rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第3部分

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ve　it！'　he　cried　suddenly。　'It　is　the　now　legendary　Charles　Laughton　in　his　famous　portrayal　of　Victor　Hugo's　Hunchback　of　Notre　Dame。'
　In　hearty　congratulations　for　Norman's　excellent　impersonation　the　old　man；　who　still　retained　a　considerable　amount　of　strength　in　his　right　arm　despite　his　advancing　years；　slapped　Norman　upon　the　back。　The　blow　loosened　the　cemented　teeth；　which　flew　from　the　shopkeeper's　mouth；　tumbled　noisily　across　the　linoleum；　and　finally　came　to　rest　in　an　impenetrable　place　beneath　the　counter；　where　they　lay　in　the　darkness　grinning　ruefully。
　'Sanks　yous；'　spluttered　Norman；　'sanks　yous；　Petes。'
　'Credit　where　credit　is　due；'　the　elder　replied。　'My　tobacco　now；　if　you　please。'
　Norman　staggered　to　the　counter　and　tore　out　a　one…ounce　packet　from　the　tin。　'Ons　a　houses；'　he　whistled　through　his　naked　gums。　'Ons　a　houses。'
　Old　Pete；　who　was　never　a　man　to　look　a　gift　impersonator　in　the　mouth；　accepted　his　reward　with　a　hasty　display　of　gratitude　and　departed　the　shop　at　speed。　Halfway　up　the　Ealing　Road　Young　Chips　unearthed　a　pristine　copy　of　Bra…Busting　Beauties　from　its　secret　hiding　place　beneath　a　beer　crate　outside　the　Swan。
　'This　has　all　the　makings　of　being　a　most　profitable　day；'　said　the　ancient　to　his　furry　panion。　Young　Chips　woofed　nonmittally。　Being　naturally　clairvoyant　he　sensed　something　rather　to　the　contrary　and　therefore　wished　to　reserve　judgement　for　the　present。
　
　4
　The　allotment　golfers　had　e　to　something　of　a　critical　stage　in　their　game。　They　had　by　now　reached　the　eighteenth　'green　and　Omally　had　but　to　sink　a　nine…foot　putt　across　Reg　Watling's　furrowed　spinach　patch　to　take　the　match。　Betting　had　been　growing　steadily　during　the　morning's　play　and　with　each　increase　in　financial　risk　the　two　men　had　grown　ever　more　tight…lipped；　eagle…eyed；　and　alert　to　the　slightest　infringement　of　the　rules。
　Omally　spat　on　his　palms　and　rubbed　them　together。　He　stalked　slowly　about　his　ball　and　viewed　it　from　a　multiplicity　of　angles。　He　scrutinized　the　lie　of　the　land；　tossed　a　few　straws　into　the　air　and　nodded　thoughtfully　as　they　drifted　to　earth。　He　licked　his　finger　and　held　it　skyward；　he　threw　himself　to　the　ground　and　squinted　along　his　putter　sniper　fashion。　'Right　then；'　said　the　broth　of　a　boy。　'It　looks　like　child's　play。'
　Pooley；　who　was　employing　what　he　referred　to　as　'the　psychology'；　shook　his　head　slowly。　'That　would　be　at　least　a　three　to　the　sinking　I　would　believe。'
　Omally　gestured　over　his　shoulder　to　the　water…butt　wherein　lay　Pooley's　ball。　'You　would　be　phoning　for　Jacques　Cousteau　and　his　lads；　I　shouldn't　wonder。'
　Pooley　shrugged。　'That　is　an　easy　shot　pared　to　this。'
　Omally　sniggered。　'Keep　your　eye　on　the　ball；　Jim；'　he　advised。
　Omally's　putting　technique　bore　an　uncanny　resemblance　to　that　practised　by　seasoned　Yorkshire　batsmen　at　the　Oval。　The　putter　had　a　tendency　to　dig　well　in　on　such　occasions；　sometimes　to　a　depth　of　some　three　inches　or　more；　and　once　beyond　digging　range。　There　was　generally　a　fair　amount　of　lift　on　the　ball；　although　the　Now　Official　Handbook　of　Allotment　Golf　suggested　that　any　balls　putted　above　shoulder　height　should　be　considered　as　drives　and　the　player　penalized　accordingly。
　Omally　squared　up　his　ball　whilst　Pooley　continued　to　employ　'the　psychology'。　He　coughed　repeatedly；　rustled　sweet　papers　in　his　pocket　and　scuffed　his　blakey'd　heels　in　the　dust。　'Is　that　a　Lurcher　or　a　Dane？'　he　asked；　pointing　towards　some　canine　of　his　own　creation。
　Omally　ignored　him。　There　was　big　beer　money　on　this　shot。　John　suddenly　swung　the　putter　in　a　blurry　arc　and　struck　deeply　behind　his　ball；　raising　a　great　clod　of　earth；　which　is　referred　to　in　golfing　circles　as　a　divot。　The　ball　cannonaded　across　the　allotment；　with　a　whine　like　a　doctored　torn　struck　a　section　of　corrugated　iron　fencing；　bowled　along　Old　Pete's　herbaceous　border；　and　skidded　to　a　halt　a　mere　inch　from　the　eighteenth　hole。
　Omally　swore　briefly；　but　to　the　point；　flung　down　his　putter　and　turned　his　back　upon　the　wanton　pill。
　'Bad　luck；'　said　Pooley；　amid　an　ill…concealed　snigger。　By　way　of　consolation；　he　added；　'It　was　a　brave　try。　But　would　you　prefer　that　I　pause　a　moment　before　sinking　my　ball；　on　the　off　chance　that　an　earth　tremor　might　secure　you　the　match？'
　Omally　kicked　his　golf　bag　over。
　'Steady　on；'　said　Pooley。
　John　turned　upon　him　bitterly；　'Go　on　then；　Jimmy　boy；'　he　sneered；　'let　us　see　you　take　your　shot。'
　'You　won't　like　it。'
　'Won't　I；　though？'
　Pooley　tapped　at　his　nose。　'Care　to　up　the　betting　a　trice？'
　Omally　stroked　his　chin。　'From　the　water…butt　in　one；　that　is　what　you　are　telling　me？'　Pooley　nodded。　'Unless　you；　like　the　Dalai　Lama；　have　mastered　the　techniques　of　levitation　and　telekinesis；　which　I　do　not　believe；　I　do　not　rate　your　chances。'
　'You　will　kick　yourself　afterwards。'
　Omally　spat　on　to　his　palm　and　slapped　it　into　that　of　his　panion。　'All　bets　are　doubled；　will　that　serve　you？'
　'Adequately。'　Pooley　strolled　over　to　the　water…butt。　With　the　lie　of　the　land；　it　certainly　was　in　a　perfect　line　for　the　hole。　Just　down　a　slight　slope　and　into　the　depression　where　lay　the　eighteenth。
　'I　shall　play　it　from　here；'　said　Jim；　turning　his　back　upon　the　target。
　Omally　stuck　his　hands　into　his　pockets。　'As　you　please；'　said　he。
　'I　will　play　it　with　a　mashie　if　you　have　no　objections。'
　'None　whatever。'　Omally　selected　the　club　and　handed　it　to　his　panion。　Pooley　leant　forward　and　chalked　a　small　cross　at　the　base　of　the　water…butt。　Drawing　back；　he　grasped　the　club　hammerlike　in　his　right　fist　and　with　a　lewd　wink　struck　the　ancient　zinc　tank　a　murderous　blow。
　It　was　a　sizeable　hole　and　the　water　burst　through　it　with　great　enthusiasm。　Bearing　down　with　the　sudden　torrent；　and　evidently　much　pleased　to　be　free　of　its　watery　grave；　Pooley's　ball　bobbed　along　prettily。　It　danced　down　the　slight　incline；　pirouetted　about　the　eighteenth　hole；　as　if　taking　a　final　bow；　then　plunged　into　it　with　a　sarcastic　gurgle。
　'My　game；'　said　Pooley　rubbing　his　hands　together。　'Best　we　settle　up　now；　I　think。'
　Omally　struck　his　panion　a　devastating　blow　to　the　skull。　Jim　collapsed　into　a　forest　of　bean　poles　but　rose　almost　immediately　with　a　great　war　cry。　He　leapt　upon　Omally；　catching　him　around　the　waist　and　bearing　him　towards　the　now　muddy　ground。　'Poor　loser！'　he　shouted；　grinding　his　thumb　into　Omally's　right　eye。
　'Bloody　damn　cheat；'　the　other　replied；　going　as　ever　for　the　groin。
　The　two　men　were　more　than　equally　matched；　although　Omally　was　by　far　the　dirtier　fighter。　They　bowled　over　and　over　in　the　mud；　bringing　into　play　a　most　extraordinary　diversity　of　unsportsmanlike　punches；　low　kicks　and　back　elbows。　They　had　been　tumbling　away　in　like　fashion　for　some　ten　minutes；　doing　each　other　the　very　minimum　amount　of　damage；　yet　expending　a　great　deal　of　energy；　when　each　man　suddenly　became　aware　that　his　antics　were　being　observed。
　Some　twenty　yards　or　so　away；　a　solitary　figure　in　a　grey　coverall　suit　stood　silently　watching。　At　the　distance　it　was　difficult　to　make　out　his　features　clearly；　but　they　seemed　wide　and　flat　and　had　more　than　the　suggestion　of　the　Orient　about　them。
　The　two　men　rose　from　the　ground；　patting　away　at　their　clothes。　The　fight　was　over；　the　ref　s　decision　being　a　draw。　They　beat　a　hasty　retreat　to　the　doubtful　safety　of　Pooley's　allotment　shed。　Through　a　knot…hole　in　the　slatted　side　they　squinted　at　the　grey　figure。　He　was　as　immobile　as　a　shop…window　dummy；　and　stared　towards　them　unblinkingly　in　a　manner　which　the　sensitive　Jim　found　quite　upsetting。　He　was　of　average　height　with　high　cheek…bones　and　a　slightly　tanned　plexion　and　bore　a　striking　resemblance　to　a　young　Jack　Palance。
　Pooley　sought　about　for　his　tobacco　tin。　'I　don't　like　the　look　of　this；'　he　said。
　Omally；　who　had　liberated　Pooley's　tin　from　his　pocket　during　the　fight；　was　rolling　a　cigarette　behind　his　back。　'He　is　probably　some　workman　chappy；'　he　suggested；　'or　possibly　a　bus　conductor　or　site　engineer　from　the　gas　works。'　The　hollow　tone　in　Omally's　voice　was　not　lost　upon　his　panion。
　'He　has　more　of　the　look　of　a　municipal　worker　to　me；'　said　Jim；　shaking　his　head　dismally。　'A　park…keeper　perhaps；　or。。。'
　'Don't　say　it；'　said　John。　'Some　spy　from　the　Council　e　to　inspect　the　allotment？'
　Pooley　clenched　his　fists。　'This　is　all　too　much。　Discriminated　against　and　ostracized　from　the　Council　courses；　now　tracked　down　here　for　further　discrimination　and　ostracization；　hounded　down　because　of　our　love　of　the　game。　It　is　all　too　much　to　bear。　Let　us　kill　him　now　and　bury　his　body。'
　Omally　agreed　that　it　was　all　too　much　to　bear　but　thought　Pooley's　solution　a　little　drastic。　'All　may　not　be　lost；'　he　said。　'He　may　have　only　just　arrived　and　may　only　have　witnessed　our　slight　disagreement　regarding　the　excellence　of　your　trick　shot。　He　may　not　suspect　the　cause。'
　Pooley　gestured　through　a　broken　window…pane　to　where　his　golf　caddy；　a　converted　supermarket　trolley；　stood　bristling　with　its　assortment　of　unmatched　clubs。
　Omally　hung　his　head。　'The　game　is　up；'　said　he　in　a　leaden　tone。
　Pooley　put　his　eye　once　more　to　the　knot…hole。　'He　is　still　there。　Perhaps　we　could　reason　with　him；　or　better　still　offer　a　bribe。'
　Omally　thought　this　sound　enough；　every　man　having　his　price。　'How　much　have　you　in　your　pockets？'　he　asked。
　Pooley　smiled　grimly。　'We　have　not　yet　settled　up　over　the　game。　I　think　that　it　is　for　you　to　approach　him；　John。　Employ　your　silken　tongue　and　feel　free　to　invest　a　portion　of　my　winnings　if　needs　be。　You　can　always　owe　me　the　difference。　I　consider　you　to　be　a　man　of　honour。'
　Omally　licked　the　end　of　his　captured　roll…up。　'All　right；'　he　said　nobly；　'I　shall　go。　We　shall　consider　your　winnings　to　be　an　investment　to　secure　a　further　season　of　uninterrupted　play。　During　this　period　I　have　not　the　least　doubt　that　if　your　game　continues　at　its　present　standard　you　will　have　the　opportunity　to　lighten　my　pockets　continually。'
　Pooley　opened　his　mouth　to　speak　but　thought　better　of　it。　In　such　matters　Omally　generally　held　the　verbal　edge。　'Go　then　with　my　blessings；'　he　said；　'but　kindly　leave　me　my　tobac