Number Nineteen: Ben’s Last Case

‘Try again. What’s your address?’

‘Nothink doin’, guv’nor! I knows that one!’

‘What one?’

‘I seen it done. Yer gits a bloke away wot’s wanted, and then yer gits a messidge to ’is wife or ’is muvver that yer’ll give ’im up unless they sends yer a pony.’

‘You know, you’re smarter than you look,’ said Mr Smith, admiringly. ‘If I weren’t straight I’d begin to watch my step. Will it ease you if I promise not to communicate with your wife or mother?’

‘Yer couldn’t, ’cos I ain’t got ’em,’ answered Ben.

‘I am full of patience. Who have you got?’

‘I told yer. Nobody.’

‘Where did you sleep last night?’

‘In a bus.’

‘But when you got out of the bus?’

‘I’d ’ad it by then, it was mornin’.’

‘Tell me, Mr Jones. Does all this mean you haven’t got any address?’

‘That’s right. Two and two’s four. And if that ain’t a satisfact’ry answer, I’ve ’ad it.’

‘It is an exceedingly satisfactory answer,’ Mr Smith assured him. ‘If you have no home and no family you should be free to accept the position I’m thinking of offering you.’

‘Oh! A persishun?’

‘That is what I said.’

‘A standin’ up one? Not lyin’ in a bed?’

‘Or hanging from a rope.’

‘Oi! That’s enuff o’ that!’

‘It is an alternative we want to bear in mind.’

‘Well, wot’s the persishun?’

‘Quite a simple one, and just the thing, I should say for you. We’ve—er—lost our caretaker, and we need a new one.’

3 (#ulink_5428eb3a-1be7-5614-985b-4f81c8b270c8)

Mr Smith v. Mr Jones (#ulink_5428eb3a-1be7-5614-985b-4f81c8b270c8)

The announcement of this surprising offer was followed by a silence during which the alleged Mr Smith and the alleged Mr Jones would have given much to have been inside the other’s mind. What lay in the background of Mr Smith’s mind was obscure, but what lay in the foreground was actually quite simple. He was studying his victim to learn his reaction, and was ready to deal with him by other methods if the reaction did not appear satisfactory.

What lay in Ben’s mind ran something like this:

‘Wozzat? Caretaiker did ’e say? Wozzat mean? Wot’d ’e want with me as ’is caretaiker, a bloke wot ’e sez ’e thinks ’as done a murder, if it wasn’t fishy? Fishy? Corse it’s fishy! Look at me bein’ ’ere like I am, and knowin’ ’e done it ’iself, and ’im knowin’ I know! Fishy the pair of us, if yer looks at it like that! Yus, and even if I ’ad done it, not premedicated wot ’e sed, I’d be barmy, and wot do yer want with a barmy caretaiker? It don’t mike sense! Oi, keep yer fice steady, Ben! Don’t let on wot yer thinkin’ from yer phiz, ’cos ’e’s watchin’ ter find aht, sime as yer watchin’ ’im. ’Ow I ’ates ’is mustarch! I carn’t think o’ nothin’ nicer’n ter pull it orf! P’r’aps it’d come orf easy? Yus, I bet it would, it ain’t ’is mustarch no more’n Smith’s ’is nime. Sime as that bloke with the ’orrerble beard in that ’ouse in Brixton and when I got ’old of it it come orf bing in me ’and and I goes back’ards dahn the stairs with nothin’ but the beard on top o’ me! And then there was that chap with the red eyebrows—oi! Wotcher doin’? Keep yer mind on it! Yer ain’t in Brixton now, yer ’ere, wherever that is, and wot yer tryin’ ter do is ter work aht why yer wanted as caretaiker, but ’ow can yer with yer ’ead goin’ rahnd like a spinging-wheel and feelin’ as if yer got no knees, and wunnerin’ why yer boot’s gorn bright and polished, lummy, I’ve ’ad a dose o’ somethink, yer carn’t git away from it! …’

Difficult as Mr Smith’s mind may have been to read, Mr Jones’s was even more complicated.

When the silence was threatening to become permanent, Mr Smith broke it monosyllabically.

‘Well?’

Ben came to with a jerk.

‘Say it agine,’ answered Ben.

‘It was so long ago I’m not surprised if you’ve forgotten. I said we needed a new caretaker.’

‘There was somethink helse.’

‘Was there?’

‘I ain’t fergot that.’

‘Then you might remind me?’

‘Yer sed yer’d lorst the old ’un.’

‘So I did.’

‘Well, ’ow did yer lose ’im?’

Mr Smith did not respond at once. The question seemed both to interest and surprise him. A very faint smile entered his expression when he replied.

‘You’re a careful one, aren’t you, Mr Jones?’

‘If yer wanter learn somethink,’ retorted Ben, ‘I ain’t sich a fool as I look!’

He hoped his tone was convincing. Mr Smith’s smile grew a little more distinct.

‘That, if you will forgive me,’ he returned, ‘would be difficult. Although perhaps you have no precise idea at this moment how you do look—but we will return to that later.’

‘That’s okay by me if we can return nah to that hother caretaiker. Wot ’appened ter ’im?’

‘Ah!’

‘That don’t tell me nothink.’

‘It was not intended to. I only intend to tell you—that is, until I have learned to know you a little better—what is strictly necessary. But I see no reason why I should not tell you that our last caretaker was not a very good one.’