I BECOME A HAIRDRESSER’S ASSISTANT
To replace the dummy letter by the original and to pocket the former
did not take long, and as no step upon the stair announced the
Professor’s return I thought I might as well avail myself of the
opportunity of ascertaining anything that was to be learnt about his
other correspondents. With this end in view I put out my hand to take
down the packet again when a voice behind me said:--
“Wot a hinterest he do take in correspondence to be sure. Be damned if
he ain’t at ’em again!” And as I turned round I saw the Professor in
the act of closing the door, locking it, and putting the key in his
pocket.
“Now then, Mr. ’Enery Watson,” he said, with an ugly look upon his
face, “you and me ’as got to come to a hunderstanding. You comes here
very haffable like a-wanting to back a ’orse, with a hintroduction
from Mr. ’Enery Morrison, o’ Doncaster. Tall man, clean-shaved, small
heyes, wore a fawn coat and a billycock ’at, did he? Ah! I knows
’im--Valker’s ’is name. ’Orses!”--this with scorn too withering to be
expressed by means of pen and ink--“_You_ know hanythink about ’orses!
Why, yer sneakin’ goat, there ain’t a knacker in the cats’-meat yard
wot wouldn’t put ’is ’eels in yer face if ’e ’eard yer talk about a
gee-gee!”
He looked me up and down contemptuously for a moment, and then with a
sudden accession of fury, and with the sneer in his voice changed to a
snarl, said:--
“Yer come ’ere, do yer, a-spying and a-prying, and takes rooms over
the way to keep a watch upon me and my customers. And yer want to get
yer ’and on them letters there, so as to find some hevidence to lay
hinformation agin me, do yer? Think I didn’t know yer was a-watchin’ me
through the korfey palis winder? That’s wot I went out for. I knew as
yer’d be slippin’ over ’ere direckly my back was turned. But I copped
yer, yer slinkin’ toad! and yer ain’t got nothink to lay hinformation
on; and I’ll take care yer don’t!”
“My good man,” I replied quite coolly, “don’t distress yourself
unnecessarily. I know very well that you are carrying on illegal
transactions, and I could make things uncomfortable if I chose to give
the police a hint. But I’m not a detective, and I don’t concern myself
one way or the other with your doings, legal or illegal. What I came
here to find out is purely a private family affair, and has nothing in
the world to do with you or your betting business. A man I know has
disappeared, and his family are anxious to get news of him. I’ve got an
idea that he is in Stanby, and that he is having letters addressed to
your care under an assumed name. Now look here. You’ve got it in your
power to spoil my game, I admit; and I’ve got it in my power to give
the police a hint that might be inconvenient to you. But why should you
and I quarrel? Why shouldn’t we do a little business together to our
mutual benefit? I can pay for any help you give, and if you’ll work
with me I’ll guarantee that your name shan’t be mentioned, and to keep
my mouth shut about any little business transactions of your own which
you’re engaged in. Well, what is it to be? Will you accept my offer or
not? You get nothing by refusing, and gain a good deal by accepting.
You run this show to make money, and not for pleasure, I take it; and
I’m ready to put a good deal more money in your pocket than you’d make
in the general way, and not to interfere with your usual business
either. I shouldn’t have supposed it wants much thinking about.”
“Wot d’ yer call a good deal more money?” he asked shortly, but not
without signs of coming to terms.
“Five, fifteen, or twenty pounds.”
“An’ who is it yer after? There’s some of my pals as I wouldn’t give no
one the bulge on, and there’s some as I don’t care a crab’s claw abawt.”
“My man isn’t one of your pals, I’m pretty sure, though I can’t tell
you his name--anyhow, not for the present,” I answered. “But who are
the pals you won’t go back on?”
“Is it George Ray?”
“No.”
“’Appy ’Arry?”
“No.”
“Alf Mason?”
“No.”
“Bob the Skinner?”
“No.”
“Fred Wright?”
“No.”
“Give us yer twenty pun’ then. I’m on. I don’t care the price of ’arf a
pint about none of the others.”
“Not so fast, my friend; you’ve got to earn the money before you get
it. And it’ll depend on yourself whether it’s ten, fifteen or twenty.
Now listen to me. What I want you to do is to make an excuse for me
to stay in your shop, so as to get a look at the people who come for
letters. You must pretend to engage me as your assistant, and fix me
up in a white apron, and so on. If any one asks questions you can say
I’m a young man who’s come into a little money and wants to drop it in
starting a hairdressing establishment, and I’ve come to you to help me
do it. You can tell them that you don’t let me cut any of your regular
customers, but that I make myself useful by stropping the razors,
lathering the ‘shaves,’ and practising hair-cutting on odd customers
and schoolboys. I could do that much, I think, without betraying
myself. The sooner we begin the better. Give me a white apron, if
you’ve got one to spare, and I’ll put it on straight off. Here’s five
pounds down to start with, and I’ll give you another five for every
week I’m here. Is it a bargain?”
“No, it ain’t. Ten pun’ down, and ten pun’ a week’s my figger, and no
less. I ain’t a-going to injure my business by taking hamitoors to
learn the business on my customers out of charity. Them’s my terms. Yer
can take ’em or leave ’em, as yer like.”
In the end we compounded the matter for ten pounds down and five pounds
weekly, and having arrayed myself in a white apron and a canvas coat,
braided red, which the Professor tossed me from a drawer, I assumed
those badges of office--the shears, shaving-brush and comb--and took
my place behind the second operating chair to await customers and
developments.