The Cold Blooded Vengeance: 10 Mystery & Revenge Thrillers in One Volume. E. Phillips OppenheimЧитать онлайн книгу.
Sir Timothy directed the barman. “My question is easily answered. Is this the place which a man whom I understand they call Billy the Tanner frequents?”
The question appeared to produce an almost uncomfortable sensation. The enthusiasm for the free drinks, however, was only slightly damped, and a small forest of grimy hands was extended across the counter.
“Don’t you ask no questions about ‘im, guvnor,” Sir Timothy’s immediate companion advised earnestly. “He’d kill you as soon as look at you. When Billy the Tanner’s in a quarrelsome mood, I’ve see ‘im empty this place and the whole street, quicker than if a mad dog was loose. ‘E’s a fair and ‘oly terror, ‘e is. ‘E about killed ‘is wife, three nights ago, but there ain’t a living soul as ‘d dare to stand in the witness-box about it.”
“Why don’t the police take a hand in the matter if the man is such a nuisance?” Sir Timothy asked.
His new acquaintance, gripping a thick tumbler of spirits and water with a hand deeply encrusted with the stains of his trade, scoffed.
“Police! Why, ‘e’d take on any three of the police round these parts!” he declared. “Police! You tell one on ‘em that Billy the Tanner’s on the rampage, and you’ll see ‘em ‘op it. Cheero, guvnor and don’t you get curious about Billy. It ain’t ‘ealthy.”
The swing-door was suddenly opened. A touslehaired urchin shoved his face in.
“Billy the Tanner’s coming!” he shouted. “Cave, all! He’s been ‘avin’ a rare to-do in Smith’s Court.”
Then a curious thing happened. The little crowd at the bar seemed somehow to melt away. Half-a-dozen left precipitately by the door. Half-a-dozen more slunk through an inner entrance into some room beyond. Sir Timothy’s neighbour set down his tumbler empty. He was the last to leave.
“If you’re going to stop ‘ere, guvnor,” he begged fervently, “you keep a still tongue in your ‘ead. Billy ain’t particular who it is. ‘E’d kill ‘is own mother, if ‘e felt like it. ‘E’ll swing some day, sure as I stand ‘ere, but ‘e’ll do a bit more mischief first. ‘Op it with me, guvnor, or get inside there.”
“Jim’s right,” the man behind the bar agreed. “He’s a very nasty customer, Bill the Tanner, sir. If he’s coming down, I’d clear out for a moment. You can go in the guvnor’s sitting-room, if you like.”
Sir Timothy shook his head.
“Billy the Tanner will not hurt me,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I came down to see him.”
His new friend hesitated no longer but made for the door through which most of his companions had already disappeared. The barman leaned across the counter.
“Guvnor,” he whispered hoarsely, “I don’t know what the game is, but I’ve given you the office. Billy won’t stand no truck from any one. He’s a holy terror.”
Sir Timothy nodded.
“I quite understand,” he said.
There was a moment’s ominous silence. The barman withdrew to the further end of his domain and busied himself cleaning some glasses. Suddenly the door was swung open. A man entered whose appearance alone was calculated to inspire a certain amount of fear. He was tall, but his height escaped notice by reason of the extraordinary breadth of his shoulders. He had a coarse and vicious face, a crop of red hair, and an unshaven growth of the same upon his face. He wore what appeared to be the popular dress in the neighbourhood—a pair of trousers suspended by a belt, and a dirty flannel shirt. His hands and even his chest, where the shirt fell away, were discoloured by yellow stains. He looked around the room at first with an air of disappointment. Then he caught sight of Sir Timothy standing at the counter, and he brightened up.
“Where’s all the crowd, Tom?” he asked the barman.
“Scared of you, I reckon,” was the brief reply. “There was plenty here a few minutes ago.”
“Scared of me, eh?” the other repeated, staring hard at Sir Timothy. “Did you ‘ear that, guvnor?”
“I heard it,” Sir Timothy acquiesced.
Billy the Tanner began to cheer up. He walked all round this stranger.
“A toff! A big toff! I’ll ‘ave a drink with you, guvnor,” he declared, with a note of incipient truculence in his tone.
The barman had already reached up for two glasses but Sir Timothy shook his head.
“I think not,” he said.
There was a moment’s silence. The barman made despairing signs at Sir Timothy. Billy the Tanner was moistening his lips with his tongue.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because I don’t know you and I don’t like you,” was the bland reply.
Billy the Tanner wasted small time upon preliminaries. He spat upon his hands.
“I dunno you and I don’t like you,” he retorted. “D’yer know wot I’m going to do?”
“I have no idea,” Sir Timothy confessed.
“I’m going to make you look so that your own mother wouldn’t know you—then I’m going to pitch you into the street,” he added, with an evil grin. “That’s wot we does with big toffs who come ‘anging around ‘ere.”
“Do you?” Sir Timothy said calmly. “Perhaps my friend may have something to say about that.”
The man of war was beginning to be worked up.
“Where’s your big friend?” he shouted. “Come on! I’ll take on the two of you.”
The man who had met Sir Timothy in the street had risen to his feet. He strolled up to the two. Billy the Tanner eyed him hungrily.
“The two of you, d’yer ‘ear?” he shouted. “And ‘ere’s just a flick for the toff to be going on with!”
He delivered a sudden blow at Sir Timothy—a full, vicious, jabbing blow which had laid many a man of the neighbourhood in the gutter. To his amazement, the chin at which he had aimed seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. Sir Timothy himself was standing about half-a-yard further away. Billy the Tanner was too used to the game to be off his balance, but he received at that moment the surprise of his life. With the flat of his hand full open, Sir Timothy struck him across the cheek such a blow that it resounded through the place, a blow that brought both the inner doors ajar, that brought peering eyes from every direction. There was a moment’s silence. The man’s fists were clenched now, there was murder in his face. Sir Timothy stepped on one side.
“I am not a fighter,” he said coolly, leaning back against the marble table. “My friend will deal with you.”
Billy the Tanner glared at the newcomer, who had glided in between him and Sir Timothy.
“You can come and join in, too,” he shouted to Sir Timothy. “I’ll knock your big head into pulp when I’ve done with this little job!”
The bully knew in precisely thirty seconds what had happened to him. So did the crowds who pressed back into the place through the inner door. So did the barman. So did the landlord, who had made a cautious appearance through a trapdoor. Billy the Tanner, for the first time in his life, was fighting a better man. For two years he had been the terror of the neighbourhood, and he showed now that at least he had courage. His smattering of science, however, appeared only ridiculous. Once, through sheer strength and blundering force, he broke down his opponent’s guard and struck him in the place that had dispatched many a man before—just over the heart. His present opponent scarcely winced, and Billy the Tanner paid the penalty then for his years of bullying. His antagonist paused for a single second, as though unnerved by the blow. Red fire seemed to stream from his eyes. Then it was all over. With a sickening crash, Billy the Tanner went down upon the