rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第4章

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　Omally　swore　briefly；　but　to　the　point；　flung　down　his　putter　and　turned　his　back　upon　the　wanton　pill。
　'Bad　luck；'　said　Pooley；　amid　an　ill…concealed　snigger。　By　way　of　consolation；　he　added；　'It　was　a　brave　try。　But　would　you　prefer　that　I　pause　a　moment　before　sinking　my　ball；　on　the　off　chance　that　an　earth　tremor　might　secure　you　the　match？'
　Omally　kicked　his　golf　bag　over。
　'Steady　on；'　said　Pooley。
　John　turned　upon　him　bitterly；　'Go　on　then；　Jimmy　boy；'　he　sneered；　'let　us　see　you　take　your　shot。'
　'You　won't　like　it。'
　'Won't　I；　though？'
　Pooley　tapped　at　his　nose。　'Care　to　up　the　betting　a　trice？'
　Omally　stroked　his　chin。　'From　the　water…butt　in　one；　that　is　what　you　are　telling　me？'　Pooley　nodded。　'Unless　you；　like　the　Dalai　Lama；　have　mastered　the　techniques　of　levitation　and　telekinesis；　which　I　do　not　believe；　I　do　not　rate　your　chances。'
　'You　will　kick　yourself　afterwards。'
　Omally　spat　on　to　his　palm　and　slapped　it　into　that　of　his　panion。　'All　bets　are　doubled；　will　that　serve　you？'
　'Adequately。'　Pooley　strolled　over　to　the　water…butt。　With　the　lie　of　the　land；　it　certainly　was　in　a　perfect　line　for　the　hole。　Just　down　a　slight　slope　and　into　the　depression　where　lay　the　eighteenth。
　'I　shall　play　it　from　here；'　said　Jim；　turning　his　back　upon　the　target。
　Omally　stuck　his　hands　into　his　pockets。　'As　you　please；'　said　he。
　'I　will　play　it　with　a　mashie　if　you　have　no　objections。'
　'None　whatever。'　Omally　selected　the　club　and　handed　it　to　his　panion。　Pooley　leant　forward　and　chalked　a　small　cross　at　the　base　of　the　water…butt。　Drawing　back；　he　grasped　the　club　hammerlike　in　his　right　fist　and　with　a　lewd　wink　struck　the　ancient　zinc　tank　a　murderous　blow。
　It　was　a　sizeable　hole　and　the　water　burst　through　it　with　great　enthusiasm。　Bearing　down　with　the　sudden　torrent；　and　evidently　much　pleased　to　be　free　of　its　watery　grave；　Pooley's　ball　bobbed　along　prettily。　It　danced　down　the　slight　incline；　pirouetted　about　the　eighteenth　hole；　as　if　taking　a　final　bow；　then　plunged　into　it　with　a　sarcastic　gurgle。
　'My　game；'　said　Pooley　rubbing　his　hands　together。　'Best　we　settle　up　now；　I　think。'
　Omally　struck　his　panion　a　devastating　blow　to　the　skull。　Jim　collapsed　into　a　forest　of　bean　poles　but　rose　almost　immediately　with　a　great　war　cry。　He　leapt　upon　Omally；　catching　him　around　the　waist　and　bearing　him　towards　the　now　muddy　ground。　'Poor　loser！'　he　shouted；　grinding　his　thumb　into　Omally's　right　eye。
　'Bloody　damn　cheat；'　the　other　replied；　going　as　ever　for　the　groin。
　The　two　men　were　more　than　equally　matched；　although　Omally　was　by　far　the　dirtier　fighter。　They　bowled　over　and　over　in　the　mud；　bringing　into　play　a　most　extraordinary　diversity　of　unsportsmanlike　punches；　low　kicks　and　back　elbows。　They　had　been　tumbling　away　in　like　fashion　for　some　ten　minutes；　doing　each　other　the　very　minimum　amount　of　damage；　yet　expending　a　great　deal　of　energy；　when　each　man　suddenly　became　aware　that　his　antics　were　being　observed。
　Some　twenty　yards　or　so　away；　a　solitary　figure　in　a　grey　coverall　suit　stood　silently　watching。　At　the　distance　it　was　difficult　to　make　out　his　features　clearly；　but　they　seemed　wide　and　flat　and　had　more　than　the　suggestion　of　the　Orient　about　them。
　The　two　men　rose　from　the　ground；　patting　away　at　their　clothes。　The　fight　was　over；　the　ref　s　decision　being　a　draw。　They　beat　a　hasty　retreat　to　the　doubtful　safety　of　Pooley's　allotment　shed。　Through　a　knot…hole　in　the　slatted　side　they　squinted　at　the　grey　figure。　He　was　as　immobile　as　a　shop…window　dummy；　and　stared　towards　them　unblinkingly　in　a　manner　which　the　sensitive　Jim　found　quite　upsetting。　He　was　of　average　height　with　high　cheek…bones　and　a　slightly　tanned　plexion　and　bore　a　striking　resemblance　to　a　young　Jack　Palance。
　Pooley　sought　about　for　his　tobacco　tin。　'I　don't　like　the　look　of　this；'　he　said。
　Omally；　who　had　liberated　Pooley's　tin　from　his　pocket　during　the　fight；　was　rolling　a　cigarette　behind　his　back。　'He　is　probably　some　workman　chappy；'　he　suggested；　'or　possibly　a　bus　conductor　or　site　engineer　from　the　gas　works。'　The　hollow　tone　in　Omally's　voice　was　not　lost　upon　his　panion。
　'He　has　more　of　the　look　of　a　municipal　worker　to　me；'　said　Jim；　shaking　his　head　dismally。　'A　park…keeper　perhaps；　or。。。'
　'Don't　say　it；'　said　John。　'Some　spy　from　the　Council　e　to　inspect　the　allotment？'
　Pooley　clenched　his　fists。　'This　is　all　too　much。　Discriminated　against　and　ostracized　from　the　Council　courses；　now　tracked　down　here　for　further　discrimination　and　ostracization；　hounded　down　because　of　our　love　of　the　game。　It　is　all　too　much　to　bear。　Let　us　kill　him　now　and　bury　his　body。'
　Omally　agreed　that　it　was　all　too　much　to　bear　but　thought　Pooley's　solution　a　little　drastic。　'All　may　not　be　lost；'　he　said。　'He　may　have　only　just　arrived　and　may　only　have　witnessed　our　slight　disagreement　regarding　the　excellence　of　your　trick　shot。　He　may　not　suspect　the　cause。'
　Pooley　gestured　through　a　broken　window…pane　to　where　his　golf　caddy；　a　converted　supermarket　trolley；　stood　bristling　with　its　assortment　of　unmatched　clubs。
　Omally　hung　his　head。　'The　game　is　up；'　said　he　in　a　leaden　tone。
　Pooley　put　his　eye　once　more　to　the　knot…hole。　'He　is　still　there。　Perhaps　we　could　reason　with　him；　or　better　still　offer　a　bribe。'
　Omally　thought　this　sound　enough；　every　man　having　his　price。　'How　much　have　you　in　your　pockets？'　he　asked。
　Pooley　smiled　grimly。　'We　have　not　yet　settled　up　over　the　game。　I　think　that　it　is　for　you　to　approach　him；　John。　Employ　your　silken　tongue　and　feel　free　to　invest　a　portion　of　my　winnings　if　needs　be。　You　can　always　owe　me　the　difference。　I　consider　you　to　be　a　man　of　honour。'
　Omally　licked　the　end　of　his　captured　roll…up。　'All　right；'　he　said　nobly；　'I　shall　go。　We　shall　consider　your　winnings　to　be　an　investment　to　secure　a　further　season　of　uninterrupted　play。　During　this　period　I　have　not　the　least　doubt　that　if　your　game　continues　at　its　present　standard　you　will　have　the　opportunity　to　lighten　my　pockets　continually。'
　Pooley　opened　his　mouth　to　speak　but　thought　better　of　it。　In　such　matters　Omally　generally　held　the　verbal　edge。　'Go　then　with　my　blessings；'　he　said；　'but　kindly　leave　me　my　tobacco　tin。'
　Omally　straightened　up　his　regimental　necktie；　squared　his　broad　and　padded　shoulders；　threw　open　the　hut　door；　and　stepped　out　into　the　sunlight。　The　figure　lurking　amongst　the　bean　poles　watched　the　Irishman　with　an　inscrutable　expression。　Omally　thrust　his　hands　into　his　trouser　pockets　and　gazed　about　the　allotment　with　extreme　nonchalance。　He　yawned；　stretched；　and　then；　as　if　seeing　the　figure　for　the　first　time；　flicked　at　his　mop　of　curly　black　hair　and　bid　the　stranger　a　hearty　'Good　morning　there。'
　The　figure　uttered　not　a　word　but　merely　stared　on　regardless。
　'There'll　be　rain　before　the　evening　I　shouldn't　wonder；'　said　Omally；　who　was　rarely　rattled。　'Won't　do　the　ground　any　harm　though。'　As　he　spoke　he　slowly　strolled　in　the　stranger's　direction；　covering　his　approach　with　the　occasional　sidestep　to　scrutinize　some　flowering　bloom。　But　soon　there　was　less　than　fifteen　yards　between　them。　'Should　get　a　rare　old　crop　of　beans　up　this　year；'　said　John；　stepping　nimbly　over　Old　Pete's　watering　can。
　In　order　that　he　might　reach　the　Council　spy；　for　by　this　time　Omally　felt　one　hundred　per　cent　certain　that　this　was　in　fact　the　lurker's　despicable　calling；　it　was　necessary　for　him　to　pass　behind　Soap　Distant's　heavily…bolted　corrugated　iron　shed。　Soap　himself　had　vanished　away　from　Brentford　under　most　extraordinary　circumstances；　but　his　rental　upon　the　shed　was　paid　up　until　the　turn　of　the　following　century　and　his　hut　remained　untouched　and　inviolate。
　Omally　sneaked　away　behind　it。　He　lost　sight　of　the　spy　for　but　a　moment；　but　when　he　emerged　at　the　spot　where　the　malcontent　should　have　been　standing；　to　John's　amazement；　not　a　soul　was　to　be　seen。
　Pooley　came　ambling　up。　'Where　did　he　go？'　he　asked。　'I　took　my　eyes　off　him　for　a　moment　and　he　was　gone。'
　Omally　shook　his　head。　'There　is　something　not　altogether　kosher　about　this；　I　am　thinking。'
　'He　must　have　legged　it；　had　it　aw