J. Farjeon - Ben Sees It Through

COLLINS CRIME CLUB

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain for Crime Club by W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1932

Copyright © Estate of J. Jefferson Farjeon 1932

Cover design by Mike Topping © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2016

Cover background images © shutterstock.com

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780008155940

Ebook Edition © August 2016 ISBN: 9780008155957

Version: 2016-07-07

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1: The Cap That Started It

Chapter 2: Two in a Taxi

Chapter 3: Flight

Chapter 4: Diablo!

Chapter 5: Drama in a Bar

Chapter 6: Sanctuary in a Barn

Chapter 7: Wanted, an Address

Chapter 8: Largely Concerning Ben’s Clothes

Chapter 9: ‘Where’s the Sailor?’

Chapter 10: Incidents in North Lane

Chapter 11: Hunt the Corpse

Chapter 12: The House of Dimness

Chapter 13: The Attraction of Pink

Chapter 14: The Mysterious Caller

Chapter 15: Down Agine

Chapter 16: Quadruple-Crossing

Chapter 17: Secrets Behind Doors

Chapter 18: Molly’s Story

Chapter 19: Don Pasquali

Chapter 20: The Contents of a Chimney

Chapter 21: Back to Waterloo

Chapter 22: Re-Enter the Cap

Chapter 23: Ben Versus London

Chapter 24: Back to Horror House

Chapter 25: Played in the Darkness

Chapter 26: The Cap’s Secret

Chapter 27: Blade Against Bullet

Chapter 28: Cornered

Chapter 29: The Mind of Mr Lovelace

Chapter 30: The Mind of Don Pasquali

Chapter 31: The Mind of Ben

Chapter 32: Conversion of a Constable

Chapter 33: Good and Bad

Chapter 34: At Mallow Court

Chapter 35: Voices—Present and Past

Chapter 36: Meanwhile, at Wimbledon—

Chapter 37: ‘I’m Goin’!’

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also in This Series

About the Publisher

As England grew nearer and nearer, the deck rose and fell, and so did Ben’s stomach; for Ben’s stomach wasn’t what it used to be, and it rebelled against all but the most gentle treatment. It rebelled against the coast that could not keep still, against the taff-rail that went down when the coast went up, and up when the coast went down, against the Channel spray that leapt into the air and descended over you like a venomous fountain, against the wind that sent you bounding forward again after you had bounded back to escape from the spray. Yes, particularly against the wind, for that attacked your meagre raiment, and sent the best piece flying!… Oi!…

As Ben’s cap flew into the air, Ben flew after it. You or I, richer in earthly possessions, would not have followed it into the ether, but Ben’s possessions had a special value on account of their rarity, and the departure of anyone spelt tragedy. Thus, starting from scratch, he lurched in the cap’s wake, spraying out from the ship’s side like an untidy rocket.

Then, fortunately, the head that had ill-advised this unwise adventure realised its mistake, and sent an urgent S.O.S. to the boots at the other end. The boots, responding smartly, hooked themselves round the taff-rail. There was a sharp wrench as boots fought Eternity. A moment later, Ben’s head, instead of proceeding outwards, curved downwards, ending upside-down against a port-hole.

There followed a fleeting glimpse of a converted world. A chair grew down from a ceiling, and a suspended electric lamp grew up from a floor. Then the chair and the electric lamp shot in one direction while Ben shot in another. He felt his nose scraping upwards against the side of the ship. Finally came a bumping; a sensation like an outraged croquet-hoop; and momentary oblivion. When the oblivion was over, Ben found himself back on deck, with the man who had pulled him up bending over him.

‘By Jove! That was a narrow shave!’ exclaimed the benefactor.

‘Go on!’ mumbled Ben, as he came back to the doubtful gift of life. ‘That ain’t nothink ter some I’ve ’ad!’

‘Feeling all right, then?’

‘Corse! It does yer good!’

Reassured, the benefactor took out his cigarette-case. He was a tall young man, with a face that ought to have been pleasant but that somehow was not. He opened the case, and held it out.

‘Have one?’ he asked.

Ben rose unsteadily to his feet and considered the matter. He considered it cautiously. Was it wise to smoke on a stomach that was doing all the things his was doing and that was trying to do many things more?

‘I owe you some compensation,’ urged the young man, ‘for I’m afraid it was I who bumped into you.’

‘That’s orl right,’ muttered Ben. ‘I was born ter be bumped.’

The cigarette was gold-tipped, so Ben risked it. After all, you couldn’t feel worse than you felt when you couldn’t feel worse, could you?

‘Thank ’e, guv’nor,’ he said.

‘Not at all,’ responded the young man, amiably.

That ought to have been the end of it. Later, Ben wished devoutly that it had been. The young man seemed disposed to continue the conversation, however, and took up a position beside the piece of ragged misery who was smoking, somewhat anxiously, his first State Express 999.

‘Been away from England long?’ inquired the young man, amiably.

‘Eh?’ blinked Ben.

His mind was receiving slowly.

‘I asked whether you had been away from England long,’ repeated the young man.

‘Oh,’ said Ben. ‘Cupple o’ cenchuries.’

‘And where did you spend the couple of centuries?’ smiled the young man.

‘Spine,’ answered Ben. ‘With Alfonzo.’

‘That must have been terribly nice for him,’ grinned the young man. ‘Then you can speak Spanish, I suppose?’

‘I can say oosted ,’ replied Ben, ‘but I don’t know wot it means.’

He wished the young man would go. He wanted to be quiet, so he could find out whether he was enjoying the cigarette or not.

‘What did you do in Spain?’ the young man persisted.

‘Tried ter git ’ome agine,’ said Ben.

‘Didn’t like the place, eh?’

‘It ain’t a plice, it’s a nightmare. They does nothink but chise yer.’

‘Really! Well—don’t look so glum. You’ll be ’ome agine very soon now.’

‘That’s right.’