The Comedians Read Online Free Page B

shots and half an hour later an officer and two policemen had appeared at the gangway: they wanted to search his ship. Naturally he had refused permission. This was sovereign territory of the Royal Netherlands Steamship Company. There had been a lot of argument. He had complete belief in his night-watchman – wrongly as it turned out, for the man had been asleep at his post. Then on his way to speak to the officer of the watch the captain had noticed a trail of blood spots. It led him to one of the boats and there he had discovered the fugitive.
    â€˜What did you do?’ I asked.
    â€˜He was attended by the ship’s doctor and then, of course, I handed him over to the proper authorities.’
    â€˜Perhaps he was seeking political asylum.’
    â€˜I do not know what he was seeking. How could I? He was quite illiterate, and in any case he had no money for his passage.’
    IV
    When I saw Jones again, after the interview with the captain, I felt a prejudice in his favour. If he had asked me to play poker at that moment I would have consented without hesitation and gladly have lost to him, for an exhibition of trust might have removed the bad taste which remained in my mouth. I took the port-side route around the deck to avoid Mr Smith and was slapped with spray; before I could dive down to the cabin I met Mr Jones face to face. I felt guilty, as though I had already betrayed his secret, when he stopped his walk to offer me a drink.
    â€˜It’s a bit early,’ I said.
    â€˜Opening time in London.’ I looked at my watch – it read five minutes to eleven – and felt as though I were checking his credentials. While he went in search of the steward I picked up the book he had left behind him in the saloon. It was an American paperback with the picture of a naked girl sprawled face down upon a luxurious bed and the title was No Time Like the Present . Inside the cover in pencil was scrawled his signature – H. J. Jones. Was he establishing his identity or reserving this particular book for his personal library? I opened it at random. ‘“Trust?” Geoff’s voice struck her like a whiplash . . .’ And then Jones came back carrying two lagers. I put the book down and said with unnecessary embarrassment, ‘ Sortes Virgilianae .’
    â€˜ Sortes what?’ Jones raised his glass and turning the pages of his mental dictionary and perhaps rejecting ‘mud in your eye’ as obsolete brought out a more modern term, ‘Cheers.’ He added after a swallow, ‘I saw you talking to the captain just now.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜An unapproachable old bastard. He’ll talk only to the toffs.’ The word had an antique flavour: this time his dictionary had certainly failed him.
    â€˜I wouldn’t call myself a toff.’
    â€˜You mustn’t mind me saying that. Toff has a special sense for me. I divide the world into two parts – the toffs and the tarts. The toffs can do without the tarts, but the tarts can’t do without the toffs. I’m a tart.’
    â€˜What exactly is your idea of a tart? It seems to be a bit special too.’
    â€˜The toffs have a settled job or a good income. They have a stake somewhere like you have in your hotel. The tarts – well, we pick a living here and there – in saloon bars. We keep our ears open and our eyes skinned.’
    â€˜You live on your wits, is that it?’
    â€˜Or we die on them often enough.’
    â€˜And the toffs – haven’t they any wits?’
    â€˜They don’t need wits. They have reason, intelligence, character. We tarts – we sometimes go too fast for our own good.’
    â€˜And the other passengers – are they tarts or toffs?’
    â€˜I can’t make out Mr Fernandez. He might be either. And the chemist chap, he’s given us no opportunity to judge. But Mr Smith – he’s a real toff if ever there was