A Gun for Sale

  'No,' he said. 'The girl'll fetch it.' He grinned at her with his raw lip.' You see, she's class. This the best dress you have?' and when she nodded and took the note away he said, 'It'll just suit Alice then.'

  And so out into the Avenue with a little of his scorn expressed, out into Frith Street and round the corner into the German café where he kept a room. A shock awaited him there, a little fir tree in a tub hung with coloured glass, a crib. He said to the old man who owned the café, 'You believe in this? This junk?'

  'Is there going to be war again?' the old man said. 'It's terrible what you read.'

  'All this business of no room in the inn. They used to give us plum pudding. A decree from Caesar Augustus. You see I know the stuff, I'm educated. They used to read it us once a year.'

  'I have seen one war.'

  'I hate the sentiment.'

  'Well,' the old man said, 'it's good for business.'

  Raven picked up the bambino. The cradle came with it all of a piece: cheap painted plaster. 'They put him on the spot, eh? You see I know the whole story. I'm educated.'

  He went upstairs to his room. It hadn't been seen to: there was still dirty water in the basin and the ewer was empty. He remembered the fat man saying, 'Chumley, my man, Chum-ley. It's pronounced Chumley,' flashing his emerald ring. He called furiously, 'Alice,' over the banisters.

  She came out of the next room, a slattern, one shoulder too high, with wisps of fair bleached hair over her face. She said, 'You needn't shout.'

  He said, 'It's a pigsty in there. You can't treat me like that. Go in and clean it.' He hit her on the side of the head and she cringed away from him, not daring to say anything but, 'Who do you think you are?'

  'Get on,' he said, 'you humpbacked bitch.' He began to laugh at her when she crouched over the bed. 'I've bought you a Christmas dress, Alice. Here's the receipt. Go and fetch it. It's a lovely dress. It'll suit you.'

  'You think you're funny,' she said.

  'I've paid a fiver for this joke. Hurry, Alice, or the shop'll be shut.' But she got her own back calling up the stairs, 'I won't look worse than what you do with that split lip.' Everyone in the house could hear her, the old man in the café, his wife in the parlour, the customers at the counter. He imagined their smiles. 'Go it, Alice, what an ugly pair you are.' He didn't really suffer; he had been fed the poison from boyhood drop by drop: he hardly noticed its bitterness now.

  He went to the window and opened it and scratched on the sill. The kitten came to him, making little rushes along the drain pipe, feinting at his hand. 'You little bitch,' he said, 'you little bitch.' He took a small twopenny carton of cream out of his overcoat pocket and spilt it in his soap-dish. She stopped playing and rushed at him with a tiny cry. He picked her up by the scruff and put her on top of his chest of drawers with the cream. She wriggled from his hand, she was no larger than the rat he'd trained in the home, but softer. He scratched her behind the ear and she struck back at him in a preoccupied way. Her tongue quivered on the surface of the milk.

  Dinner-time, he told himself. With all that money he could go anywhere. He could have a slap-up meal at Simpson's with the business men; cut off the joint and any number of veg.

  When he got by the public call-box in the dark corner below the stairs he caught his name 'Raven'. The old man said, 'He always has a room here. He's been away.'

  'You,' a strange voice said, 'what's your name—Alice—show me his room. Keep an eye on the door, Saunders.'

  Raven went on his knees inside the telephone-box. He left the door ajar because he never liked to be shut in. He couldn't see out, but he had no need to see the owner of the voice to recognize: police, plain clothes, the Yard accent. The man was so near that the floor of the box vibrated to his tread. Then he came down again. 'There's no one there. He's taken his hat and coat. He must have gone out.'

  'He might have,' the old man said. 'He's a soft-walking sort of fellow.'

  The stranger began to question them. 'What's he like?'

  The old man and the girl both said in a breath, 'A hare-lip.'

  'That's useful,' the detective said. 'Don't touch his room. I'll be sending a man round to take his fingerprints. What sort of a fellow is he?'

  Raven could hear every word. He couldn't imagine what they were after. He knew he'd left no clues; he wasn't a man who imagined things; he knew. He carried the picture of that room and flat in his brain as clearly as if he had the photographs. They had nothing against him. It had been against orders to keep the automatic, but he could feel it now safe under his armpit. Besides, if they had picked up any clue they'd have stopped him at Dover. He listened to the voices with a dull anger; he wanted his dinner; he hadn't had a square meal for twenty-four hours, and now with two hundred pounds in his pocket he could buy anything, anything.

  'I can believe it,' the old man said. 'Why, tonight he even made fun of my poor wife's crib.'

  'A bloody bully,' the girl said. 'I shan't be sorry when you've locked him up.'

  He told himself with surprise: they hate me.

  She said, 'He's ugly through and through. That lip of his. It gives you the creeps.'

  'An ugly customer all right.'

  'I wouldn't have him in the house,' the old man said. 'But he pays. You can't turn away someone who pays. Not in these days.'

  'Has he friends?'

  'You make me laugh,' Alice said. 'Him friends. What would he do with friends?'

  He began to laugh quietly to himself on the floor of the little dark box: that's me they're talking about, me: staring up at the pane of glass with his hand on his automatic.

  'You seem kind of bitter? What's he been doing to you? He was going to give you a dress, wasn't he?'

  'Just his dirty joke.'

  'You were going to take it, though.'

  'You bet I wasn't. Do you think I'd take a present from him? I was going to sell it back to them and show him the money, and wasn't I going to laugh?'

  He thought again with bitter interest: they hate me. If they open this door, I'll shoot the lot.

  'I'd like to take a swipe at that lip of his. I'd laugh. I'd say I'd laugh.'

  'I'll put a man,' the strange voice said, 'across the road. Tip him the wink if our man comes in.' The café door closed.

  'Oh,' the old man said,' I wish my wife was here. She would not miss this for ten shillings.'

  'I'll give her a ring,' Alice said. 'She'll be chatting at Mason's. She can come right over and bring Mrs Mason too.

  Let 'em all join in the fun. It was only a week ago Mrs Mason said she didn't want to see his ugly face in her shop again.'

  'Yes, be a good girl, Alice. Give her a ring.'

  Raven reached up his hand and took the bulb out of the fitment; he stood up and flattened himself against the wall of the box. Alice opened the door and shut herself in with him. He put his hand over her mouth before she had time to cry. He said, 'Don't you put the pennies in the box. I'll shoot if you do. I'll shoot if you call out. Do what I say.' He whispered in her ear. They were as close together as if they were in a single bed. He could feel her crooked shoulder pressed against his chest. He said, 'Lift the receiver. Pretend you're talking to the old woman. Go on. I don't care a damn if I shoot you. Say, hello, Frau Groener.'

  'Hello, Frau Groener.'

  'Spill the whole story.'

  'They are after Raven.'

  'Why?'

  'That five-pound note. They were waiting at the shop.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'They'd got its number. It was stolen.'

  He'd been double-crossed. His mind worked with mechanical accuracy like a ready-reckoner. You only had to supply it with the figures and it gave you the answer. He was possessed by a deep sullen rage. If Mr Cholmondeley had been in the box with him, he would have shot him: he wouldn't have cared a damn.

  'Stolen from where?'

  'You ought to know that.'

  'Don't give me any lip. Where from?'

  He didn't even know wh
o Cholmondeley's employers were. It was obvious what had happened: they hadn't trusted him. They had arranged this so that he might be put away. A newsboy went by outside calling, 'Ultimatum. Ultimatum.' His mind registered the fact, but no more: it seemed to have nothing to do with him. He repeated. 'Where from?'

  'I don't know. I don't remember.'

  With the automatic stuck against her back he even tried to plead with her. 'Remember, can't you? It's important. I didn't do it.'

  'I bet you didn't,' she said bitterly into the unconnected 'phone.

  'Give me a break. All I want you to do is remember.'

  She said, 'On your life I won't.'

  'I gave you that dress, didn't I?'

  'You didn't. You tried to plant your money, that's all. You didn't know they'd circulated the numbers to every shop in town. We've even got them in the café.'

  'If I'd done it, why should I want to know where they came from?'

  'It'll be a bigger laugh than ever if you get jugged for something you didn't do.'

  'Alice,' the old man called from the café, 'is she coming?'

  'I'll give you ten pounds.'

  'Phoney notes. No thank you, Mr Generosity.'

  'Alice,' the old man called again; they could hear him coming along the passage.

  'Justice,' he said bitterly, jabbing her between the ribs with the automatic.

  'You don't need to talk about justice,' she said. 'Driving me like I was in prison. Hitting me when you feel like it. Spilling ash all over the floor. I've got enough to do with your slops. Milk in the soap-dish. Don't talk about justice.'

  Pressed against him in the tiny dark box she suddenly came alive to him. He was so astonished that he forgot the old man till he had the door of the box open. He whispered passionately out of the dark, 'Don't say a word or I'll plug you.' He had them both out of the box in front of him. He said, 'Understand this. They aren't going to get me. I'm not going to prison. I don't care a damn if I plug one of you. I don't care if I hang. My father hanged... what's good enough for him... Get along in front of me up to my room. There's hell coming to somebody for this.'

  When he had them there he locked the door. A customer was ringing the café bell over and over again. He turned on them. 'I've got a good mind to plug you. Telling them about my hare-lip. Why can't you play fair?' He went to the window; he knew there was an easy way down—that was why he had chosen the room. The kitten caught his eye, prowling like a toy tiger in a cage up and down the edge of the chest of drawers, afraid to jump. He lifted her up and threw her on his bed; she tried to bite his finger as she went; then he got through on to the leads. The clouds were massing up across the moon, and the earth seemed to move with them, an icy barren globe, through the vast darkness.

  4

  Anne Crowder walked up and down the small room in her heavy tweed coat; she didn't want to waste a shilling on the gas meter, because she wouldn't get her shilling's worth before morning. She told herself, I'm lucky to have got that job. I'm glad to be going off to work again, but she wasn't convinced. It was eight now; they would have four hours together till midnight. She would have to deceive him and tell him she was catching the nine o'clock, not the five o'clock train, or he would be sending her back to bed early. He was like that. No romance. She smiled with tenderness and blew on her fingers.

  The telephone at the bottom of the house was ringing. She thought it was the doorbell and ran to the mirror in the wardrobe. There wasn't enough light from the dull globe to tell her if her make-up would stand the brilliance of the Astoria Dance Hall. She began making up all over again; if she was pale he would take her home early.

  The landlady stuck her head in at the door and said, 'It's your gentleman. On the 'phone.'

  'On the 'phone?'

  'Yes,' the landlady said, sidling in for a good chat, 'he sounded all of a jump. Impatient, I should say. Half barked my head off when I wished him good evening.'

  'Oh,' she said despairingly, 'it's only his way. You mustn't mind him.'

  'He's going to call off the evening, I suppose,' the landlady said. 'It's always the same. You girls who go travelling round never get a square deal. You said Dick Whittington, didn't you?'

  'No, no, Aladdin.'

  She pelted down the stairs. She didn't care a damn who saw her hurry. She said, 'Is that you, darling?' There was always something wrong with their telephone. She could hear his voice so hoarsely vibrating against her ear she could hardly realize it was his. He said, 'You've been ages. This is a public call-box. I've put in my last pennies. Listen, Anne, I can't be with you. I'm sorry. It's work. We're on to the man in that safe robbery I told you about. I shall be out all night on it. We've traced one of the notes.' His voice beat excitedly against her ear.

  She said, 'Oh, that's fine, darling. I know you wanted...' but she couldn't keep it up. 'Jimmy,' she said, 'I shan't be seeing you again. For weeks.'

  He said, 'It's tough, I know. I'd been thinking... Listen. You'd better not catch that early train, what's the point? There isn't a nine o'clock. I've been looking them up.'

  'I know. I just said...'

  'You'd better go to-night. Then you can get a rest before rehearsals. Midnight from Euston.'

  'But I haven't packed...'

  He took no notice. It was his favourite occupation planning things, making decisions. He said, 'If I'm near the station, I'll try...'

  'Your two minutes up.'

  He said, 'Oh hell, I've no coppers. Darling, I love you.'

  She struggled to bring it out herself, but his name stood in the way, impeded her tongue. She could never bring it out without hesitation—'Ji—' The line went dead on her. She thought bitterly: he oughtn't to go out without coppers. She thought: it's not right, cutting off a detective like that. Then she went back up the stairs; she wasn't crying; it was just as if somebody had died and left her alone and scared, scared of the new faces and the new job, the harsh provincial jokes, the fellows who were fresh, scared of herself, scared of not being able to remember clearly how good it was to be loved.

  The landlady said, 'I just thought so. Why not come down and have a cup of tea and a good chat? It does you good to talk. Really good. A doctor said to me once it clears the lungs. Stands to reason, don't it? You can't help getting dust up and a good talk blows it out. I wouldn't bother to pack yet. There's hours and hours. My old man would never of died if he'd talked more. Stands to reason. It was something poisonous in his throat cut him off in his prime. If he'd talked more he'd have blown it out. It's better than spitting.'

  5

  The crime reporter couldn't make himself heard. He kept on trying to say to the chief reporter, 'I've got some stuff on that safe robbery.'

  The chief reporter had had too much to drink. They'd all had too much to drink. He said, 'You can go home and read The Decline and Fall...'

  The crime reporter was a young earnest man who didn't drink and didn't smoke; it shocked him when someone was sick in one of the telephone-boxes. He shouted at the top of his voice: 'They've traced one of the notes.'

  'Write it down, write it down, old boy,' the chief reporter said, 'and then smoke it.'

  'The man escaped—held up a girl—it's a terribly good story,' the earnest young man said. He had an Oxford accent; that was why they had made him crime reporter; it was the newseditor's joke.

  'Go home and read Gibbon.'

  The earnest young man caught hold of someone's sleeve. 'What's the matter? Are you all crazy? Isn't there going to be any paper or what?'

  'War in forty-eight hours,' somebody bellowed at him.

  'But this is a wonderful story I've got. He held up a girl and an old man, climbed out of a window...'

  'Go home. There won't be any room for it.'

  'They've killed the annual report of the Kensington Kitten Club.'

  'No Round the Shops.'

  'They've made the Limehouse Fire a News in Brief.'

  'Go home and read Gibbon.'

  'He got clean away with
a policeman watching the front door. The Flying Squad's out. He's armed. The police are taking revolvers. It's a lovely story.'

  The chief reporter said, 'Armed! Go away and put your head in a glass of milk. We'll all be armed in a day or two. They've published their evidence. It's clear as daylight a Serb shot him. Italy's supporting the ultimatum. They've got forty-eight hours to climb down. If you want to buy armament shares hurry and make your fortune.'

  'You'll be in the army this day week,' somebody said.

  'Oh no,' the young man said, 'no, I won't be that. You see I'm a pacifist.'

  The man who was sick in the telephone-box said, 'I'm going home. There wouldn't be any room in the paper if the Bank of England was blown up.'

  A little thin piping voice said, 'My copy's going in.'

  'I tell you there isn't any room.'

  'There'll be room for mine. Gas Masks for All. Special Air Raid Practices for Civilians in every town of more than fifty thousand inhabitants.' He giggled.

  'The funny thing is—it's—it's—' but nobody ever heard what it was: a boy opened the door and flung them in a pull of the middle page: damp letters on a damp grey sheet; the headlines came off on the hands: 'Yugoslavia Asks for Time. Adriatic Fleet at War Stations. Paris Rioters Break into Italian Embassy.' Everyone was suddenly quite quiet as an aeroplane went by; driving low overhead through the dark, heading south, a scarlet tail-lamp, pale transparent wings in the moonlight. They watched it through the great glass ceiling, and suddenly nobody wanted to have another drink.

  The chief reporter said, 'I'm tired. I'm going to bed.'

  'Shall I follow up this story?' the crime reporter asked.

  'If it'll make you happy, but That's the only news from now on.'

  They stared up at the glass ceiling, the moon, the empty sky.

  6

  The station clock marked three minutes to midnight. The ticket collector at the barrier said, 'There's room in the front.'