Glencannon, page 33
"Ah! In a wurrd, they're vurra progressive businessmen," Mr. Glencannon nodded understanding. "Weel, t'will be a pleasure and a privilege to deal with them!"
*****
Some weeks later, the Inchcliffe Castle nosed into the silvery, hill-ringed amphitheater of Marseille harbor, threaded her way between the wreck buoys that studded the fairway, and tied up at the Hun-blasted ruin of the Quai de la Joliette. She lay berthed at the ravished city for eight days, a good part of which Mr. Glencannon spent combing the pharmacists' shops for certain chemicals with which to treat his crocodiles' interiors, and grog shops for certain others with which to treat his own. From Marseille, the ship went light around to Huelva, where she loaded oranges and cork bark for London. By the time she had left that port and joined a northbound convoy, Mr. Glencannon's long travail was nearly o'er.
"There, noo, Sparks!" he said as he sewed the final stitch in the final crocodile and bit off the thread. "Cast yere eyes upon the neatest job o' toxidairmy since the days o' ancient Egypt, when Queen Cleo Patrick stuffed the infant Moses full o' bulrushes!"
Mr. Levy inspected the crocodiles critically. "Yus, just laying there, they really do look as lifelike as dammit," he declared. "You say you can bend 'em into any position you want, eh?"
"Aye, thonks to my ingenious arrangement o' the metal framework within. O' course, there's no' sufficient headroom here in the 'tween-deck to have them stonding upricht, but I can stond them up in a jiffy on the sidewalk ootside the pub."
"And 'ow about the collars and ties and the big wooden cigars?"
"They and the beer mugs are all that remain to be done. I'll mak' the hoberdashery oot o' tin and the mugs oot o' five-gallon grease drums."
"Fine, fine! My word, wot an eye-catcher they'll be! There ain't a pub in London's ever 'ad anything to touch 'em, I'll guarantee that! Yus, and if Joe and Sid don't whack out fifty pounds for 'em, I'll be ... Oh, 'ere's Mr. Montgomery!"
"Guidbye, Muster Montgomery!" Mr. Glencannon greeted him,
"Er—I 'ope you'll excuse this interruption, gempmen," the mate smiled obsequiously as he stepped in over the high iron sill. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't 'elp over'earing something about fifty quid for these 'ere crocks. Fifty quid! Whew! It's a lot of money, friends, a lot of money! Welp, Mr. Glencannon, I—I simply can't believe an upstanding sportsman like you would dream of doing me out of my fair share of it!"
"Blosh!" cried Mr. Glencannon, clenching his fists. "What d'ye mean, yere fair share o' it? I kilt the feerst crocodile with my propeller! I kilt the second with my crowbar! I've stuffed them both with my ain fair honds in the teeth o' yere bitterest opposition! Have ye octually got the bross to come pewling to me noo for a share o' my hard won earnings, ye grosping Cockney twirp?"
"Oh, please, Colin, old boy!" Mr. Montgomery looked pained. "After all, despite our little differences, you and me 'ave been chums for years! For old times' sake, let's be fair about this thing! You wouldn't 'ave got either of these crocks if I 'adn't run the ship over the first one—come, you must admit it! I saw it in the water a'ead of us and there was plenty of time to dodge it.—But did I signal the bridge to shift the course? No, I didn't, Colin, and you know I didn't! Instead, my first thought was of you! 'Chauncey,' I says to meself..."
"Aye!, 'Chauncey,' ye said to yersel', 'Chauncey, here comes a dom great log floating in the way! If the propeller hits it, 'twill surely smosh a blade off! Oh, what a lovely picnic Glencannon will have, way doon here in Ofrica, trying to unship the brukken prop and fitting on the spare!' Swith, ye slimy Judas, ye've convicted yersel' oot o' yere ain mouth!"
Mr. Montgomery turned pale and swallowed once or twice. "All right, me bucko, if that's 'ow you feel about it!" he said, stalking away. "But just let me tell you, you 'aven't 'eard the larst of this thing yet!"
Despite his threat, however, he maintained a sullen silence throughout the remainder of the voyage to London.
On the morning after their arrival in Limehouse Docks, Mr. Levy went aft to Mr. Glencannon's room. "Welp," he said briskly, "Wotsay we pick up our crocodiles, nip over to East India Dock Road and talk a bit of business with Joe and Sid?"
"I'm entirely at yere sairvice," said Mr. Glencannon. "However, I must inform ye that through a slicht flaw in my colculations, the crocodiles weigh nearly four hundred poonds apiece, so picking them up will be no laughing matter."
"Let's take only one of 'em, then. Arfter all, a good salesman only needs a sample."
It took the combined efforts of Messrs. Glencannon, Levy, and three deckhands to wrestle the sample across the gangplank to the dockside. "Ah, swith, what a load!" the engineer panted. "We'll ne'er be able to lug it by hond. Do ye go doon to the engine room, a couple o' ye, and fetch up one o' those little roller trucks that we use for shifting heavy parts. And bring me a bit o' rope to tow it with."
Trailed on the truck, which it effectively concealed, the crocodile appeared to be following Mr. Glencannon through the dockyard on a leash. "Haw!" he chuckled to Mr. Levy, who was carrying the neckwear and cigar in the beer mug. "He looks so notural I wuddn't be surprised to see him stop at the next lamp post!"
As they were passing the customs office at the dockyard gate, they were halted by an inspector.
"'Arf a moment, gempmen," he said. "Wot are you going to do with that there crocodile?"
"What's it to ye!" demanded Mr. Glencannon, who loathed all bureaucrats on principle.
"It's nothing to me, sir, but it may be something to you," retorted the functionary. "I'll 'ave to arsk you please to step into the office."
"Ah, foosh!" fumed Mr. Glencannon, following him through the doorway. "Things have come to a pretty poss when His Modjesty's Government stoops to mulcting loyal subjects engaged in the noble wurrks o' chority!"
"Meaning wot?" the inspector inquired.
"Meaning that this crocodile is a children's toy whuch I am even noo on my way to bestow upon The Royal Chartered London Asylum For Orphans o' Sailors Lost At Sea In The Sairvice o' The British Empire, that's what I mean!" cried Mr. Glencannon, beating his breast resoundingly.
"Oh, so it's not for sale, then? H'm!" The inspector leafed through a leather bound volume as thick as a city directory. "Ah, 'ere we are: 'Animals, Stuffed. Paragrarph One. Specimens imported for sale or for any commercial use shall be subject to a tax of two percent of their declared or assessed value, whichever is the greater. Paragrarph Two. Specimens imported for scientific use or for presentation to any public institution shall be admitted duty free.' Welp, I farncy Paragrarph Two puts you all in the clear, sir."
"That's exoctly what I told ye in the feerst place, ye bross buttoned parasite! Come, Muster Levy—let's hasten on our mission o' gloddening a thousand wee orphan hearts."
Outside the dockyard, their passage up Three Colt Street was not devoid of incident. For some distance they were trailed by a troop of whooping children who refused to disperse until Mr. Glencannon charged into the thick of them, boxed the ears of all within reach, and threatened to eviscerate the rest. Farther on, a blowzy lady heavily perfumed with Old Noddy Gin emitted a piercing shriek, cowered back against the wall, and stood pointing with a trembling finger, her eyes dilated with horror. Recognizing the symptoms, Mr. Glencannon dropped his tow line and hastened to reassure her. "There, there, muddum!" he said, sympathetically, "Ye've really no cause for alarm. That crocodile whuch ye think ye only think ye see is octually an octual crocodile."
"Crocodile?" said the lady. "Wot crocodile? I was looking at you, you narsty drunken beast! Get out of 'ere before I 'ollers for the police!"
Turning into East India Dock Road, they came at length to an impressive establishment labeled JOE & SID CROCKER. BEER, ALE & SPIRITS. "Weel, here we are at last!" said Mr. Glencannon, exultantly. "You go richt on inside, Sparks, and get to wurrk with yere eloquent sales talk. Meanwhile, I'll install the cigar, the necktie and the beer mug and stond the croc up here on the sidewalk, all ready to clinch the deal. Guid luck, lad!" He gave him a parting slap on the back, then turned to one of the numerous bystanders. "Pairdon me, my friend, but wud ye mind giving me a hond here for a moment?"
"Oh, I say, Mr. Glencannon!" Mr. Levy called back from the pub's entrance. "There—there seems to be something wrong. 'Ere's a sign on the door that says 'Closed Until Further Notice'—Wot's the reason, any of you chaps know?"
"Inquisitive young bloke, ain'tcher!" One of the group spoke up. "Per'aps we know the reason, chum, and then agyne per'aps we don't! In this 'ere neighbor'ood, it's a lot 'ealthier not to arsk questions."
"Oh, aye!" said Mr. Glencannon, stepping over the crocodile and confronting the fellow. "Weel, ye surly lout, ye'll find it dom unhealthy if ye dinna give a civil onswer to the question my friend just osked ye!"
With remarkable speed and precision, the other drove in a left to the stomach and followed it with a right to the jaw. As Mr. Glencannon went down, vainly striving to unlimber his brass knuckles, half the crowd fell upon him while the other half attended to Mr. Levy. The crocodile was pushed from the sidewalk and went coasting slowly down the road.
The driver of an approaching bus, seeing the struggle and the scurrying crowd and suddenly spying a giant saurian advancing full in his path, directed his vehicle at the monster and ran over it lengthwise. Almost simultaneously, someone blew a police whistle and the melee on the sidewalk ended as quickly as it had begun. When a constable arrived, he found Mr. Glencannon in heated altercation with the bus driver.
"'Ere, now!" said the Law, puffing out its cheeks. "Wot's the meaning of this 'ere disturbance and wot is that there pile of wotever it is out there in the road?"
"That is a vurra voluable stuffed crocodile, officer—or at least it was until this drooling fuddle-wit druv his great dom omnibus ower it!" said Mr. Glencannon. "It was worth a hundred poonds and I shall demond full reimbursement from the bus company!"
The bus driver, though belligerent, was plainly worried. "Wot? A 'undred pounds? For that thing?" he blustered. "Oh, gor-blimey, mister—don't think you're going to get away with no such 'ighway robbery as that!"
"'Old yer jaw, me man!" the constable intervened. "If this gempman can prove 'is crocodile was worth a 'undred quid, the bus company'll 'ave to pay him a 'undred quid, for that's the law of the land. Now beggar off out of 'ere with yer ruddy bus and let's the rest of us drag the crocodile over to the gutter. Good 'eavens, just look at the 'orrible snarl me traffic is in!"
Having written down the constable's number and the names of several witnesses, Messrs. Glencannon and Levy took silent leave of the shapeless ruin that a short time before had been the basis of such roseate hopes. "Ah, me, what a calomity!" sighed Mr. Glencannon. "By richts, I shud be pocketing my fifty quid this vurra minute. As it is, I suppose I can count mysel' lucky if I can swundle the bus company oot o' a measly ten! In any case, Muster Levy, please dinna delude yersel' that I'll give ye so much as a bawbee o' it, because I won't! If ye still hope to mak' any money oot o' this ill-starred affair, ye'd better get busy and sell the remaining crocodile."
"But 'oo can I sell it to? 'Oo?" asked Mr. Levy, plaintively. "That Crocker setup was a natural! It couldn't 'appen again in a thousand years! If the other crocodile was only a shark, now, I might sell it to my Uncle Lionel to 'ang outside 'is loan office. But a crocodile ..." He shook his head and walked away to commune with his sorrow.
Throughout the remainder of the day, Mr. Glencannon wrestled with the problem of how to cajole, browbeat, blackmail, or delude the bus company into believing that the late lamented crocodile had been worth a hundred pounds. He did the wrestling in a long succession of pubs, but closing time found him still without a solution. As he made his way through the dark, foggy streets toward the river, a full awareness of the day's misfortunes flooded dismally in upon him and he wept loud and unashamed. Because the dockyard gate was only thirty feet wide, he had some difficulty in negotiating it. "Ah, whurrahoo!" he sobbed, finally edging through it sidewise. "How hoppy I was, how high my hopes, when I strode through these portals this vurra morning! Then the future seemed..."
An inspiration struck him with such impact that it knocked him off his feet. "Haw!" he exclaimed joyfully, sitting on the damp cobblestones. "Noo wait, wait, let me think a minute!—Aye, it's a flawless idea! It's a pairfict idea! It's an idea worthy o' the intellect that conceived it! Colin, dear lad, let me be the feerst to congrotulate ye!" He slapped himself on the back, shook hands with himself warmly, assisted himself to arise, and headed for the Inchcliffe Castle in his own light-hearted company.
*****
When Mr. Montgomery came into the Inchcliffe Castle's saloon for breakfast next morning, he found Mr. MacQuayle already at the table, cursing the lumps in the porridge. The mate grunted a salutation, gave his order to the steward, and rattled open the newspaper. Suddenly he stiffened. "MacQuayle!" he said, hoarsely, "MacQuayle! When we was at Marsyles, you went ashore with Glencannon a good bit! Exackly where did 'e go? Exackly wot did 'e do?—Think hard, Mac, think 'ard!"
"I dinna have to think hard to tell ye that," said Mr. MacQuayle. "When he wasn't slaking his theerst in the pubs alang the Roo Can o' beer, he was barging aroond from one chemist's shop to another, buying some kind o' powder to put inside his dom crocodiles."
"Ha!" Mr. Montgomery banged his fist on the table. "Welp, Mac, we've got the ruddy old walrus dead to rights at larst! 'Ere!" he thrust the newspaper across the table, "Just carst your eye on this 'ere story 'ere!"
Mr. MacQuayle spread the journal before him and studied the indicated item. It read:
ARRESTS IN DOPE PLOT
LIMEHOUSE PUBLICANS HELD
DRUGS SMUGGLED FROM MARSEILLE, SAYS SCOTLAND YARD
At an early hour yesterday morning, police raided the licensed premises of Joseph and Sidney Crocker in East India Dock Road and found a large quantity of narcotic drugs allegedly brought to London in British ships arriving from the recently liberated French port of Marseille. Before the war, Marseille was notorious as the world headquarters of the illicit drug traffic and was frequently cited as such in League of Nations reports. Scotland Yard officials state that yesterday's seizure is only a part of vast stocks of drugs secretly hoarded by Marseille dealers through the German occupation and warn that large-scale smuggling operations are again underway.
Mr. MacQuayle looked up wide eyed. "Chauncey! Ye mean to say Glencannon?..."
"Exackly!" cried Mr. Montgomery. "It's as plain as the nose on your face! The 'Joe and Sid' I over'eard 'im and Levy talking about was these 'ere Crockers! 'E simply sewed up the dope inside the crocodiles, delivered the first one yesterday morning and these two coves got nabbed with it!"
"Aye!" said Mr. MacQuayle. "Come to think o' it, he ..." Suddenly he cocked his ear to a sound on deck. He stood up and peered through the porthole. "Look, Chauncey! he's taking the other one ashore this vurra minute!"
"Ah, so 'e is, so 'e is!" said Mr. Montgomery tensely, looking over Mr. MacQuayle's shoulder. "Welp, Mac, we'll just let 'im get a 'ead start as far as that first shed. Then we'll nip around be'ind to the other side of it and beat 'im to the customs office. Ha, ha, ha! Oh, blimey, wot a lark! Maybe you didn't know it, Mac, but the customs people pay a thumping big reward for the sort of information you and I are about to give 'em!—Welp, come on! Let's go give it to 'em!"
When Mr. Glencannon arrived at the dockyard gate with his crocodile in tow, the inspector nodded and waved to him to pass. "Well, sir—another little gift for the orphans, I see!"
"No, my guid mon, I regret to say that this one isn't," said Mr. Glencannon. "This specimen hoppens to be a strictly commercial crocodile and therefore subject to import tax. I have been offered a hundred poonds in cauld cash for him and when I have paid ye the duty I shall deliver him to my customer."
"Coo! A 'undred pounds!" the inspector raised his eyebrows. "Welp, mister, that means I'll 'ave to charge you two quid duty. But I must say it's right down honest of you to declare its real value. If you'd left it to me, I'd 'ave assessed it at ten quid at the very most."
"My dear friend," said Mr. Glencannon, righteously, "honesty is the best policy in all walks o' life. That is sumply ethics. But when there is involved a question o' a mon's obligations to his king and country, it is a profoondly sacred motter which pairmits o' no quibble, quobble, nor cumpromise."
"Quite right you are, sir, and it's a pity there ain't more people with the same 'igh principles! Please step inside while I make out the papers for you."
Mr. Glencannon paid the two pounds duty and carefully pocketed the declaration of value and the receipt which would establish the justice of his claim upon the bus company. He was about to step out, shove the crocodile into the Thames and proceed uptown to collect, when a door marked CHIEF INSPECTOR was flung open. Through it strode a gentleman of distinctly truculent mien.
"See here, you," he said, brusquely, "are you the owner of that crocodile out there?"
"I have that honor," Mr. Glencannon acknowledged. "I micht add that I have declared its value, paid the duty, and got the receipt, so ye'd dom weel better mind yere monners when addressing me, ye uncouth boor!"
"Oh, had I?" the chief inspector sneered. "Well, my fine fellow, I've just received information that your crocodile is stuffed to the muzzle with smuggled dope. I warn you to remain quietly where you are while we examine it.—Got a knife, Wilson? Right! Get busy!"
"Ho, hoosh, this is a high-honded ootrage!" Mr. Glencannon protested. "That crocodile is worth a hundred poonds, as yere ain receipt here testifies! Ye—ye surely canna mean that ye're going to cut it to pieces!"
"Cut away, Wilson!" the chief inspector ordered.
Within a very few minutes, the stuffing was dragged out of the crocodile's hull and strewn upon the dockyard pavement. "I don't find nothing 'ere, sir," Wilson reported, crawling about in it on his hands and knees like a dog searching for a bone.
