The Tiger in the Well (38 page)

"Why not send out another servant? Why's xtyou going out in the rain?"

"Because I happened to be still up and dressed. Now let me do two things: First, go and communicate your concern to my employer. He will be pleased to give you any information you wish about a child. And second, complete my errand to the doctor. It is not a matter of life and death, but it could have serious consequences for the poor man's sight. I am sure you would not wish that on your conscience."

And now Moishe Lipman was troubled. He'd done some-

thing wrong, but he wasn't sure what, and he wasn't sure how he could undo it, either. He knew what he should have done: have the man followed, not catch him. Too late now.

Still, if he let the man do what he suggested, he could get into the house without a fight. And that would give his boys the chance to look around. . . . Not even Kid Mendel would have managed that. That would be really clever.

**A11 right," he said. "You go and tell your employer we'll come in and talk. Then you can go and fetch the doctor."

Winterhalter nodded and pulled his sou'wester back on.

"You understand it will take my master a few minutes to dress and get ready. The butler will come out to tell you when he will be able to receive you."

"All right," said Lipman. "No tricks, mind."

"No, no, no," said Winterhalter. "Of course not."

He left the cab and ran back to the house.

When he'd gone in and shut the door, one of Moishe's men said timidly, "Boss.^ You don't suppose he's going to call the rozzers, do you.^"

"How.-^" said Lipman. "Carrier pigeon.?"

They laughed dutifully, and he said it again, in case they hadn't caught the full richness of the joke; but nobody laughed five minutes later, when the police did come.

"So Parrish has got the child," said the Tzaddik to Winterhalter. "Of course. And these foolish men were watching the house in case he'd brought it here . . . which means that although they know he's got it, they don't know where he's gone. If they were as foolish as you say, though, how did they know this address.'' They must be connected with the Lockhart girl."

"They didn't mention her," said Winterhalter. "There might be someone else organizing them."

"Goldberg, perhaps ..."

"They were Jewish."

"In that case, certainly Goldberg. Well, this alters things, Winterhalter. Parrish has got the child, and he has not brought

it here; so he is going to bargain. There is no point in your going to see him, then. We shall save you a wet journey and let him come to me. Have the police come yet.'"'

Winterhalter looked out the window.

"They are taking them away now, Mr. Lee," he said.

"Excellent. What a fine thing it is to pay one's rates and taxes and have the protection of the police. Well, if Parrish has the child, I have the mother. I want to go down and interrogate her. Send Michelet in to me, please."

"Dr. Strauss said he was to rest his eye, sir. ..."

"Send him! I need him!"

Winterhalter went into the valet's room. Michelet groaned and sat up.

"I heard. . . . Very well, I shall come. What is the time, Herr Winterhalter.^ I cannot see my watch. ..."

"Two o'clock in the morning. I have every sympathy with you, Michelet, but Dr. Strauss has done all that is necessary, and now Mr. Lee needs your help."

Michelet pulled on his dressing gown, shivering pitiably.

"I cannot do it on my own. I need the other manservant. ..."

"I shall help you. Mr. Lee wants to go down to the cellar. I have no doubt he will need you to go with him."

Michelet's good eye, bloodshot, peered curiously under the swathe of white bandage at the secretary, whose face remained closed. The valet licked his lips and went through to his master.

"Yes, Mr. Lee.'' You wish to dress fully, sir.'' Shall I shave you first.? It is very early, but no doubt you will feel the better for it. . . ."

"Show me your hands."

The valet held them out. They were shaking badly.

"No. Shave me later. Wash me and dress me now."

"Very good, sir," said Michelet. He sighed heavily, the picture of dutiful misery, and pulled back the covers.

Running from side to side under the lower sheet were three wide leather slings, the ropes at each end of them terminat-

ing in hooks and tucked out of sight behind the valance of the bed. Michelet brought them out and hooked the ends of the top sUng to a block and tackle on the iron frame, and began to wind a handle near the head of the bed. The rope tightened, and little by little the top half of the Tzaddik's body was lifted off the bed.

Michelet made the tackle secure and removed the man's nightshirt. Then he fitted the other two slings to similar blocks and wound them up until the Tzaddik's body was completely clear of the bed, and laid a mackintosh sheet over the linen one before running some hot water into the basin.

As Michelet was about to lower the Tzaddik onto the bed again, his employer spoke.

"Winterhalter—a matron glace."

The secretary found the box beside the bed and put one of the sticky sweets into Ah Ling's mouth with a pair of little silver tongs. The Tzaddik chewed it slowly as Michelet washed him from head to toe, turning him over by manipulating the slings halfway through so as to clean him behind and dress the sores on his thighs and buttocks. He took off the plasters, washed them gently, dried them and applied a mineral lotion before putting fresh plasters on. Winterhalter had never seen this process; he was appalled at the extent of these sores, new ones eating into old ones, crusts and scabs and pus on the places which bore the man's vast weight all day long.

When the dressings were changed, Michelet dusted the great body all over with talc.

"Leave the room please, Winterhalter," said the Tzaddik. "I want to empty my bladder."

When Winterhalter came back, Michelet was putting silk underclothes on his master, easing them gently over his heavy feet and little by little upward. By manipulating the slings and the pulleys, making little adjustments here and there, Michelet dealt with the man's great, still weight as easily as a nurse deals with a baby, and he had the same close and fond and tender control, teasing and even grotesquely seem-

ing to flirt a little. One damaged man tending another more damaged one: how much they needed each other, Winter-halter thought, like crocodiles and those little birds who pick their food out from between the reptiles' teeth. The Tzaddik was all dignity, and even at the most undignified moments his impassivity and cold command never left him; whereas Michelet was all servility.

Winterhalter wondered again, as he had done many times, what would happen to the child. It was difficult. Clearly his employer needed someone to perform these degrading duties, and clearly they would be beyond the powers of the child for some years; but there would come a time when the child was fully competent, and as necessary as the monkey. Whoever controlled the child then would have the key to everything. No, he couldn't afford to let Michelet have charge of her. There was an unhealthiness about the man. It would be better without him. The secretary made a mental note to find a nursing agency.

He wheeled the chair beside the bed to the spot Michelet indicated, and the two of them lifted the Tzaddik, with the help of the slings and the gantry, and set him down in the seat.

Finally Michelet took a jar of pomade from the dressing table, spread some on his palms, and smoothed it over the Tzaddik's hair before brushing it down flat and glistening.

He wiped his hands, adjusted his master's tie, and settled a rug over his knees. Then he whimpered with pain and put his hand to the enveloping white bandage over half his head.

"Please, sir, may I lie down.?" he said. "My eye is so painful. . . ."

"Later. I want you to take me down to the cellar. Thank you, Winterhalter. I shall not be needing you again tonight."

The secretary bowed stiffly and withdrew.

Michelet opened the double doors and wheeled the chair out onto the landing before opening the doors of the lift. The house was silent around them as they sank smoothly down into the cellar where Sally was lying in the dark.

The police van slowed. Tony, the elder of the two boys clinging to the back, said, "Watch out, now. Here we go.

As it came to a halt they dropped off the back and crouched behind it, Tony watching around the side for the chance they'd planned for.

Above them the blue POLICE light glowed over the steps leading up to the station entrance. As long as the desk sergeant didn't come and have a look. . . . No, it was too wet; he was in by the stove with a cup of cocoa.

The van door opened. Con clutched the dripping, gritty edge of the wheel, ready to swing himself around. Another second or two and—

"Go!" said Tony, and the two of them darted out like greyhounds and sprang for the legs of the startled policemen, who fell in a crashing, cursing tangle to the pavement, leaving Goldberg upright and free.

"Run, you bugger!" yelled Con, before a heavy official hand grabbed his hair and the other reached for the nearest hmb.

But Tony was equal to that; he sank his teeth into the hand, and the policeman let go with a yell.

Both boys were up in a moment, and together with Goldberg they reached the comer of the street and were away before the two policemen, bruised by their fall and soaked with the water they were sitting in, could do anything to stop them.

Even the driver was helpless; jumping down to try and grab them, he'd caught his oilskin in the shafts and was twisting around trying to free himself.

The desk sergeant had heard all the commotion and stood at the top of the steps, cocoa in one hand and bread and butter in the other, grinning all over his face at the sight of three large men tangled helplessly in the downpour.

"Well, at least you've drawn your billy clubs," he called down. "Why don't you hit each other and finish it off.'*"

They told him what to do with his cocoa.

And two streets away, ashen with pain, Goldberg hurried along in the dark, his two crowing rescuers capering like imps beside him.

Blackbourne Water

Arthur Parrish had found the police sergeant abom-inably persistent and confoundedly curious. The way he'di raised his eyebrows when he saw the room the child had been in wasn't pleasant, either.

"Forgive me for asking again, Mr. Parrish—this is your daughter we're talking about.'"' he'd said, his eyes taking in the bare boards, the rusty bedstead, the soaking mattress, the absence of sheets and blankets.

Parrish forced himself to be patient. The law was with him, after all, even if this minion wasn't.

When the sergeant finally left, Parrish called his men together. His head was throbbing, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

"They're asking for trouble," he said. "Well, they're certainly going to get it. You, Harvey, go down to Whitechapel after Gorman. Make sure he whips 'em up well. Cropper, you stay on here till the police come back with the kid."

"Think they will, Mr. Parrish.?"

"I know they will. Take no notice of that sergeant; I've got an assistant commissioner in my pocket. Like I said, stay here till they fetch the kid back, then tell 'em to bring it on to me in Twickenham. That's where I'm going now."

He threw some things into a carpetbag. The man seemed unconvinced.

"But what about Mr. Lee.?" he said.

"What about him.?" said Mr. Parrish, looking up. This or-

dinary, dapper, clerklike little man had a ferocity in him which he seldom unleashed. When he did, as now, hardened criminals, graduates of Pentonville and Dartmoor, quailed. "He's put himself out on a limb, Mr. Lee has, trusting me," Parrish went on. "I'm going to make the most of it—and there's not a bloody thing in the world he can do about it, because the kid's legally mine and always will be. Come on, hurry up, move."

Daniel Goldberg winced. The doctor prodded deeper and said, "What's the matter.^ Drink the medicine."

"It's the wrong kind of medicine."

"It's the best. Scotch medicine. Here we are."

There was a clink as something dropped into a metal bowl. Goldberg let out his breath in a low whistle.

"Tell you what, I'll have a cigar instead," he said.

"No cigars. You can't smoke medicine. Keep still."

The doctor dabbed on something that stung.

"Can I have this, mister.?" said Tony, picking up the bloody, distorted bullet.

"Help yourself," said the doctor. "No use to me. Wasn't much use to Mr. Goldberg, either."

They were in a small doctor's office in Soho. The doctor was the man Goldberg had summoned to attend Jacob Liebermann, a friend and a socialist, and when Goldberg and the boys had banged on his door he'd merely sighed before letting them in and setting to work.

As he strapped a bandage around Goldberg's shoulder he said, "Of course, I'm a citizen as well as a medical man, you know."

"What's that mean.?"

"It means I ought to tell the police when people come here with bullet holes in them. What's going on, Goldberg.?"

Goldberg sipped the whiskey and made a face. "White slavery, fraud, kidnapping . . . it's too complicated to explain now. I will when it's over. Now, listen, boys. Liam and Bill and Bridie and the others—where will they be.?"

I

"Couldn't say, mister," said Con. "There's half a dozen kips they might be using."

"Is he all right.'*" said Tony suspiciously, jerking his thumb at the doctor.

"Are you all right.'"' said Goldberg.

"I'm not even here," said the doctor, putting his instruments into a bowl of disinfectant. "I'm a hallucination, and I'm going back to bed. Don't put any strain on that arm. Let yourselves out, and throw the key back in through the broken fanlight."

Con and Tony were shocked.

"Hey, mister," said Tony. "Doctor, I mean. You shouldn't do tricks like that with yer key—it's as good as an open door. Me and Con here'11 come back tomorrow and show ye howj to make the place safe. There's all kinds of villains about."

"Well, that's a fair offer," said the doctor. "And if anyone plants a bullet in you, young man, you know where to come to get it plucked out. Now be off with the lot of you—it's three in the morning."