building before the wrecking bal cals time.
After al, there's no sign yet of al their municipial improvements out there.' Although he mispronounced the word, he sounded angry as he gestured towards the door.
'They can take the houses away but where are people supposed to live? Even now they've had the exterminators in and taken out a few of our lads. Germans got the wrong people if you ask me.'
'You and the Bolshies,' a man muttered as he got up. As he wrenched the door open, a cold draught knifed in. The door banged shut behind him.
'Do you happen to know a pub caled the Woodman?' Laurence asked in the silence that folowed.
For some reason this seemed to amuse the group at the table.
'You could say so,' said the landlord. 'There's ten or so Wood-mans around. God knows why. Munitions Man, Metal-Roling Man, Lime-Kiln Man, or even No-Fucking-Chance-of-a-Job Man, you'd understand. Not much cal for woodmen in good old Brummagem. Stil, what's in a name?' He picked up the dirty mug on the bar, dipped it in a bowl of murky water, puled it out and rubbed it with a rag. 'This used to be the Royal Oak.' He looked up towards the men at the table. 'Fred, Ivor, you were soldiering men. Did you know this Tucker?'
One man was shaking his head before he even got to the end of the sentence, as if to deflect any involvement with strangers. The other appeared not to have heard at al.
'Sorry. Can't help you,' the landlord said. 'Me, I got a chest.' He thumped on his sternum. 'Missed the chance of a scrap. Was in stores. Never left the country.
But good luck to you. Though I doubt you'l find him.'
They stepped out into the fresh air. A man stood against a boarded shopfront opposite, roling a cigarette. Otherwise the street was empty. Charles was feeling in his pocket, obviously intending to return to his map. Laurence felt heavy after a pint of unfamiliar ale.
'What made you think that place was stil in use?'
'Grey cels.'
'Grey cels?'
'That's what Mrs Christie's little Belgian has.'
Laurence thought Charles was fearless, reliable and like a child in some respects. He wasn't sure whether he was useful or a liability.
'And I saw a thread of smoke coming from the chimney. So somebody was in there. And there are two jugs hanging on a hook outside. That's a sign of a place to drink in these parts—and I imagine they'd have been long taken if they were simply there as ornament on a ruin.'
'I forgot you were the Sir James Frazer of local customs. They'd heard of Tucker al right, don't you think?'
As Laurence spoke, the man across the road detached himself from the wal. As he came towards them Charles looked momentarily puzzled but Laurence recognised him from the bar a few minutes before. He'd been the first one to leave.
As he reached them he said, 'This Sergeant-as-was Tucker you're after? What's he worth to you?'
Charles and Laurence briefly exchanged looks.
'My cigarettes?' Charles said, holding them out. The man looked doubtful. He rubbed his nose with his hand and pushed his cap back.
'Looks to me like you'se come a long way,' he said. 'Not from these parts, anyway. So you must be wanting this Tucker a mite more than a Frenchie fag or two. Price of beer's enough to turn you temperance around these parts.'
'You're right, of course,' said Charles. 'So what do you think would be fair payment, assuming you actualy know where our man is, or have some pretty solid information as to where he lives now?'
'Oh, I know where he is right enough,' the man replied. 'I'l take you to him toot sweet. Mind you, can't guarantee he'l welcome you with open arms.'
'A shiling. How does that sound?' asked Charles.
Laurence thought of the fold of pound notes in Charles's inner pocket. The man looked doubtful but nervous, as if he didn't want to see Tucker but wanted more money. Finaly he seemed to decide on tactics.
'Look, I'm out of work, three babbies at home. Wife's about to drop another. I did my bit in France and al and I reckon you did too, sir, so you know what I'm talking about. It in't easy. So how's about two bob? Something for the wife an' a bag of suck for the little'uns? For that I take you right to him. Nasty bit of work he is and al. Though not the scrapper he was, you'l find. Mind you, I'm not hanging around while you try and talk to him.' He barked— something between a laugh and a cough.
'Done,' said Charles. Laurence was surprised; he'd expected him to drive a harder bargain.
'This now'—he held out a florin—'and sixpence when we get there.'
The man tucked the coin away and puled his cap forward.
'It's not far. 'Course, they al knew Bert Tucker,' he nodded back towards the Public House, 'though it was his ma's address you had and she's been dead since for ever. But landlord barred Tucker a year back and he don't do that easy. Would serve Dr Crippen if he dropped by with smal change. Same at the Woodman.
Barred.'
He was walking slowly and obviously enjoying himself.
'But that lot don't like strangers even more than they don't like your man.'
They took a mean-looking street to the right and then, swiftly, a second, which passed under an archway into
