Уильям Моэм - The Narrow Corner

“‘The moon’ll be gettin’ up soon,’ he says. ‘There’s a nice little breeze.’

“‘Startin’ right away, are we?’ I says.

“‘Sooner the better, after the boy’s come on board, and just keep goin’, see?’

“‘Look ’ere, Ryan,’ I says, ‘I ain’t got so much as a safety razor with me.’

“‘Grow a beard then, Bill,’ he answers. ‘The orders is, no landin’ anywhere till you get to New Guinea. If you want to go ashore at Merauke, you can.’

“‘Dutch, ain’t it?’ He nods. ‘Look here, Ryan,’ I says. ‘You know I wasn’t born yesterday. I can’t ’elp thinkin’, can I? What’s the good, why don’t you come out with it straight and tell me what it’s all about?’

“‘Bill, old boy,’ ’e says very friendly like, ‘you drink your beer and don’t you ask no questions. I know I can’t ’elp you thinkin’, but you just believe what you’re told or I swear to God I’ll gouge your bloody eyes out meself.’

“‘Well, that’s straight enough,’ says I, laughing.

“‘Here’s luck,’ says ’e.

“He took a swig of beer and so did I.

“‘Plenty of it?’I asked.

“‘Enough to last you. I know you’re not a soaker. I wouldn’t ’ave given you the job if I ’adn’t known that.’

“‘No,’ I says, ‘I like me little drop of beer, but I know when I’ve ’ad enough. What about the money?’

“‘I got it ’ere,’ ’e says. ‘I’ll give it you before I get off.’

“Well, we sat talkin’ of one thing and another. I ask ’im what crew there was and a lot like that, and he ask me if I’d ’ave a job gettin’ out at night and I says, no, I could sail the boat with me eyes shut, and then suddenly I ’eard something. I got sharp ears, I ’ave, and there ain’t much goin’ on that I miss that way.

“‘There’s a boat comin’,’ I says.

“‘And about time, too,’ ’e says. ‘I got to get back to my missus and the kids to–night.’

“‘Better go on deck, ’adn’t we?’ I says.

“‘No necessity at all,’ ’e says.

“‘All right,’ I says.

“We just sat there listenin’. Sounded like a dinghy. She come up and give a bump on the side. Then someone come on board. He come down the companion. All dressed up he was, blue serge suit, collar and tie, brown shoes. Not like what ’e is now.

“‘This is Fred,’ says Ryan, givin’ me a look.

“‘Fred Blake,’ says the young fellow.

“‘This is Captain Nichols. First–rate seaman. He’s all right.’

“The kid give me a look and I give ’im one. He didn’t look exactly what you’d call delicate, I must say, picture of ’ealth, I’d ’ave said. Bit jumpy. If you’d asked me I’d ’ave said he was scared.

“‘Bad luck your crockin’ up like this,’ I says, very affable like, ‘The sea air’ll pull you together, believe me. Nothin’ like a cruise to build up a young fellow’s constitution.’

“I never see anyone go so red as ’e done when I said that. Ryan looked at ’im an’ ’e looked at me and laughed. Then ’e says ’e’d tip over the dibs and be gettin’ off. He ’ad it in his belt and ’e took it off and paid it over to me, two ’undred golden sovereigns. I ’adn’t seen gold in donkey’s years. Only the banks ’ad it. Seemed to me that whoever it was wanted to get this ’ere boy out of the way, ’e must be pretty high up.

“‘Throw in the belt, Ryan,’ I says. ‘I can’t leave a lot of money like that lyin’ about.’

“‘All right,’ says ’e, ‘take the belt. Well, good luck.’ And before I could say a word he was out of the cabin and ’e’d popped over the side and the boat was movin’ away. They wasn’t takin’ no chances of my seein’ who was in it.”

“And what happened then?”

“Well, I put the money back in the belt and strapped it round me.”

“Devil of a weight, isn’t it?”

“When we come to Merauke we bought a couple of boxes and I’ve hid mine away so as nobody knows where it is. But if things go on like they are, I’ll be able to carry all what’s left without so much as feelin’ it.”

“What d’you mean by that?”

“Well, we sailed all the way up the coast, inside the Bank, of course, fine weather and all that, nice breeze, and I said to the kid: ‘What about a game of cribbage?’ Had to pass the time somehow, you know, and I knew ’e’d got a good bit of money. I didn’t see why I shouldn’t ’ave some of it. I’ve played cribbage all me life, and I thought I got a soft thing on. I believe the devil’s in them cards. D’you know, I ’aven’t ’ad a winnin’ day since we left Sydney. I’ve lost a matter of seventy pounds, I ’ave. And it’s not as if ’e could play. It’s the devil’s own luck he’s got.”

“Perhaps he plays better than you think.”

“Don’t you believe it. What I don’t know about cribbage ain’t worth knowin’. D’you think I’d ’ave took him on if I ’adn’t known that? No, it’s luck, and luck can’t go on for ever. It’s bound to change and then I’ll get back all I’ve lost and all he’s got besides. It’s aggravating of course, but I ain’t worryin’.”

“Has he told you anything about himself?”

“Not a thing. But I’ve put two and two together and I got a pretty shrewd idea what’s at the bottom of it.”

“Oh!”

“There’s politics at the bottom of it or I’ll eat my ’at. If there ’adn’t been Ryan wouldn’t ’ave been mixed up in it. The Government’s pretty rocky in New South Wales. They’re ’angin’ on by their teeth. If there was a scandal they’d go out to–morrow. There’ll ’ave to be an election soon, anyway. They think they’ll get in again, but my belief is it’s a toss–up and I guess they know they can’t take a risk. I shouldn’t be surprised if Fred wasn’t the son of somebody pretty important.”

“Premier, or somebody like that, you mean? Is there one of the Ministers called Blake?”

“Blake’s no more ’is name than it is mine. It’s one of the ministers all right, and Fred’s ’is son or ’is nephew; and whatever it is, if it come out, he’d lose ’is seat, and my opinion is they all thought it better Fred should be out of the way for a few months.”

“And what d’you think it is he did?”

“Murder, if you ask me.”

“He’s only a kid.”

“Old enough to ’ang.”

“HULLOA, what’s that?” said the skipper. “There’s a boat comin’.”

His hearing was indeed acute, for Dr. Saunders heard nothing. The captain peered into the darkness. He put his hand on the doctor’s arm and, getting up noiselessly, slipped down into the cabin. In a moment he came up again and the doctor saw that he carried a revolver.

“No ’arm bein’ on the safe side,” he said.

Now the doctor discerned the faint grating of oars turning in rusty rowlocks.

“It’s the schooner’s dinghy,” he said.

“I know it is. But I don’t know what they want. Pretty late to pay a social call.”

The two men waited in silence and listened to the approaching sound. Presently, they not only heard the splash of the water, but saw the vague outline of the boat, a little black mass against the black sea.

“Hullo, there,” cried Nichols suddenly. “Boat ahoy.”

“That you, Captain?” a voice travelled over the water.

“Yes, it’s me. What d’you want?”

He stood at the gunwale, the revolver in his hand, hanging from the end of his loose arm. The Australians rowed on.

“Wait till I come on board,” he said.

“Pretty late, ain’t it?” cried Nichols.

The Australians told the man who was rowing to stop.