Read Online Body of a Girl by Michael Gilbert - Free Book Online Page B

out till two o’clock. Not if he’s got any money left.”
    â€œWhere does he get his money from?”
    â€œIt’s a mystery. He never shows up at the Labour Exchange – and so far as anyone knows he doesn’t draw old age pension.”
    Mercer said, “The pubs don’t shut till two. That gives us half an hour.”
    Balancing on one leg, he swung the sole of his heavy shoe flat against the door, just under the catch. It burst inwards.
    â€œOughtn’t we to have a warrant?” said Massey.
    Mercer looked at him curiously. He said, “I’d heard of people like you. I didn’t believe they existed outside of books.”
    Massey flushed scarlet, and then muttered, “All right, all right. It’s your responsibility, Skipper.”
    â€œAs long as we’re clear on that point,” said Mercer. They stepped down into the barge.
    Inside was worse than outside. Much worse. Outside the smells had been rank and vegetable. Inside they were animal. Massey turned round abruptly and made for the opening.
    â€œIf you’re going to be sick, be sick outside,” said Mercer. “We may have to make a chemical analysis of this muck. Don’t let’s complicate it.”
    â€œI’m all right,” muttered Massey.
    â€œHold the torch then.”
    It was a heavy double-power inspection lamp, and its white light showed up the disastrous squalor of Sowthistle’s living arrangements. There was an old iron bedstead with a leaking feather mattress, blankets which had once been white and were now grey, and an old army overcoat. In one corner a paraffin stove was almost hidden behind a pile of unwashed saucepans and crockery.
    â€œIf he cooks his food in those, and eats it off these,” said Mercer, “he must have a bloody wonderful inside. You or I, we’d be dead of food poisoning inside twenty-four hours.” He lifted up a saucepan and peered into it. “What do you think that is?”
    Massey sniffed delicately and said, “It smells like kidneys. Do you mind—”
    â€œSorry,” said Mercer. “I thought it’d be a nice change from the other smells. Let’s have a look in that cupboard.”
    The cupboard was padlocked. Mercer found a poker, put the point through the staples and twisted them out of the woodwork. The shelves were so tightly crammed that when the doors came open the contents started to cascade onto the floor. There were piles of books and magazines. Mostly foreign and all featuring naked or near-naked girls with enormously inflated bosoms and behinds. There were photographs, single and in sets. There were sheets of typewritten, hand-written and mimeographed paper. Mercer picked up one of them and started to read it.
    After a minute he said, “Well, well,” put it down and started on another.
    â€œWhat’s it all about?” said Massey.
    â€œSexual intercourse,” said Mercer. “This one’s entitled, ‘The Ballad of Shooters Hill’. It’s hot stuff. Rhymes, too. Hold that torch steady.”
    â€œWhat is all this?”
    â€œI guess it’s Sowthistle’s personal collection of pornography. Phew! Look at that photograph. On second thoughts you’d better not. You’re too young.”
    â€œDirty old man.”
    â€œI don’t think,” said Mercer, turning the photograph over and examining the back of it, “that it’s all for his own edification. I think what we’ve stumbled on is a Licentious Lending Library. You see those crosses and dates.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’d guess each one represents a loan. The lads of the village come over here and he lets them read these, or maybe borrow them. For a shilling a time, or whatever the going rate for filth is round here. Judging from the number of crosses he must be making a bloody good living out of it. Tax free, into the bargain.”
    They heard the gangplank creak,