No. 17

‘Eh? Wot’s that?’ jerked Ben.

He glanced towards the door of the inner room, at which she was pointing.

‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded. ‘He won’t eat you!’

‘’Oo sed ’e would?’ retorted Ben, and shuffled towards the door.

The door was closed, and he opened it slowly and cautiously. Whatever the young woman might say, something was disturbing her, and that something was in the inner room. All right, then. No one was afraid. Just the same, it didn’t harm to be careful, did it?

When he had opened the door a little more than a crack, he paused. Two seconds of inaction went by. Then he whispered over his shoulder, to the young woman.

‘Ain’t yer givin’ us a light?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ replied the woman. ‘Isn’t a lamp good enough?’

‘There ain’t no lamp, miss!’

‘No lamp? Here, you do want something to eat. Open the door a bit wider, then you’ll see.’

‘I tells yer, there ain’t no light!’ whispered Ben. ‘And I ain’t goin’—’

He stopped abruptly. The woman stared at him, now frankly uneasy. Her mouth remained half open, while five more inactive seconds went by. Then, suddenly, a violent shiver revivified the statuesque figure of Ben, and he swiftly and silently closed the door.

‘Goodness, what’s that?’ asked the woman, with her hand at her heart.

Ben slithered to a seat, and, sitting down abruptly, blinked at her.

‘What is it, what is it?’ repeated the woman, in a low voice.

‘I ain’t goin’ in there,’ muttered Ben.

‘For goodness’ sake—’

‘I’ll tell yer, miss. Jest a minit. Sorter took me in the wind, like … There wasn’t no light, see? Wot I ses. If you’ve give ’im one, ’e’s put it aht. And orl I sees, miss, when I looks in that there room, was nothin’ … nothin’ …’

‘All right, I heard you the first time,’ interposed the woman. ‘Don’t give me the creeps! Oh, dear, I wish father was home, that I do. Well—what made you shut the door so quick?’

Ben looked at her, slightly injured.

‘Ain’t I tellin’ yer?’ he demanded. ‘Orl right, then. I sees nothin’, as I ses. But then, sudden like, I sees—somethin’. It’s a figger. Your customer, I reckons, miss. But ’e ain’t sittin’ at the table. ’E ain’t doin’ that.’

‘What’s he doing, then?’

‘’E seems to be listenin’, miss,’ said Ben sepulchrally. ‘Standin’ by the wall, ’e is, listenin’, miss … listenin’ …’

‘Oh, hark to the man!’ gasped the young woman, with her eyes on the door. ‘Now he’s off again!’

‘Yus, but that ain’t orl,’ he went on. ‘I sees the winder. Lummy, I sees the winder. And orl of a suddin, another figger outside pops up agin’ it, and shoves ’is fice agin’ the glass.’ The woman stifled a little shriek, while Ben took out a large red handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘So, arter that,’ he concluded, ‘I closes the door, and comes away. And so’d anyone.’

There was a short pause. The young woman appeared undecided what to do.

‘What did he look like—the man at the window?’ she asked.

‘Nothin’. Yer couldn’t see,’ replied Ben. ‘Jest shadders, both on ’em. Wot do they call them black things? Sillyhetts, don’t they? Well, that’s what they was. A couple o’ sillyhetts. But—I dunno,’ he added reflectively. ‘I did seem ter reckernise that chap at the winder—in a kind ’f a way. Seemed like a feller I met up the road. Some’ow. I dunno.’ A practical streak entered into him. ‘Wotcher goin’ ter do, miss? Go in and light ’is lamp for ’im agin?’

‘Not me!’ she retorted.

‘’Corse not,’ agreed Ben. ‘And no more ain’t I goin’ in there to heat my Carlton lunch!’

‘You can eat it in here, if you like.’

‘Yus, I do like. Though, mind yer, miss—if it wasn’t fer you, I’d ’ook it.’

The young woman looked at Ben a little more intently after this frank statement, and a new light came into her eye.

‘You haven’t got no call to stay here for me,’ she said, watching him.

‘Yus, I ’ave,’ he responded. ‘The call o’ the Merchant Service.’

‘Oh! Are you in the Merchant Service, then?’

‘Well, speakin’ strict, miss,’ answered Ben carefully, ‘I ’ave bin. And ’opes ter be agin. But, jest nah … get me?’

‘I see,’ she nodded. ‘You’re out of a job.’

‘That’s right. Man o’ lesher.’

‘Well, I’ve got a brother in the Merchant Service, and you can keep your fourpence,’ said the young woman. ‘I ain’t going to charge you for your Carlton lunch, as you call it. You stay here till my father returns, that’s all I ask.’

‘And yer doesn’t hask in vain,’ exclaimed Ben roundly. ‘I’ll proteck yer. Oh, my Gawd, wot’s that?’

The door of the inner room flew open, a figure darted across the floor, and vanished through the porch.

2 (#u7ca16c01-447c-5b16-8b79-1883a958847f)

Enter No. 17 (#u7ca16c01-447c-5b16-8b79-1883a958847f)

Ben stared at the street door, now open wide, and then at the young woman, whose hands were clasped in fright. Ben’s own heart was beating somewhat rapidly.

‘Was that yer customer, miss?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, dear! What’s it all mean?’

Ben had a theory, but, before expounding it, he played for security. Both the street door and the door to the inner room were open. They required closing.

He walked to the street door first. He peered cautiously out into the wall of yellow, coughed, drew his head in again, and closed the door. Then, even more cautiously, he shuffled across to the inner room, a small portion of which was dimly discernible through the aperture.

‘Is anybody in there?’ whispered the woman.