Read Online The Girl from Cotton Lane by Harry Bowling - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harry Bowling
Ads: Link
Many of the wharves were just padlocked with no one to guard them but Clark’s Wharf was different. In the building and the big yard beside it there were cases of very expensive items. The manager had explained to him when he was taken on that the insurance people insisted the wharf was guarded at all times before they would agree to give cover. Jack’s only complaint was that the pittance he was paid hardly reflected the responsibility placed upon him.
Jack Price had never married, and he lived with his ageing sister who was also unmarried. He was sixty-four now, but as a young man he had been in the army and seen action on the North-West Frontier. He had been in many tight spots during his life, and guarding a warehouse did not trouble him unduly. He had worked for various firms doing all sorts of jobs, for he was nothing if not adaptable, and recently, just as he was approaching retirement, the firm he worked for in Deptford had become bankrupt. Jack had been worried. Who would employ a sixty-four-year-old man when there were thousands of young men struggling to find work? The ex-serviceman need not have worried. His employer gave him a glowing reference and spoke about him to a friend by the name of Sir Algernon Clark, a fellow businessman who was having problems with insurance brokers over the size of the premium for insuring his wharf and its most valuable contents. Employing a night watchman was the solution to his problem, and so without delay Jack was sent to see the wharf manager, who felt that the sprightly-looking man who had served on the Khyber Pass would suit admirably.
Jack sipped his tea while he read a dog-eared wild west novel. It was a good way of passing the time, he thought. There was a long night ahead of him, and he would not be relieved until eight o’clock the following morning when Ben Thompson arrived. Ben too was an active man in his sixties and had served in the police force for years, rising to the rank of sergeant. The trouble with Ben was, he still thought he was in the police force and was constantly leaving scribbled messages about procedures for patrolling the yard and checking the padlocks and bolts.
Bloody old fool. Who does he think he is, anyway? Jack thought to himself as he poured yet another cup of tea and took it back to his comfortable swivel chair. It’s a good job Peggie’s not here, he told himself as he sipped the tea. She was always on about the amount of tea he drank. Poor old Peg. Shame she never married. She had never got over that chap who left her in the lurch all those years ago. Nevertheless she had been a good, kind sister and looked after him very well. She was breaking up now, though, Jack reflected sadly. Never mind, he’d buy her a nice bunch of flowers from that stall outside the infirmary on his way home. She’d like that.
A loud knocking on the wicket-gate made Jack start and he muttered to himself as he left the office and walked across the cobbled yard.
Chapter Five
The Kings Arms was a small, homely pub. It stood on the corner of Page Street at the Jamaica Road end, and was the favourite haunt of folk from the surrounding backstreets. The landlord Alec Crossley kept an orderly house and his buxom blonde wife Grace was always jolly and invariably found time to listen to the troubles of her customers, even when she was hard put to it behind the counter. On Saturday evening it was busy as usual, but when Sadie Sullivan walked in the public bar on the arm of her diminutive husband Daniel, Grace soon found herself listening to her troubles.
‘That bleeder ain’t bin in ’ere, ’as ’e?’ Sadie asked.
Grace shook her head. ‘No, luv. I ain’t seen nuffink of ’im. Anyfing wrong?’
Sadie leant on the counter and looked furtively right and left before putting a hand up to her mouth and whispering, ‘I fink ’e’s up ter no good.’
Grace smiled reassuringly. ‘Billy’s a good boy, Sadie. ’E
Jack Price had never married, and he lived with his ageing sister who was also unmarried. He was sixty-four now, but as a young man he had been in the army and seen action on the North-West Frontier. He had been in many tight spots during his life, and guarding a warehouse did not trouble him unduly. He had worked for various firms doing all sorts of jobs, for he was nothing if not adaptable, and recently, just as he was approaching retirement, the firm he worked for in Deptford had become bankrupt. Jack had been worried. Who would employ a sixty-four-year-old man when there were thousands of young men struggling to find work? The ex-serviceman need not have worried. His employer gave him a glowing reference and spoke about him to a friend by the name of Sir Algernon Clark, a fellow businessman who was having problems with insurance brokers over the size of the premium for insuring his wharf and its most valuable contents. Employing a night watchman was the solution to his problem, and so without delay Jack was sent to see the wharf manager, who felt that the sprightly-looking man who had served on the Khyber Pass would suit admirably.
Jack sipped his tea while he read a dog-eared wild west novel. It was a good way of passing the time, he thought. There was a long night ahead of him, and he would not be relieved until eight o’clock the following morning when Ben Thompson arrived. Ben too was an active man in his sixties and had served in the police force for years, rising to the rank of sergeant. The trouble with Ben was, he still thought he was in the police force and was constantly leaving scribbled messages about procedures for patrolling the yard and checking the padlocks and bolts.
Bloody old fool. Who does he think he is, anyway? Jack thought to himself as he poured yet another cup of tea and took it back to his comfortable swivel chair. It’s a good job Peggie’s not here, he told himself as he sipped the tea. She was always on about the amount of tea he drank. Poor old Peg. Shame she never married. She had never got over that chap who left her in the lurch all those years ago. Nevertheless she had been a good, kind sister and looked after him very well. She was breaking up now, though, Jack reflected sadly. Never mind, he’d buy her a nice bunch of flowers from that stall outside the infirmary on his way home. She’d like that.
A loud knocking on the wicket-gate made Jack start and he muttered to himself as he left the office and walked across the cobbled yard.
Chapter Five
The Kings Arms was a small, homely pub. It stood on the corner of Page Street at the Jamaica Road end, and was the favourite haunt of folk from the surrounding backstreets. The landlord Alec Crossley kept an orderly house and his buxom blonde wife Grace was always jolly and invariably found time to listen to the troubles of her customers, even when she was hard put to it behind the counter. On Saturday evening it was busy as usual, but when Sadie Sullivan walked in the public bar on the arm of her diminutive husband Daniel, Grace soon found herself listening to her troubles.
‘That bleeder ain’t bin in ’ere, ’as ’e?’ Sadie asked.
Grace shook her head. ‘No, luv. I ain’t seen nuffink of ’im. Anyfing wrong?’
Sadie leant on the counter and looked furtively right and left before putting a hand up to her mouth and whispering, ‘I fink ’e’s up ter no good.’
Grace smiled reassuringly. ‘Billy’s a good boy, Sadie. ’E
Similar Books
