The Blind Barber (27 page)

“Man, you never said a truer word!” said the Moorish warrior, and gripped his hand. “We’ll show ’em, we will! Let ’em try to put me back in that brig!” He flourished his scimitar. Peggy rushed into his arms, beaming through her tears. He burst into song.

“May the serr-vice united ne-’er se-ver,

But hold to its co-oolours so true!”

sang the Moorish warrior, enthusiastically, and Valvick took it up,

“Theee ar-my and naaa-avee forever—

Three cheers for the red—white—and blue!”

“Sh-h!” howled Morgan as the three of them clasped hands in a dramatic gesture. “All right! Have it your way. If you must do it, I suppose I can be as mad as anybody else. Lead on; I’ll follow … The point is, where do you propose to hide? … Yes, thanks, Mrs. Perrigord, I
will
have some champagne.”

Peggy slapped her hands together. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I know where you’ll hide so they won’t put you in that nasty brig. You’ll hide with the marionettes.”

“With the marionettes?”

“Of course, silly! Listen! The marionettes have a cabin of their own, haven’t they? Adjoining Uncle Jules’s, isn’t it? And the stewards are all afraid to go in there, aren’t they? And you have three uniforms like the marionettes, haven’t you, and false whiskers? And food can be passed in to you from Uncle Jules’s cabin, can’t it? And if they did look in they’d only see marionettes lying in the berth. Darling, it’s wonderful and it’ll work, too … ”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Morgan. “Without wishing to be a spoil-sport, it would damp my ardour considerably if I had to hang on a hook all day and then found it
didn’t
work. Besides, I think enough strain has already been put on Captain Whistler’s reason without having a marionette sneeze in his face when he looked into the cabin. YOU’RE MAD, PEGGY. Besides, how can we get away with it? We’re wasting time. The highbrows will be roaring down on this cabin in a minute, asking if Uncle Jules is ready to begin performing, and then we’re discovered. This cabin is probably surrounded at the moment, and we can’t even get to our hideaway. I also think it probable that a searching-party would feel considerable curiosity concerning three full-panoplied Moorish warriors seen strolling arm in arm down C deck.”

Peggy pointed her finger at him.

“No, we’re not caught, either! Because you three will climb into those clothes this minute,
and we’ll put on the whole performance ourselves
. They won’t know you in disguise, and you can help wheel the marionettes back to the cabin and stay there.”

There was a silence. Then Morgan got up, with his head in his hands, and danced helplessly.

“Baby, the idea is a knockout!” breathed Warren. “But how are we going to work it? I can stand in front of the stage with a battle-axe right enough; but what about the rest of it? I can’t even work those marionettes, to say nothing of what they say … ”

“Listen to me. Quick, champagne, somebody!” She snatched a bottle from the beaming Mrs. Perrigord, and after a moment, brilliant with inspiration, she continued: “We’ll save Uncle Jules’s bacon yet. To begin with, there isn’t a real Frenchman aboard this ship, with the exception of Uncle Jules and Abdul. The audience will be mostly kids, or else people with only a smattering of French, out to see the fighting … ”

“What about Perrigord?” inquired Warren.

“I’m not forgetting him, darling. That’s where Hank comes in. Hank will be the Emperor Charlemagne and also the crafty Banhambra, Sultan of the Moors … ”

“Good for you, old man!” applauded Warren, radiating kindliness and slapping the Emperor Charlemagne on the back.

“ … because I’ve heard his accent, and it’s at least good enough to deceive Perrigord. People will think he
is
Uncle Jules, because we’ll stuff him with pillows and disguise him; and when he speaks the prologue it’s behind a lighted gauze screen at the back of the stage, and nobody can tell who it is. Yes, this is wonderful, now I think of it! The rest of the time he’s out of sight. I have a typewritten copy of his part, and all he has to do is read it … As for working the marionettes, you can master that in ten minutes while Madame Camposozzi is singing and Kyle’s reciting and Perrigord is talking. All you need is to be strong in the arms, which is where Curt and the skipper excel, and you can make ’em
fight
, can’t you? Well—”

“Yess, but where do ay come in?” asked Valvick. “Ay dunno no French except one or two words. Ay can juggle plates, dough,” he suggested hopefully, “and play de piano … ”

“You can play the piano? Then,” declared Peggy excitedly, “we’re absolutely all right. Because, you see, the only other speaking parts are very small—the Knight Roland, the Knight Oliver, and Bishop Turpin. Those parts will be taken by Curt. I’ll prompt him roughly, just a few words; but it won’t matter what he says, because the skipper will be playing the piano, loud and hard, with appropriate music … ”

Morgan roared. He couldn’t help it. The strengthening sizzle of champagne cried, “Whee!” along his windpipe; weariness dropped from him. He looked round at the radiant Mrs. Perrigord, who was now seated on the stomach of the prostrate Uncle Jules and looking coyly at him. Again plans began to twist and shift in his brain.

“Right you are!” said he, slapping his hands together. “By Gad! we’ll go down in a burst of glory if we do nothing else! It’s mad, it’s risking a thunderbolt from above, but we’ll do it. Up and at ’em! Come on, Skipper; into those uniforms we go—there’s no time to be lost …”

There was not. From above began to sound now a measured and steady clapping; a deeper buzz and hum which rattled the lights of the dressing-table. Stopping only to execute a brief gleeful round-the-mulberry-bush with Warren, Peggy rushed to set out the cosmetics.

“And this,” continued Morgan, excitedly stripping off his coat, “is where Mrs. Perrigord comes in. Sing your prayers, lads, to the blessed stars that sent her to us to-night … ”

“Gloo!”
crowed Mrs. Perrigord. “Oh, you positively owful man, you mustn’t say things like that! Whee!”

“ … because,” he said, tapping Warren on the chest, “she’s going to get rid of the people who were to be extras in our places to-night. Don’t you see? We can’t have anybody behind the scenes but ourselves. Wasn’t this Madame Camposozzi to play the piano, and some Russian the violin; yes, and a couple of professors to be warriors … ?”

“O Lord! I’d forgotten that!” cried Peggy, freezing. “Oh, Hank, how can we—?”

“Easy! Mrs. Perrigord simply puts on one of those chilly stares of hers when they come down here, and says the places have been filled. We have the organiser of the concert talking for us, and she’ll be obeyed; otherwise there’d be a row and we could never wangle it … Listen!” he whirled round to her. “That’s all right, isn’t it? Mrs. Perrigord—C
YNTHIA
—you’ll do it for me, won’t you?”

There was a world of pleading in his voice. The organiser of the concert did not give him a chilly stare. She said, “Oh, you owful man!” and got up and put her arms round his neck.

“No, listen! Wait a bit—listen, Cynthia!” said Morgan desperately. “Listen to what I have to say. Let go, damn it! I tell you we can’t lose time! Let me get my waistcoat off … ”

“I don’t think you’re making yourself quite clear,” observed Warren critically. “Suppose your wife could see you now, you old rip? Let the poor woman go, can’t you?”

“You’ve
got
to get her in shape to face ’em, Hank!” cried Peggy, flying across the room. “Oh, it’s p-per-fectly a-awful the w-way we’re p-persecuted and t-tor-tured with these n-nasty drunken p-people … !”

“Who’s a nasty drunken people, may I ask?” inquired Mrs. Perrigord, suddenly raising a flushed face from Morgan’s shoulder.

“All I was saying, darling—”

A fusillade of knocks on the door froze the conspirators where they stood.

“S
IGNOR
F
ORTINBRAS
!” exclaimed a voice with a broad rolling accent. The knocks were redoubled.

“Signor Fortinbras! It ees-a me, Signor Benito—Furioso—Camposozzi! Signor Perrigord he weesha to know eef you are alla-right. He—”

Peggy raised a quavering voice. “He is quite all right, Signor Camposozzi. He ees-a—I mean, he is dressing now. Please come back in five minutes. Mrs. Perrigord wishes to speak to you.”

“Ah! Good! Tenn-mee-
noots
and we start. Good! Good! I am averra glad to hear it. Signor Ivan Slifovitz hasa tolda me,” bawled Signor Camposozzi, with deplorable Latin lack of reticence, “that he thought you might have drink too moocha
Gin
… ”

“Gin!”
repeated a sudden, thoughtful, sepulchral voice just behind Morgan. It seemed to come from deep down in the earth. “Gin?”

Uncle Jules abruptly sat up. He slid off the couch. With eyes half-closed and face intent, as though some illuminating idea had come to him, he walked straight to the door.

“Je vais chercher le gin,”
he explained hurriedly.

Valvick was after him at a bound, but, since his hand was on the knob of the door, nothing less than a full-sized miracle could have prevented discovery if Signor Camposozzi’s attention had not been momentarily distracted.

“Eee!” squeaked Signor Camposozzi, for a reason they could not discern.
“Sangua della madonne
, who are you? Go away! You been-a fighting; you area onea begga crook … ”

“Now look ’ere, Guv’nor,” protested a hoarse voice, “don’t run away, will yer?
’Ere!
Come back! I’ve got ’ere,” continued the Bermondsey Terror, “two gold watches, two sets of cuff-links, two pocket-books, but only one set o’ studs. I’m looking for a chap nymed Cap’n Valvick, ’oo owns part of it, and I wants ter ave ’im tyke his choice. ’Ere! Come back—I only wanted to ask where I could find—”

There were two sets of frantic footsteps rushing away as the Bermondsey Terror pursued him.

“A
LITTLE MORE LARCENY
, of course,” said Morgan, “added to the list of our other offences won’t matter a great deal. All the same, Skipper, you’d better stop the Bermondsey Terror and give him time to think up some excuses. Also, it mightn’t be a bad idea to retrieve Captain Whistler’s best studs and cuff-links.”

Valvick took Uncle Jules, who was smiling vacantly, and propped him against the wall with one hand while he unlocked the door. He called “Bermondsey!” and one set of footfalls stopped. Then Valvick set up Uncle Jules like a sign on a couch just beside the door.

“He’s coming round,” said Warren, inspecting the red face of the puppet-master. “Look here, Baby, what happens to our new scheme if the old geezer wakes up? He may not be too tight to play, after all. Better give him another drink.”

“We’ll do nothing of the kind!” snapped Peggy. “We don’t need to abandon our scheme. If he does come round, we can still hide in the back of the stage. Take off your helmet, Curt, and fill it with water. We’ll slosh him down, and then maybe—”

She stopped as the Bermondsey Terror, laden with his plunder, stooped his head under the door. Except for a torn necktie and a scratch down one cheekbone, the Terror was undamaged. A drowsy smile went over his face.

“Ho!” said the Terror. “’Ere’s the stuff, sir. You and t’other gentleman just pick out whatcher want.”

Valvick peered out hastily, drew him into the cabin, took the booty from his hands and slid it out of sight along the couch.

“Listen, Bermondsey,” he growled, wiping his forehead: “Ay am afraid dere has been a mistake. Ay ’tank you haff smack de wrong men. Ay—”

“Ho?” inquired the Terror. His smile deepened. He wagged his head and closed one eye portentously. “I sorter thought so, d’yer see, when I see ’oo they wos.” Shaken by hoarse mirth, he winked again. “Never yer mind, Guv’nor. Did me good, that workout. Wot’s the game? I sorter thought there wos something up when first I see somebody go into the sawbones’ room and come out with the green jule thing as
that
gentleman’s got now,” he nodded at Morgan, who had disentangled himself from Mrs. Perrigord, “and then I see you two take it back. None o’ my ruddy bursness, yer see, till you asks for ’elp.”

Again he laughed hoarsely. Morgan, to whom had come a glimmer of hope that might avert Peggy’s insane idea, took it up.

“Look here, Bermondsey. About those two robbers—just how much damage did you do to them?”

The Terror smiled complacently. He counted a few imaginary stars, closed his eyes, and uttered a snore.

“Out,” inquired Morgan.

“Cold,” said the Terror.

“Did they see you? Would they know you again, I mean?”

“Ho!” said the Terror. “Not them! Wosn’t no light, yer see. ’Ad ter strike a match ter tear the watches orf ’em. Ho-ho-ho!”

“Bermondsey,” said Warren, enthusiastically, as the other stared dully at his costume, “I want to shake your hand. I also want to offer you a drink of champagne … What’s on your mind, Hank?”

Morgan had begun to stalk about excitedly. He picked up the watches and examined them. Then he put them down on the couch with the emerald elephant.

“If this idea works out,” he said, swinging round, “then there’ll be no need to lie under a heap of marionettes and play dead for two days. Nor will there be any need to go to the brig, either, for any of us except Curt …”

“That’s fine,” said Warren. “That’s great. Well, all I’ve got to say is, and I take my oath on it, I am not going back to that damned padded cell, whatever happens! Get me? Furthermore—”

“Shut up, will you?—and listen! You’ll need to go back for not more than an hour. The whole point is, Captain Whistler doesn’t know you’re
out
of the brig, does he? Right. Now don’t interrupt. So what have we got? We’ve got in Bermondsey a witness who can definitely prove we were not stealing that emerald out of Kyle’s cabin, but were
returning
it, together with Kyle’s papers. Our witness needn’t say anything about Curt’s having taken it from there. Then—”

“Ahoy dere!” protested Valvick. “Coroosh! you are not going to try to see Barnacle
now
, are you?”

“Listen! Then this is the way it’s to be done: