Dodger Page 0,44

pick them up before that incredibly toffish voice tells me to, for a certainty I might just have my knuckles rapped, or worse.

He didn’t like this place. He hadn’t liked having to spend some time in that rattling coach with a blindfold over his eyes and a man with a foreign accent sitting opposite him who had threatened to do him a mischief if he tried to take it off. He didn’t like working for men with foreign accents, when it came down to it. Not to be trusted. Not like doing business with a good, honest, God-fearing Englishman – Sharp Bob knew how to deal with them. He didn’t like the way the journey here had been all around the houses either, doubling back and constantly changing direction like a thief on the run. Nor did he like the fact that after this interview he would have to go through the whole business again.

This place was plush – that was certain; it even smelled plush. Occasionally people walked past behind him and that made him angry too, because he dared not turn his head. Creepy stuff. He had been here for ten minutes, waiting for whoever it was who had just walked silently over to a chair on the other side of the flames – a fact he knew only because the padded leather chair had complained with that little farting noise that only the very best padded leather chairs gave off when sat upon. Sharp Bob knew a good chair when he heard it, for he had been in the houses of the mighty before, though not on business such as this.

Now there was a stirring, and the someone behind the flames who was anxious not to be seen was about to talk. At this point Sharp Bob realized that the really anxious one was himself, and he had a terrible premonition that he would sooner or later have to pass water.

He nearly did when the hidden voice said: ‘Also, Mister Sharp Robert, I believe you told us that your men would have no difficulty in dealing with one simple girl. And yet, my friend, it would appear that she has twice escaped you and you were only able to catch her once. This does not, I am sure you will not blame me for pointing out, appear to be a very good record, wouldn’t you say?’

There was something in the voice which disturbed Sharp Bob. It was English, but not quite English; as if a foreigner had learned English absolutely perfectly, but hadn’t been able to include all the little usages that a native-born speaker would have picked up. In fact, as English, it was too good. Too perfect. Lacking the slurs and imperfections that the native users sprinkled on their conversations. He sat in his puddle of darkness – and fortunately nothing else at the moment – and said, ‘Well, sir, we expected a girl, but that lady had a punch on her that knocked out one of my boys. And one of them’s been in the ring, sir! She was fast and clever, sir, fighting like anything, and you did say that you wanted her back and on the boat in one piece. Unfortunately my boys, quite frankly, sir, also wanted to get home in one piece. They say there never was a girl like that who kicked and spat and punched like a good ’un, and I’ve got one lad now who walks funny and is sporting a black eye, and another who had two of his fingers torn off. I mean, the first time she took us by surprise, but that time she just ran and they got her back in and tied down in your coach. Of course, after that we were too late for the boat, which is why we were bringing her back to you.’

Sharp Bob was feeling on very shaky ground at the moment because, after all, it had hardly been his fault.

‘Just as I told your colleague earlier, sir,’ he went on, ‘everything would have been all right on the second try, but she kicked the door out and jumped off in the middle of that terrible thunderstorm. Your coachman couldn’t stop the horses, sir, not in that rain. Very unusual circumstances. Difficult to predict.’

In the silence there was the sound of a page turning and a voice said, ‘And apparently, Mister Sharp Robert, a person called’ – the pages rustled – ‘Dodger actually wounded your two men,