impression of ships in lines stretching fore and aft; some were on the wide channel in which we were anchored – the Thames Estuary, of course – while others appeared to have been picked up and set down amid the streets. I saw a ship that had interrupted a line of street lamps; a ship at close quarters with a church. I had the impression of many smaller vessels patrolling the lines of the big ones like prison guards, and I had the idea that this was also a city of one-armed men, a city of cranes that
