rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第34部分

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　No…one　noticed　as　two　men　with　high　cheekbones　and　immaculate　black　suits　entered　the　Swan　and　lost　themselves　in　the　crowds。　No…one；　that　is；　but　for　a　single　disembodied　soul　who　lightly　tapped　the　Professor　upon　the　shoulder。　'All　right；'　said　the　old　man；　without　drawing　his　eyes　from　the　match　in　play。　'Kindly　keep　me　informed。'
　The　Four　Horsemen　was　faring　rather　badly。　The　lads　from　the　New　Inn　had　enlisted　the　support　of　one　Thomas　'Squires'　Trelawny；　a　flightsmaster　from　Chiswick。　'Who　brought　him　in？'　asked　Pooley。　'His　name　is　not　on　the　card。'
　'A　late　entry；　I　suppose；　do　I　hear　a　change　in　the　odds？'
　'Treacherous　to　the　end；　Omally；'　said　Jim　Pooley。　'I　will　not　shorten　the　odds；　who　is　the　next　man　up？'
　'Jack's　son；　Young　Jack。'
　Young　Jack；　who　was　enjoying　his　tenth　year　in　retirement；　and　looked　not　a　day　over　forty；　put　his　toe　to　the　line　and　sent　his　feathered　missile　upon　its　unerring　course　into　the　treble　twenty。
　A　great　cheer　went　up　from　the　Horsemen's　supporters。　'He　once　got　three　hundred　and　one　in　five　darts；'　Omally　told　Jim。
　'He　is　in　league　with　the　devil　though　but。'
　'True；　that　does　give　him　an　edge。'
　Somehow　Young　Jack　had　already　managed　to　score　one　hundred　and　eighty…one　with　three　darts；　and　this　pleased　the　lads　from　the　Four　Horsemen　no　end。　To　much　applause；　he　concluded　his　performance　by　downing　a　pint　of　mild　in　less　than　four　seconds。
　'He　is　wearing　very　well　considering　his　age；'　said　Omally。
　'You　should　see　the　state　of　his　portrait　in　the　attic。'
　'I'll　get　the　round　in　then；'　said　Professor　Slobe；　rising　upon　his　cane。
　'Make　sure　he　doesn't　charge　you　for　mine；'　called　Omally；　who　could　see　a　long　and　happy　year　ahead；　should　the　weather　hold。　With　no　words　spoken　the　crowd　parted　before　the　old　man；　allowing　him　immediate　access'　to　the　bar。
　Beneath　his　table　Young　Jack　made　a　satanic　gesture；　but　he　knew　he　was　well　outclassed　by　the　great　scholar。
　'Same　again；'　said　Professor　Slobe。　Neville　did　the　honours。　'All　is　well　with　you；　I　trust；　barman？'　the　old　gentleman　asked。　'You　wear　something　of　a　hunted　look。'
　'I　am　sorely　tried；　Professor；'　said　Neville。　'I　can　smell　disaster；　and　this　very　night。　The　scent　is　souring　my　nostrils　even　now　as　we　speak。　It　smells　like　creosote；　but　I　know　it　to　be　disaster。　If　we　survive　this　night　I　am　going　to　take　a　very　long　holiday。'
　'You　might　try　Penge；　then；'　said　the　old　man　brightly；　'I　understand　that　it　is　very　nice；　although。。。　'　His　words　were　suddenly　swallowed　up　by　a　battery　of　Bitows　from　the　nearby　games　machine。
　Neville　scowled　through　the　crowd　at　the　hunched　back　of　the　paperboy。　'Perhaps　I　will　simply　slay　him　now　and　take　my　holiday　in　Dartmoor；　they　say　the　air　is　very　healthy　thereabouts。'
　'Never　fear；'　said　Professor　Slobe；　but　his　eyes　too　had　bee　fixed　upon　the　green…haired　youth。　Speaking　rapidly　into　Nick's　ear　was　a　man　of　average　height；　slightly　tanned　and　with　high　cheek…bones。　The　Professor　couldn't　help　thinking　that　he　put　him　hi　mind　of　a　young　Jack　Palance。　The　youth；　however；　appeared　so　engrossed　in　his　play　as　to　be　oblivious　to　the　urgent　chatter　of　the　darkly…clad　stranger。
　Neville　chalked　the　bill　on　to　the　Professor's　private　account；　and　the　old　gentleman　freighted　his　tray　back　to　his　table。　'How　goes　the　state　of　play？'　he　asked　Omally。
　'Squires　Trelawny　is　disputing　Young　Jack's　score；'　said　John；　unloading　the　tray　on　to　the　table。　'He　is　obviously　not　altogether　au　fait　with　Jack's　technique。'
　'Oh　dear；'　said　Pooley　pointing　towards　the　dispute。　'Young　Jack　is　not　going　to　like　that。'
　Trelawny；　a　temperamental　fellow　of　the　limp…wristed　brotherhood；　frustrated　by　the　apparent　wall　of　indifference　his　objections　ran　up　against；　had　poked　one　of　the　Horsemen's　leading　players　in　the　eye　with　his　finger。
　'Trelawny　is　disqualified；'　said　the　adjudicator。
　'You　what？'　Squires　turned　upon　the　man　in　the　rented　tuxedo　and　stamped　his　feet　in　rage。
　'Out；　finished；'　said　the　other。　'We　brook　no　violence　here。'
　'You　are　all　bloody　mad；'　screamed　the　disgruntled　player；　in　a　high　piping　voice。　The　crowd　made　hooting　noises　and　somebody　pinched　his　bum。
　'Out　of　my　way　then！'　Flinging　down　his　set　of　Asprey's　darts　（the　expensive　ones　with　the　roc…feather　flights）；　he　thrust　his　way　through　the　guffawing　crowd　and　departed　the　Swan。　Young　Jack；　who　numbered　among　his　personal　loathings　a　very　special　hatred　for　poofs；　made　an　unnoticeable　gesture　beneath　table　level；　and　as　he　blustered　into　the　street　Trelawny　slipped　upon　an　imaginary　banana　skin　and　fell　heavily　to　the　pavement。　As　he　did　so；　the　front　two　tyres　of　his　Morris　Minor　went　simultaneously　flat。
　'This　has　all　the　makings　of　a　most　eventful　evening；'　said　Jim　Pooley。　'The　first　eliminator　not　yet　over　and　blood　already　drawn。'
　The　adjudicator　wiped　away　the　New　Inn's　name　from　the　board。　With　their　best　player　disqualified；　morale　had　suffered　a　devastating　and　irrevocable　blow；　and　the　New　Inn　had　retired　from　the　petition。
　Next　up　were　the　North　Star　and　the　Princess　Royal。　The　North　Star's　team　never　failed　to　raise　eyebrows　no　matter　where　they　travelled；　being　five　stout　brothers　of　almost　identical　appearance。　They　ranged　from　the　youngest；　Wee　Tarn；　at　five　feet　five；　to　the　eldest；　Big　Bob；　at　six　foot　two；　and　had　more　the　look　of　a　set　of　Russian　dolls　about　them　than　a　darts　team。　Their　presence　in　public　always　had　a　most　sobering　effect　upon　the　more　drunken　clientele。
　Their　opponents；　upon　the　other　hand；　could　not　have　looked　less　alike　had　they　set　out　to　do　so。　They　numbered　among　their　incongruous　ranks；　two　garage　mechanic　ne'er…do…wells；　a　bearded　ex…vicar；　a　tall　lift　engineer　with　small　ears；　and　a　clerk　of　works　with　large　ones。　They　also　boasted　the　only　Chinese　player　in　Brentford。　Tommy　Lee　was　the　grand　master　to　the　Brentford　Temple　of　Dimac　and　was　most　highly　danned；　even　amongst　very　danned　people　indeed。　Few　folk　in　the　Borough　ever　chose　to　dispute　with　him　over　a　doubtful　throw。
　However；　Tommy；　who　had　taken　the　Dimac　oath　which　bound　him　never　to　use　any　of　the　horrendous；　maiming；　tearing；　crippling　and　disfiguring　techniques　unless　his　back　was　really　up　against　the　wall；　was　a　fair　and　honest　man　and　very　popular　locally。　He　was　also　the　only　player　known　to　throw　underarm。　He　fared　reasonably　well；　and　as　usual　it　took　two　strong　lads　to　withdraw　his　hand…carved　ivory　darts　from　the　board。
　'I'll　bet　that　took　the　remaining　plaster　off　Archie's　back　parlour　wall；'　said　Omally。　'By　the　way；　Professor；　I　hope　the　man　from　Bombay　is　being　well…catered　for。　We　wouldn't　want　him　popping　next　door　to　grill　up　a　popadum；　would　we？'
　Professor　Slobe　tapped　his　sinuous　nose。　One　or　other　of　the　North　Star's　men　was　throwing；　but　it　was　hard　to　tell　which　when　they　were　detached　from　the　set　and　you　couldn't　judge　them　by　height。
　'One　hundred；'　bawled　the　adjudicator。
　'What　odds　are　you　offering　at　present　upon　the　North　Star？'　the　Professor　asked。　Out　of　professional　etiquette　John　answered　him　tic…tac　fashion。　'I　will　take　your　pony　on　that；　then。'
　'From　your　account？'
　'Omally；　you　know　I　never　carry　money。'
　'The　Princess　Royal　need　one　hundred　and　fifty…six；'　boomed　the　adjudicator；　taking　up　the　chalks。
　The　lift　engineer；　making　much　of　his　every　movement；　stepped　on　to　the　oche。　There　was　a　ripple　amongst　the　crowd　as　his　first　dart　entered　the　treble　twenty。　A　whistle　as　his　second　joined　it　and　a　great　cry　of　horror　as　his　third　skimmed　the　double　eighteen　by　a　hairbreadth。　Crimson　to　the　tips　of　his　small　and　shell…likes；　the　lift　engineer　returned　to　his　chair；　and　the　obscurity　from　which　he　had　momentarily　emerged。
　'Unfortunate；'　said　Professor　Slobe；　rubbing　his　hands　together；　'I　have　noticed　in　matches　past　that　the　lift　engineer　has　a　tendency　to　buckle　under　pressure。'
　Omally　made　a　sour　face；　he　had　noticed　it　also；　but　in　the　heat　of　the　betting　had　neglected　to　note　the　running　order　of　the　players。　'The　North　Star　needs　eighty…seven。'
　Amidst　much　cheering；　this　figure　was　easily　acplished；　with　a　single　nineteen；　a　double　nineteen　and　a　double　fifteen。
　'I　am　up　already；'　said　Professor　Slobe　to　the　scowling　Irishman。
　'And　I；'　said　Pooley。
　Now　began　the　usual　debate　which　always　marred　championship　matches。　A　member　of　the　Princess　Royal's　team　accused　the　men　from　the　Star　of　playing　out　of　order。　The　adjudicator；　who　had　not　taken　the　obvious　course　of　forcing　them　to　sport　name　tags；　found　himself　at　a　disadvantage。
　Omally；　who　had　spotted　the　omission　early　in　the　game；　shook　his　head　towards　Professor　Slobe。　'I　can　see　all　betting　on　this　one　being　null　and　void；'　said　he。
　'I　might　possibly　intervene。'
　That　would　hardly　be　sporting　now；　would　it；　Professor？'
　'You　are　suggesting　that　I　might　have　a　bias？'
　'Perish　the　thought。　It　is　your　round　is　it　not；　Jim？'
　Pooley；　who　had　been　meaning　to　broach　the　subject　of　a　loan；　set　against　his　potential　winnings；　began　to　pat　at　his　pockets。　'You　find　me　financially　embarrassed　at　present；'　he　said。
　'I　think　not；'　said　Professor　Slobe。　'I　recall　asking　you　for　a　pound's…worth　of　change　from　the　Swan