Ben Sees It Through Read online

  J. JEFFERSON FARJEON

  Ben Sees It Through

  Copyright

  COLLINS CRIME CLUB

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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 © HarperCollinsPublishers 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.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  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

  1

  The Cap That Started It

  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.’

  ‘Where is your home?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘’Oo?’

  ‘I said, where is your home?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ben. ‘I ain’t got none.’

  ‘Ain’t got none,’ murmured the young man, reflectively. ‘I see. I see.’

  The homelessness of Ben appeared to interest him. A sudden burst of spray interrupted the interest and sent them both back. But it did not separate them. When Ben returned to the taff-rail he found the young man still by his side. He seemed to have drawn an inch or two closer.

  ‘No home,’ said the young man, sympathetically. ‘That’s unfortunate. What’ll you do?’

  ‘Well, I ain’t rightly decided yet,’ answered Ben. ‘They wants me in the Cabbynet.’

  ‘In the Ministry of Repartee?’

  ‘’Oo?’

  ‘Never mind. Don’t let’s start that again. But seriously—haven’t you got a job?’

  ‘Wot? Work?’

  ‘You’ve been working on this ship.’

  ‘Yus, I ’ad ter. On’y way ter git me passage ’ome, see. “Can you look arter a cow?” they ses. “Yus,” I ses. That’s the way ter git on, that is. Say “Yus,” and ’ope. But I ’oped fer one cow, and they give me fifty. And forty-nine kicked me. Everyone bar Molly.’

  The young man laughed, but Ben didn’t. He was thinking of Molly. Molly had the nicest eyes, and he’d named her after someone he’d left behind him in Spain. Someone who had not been fortunate enough to get a job on a ship, but who was going to return to England somehow or other the moment she got the chance!

  The coast of England continued to bob up and down. Only, for a few seconds, it ceased to be the coast of England, and became the coast of Spain. The long straight smudge that would presently materialise into Southampton changed temporarily into a mountainous outline, with dead men upon it, and bulging black moustaches, and daggers so long that they could go right through you and still have room for a couple more. But there was something else, also, upon that mountainous outline. Something that gave a queer beauty to the hideousness … something that made one almost regretful one had left it … companionship …

  ‘If you want a job when we land, I dare say I could find it for you.’

  Ben came to with a jerk.

  ‘You’ve got to eat, I expect, like the rest of us, eh? And you can’t get cake for nothing.’

  ‘Wot sort of a job?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Well—how about that job you’ve dreamed of?’ smiled the young man. ‘Good pay and no work?’

  ‘Go on!’ said Ben.

  The young man laughed. He grinned down on Ben, while Ben squinted up at him. Ben’s head ended where the young man’s chin began.

  ‘I know a job like that,’ remarked the young man. ‘Maybe, for once in your life, you’re going to be lucky!’

  ‘Yus, but why should yer give it ter me?’ demanded Ben, suspiciously. ‘’Oo’s toldjer I’ve got the qualiticashuns?’

  ‘What! To receive a couple of quid a week for doing nothing?’ retorted the young man. ‘You can hold out your hand, can’t you?’

  ‘Eh?’ muttered Ben. ‘Cupple o’ quid?’

  Forty pounds of chedder!

  ‘And, after all, I owe you something, don’t I, for bumping into you like that and making you lose your cap. By the way, I’ll have to buy you another.’

  So it was this young fellow who had made him lose his cap, was it? Well, the gust of wind had certainly seemed a bit solid, now Ben came to think of it! But, at the moment, there were more important things to think of. This job! Go on! Did he really mean it?

  Ben did not like work. Not, at least, the kind of work he was given on the rare occasions when work came his way. You can’t dream that all the figures in Madame Tussaud’s are made of gorganzoler, or that you are hibernating in a hole in gruyere, while you are rubbing cows with a clothes-brush and trying to avoid their feet. But Ben realised that, as a general principle, you can’t make money in this ill-managed world without being expected to do something for it—and two pounds a week for the simple operation of holding out one’s hand was arresting.

  ‘Wot’d I ’ave ter do?’ he inquired.

  ‘I’ve told you,’ answered the young man. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yus, but I mean—ter git it?’

  ‘Oh, just call at an address I’d give you.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In London.’

  ‘’Ow’d I git ter Lunnon?’

  ‘Fare’s included. And—as I mentioned—that new cap.’

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘I’ve gone on. Now it’s your turn.’

  ‘Look ’ere,’ said Ben, coming to grips. ‘D’yer mean ter tell me that orl I’ve gotter do is jest ter say Yus?’

  ‘Yus,’ nodded the young man. ‘Provided my friend also says Yus.’

  ‘’Oo’s ’e?’

  ‘I’ll tell you, if you want the job.’

  Ben closed his eyes and thought hard. He always closed his eyes when he thought hard. When you think hard you have to push, like, against the darkness. Yet was there, in this case, anything to think hard about?

  Life had made Ben suspicious of everything and everybody. The cow Molly, and the girl the cow had been named after, were the only earthly items he would recommend to God when asked for his opinion; the only items that hadn’t got a catch in them somewhere. This young fellow beside him probably had dozens of catches in him! Just the same, with two quid a week and nothing to do—could one go wrong?

  ‘I’m on!’ said Ben, suddenly opening his eyes.

  ‘Good,’ answered the young man. ‘Then I’ll see you again when we’re off the boat, eh?’

  The next moment, he was gone.

  Ben stared after him. When they were off the boat, eh? P’r’aps that was the catch!

  But the future, on a heaving ship, is less vital than the present, and the disappearance of the young man brought thoughts back to one’s stomach. A wave struck the ship’s side with a hearty smack. ‘Fust was right,’ reflected Ben, as the spray showered down upon him. ‘I didn’t orter’ve ’ad that fag.’

  Another figure approached. It was the petty officer who looked after the man who looked after the cows.

  ‘Taking a little holiday?’ he inquired, with good-humoured sarcasm.

  ‘You gotter come up from cows sometimes,’ Ben defended himself. ‘They ain’t vilette der parme!’

  ‘That’s all right,’ nodded the officer. ‘You look a bit green.’

  ‘Put green by me, and you wouldn’t recekernise it,’ answered Ben. ‘’Ow long afore we’re goin’ ter stand on somethink that don’t wobble?’

  ‘We’ll soon be in now,’ smiled the officer, ‘and I can’t say I’ll be sorry, either, after this dirty bit o’ Channel. But, I say, you’re not supposed to jaw with the nobs, you know!’

  He glanced at the gold-tipped cigarette, as he spoke. Ben was still sticking it.

  ‘’E begun it,’ replied Ben. ‘’Oo is ’e?’

  ‘Not seen him before, eh?’

  ‘Never set eyes on ’im.’

  ‘Well, he’s had his eyes on you more than once during the voyage. Supercargo. Came on board the same port you did. Hallo, what’s happened to your top hat?’

  ‘Gorn hoverboard, arter me yeller gloves,’ answered Ben.

  ‘Well, see you don’t foller them!’ grinned the officer, as the ship gave another heave. ‘It’s time you were getting below again.’

  Ben nodded. After all, it didn’t really matter. It was equally uncomfortable everywhere.

  The cow Molly greeted him with friendliness. He swore that she knew him, just as he knew her. Her mouth, and the tongue that came out of it to lick his fingers, was especially soft, and when the man and the animal stared wordlessly into each other’s eyes, they understood each o
ther. ‘Life’s not much fun,’ said the cow’s eyes. ‘Mouldy,’ replied Ben’s. ‘Frightening,’ said the cow’s. ‘’Orrible,’ said Ben’s. ‘But you seem all right,’ said the cow’s. ‘You ain’t so bad yerself,’ said Ben’s.

  Then he scratched the cow where cows like it, behind the ears, and then held out his hand to be licked. It was a very young cow, and Ben, despite his lines, had never really grown up.

  Now, while the boat drew into Southampton Water, he stared at Molly for the last time, and a very queer sensation assailed him. If you had asked him whether it was sentiment or sea-sickness, he’d have tossed for it.

  ‘I ’ope they’re good ter yer,’ he said. ‘If they ain’t, jest drop us a line.’

  The cow looked back, solemnly. And who shall prove that, within the muddy mournfulness of its limited comprehension, it did not receive some fragment of Ben’s message?

  But the business of bringing a boat into port makes no allowance for either sentiment or sea-sickness, and before long Ben was busy with, not one cow, but fifty. They had to be examined. They had to be disturbed. They had to be shooed into new places where they belonged, and out of other places where they didn’t; round a yawning hole; over a board flooring, down a gangway, into a fenced enclosure. Then fresh officials took charge, driving them into a waiting truck.

  And so the fifty cows passed out of Ben’s life, and at last he found himself a free man again.

  A free man? Technically, yes. But, in a sense, he envied the cows as he stood on the dock with neither plan nor prospect. They, at least, had somewhere to go!

  ‘Well—here we are again,’ said a voice beside him.

  It was the supercargo. In the midst of kicking cattle, Ben had forgotten him!