Number Nineteen: Ben’s Last Case

Indignation mingled with apprehension in Ben’s breast as he heard this callous statement.

‘Wot! Send it orf, arter yer sed—?’

‘I made no promise.’

‘P’r’aps yer didn’t, but it’ll put a spanner in the works! Wot’s the good of engaigin’ me fer yer caretaiker if yer ’ave me ’auled orf ter the pleece stashun?’

Mr Smith laughed. Ben’s indignation grew. For the first time he raised himself and sat up, glaring at Mr Smith with challenging eyes.

‘Yer wants it both ways, doncher?’ he exclaimed. ‘Well, yer carn’t ’ave it, ’cos it won’t work, see? I expeck that’s why I ain’t ter go aht of the ’ouse, in caise I’m reckernised from the photo, as I would be, not ’avin’ a ordinary fice like your’n that might be anyone’s—’

‘But you aren’t going out of the house—’

‘Yus, I knows that! But wot abart them ’ouse-’unters wot I’ve gotter show over? Ave yer fergot them? They’ll reckernise me—’

‘Oh, no, they won’t,’ Mr Smith interrupted again. And again he laughed. ‘Have a look at yourself.’

He went to the wall and brought back the mirror, thrusting it before Ben’s face. Ben gazed at himself in stupefaction. This wasn’t him! It was another feller! And—lummy!—he had on a clean dark suit, and brightly polished boots!

4 (#ulink_b2d6cfcf-650e-57f2-b81c-7ab275de1f09)

Transformation Scene (#ulink_b2d6cfcf-650e-57f2-b81c-7ab275de1f09)

‘Well, how do you like yourself?’ enquired Mr Smith. Ben continued to stare at the strange face in the mirror, and the strange face in the mirror continued to stare back. He was not yet ready to reply. He was afraid that when he did so he might find his voice had changed, too!

‘Personally I think that smooth black hair suits you,’ went on Mr Smith, ‘and your side-whiskers give you an air of distinction that was quite lacking when I first met you. I am sure that when your photograph appears tomorrow over the caption, “Wanted,” no one will recognise you as the original of that picture. The only thing I have been unable to change,’ he added, with a little sigh, ‘is your fingerprints. Come, say something! Aren’t you grateful?’

‘I dunno,’ muttered Ben, finding his voice at last, and relieved at its familiar sound.

‘Well, you ought to be,’ answered Mr Smith reprovingly. ‘I took a lot of trouble over you, and there is very little chance now that you will be recognised by any who call here—although, of course, if you are recognised by any unfortunate chance, the fact that you have changed your appearance will be further evidence against you.’

‘But it was you wot done it,’ Ben pointed out.

‘I should make no claim—the credit would all be yours! As a matter of fact, a friend did help me. Changing your clothes was, in the circumstances, a two-man job. During your black-out you gave us no help at all.’

‘Oh! Yer did it while I was subconscious?’

‘I accept your term for it.’

‘And there’s another one of yer?’

‘You refer to my friend?’

‘’Oo is ’e?’

‘If I told you his name you would be no wiser.’

‘Oh! Well, where is ’e now?’

‘Don’t worry about him.’

‘No, I ain’t got nothink ter worry abart, ’ave I? Was ’e in the park with yer?’

‘He was in the car. We were out for a little drive together. Tell me. How are you feeling?’

‘Jest as if I’d come back from a ’ollerday at Brighton.’

‘That’s fine. Then I needn’t worry about your physical condition before I go?’

‘Oh—yer goin’?’ said Ben.

‘I do not live here,’ answered Mr Smith.

‘That’s right. If yer did, yer could be yer own caretaiker.’

‘You’ve put it in a nutshell.’

Ben blinked as a new realisation suddenly dawned on him.

‘Yer mean—when yer go I’ll be ’ere orl by meself?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.’

‘Oh! Oo’s me company then?’

‘Those spiders and black beetles.’

‘Shurrup!’

‘And I forgot to mention a giant rat. The last caretaker called him Goliath, so you can act the part of David if you meet him. I’m sorry I can’t supply you with a sling and stone, but you may find a brick or two around the place.’

‘Do you know wot yer torkin’ abart?’

‘You evidently don’t. Not biblical minded, eh? I’d better bring you a copy of the Bible—you’ll have plenty of time to read. Now, then, before I go, have you any questions to ask?’

‘I thort I wasn’t ter arsk none!’ retorted Ben.

‘You can ask me, but nobody else. You see, Mr Jones, I shall only answer those I choose. So if you’ve got any bullets, shoot!’

Ben just saved himself from remarking, ‘I wish I ’ad!’ After all, whether he were believed or not by his enigmatic employer the time had come when he must appear to be willing. No other policy would work.

‘’Ere’s one,’ he said. ‘Wot time do we open?’

‘I’m not engaging you to run a shop.’

‘Yus, but them ’ouse-’unters ain’t goin’ ter turn up fer breakfust?’

‘Hardly likely.’