rr.thebrentfordtriangle-第43章

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reased　into　the　treble　twenty　with　very　little　to　spare。
　'Where　did　it　land　then？'　he　asked；　cupping　his　hand　to　his　forehead　and　squinting　about。　His　supporters　nudged　one　another；　cheered　and　guffawed。　'What　a　good　lad；'　they　said。　'Good　old　Uncle　Ted。'
　Ted　looked　towards　the　board　and　made　a　face　of　surprise　upon　sighting　his　dart。　'Who　threw　that？'　he　asked。
　To　cut　a　long　and　very　tedious　story　short；　Uncle　Ted's　second　dart　joined　its　fellow　in　the　treble　twenty；　but　his　third；　however；　had　ideas　of　its　own　and　fastened　its　nose　into　the　dreaded　single　one。　The　laughter　and　applause　which　followed　this　untimely　blunder　rang　clearly　and　loudly；　but　not　from　any　of　those　present　who　favoured　the　home　team。
　'What　a　good　lad；'　said　Young　Jack。　'Good　old　Uncle　Ted。'
　The　greengrocer　left　the　Flying　Swan　that　night　in　disgrace。　Some　say　that　like　Judas　he　went　forth　and　hanged　himself。　Others；　who　are　better　informed；　say　that　he　moved　to　Chiswick　where　he　now　owns　three　shops　and　spends　six　months　of　the　year　abroad。
　Omally　was　leafing　frantically　through　the　pages　of　his　book。　'I　am　in　big　schtuck　here；'　he　said　suddenly；　brushing　away　a　bead　of　perspiration　from　his　brow。　'In　my　haste　to　accept　bets　and　my　certainty　of　the　Swan's　ultimate　victory；　I　have　somewhat　miscalculated。　The　fix　is　in　and　ruination　is　staring　me　in　the　beard。'
　Professor　Slobe　took　the　book　from　Omally's　trembling　fingers　and　examined　it　with　care。　'I　spy　a　little　circle　of　treachery　here；'　he　said。
　'The　Four　Horsemen　needs　one　hundred　and　forty…one；'　gasped　the　adjudicator。
　'I　am　finished；'　said　Omally。　'It　is　back　to　the　old　country　for　me。　A　boat　at　the　dock　and　before　the　night　is　out。'
　Professor　Slobe　was　staring　at　the　dartboard　and　shaking　his　head；　his　face　wearing　an　unreadable　expression。　Pooley　was　ashen　and　speechless。　But　for　the　occasional　bitow　to　the　rear　of　the　crowd；　the　Swan　was　a　vacuum　of　utter　silence。
　Young　Jack　squared　up　to　the　board　as　Omally　hid　his　face　in　his　hands　and　said　a　number　of　Hail　Marys。
　Jack's　first　dart　pierced　the　treble　twenty；　his　second　the　double；　and　his　third　the　single　one。
　'One　hundred　and　one；'　mouthed　the　adjudicator　in　a　manner　which　was　perfectly　understood　by　all　deaf…mutes　present。
　Omally　waved　away　a　later　punter　proffering　a　wad　of　notes。　'Suck；　boy；'　was　all　that　he　could　say。
　The　adjudicator　retired　to　the　bar。　He　would　say　no　more　this　evening　and　would；　in　all　probability；　make　himself　known　for　the　rest　of　his　life　through　the　medium　of　notepad　and　pencil。
　Norman；　who　had　sacked　the　rest　of　the　team；　took　the　floor。　He　threw　another　blinding　one　hundred　and　eighty　but　it　really　didn't　seem　to　matter　any　more。
　The　Four　Horsemen　needed　but　a　double　top　to　take　the　Shield；　and　a　child　of　three；　or　at　a　pinch　four　if　he　was　born　in　Brentford；　could　surely　have　got　that；　given　three　darts。
　Neville　put　the　towels　up　and　climbed　on　to　the　bar　counter；　knobkerry　in　hand。　There　was　very　likely　to　be　a　good　deal　of　death　and　destruction　within　another　minute　or　two　and　he　meant　to　be　a　survivor　at　any　cost。
　Croughton　the　pot…bellied　potman　leant　back　in　his　beer　crate　refuge　and　puffed　upon　his　cigarette。　Up　above；　the　night　stars　glittered　eternally；　and　nothing　there　presaged　the　doom　and　desolation　which　was　about　to　befall　Brentford。　'Oh　look；'　he　said　suddenly　to　himself；　as　he　peered　up　at　the　firmament。　'Shooting　stars；　that's　lucky。　I　shall　make　a　wish　on　them。'
　Upon　the　allotment　a　tiny　figure　moved。　He　was　ill…washed　and　stubble…chinned　and　he　muttered　beneath　his　breath。　At　intervals　he　raised　his　head　and　called；　'Edgar。'　No　reply　came；　and　he　continued　upon　his　journey；　driven　by　a　pulsion　impossible　to　resist。
　'Four　Horsemen　to　throw；'　said　some　drunken　good…time　Charlie　who　had　no　idea　of　the　gravity　of　the　situation。　'The　Four　Horsemen　needs　forty。'
　Young　Jack　appeared　from　the　crowd；　wielding　his　dreaded　darts。　He　crossed　the　floor　and　approached　the　Professor。　'You　will　not　enjoy　this；　St　Germaine；'　he　spat。　'Be　advised　that　I　know　you　for　what　you　are　and　accept　your　defeat　like　the　gentleman　you　are　not。'
　Professor　Slobe　was　unmoved；　his　glittering　eyes　fixed　upon　Young　Jack。　'If　you　want　this　to　be　sport；'　said　he；　'then　so　be　it。　If　however　you　crave　something　more；　then　know　that　I　am　equal　to　the　challenge。'
　'Do　your　worst；'　sneered　Young　Jack。　'I　am　master　of　you。'
　'So　be　it；'　said　Professor　Slobe。
　Young　Jack　took　the　oche。　Again　his　head　turned　one　hundred　and　eighty　degrees　upon　his　neck　as　he　gazed　at　the　crowd。　'The　Swan　is　finished；'　he　announced。　'Five　years　have　passed　and　you　have　grown　weak　and　placent。　Prepare　to　bow　to　a　superior　force。　Say　goodbye　to　your　trophy；　you　suckers。'
　A　murderous　rumble　rolled　through　the　crowd。　There　was　a　great　stamping　offset　and　squaring　of　shoulders。　Ties　were　being　slackened　and　top　buttons　undone。　Cufflinks　were　being　removed　and　dropped　into　inside　pockets。
　Young　Jack　raised　his　dart　and　lined　up　for　a　winner。　Neville　took　a　sharper　hold　upon　his　knobkerry　and　patted　at　his　loins　to　ensure　that　the　cricketer's　box　he　had　had　the　foresight　to　hire　for　the　occasion　was　in　place。
　Omally　smote　the　Professor；　'Save　us；　old　man；'　he　implored。　'I　will　apologize　later。'
　Professor　Slobe　rose　upon　his　cane　and　stared　at　his　adversary。
　Young　Jack　drew　back　his　hand　and　flung　his　dart。
　The　thing　creased　the　air　at　speed；　then　suddenly　slowed；　to　the　utter　dumbfoundment　of　the　crowd；　it　hung　suspended　in　time　and　space　exactly　six　feet　three　inches　above　the　deck　and　five　feet　from　the　board。
　Professor　Slobe　concentrated　his　gaze；　Young　Jack　did　likewise。
　The　dart　moved　forward　a　couple　of　inches；　then　stopped　once　more　and　took　a　twitch　backwards。
　The　crowd　were　awestruck。　Neville's　knobkerry　hung　loose　in　his　hand。　Great　forces　were　at　work　here；　great　forces　that　he　would　rather　have　no　part　in。　But　he　was　here　at　the　killing；　and　as　part…time　barman　would　do　little　other　than　offer　support。
　Every　eye；　apart　from　one　ill…matched　pair；　was　upon　that　dart。　Supporters　of　both　Swan　and　Horsemen　alike　wrinkled　their　brows　and　strained　their　brains　upon　that　dart。　Beads　of　perspiration　appeared　a…plenty　and　fell；　ruining　many　a　good　pint。
　The　dart　eased　forward　another　six　inches。　Professor　Slobe　turned　his　stare　towards　the　glowing　red　eyes　of　his　opponent。　The　dart　retreated。
　Young　Jack　drew　a　deep　breath　and　the　dart　edged　once　more　towards　its　target。
　'You　wouldn't　get　this　on　the　telly；'　whispered　Jim　Pooley。
　Old　Jack　suddenly　put　his　wrinkled　hands　to　the　wheels　of　his　chair　and　propelled　himself　towards　the　Professor。
　'Restrain　that　man！'　yelled　Omally。
　Pooley　lurched　from　his　seat；　but；　in　his　haste　to　halt　the　wheeling　ancient；　caught　his　foot　upon　a　chair　leg　and　tripped。　He　clutched　at　the　table；　overturning　it；　and　blundered　into　Professor　Slobe；　propelling　him　into　the　crowd。　At　this　moment　of　truth　the　proverbial　all　hell　was　let　loose。
　The　night…black　dart　set　forth　once　more　upon　its　journey　and　thundered　towards　the　board。　Young　Jack　stood　grinning　as　Pooley　upset　his　infirm　father　and　brought　down　at　least　another　four　people　in　his　desperation。　Omally　struggled　up　and　struck　the　nearest　man　a　vicious　blow　to　the　skull。
　Before　the　eyes　of　those　stunned　patrons　who　were　not　yet　engaged　in　the　fracas　the　dart　struck　the　board。　As　it　did　so　a　devastating　explosion　occurred　overhead　which　shattered　the　bar　optics；　brought　down　great　lumps　of　plaster　from　the　ceiling　and　upset　the　part…time　barman　into　the　crowd。
　'It　is　God！'　shouted　Omally；　hitting　with　a　will。　'He　will　stand　no　more！'
　Nicholas　Roger　Raffles　Rathbone　fell　away　from　the　Captain　Laser　machine。　'It　wasn't　me；'　he　whimpered；　'I　didn't　do　it。'
　The　lights　of　the　Swan　suddenly　dimmed　as　the　entire　world　which　was　Brentford　proper　went　mad。
　'It　wasn't　me；　it　wasn't　me；　I　swear　it。'
　Nobody　really　cared。　Outside　something　terrific　was　happening。　Possibly　it　was　the　prelude　to　the　long…awaited　Armageddon；　possibly　earthquake；　or　tidal　wave。　Whatever　it　was；　the　darts　fans　were　not　going　to　be　caught　napping；　and　the　stampede　towards　the　door