Dennis Wheatley: Black August

2

The Tramp of Marching Men

Ann Croome lay back in the largest of the three arm chairs which, with a dilapidated settee, constituted the principal furniture in the sitting room of 272 Gloucester Road.

Opposite to her stood Mr. Rudd, the landlord of this strange caravanserai. His yellowish hair was close cropped and bristling at the top of his head, but allowed to grow into a lock in front which he carefully trained in a well greased curve across his forehead. A small, fair moustache graced his upper lip, but as he always kept it neatly trimmed it failed to hide the fact that his teeth badly needed the attention of a dentist. His eyes were blue, quick, humorous and friendly.

'It's this way, Miss,' Mr. Rudd twirled a greasy cap in his hands the only headgear he had been known to use during his twelve years' tenancy in Gloucester Road. 'White's white, an' yeller's yeller if you take my meanin'. It wouldn't be fair to you an' the others ter take a Chink inter the 'ouse so Mrs. P. can say wot she likes abart 'is art an' all but the second floor front remains empty.'

Ann knew that Rudd's slender income was the shadowy balance between what he received from his tenants and the rent he paid for the house; and that he found it necessary in order to make both ends meet to act as storekeeper, loader, and occasional van man to Mr. Gibbon the grocer whose shop occupied the ground floor.

'It means a serious loss to you,' she said.

'Maybe, Miss but my old lady sez to me afore she died:' “Ted,” she sez, “seeing' this ain't egsactly a posh 'otel, it's recommendations wot counts so, if you're ever in any quandairy, think of the comforts of the lodgers wot ye've got, an' you'll be orlright.” '

'Well, personally, I'd much rather not have to share the sitting room with a Chinaman.'

'Now that's jus' wot I sez ter Mrs. P. “you're married wiv an 'usban' an' all, Mum but there's Miss Croome and Miss Girlie ter be thought of. Wot'll they feel like when their frens come ter see them wiv a Chink in the place?” tho' she took me up proper when I called 'im a Chink to 'er. But I'm scared now she may take the needle an' 'op it to another 'ouse.'

'Mr. and Mrs. Pomfret won't move because you've turned their yellow friend down,' Ann assured him; 'they're far too hard up.'

'That's so, Miss seven week 'e owes me for, an' not that I likes to discuss one person's business with another, but I don't get no credit with me rates. Still, 'is new book's comin' out on Friday 'e tells me so we'll soon be touching the spondulicks now.'

'It's a rotten time to bring out a new book.'

'Yes, business is that bad everywhere, it's a poser ter me 'ow any of 'em carries on at all. Did you 'ear about poor old Mr. Watney darn the street?'

'No do you mean at the dairy?'

'Yes put 'is 'ead in the gas oven 'e did 'im an' 'is missus as well!'

'How terrible!'

'Crool, wern't it? but as I said ter Mr. Gibbon “wot can you expect? an old chap 'oo's conscientious like, an' owin' all them bills!” 'e owed Mr. Gibbon close on forty pound. An' when you bin livin' respectable all yer life it ain’t nice to owe people money it 'urts but wot's a man to do if people won't pay 'im?'

'But you wouldn't take that way out yourself, would you?' Ann inquired. Rudd's views on life amused her, so she always encouraged him to talk.

'Wot, me? no fear, Miss!' his broad grin displayed the ill kept teeth. 'I'm an old soldier I am an' you know wot they say "Old Soldiers Never Die They Only Fades

Away," but that 'ud be a bit before your time I reckon. Lumme! come ter think of it, you couldn't 'ave bin born when we went an' put the Kibosh on the Kaiser yet it seems like only yesterday ter me.'

'Was it really so terrible as the war books make out?'

'Well,' he scratched his head thoughtfully, 'I don't know about no war books not bein' a great reader meself, but I used ter get the wind up proper when Jerry 'ad one of 'is special 'ates on, an' the little visiters used ter make yer itch somethin' crool. Still, the War 'ad its compensations as yer might say. The grub was a treat far better'n wot most people 'ad at 'ome an' if you could nobble a bottle or two of that vin rooge from the estaminay ter push around the Crown an' Anchor board in the billet of an evenin' the War weren't none so dusty!'

Ann laughed. 'It doesn't sound very romantic as you put it, but I expect you did all sorts of brave things as well.'

'Brave? me? not likely!' Mr. Rudd's kind blue eyes twinkled. 'I wouldn't never 'ave seen a Jerry if it 'adn't bin fer Mr. Sallust.'

'Mr. Sallust? Ann repeated with a puzzled note in her voice, as Rudd named the loose limbed journalist with the perpetual stoop, who occupied the big back room on the first floor.

'Why, yes, Miss 'e was my officer in the War, an' that's why 'e lives 'ere tho' 'e could well afford a better place. It's just 'is bein a bit Bohemian like, an me knowin' all 'is little ways. Now 'e was a reel tiger “Rudd,” 'e used ter say ter me when we was in the line “what abart makin' some little h'addition to h'our collection ter night?” “Very good, Mr. Sallust, sir,” I used ter say since seein' I was 'is servant I couldn't say nothin' else, but I knew what that meant orlright-​orlright. A couple of hours a crawlin' round in No Man's Land till 'e'd coshed an 'Un wiv 'is loaded crop an' took 'is pistol or binoculars orf 'im!'

Ann had always been interested in Gregory Sallust, although his caustic wit and avowed cynicism sometimes repelled her. Now she was trying to absorb this new view of him. But it was difficult to reconcile the lazy self indulgent man she knew with Rudd's picture.

'I suppose that is how he got his scar,' she remarked, thinking of the short white weal that ran from the outer corner of Sallust's left eyebrow up into his forehead.

'That's so, Miss, one of them little Gurkhas give 'im that, mistook 'im in the dark for an 'Un an' 'is langwidge! strewth! I thought they'd 'ear 'im in Berlin an' put Big Bertha on us before I got 'im 'ome.'

' Berlin!' Ann touched the evening paper with her foot, bringing the conversation abruptly to the latest news. 'Isn't it terrible about this fire. Nobody seems to know if it is organised by Poles or Jews but it seems to be breaking out in a fresh place every hour or so, and they say it has gutted thousands of houses and shops in the last two days.'

Rudd shook his yellow head. They've 'ad a shockin' time an' no mistake. But it's Glasgow as worries me! It ain't in the paper o' course but I 'ad it on the Q.T. from Mr. Sallust this mornin'. The troops was firin' on the crowd lars' night an' when it comes to that in this country…'

'If that is true it is utterly shameful!' Ann's eyes blazed with partisan indignation. 'The workers have every right to meet and voice their grievances when the Government is so hopelessly incompetent.'

'Ah, yes the workers, but if you'll pardon me, Miss this riff raff ain't the workers. It's all them youngsters wot never done an 'and's turn in their lives.'

'Well, is that their fault?'

'Yus why don't they volunteer for the National Army of Labour wot was started lars' year? I'd conscript the lot o' them if I 'ad my way. Not that I 'old with armies mind you, but a bit o' discipline is what them sort wants, an' one of those old walrus faced sergeant majors to tickle 'em up a bit.'

'How could we keep an army of five or six million men?'

'Weil, ain't we feedin' 'em all at the present time an' they still gets a dole that's bigger than the army pay so why shouldn't they do a bit o' work?'

Ann was saved from the necessity of replying by the sudden entrance of Mrs. Pomfret large bosomed, untidy, breathless and agitated as usual.

'My dear! Hildebrand? isn't he back?' she exclaimed, ignoring Rudd.

'I haven't seen him,' Ann replied, 'did you want him for something special?'