rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第30章

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g　in　and　spoiling　everything　before　the　project　was　pleted。
　Norman　dropped　into　his　kitchen　chair　and　did　a　bit　of　heavy　thinking。　The　mantelclock　struck　eleven；　time　once　more　to　feed　the　camel。　Norman　glanced　despairingly　about；　perhaps　he　should　simply　blow　the　garage　up。　The　trouble　was　that　he　was　really　growing　quite　attached　to　the　mouldy…looking　quadruped。
　He'd　never　been　allowed　to　have　a　pet　when　he　was　a　lad；　and　dogs　didn't　exactly　take　to　him。　But　Simon；　well；　Simon　was　different；　he　didn't　snap　at　your　ankles　or　climb　on　your　furniture。　True；　he　didn't　exactly　do　anything　other　than　sleep　in　the　rafters　and　roar　for　food　when　hungry；　but　there　was　something　about　the　brute　which　touched　Norman。　Possibly　it　was　his　helplessness；　relying　upon　him；　as　it　did；　for　his　every　requirement。　Perhaps　it　was　that　he　had　Simon　exclusively　to　himself；　nobody　forever　patting　at　him　and　offering　him　biscuits。　Whatever　it　was；　there　was　something。　Simon　was　all　right。　He　was　cheap　to　feed；　living　as　he　did　upon　Small　Dave's　cabbages；　and　his　droppings　made　excellent　manure　for　the　roses。　Norman　wondered　for　one　bright　moment　whether　a　camel　might　be　trained　to　eat　dwarves；　shouldn't　be　but　a　mouthful　or　two。　Pity　camels　were　exclusively　vegetarian。
　Norman　rose　from　his　chair；　drew　on　his　shabby　overcoat　and　put　out　the　kitchen　light。　Stepping　silently　through　the　darkened　shop；　he　put　his　eye　to　the　door's　glass　and　peered　out　at　the　Baling　Road。　All　seemed　quiet；　but　for　the　distant　sound　of　police　sirens。　Small　Dave　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。
　The　shopkeeper　drew　the　bolt　upon　the　door　and　slipped　out　into　the　night。　He　scuttled　away　down　Albany　Road；　keeping　wherever　possible　in　the　shadows。　Down　the　empty　street　he　hurried；　with　many　a　furtive　glance　to　assure　himself　that　he　was　not　being　followed。
　Young　Chips；　who　was　returning　from　some　canine　equivalent　of　a　lodge　meeting；　had　been　watching　the　shopkeeper's　progress　for　some　moments。　Now　where　is　Norman　off　to；　he　asked　himself；　and　who　is　the　character　in　the　Victorian　garb　hard　upon　his　heels？　If　I　wasn't　half　the　dog　I　believe　myself　to　be；　I　would　be　certain　that　that　is　none　other　than　the　famed　American　author；　Edgar　Allan　Poe。　Scratching　distractedly　at　a　verminous　ear；　the　dog　lifted　his　leg　at　a　neighbour's　Morris　Minor；　and　had　it　away　for　home。
　Norman　reached　the　allotment　gates　and　peered　around。　He　had　the　uncanny　feeling　that　he　was　being　watched；　but　as　there　was　no…one　visible　he　put　the　thing　down　to　nerves　and　applied　his　skeleton　key　to　the　lock。　A　wan　moon　shone　down　upon　the　allotments；　and　when　Norman　had　had　his　evil　way　with　Small　Dave's　already　depleted　cabbage　crop；　no　living　being　watched　him　depart　with　his　swag。
　The　row　of　lock…up　garages　slept　in　the　darkness。　As　Norman　raised　the　door　upon　its　well…oiled　hinges；　nothing　stirred　in　the　Brentford　night。　'Simon；'　he　said　in　a　soothing　tone；　'din　dins。'
　Having　closed　the　door　behind　him；　he　switched　on　the　light；　illuminating　the　tiny　lock…up。　Simon　looked　down　from　his　unfortable　eyrie；　and　Norman　sought　some　trace　of　passion　upon　the　brute's　grotesque　visage。　'Yum　yums；'　he　said　kindly。　'Chow　time。'
　If　camels　are　capable　of　displaying　emotions；　other　than　the　'go　for　the　groin　if　cornered'　variety；　Simon　was　strangely　reticent　about　putting　his　about。　As　he　hung　in　the　air；　the　great　ugly…looking　beast　did　little　other　than　to　drool　a　bit　and　break　wind。　'You　cheeky　boy；'　said　Norman。　'It's　your　favourite。'
　Behind　him；　Edgar　Allan　Poe　eased　himself　through　the　closed　garage　door　and　stood　in　the　shadows　watching　Norman　making　a　holy　show　of　himself。　Simon　saw　Edgar　at　once；　and　Simon　did　not　like　the　look　of　Edgar　one　little　bit。
　'Waaaaaark！'　went　Simon　the　zero…gravity　camel。
　'e；　e；'　said　Norman；　flapping　his　hands；　'there　is　nothing　to　get　upset　about。　It's　really　only　cabbage；　your　favourite。'
　'Waaaaaark！'　the　disconsolate　brute　continued。
　'Shhh！'　said　the　shopkeeper。　'Calm　yourself；　please。'
　'Waaaaaark！'　Simon　set　to　wriggling　vigorously　amongst　the　eaves。
　'Stop　it；　stop　it！'　Norman　frantically　waved　the　cabbage　leaves　about。　'You'll　have　the　whole　neighbourhood　up。'
　Edgar　Allan　Poe　was　fascinated。　Times　had　certainly　changed　since　he　had　shuffled　off　the　old　mortal　coil。　Small　Dave　had　spent　a　goodly　amount　of　time　impressing　upon　him　the　importance　of　finding　a　camel。　But　to　think　that　people　actually　kept　them　as　pets　now；　and　that　they　were　no　longer　tethered　to　the　planet　of　their　birth　by　gravity。　That　was　quite　something。　'Stone　me；'　said　Edgar　Allan　Poe。
　John　and　Jim　were　taking　the　long　route　home。　After　the　incident　earlier　that　evening　at　the　Swan　they　had　no　wish　to　cross　the　allotment　after　dark。　It　was　a　brisk；　cloudless　night；　and　as　they　slouched　along；　sharing　a　late…night　Woodbine；　they　were　ill…prepared　for　the　ghastly　wailing　cries　which　suddenly　reached　their　ears。
　'What　is　it？'　Pooley　halted　in　mid…slouch。
　Omally　peered　up　and　down　the　deserted　street　and　over　his　shoulder　to　where　the　allotment　fence　flanked　an　area　of　sinister　blackness。
　'It　is　the　plaintive　cry　of　the　banshee；'　said　he；　crossing　himself。　'Back　in　the　old　country　no　man　would　question　that　sound。　Rather　he　would　steal　away　to　his　own　dear　hovel　and　sleep　with　his　head　in　the　family　Bible　and　his　feet　in　the　fireplace。'
　'I　have　never　fully　understood　the　ways　of　the　Irish；'　said　Jim；　also　crossing　himself　just　to　be　on　the　safe　side。　'But　I　believe　them　to　be　a　people　not　without　their　fair　share　of　mon　sense；　best　we　have　it　away　on　our　toes　then。'
　Another　horrific　cry　rose　into　the　night；　raising　the　small　hairs　on　two　ill…washed　necks；　and　causing　Pooley's　teeth　to　chatter　noisily。　This　one；　however；　was　followed　almost　at　once　by　vile　but　oddly　reassuring　streams　of　invective；　which　could　only　have　arisen　from　one　local　and　very　human　throat。
　'Could　that　be　who　I　think　it　could？'　Pooley　asked。
　'If　you　mean　that　very　electronics　expert　with　the　brain　of　a　veritable　Einstein　to　whom　you　previously　alluded；　then　I　think　that　it　might　just　be。'
　The　two　men　strained　their　ears　for　another　sound；　but　none　was　forthing。　Slowly；　they　proceeded　along　the　street；　halting　outside　the　row　of　lock…up　garages。　'Would　you　look　at　that；'　said　Omally；　pointing　to　where　a　line　of　orange　light　showed　beneath　one　of　the　doors。　'Now　what　would　you　take　that　to　be？'
　'I　would　take　it　to　be　another　trap；'　said　Jim。　'I　have　recently　had　a　very　bad　experience　through　entering　sheds　without　being　asked。'
　Omally　shuddered。　The　thought　of　those　icy…black　subterranean　waters　was　never　far　from　his　mind。　'Caution　then？'　he　asked；　creeping　close　to　the　door　and　pressing　his　ear　to　it。
　It　was　at　that　exact　moment　that　Edgar　Allan　Poe；　who　had　been　badly　shaken　by　the　floating；　screaming　camel；　chose　to　make　his　exit　from　the　garage。　Passing　discreetly　through　the　solid　wood　of　the　garage　door　he　slid　right　into　the　skulking　Omally。　For　one　ghastly　moment　the　two　forms；　one　solid　and　smelling　strongly　of　drink；　the　other　ectoplasmic　and　probably　incapable　of　bearing　any　scent　whatever；　merged　into　one。
　'Holy　Mary；　Mother　of　God！'　screamed　Omally；　clutching　at　his　head。　'The　very　devil　himself　has　poked　his　clammy　finger　into　my　ear。'
　'Who's　out　there？'　Norman　spun　away　from　Simon；　who　was　now　silent　beneath　the　falcon　hood　of　a　potato　sack　which　had　been　rammed　over　his　head。
　'Night　watchman；'　said　Pooley　unconvincingly。　Twelve　o'clock　and　all's　well。　Goodnight　to　you；　stranger。'
　'Pooley；　is　that　you？'
　'Norman？'
　The　garage　door　rose　a　couple　of　feet　and　Norman's　face　appeared；　peeping　through　the　opening。　'Is　Small　Dave　with　you？'　asked　the　persecuted　shopkeeper。
　'That　vindictive　grudge…bearing　wee　bastard？　Certainly　not。'
　Norman　crawled　out　under　the　door　and　drew　it　rapidly　down　behind　him。　'Just　servicing　the　old　Morris　Minor；'　he　said。
　'Sounds　a　bit　iffy；'　said　Omally。
　'A　bit　of　gear　trouble；　nothing　more。'
　'Let　me　have　a　look　at　it　then。'　Omally　was　all　smiles。　'I　know　the　old　Morris　engine　like　the　back　of　my　hand。'　He　extended　this　very　appendage　towards　the　garage　doorhandle；　but　Norman　barred　his　way。
　'Nothing