A store that sells husbands has just opened in Ottawa where a woman may go to choose a husband from among many men. The store is comprised of 6 floors, and the men increase in positive attributes as the shopper ascends the flights.
There is, however, a catch. As you open the door to any floor you may choose a man from that floor, but if you go up a floor, you cannot go back down except to exit the building.
So a woman goes to the shopping center to find a husband. On the first floor the sign on the door reads:
Floor 1 - These men have jobs.
The woman reads the sign and says to herself, "Well, that's better than my last boyfriend, but I wonder what's further up?"
So up she goes.
The second floor sign reads:
Floor 2 - These men have jobs and love, kids.
The woman remarks to herself, "That's great, but I wonder what's further up?" And up she goes again.
The third floor sign reads:
Floor 3 - These men have jobs, love kids and are extremely good looking.
"Hmmm, better" she says. "But I wonder what's upstairs?"
The fourth floor sign reads:
Floor 4 - These men have jobs, love kids, are extremely good looking and help with the housework.
"Wow!" exclaims the woman, "very tempting. BUT, there must be more further up!" And again she heads up another flight.
The fifth floor sign reads:
Floor 5 - These men have jobs, love kids, are extremely good looking, help with the housework and have a strong romantic streak. "Oh, mercy me! But just think. What must be awaiting me further on?"
So up to the sixth floor she goes.
The sixth floor sign reads:
Floor 6 - You are visitor 3,456,789,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping Husband Mart and have a nice day!
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Suddenly he stopped talking, his eyes on one corner of the ceiling, above my chair.
‘Well, look at that!’ he said quietly.
I turned and looked up. There was the head of a very dangerous brown snake, called a ‘karait’ in India. It was looking at us with its cold little eyes from a small door in that corner of the ceiling. I stood up quickly and moved away from that corner of the room – I do not like any snakes, I am afraid of them, and the ‘karait’ is one of the most dangerous and frightening snakes. It kills so easily and so quickly.
‘Let’s get it down and break its back,’ I said.
‘It’s very hard to catch those brown snakes, you know,’ Strickland answered. ‘They move so fast. But let’s try. Bring that light over.’
I carried the light across to the corner of the room where the snake was, watching it carefully all the time. It did no move. Strickland carried his chair over to the same corner, took one of his guns from a cupboard near the door and climbed up on the chair. But the snake saw him coming. Its head suddenly disappeared and we heard it move away across the ceiling above our heads.
‘Snakes like it up there in the ceiling – it’s nice and warm,’ said Strickland. ‘But I don’t like having them here. I’m going up to catch it.’
He pushed open the small door in the ceiling and put his head and arms through. He had the gun in one hand, ready to hit the snake with it and break its back. I watched from below.
I heard Strickland say: ‘I can’t see that snake, but… Hello! What’s this? There’s something up here…’ and I saw him pushing at something with the gun. ‘I can’t quite get it,’ he said, and then suddenly: ‘It’s coming down! Be careful down there! Stand back!’
I jumped back. Something hit the centre of the ceiling hard from above, broke noisily through it into the room and hit the dinner table. It broke some glasses and plates on the table. There was water all over the floor. I went over with the light and looked down at the thing on the table. Strickland climbed quickly off the chair and stood next to me. It was a man; a dead man.
‘I think,’ Strickland said slowly, ‘that our friend Imray is back.’
Suddenly something moved out from under one leg of the thing on the table. It was the brown snake, the ‘karait’, trying to get away.
‘So the snake came down with our dead friend, I see,’ Strickland said and he pushed the snake off the table onto the floor, hit it with his gun and broke its back. I looked at the dying snake on the floor and said nothing.
Strickland went over to a cupboard and took out a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He gave me a drink.
‘Is it Imray?’ I asked.
‘Yes. That’s Imray,’ he answered. ‘And somebody killed him.’
Now we knew why there were noise round the house at night, and why Tietjens did not like sleeping inside the house. She knew that Imray was up there, dead. She knew that Imray’s ghost walked through the house at night, trying to find somebody to help him.
A minute later we heard Tietjens outside. She pushed open the door with her noise and came in. she looked at the dead man on the table and sat down on the floor next to Strickland, looking up at him.
‘You knew Imray was up there all the time, over our heads,’ Strickland said to the dog, looking down at her. ‘Somebody killed him and perhaps you know who did it, too. Dead man do not climb up into the ceilings of houses and close the ceiling door behind them. So the question is who put him there and closed the ceiling door? And who killed him? Let’s think about it.’
‘Let’s think about it in the other room,’ I said. ‘Not here.’
‘You’re right,’ said Strickland, with a smile. ‘Let’s go into the living-room.’
We went through to the living-room and sat there, smoking cigarettes and drinking our whisly. Strickland said nothing, but sat quiet and through for a minute or two. His gun was on the floor next to his chair.
‘So Imray is back,’ he said again, slowly. ‘You know, when I took this house, I took Imray’s three servants, too. They stayed here to work for me. Did one of them kill him? I was not quite happy about that when I questioned them at the time Imray disappeared, you know.’
‘Why not call them in, one of a time, and question them again?’ I said. ‘See what they have to say.’
There was a noise at the back door, from the kitchen. It was Bahadur Khan, Strickland’s servant, coming in to take the dinner things away. Strickland called him and the man came into the living-room without any noise. He wore no shoes. Ha was a tall and strong-looking man. He stood quietly near the door and waited.
‘It’s a very warm night, Bahahur Khan. Do you think more rain is coming?’ Strickland began.
‘Yes, sir. I think it is,’ the servant answered.
‘When did you first start to work for me, Bahahur Khan?’
‘When you came to live in this house, sir. You know that. After Mr. Imray suddenly went away to Europe, sir.’
‘He went away to Europe, you say? Why do you say that?’
‘All the servants say he went to Europe, sir.’
‘Do they? That’s very strange, Bahahur Khan. I asked them before, but they didn’t know. You said it to me, Bahahur Khan – but they didn’t know. And Mr. Imray went to Europe, you say, but he never said a word about it to his friends or to his other servants before he went. He told only you, Bahahur Khan. Do you think that is strange?’
‘It is strange, sir,’ the man answered very quietly.
‘And why do you say it? Why do you want us to think Mr. Imray went to Europe?’
The tall man did not answer. He looked very frightened now; his eyes were white in the dark. He moved neared the door, but Strickland went on.
‘But now, suddenly, Mr. Imray is back again, Bahahur Khan! He’s back in this house. Come and see him. He’s waiting for his old servant.’ Strickland took his gun off the floor and stood up quickly. He pushed the gun into Bahahur Khan’s face.
‘Sir!’ The tall Indian moved back, very frightened now, and put up his hands.
‘Go and look at the thing on the table in the next room, Bahahur Khan,’ Strickland said. ‘Go on. Take the light. Go and see Mr. Imray. He’s waiting for you.’
Slowly the man took the light and walked to the door. Strickland was behind him, pushed the gun into his back. The tall Indian stopped near the table and look down at the dead man. His face was yellow with fear.
‘You see?’ asked Strickland coldly. ‘Mr. Imray is back.’
‘I see, sir.’
‘And now I know; you killed him, Bahahur Khan. Why?’
‘I killed him, sir, yes. He was not a good man, sir. He put his hand on my child’s head one day… the next day my child was very ill… and the next day he died. He was my oldest son, sir. Mr. Imray killed my son. He was a bad man. So I killed Mr. Imray in the evening of the same day when he came back from the office. Then I put him up above the ceiling and closed the door.’
Strickland turned to me. ‘You hear that? He killed Mr. Imray,’ he said. Then he went on: ‘You were clever, Bahahur Khan, but Mr. Imray came back. And now I’m taking you to the police station…’
‘But no, sir,’ Bahahur Khan said with a sad smile. ‘We are not going to the police station. Look, sir.’
He moved back from the table and showed us his foot. There was the head of the brown snake, the deadly ‘karait’, with its teeth in his foot.
‘You see, sir, I killed Mr. Imray but I do not want to die at the hands of the police. So I am dying now, here. This snake is killing me.’
An hour later Bahahur Khan was dead. Strickland called some of his policemen to take the two dead men. Imray and his killer, away to the town. And the ghost of Imray did not walk at night in the house again.
That night Tietjens came back inside the house and slept happily in her room.
‘Well, look at that!’ he said quietly.
I turned and looked up. There was the head of a very dangerous brown snake, called a ‘karait’ in India. It was looking at us with its cold little eyes from a small door in that corner of the ceiling. I stood up quickly and moved away from that corner of the room – I do not like any snakes, I am afraid of them, and the ‘karait’ is one of the most dangerous and frightening snakes. It kills so easily and so quickly.
‘Let’s get it down and break its back,’ I said.
‘It’s very hard to catch those brown snakes, you know,’ Strickland answered. ‘They move so fast. But let’s try. Bring that light over.’
I carried the light across to the corner of the room where the snake was, watching it carefully all the time. It did no move. Strickland carried his chair over to the same corner, took one of his guns from a cupboard near the door and climbed up on the chair. But the snake saw him coming. Its head suddenly disappeared and we heard it move away across the ceiling above our heads.
‘Snakes like it up there in the ceiling – it’s nice and warm,’ said Strickland. ‘But I don’t like having them here. I’m going up to catch it.’
He pushed open the small door in the ceiling and put his head and arms through. He had the gun in one hand, ready to hit the snake with it and break its back. I watched from below.
I heard Strickland say: ‘I can’t see that snake, but… Hello! What’s this? There’s something up here…’ and I saw him pushing at something with the gun. ‘I can’t quite get it,’ he said, and then suddenly: ‘It’s coming down! Be careful down there! Stand back!’
I jumped back. Something hit the centre of the ceiling hard from above, broke noisily through it into the room and hit the dinner table. It broke some glasses and plates on the table. There was water all over the floor. I went over with the light and looked down at the thing on the table. Strickland climbed quickly off the chair and stood next to me. It was a man; a dead man.
‘I think,’ Strickland said slowly, ‘that our friend Imray is back.’
Suddenly something moved out from under one leg of the thing on the table. It was the brown snake, the ‘karait’, trying to get away.
‘So the snake came down with our dead friend, I see,’ Strickland said and he pushed the snake off the table onto the floor, hit it with his gun and broke its back. I looked at the dying snake on the floor and said nothing.
Strickland went over to a cupboard and took out a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He gave me a drink.
‘Is it Imray?’ I asked.
‘Yes. That’s Imray,’ he answered. ‘And somebody killed him.’
Now we knew why there were noise round the house at night, and why Tietjens did not like sleeping inside the house. She knew that Imray was up there, dead. She knew that Imray’s ghost walked through the house at night, trying to find somebody to help him.
A minute later we heard Tietjens outside. She pushed open the door with her noise and came in. she looked at the dead man on the table and sat down on the floor next to Strickland, looking up at him.
‘You knew Imray was up there all the time, over our heads,’ Strickland said to the dog, looking down at her. ‘Somebody killed him and perhaps you know who did it, too. Dead man do not climb up into the ceilings of houses and close the ceiling door behind them. So the question is who put him there and closed the ceiling door? And who killed him? Let’s think about it.’
‘Let’s think about it in the other room,’ I said. ‘Not here.’
‘You’re right,’ said Strickland, with a smile. ‘Let’s go into the living-room.’
We went through to the living-room and sat there, smoking cigarettes and drinking our whisly. Strickland said nothing, but sat quiet and through for a minute or two. His gun was on the floor next to his chair.
‘So Imray is back,’ he said again, slowly. ‘You know, when I took this house, I took Imray’s three servants, too. They stayed here to work for me. Did one of them kill him? I was not quite happy about that when I questioned them at the time Imray disappeared, you know.’
‘Why not call them in, one of a time, and question them again?’ I said. ‘See what they have to say.’
There was a noise at the back door, from the kitchen. It was Bahadur Khan, Strickland’s servant, coming in to take the dinner things away. Strickland called him and the man came into the living-room without any noise. He wore no shoes. Ha was a tall and strong-looking man. He stood quietly near the door and waited.
‘It’s a very warm night, Bahahur Khan. Do you think more rain is coming?’ Strickland began.
‘Yes, sir. I think it is,’ the servant answered.
‘When did you first start to work for me, Bahahur Khan?’
‘When you came to live in this house, sir. You know that. After Mr. Imray suddenly went away to Europe, sir.’
‘He went away to Europe, you say? Why do you say that?’
‘All the servants say he went to Europe, sir.’
‘Do they? That’s very strange, Bahahur Khan. I asked them before, but they didn’t know. You said it to me, Bahahur Khan – but they didn’t know. And Mr. Imray went to Europe, you say, but he never said a word about it to his friends or to his other servants before he went. He told only you, Bahahur Khan. Do you think that is strange?’
‘It is strange, sir,’ the man answered very quietly.
‘And why do you say it? Why do you want us to think Mr. Imray went to Europe?’
The tall man did not answer. He looked very frightened now; his eyes were white in the dark. He moved neared the door, but Strickland went on.
‘But now, suddenly, Mr. Imray is back again, Bahahur Khan! He’s back in this house. Come and see him. He’s waiting for his old servant.’ Strickland took his gun off the floor and stood up quickly. He pushed the gun into Bahahur Khan’s face.
‘Sir!’ The tall Indian moved back, very frightened now, and put up his hands.
‘Go and look at the thing on the table in the next room, Bahahur Khan,’ Strickland said. ‘Go on. Take the light. Go and see Mr. Imray. He’s waiting for you.’
Slowly the man took the light and walked to the door. Strickland was behind him, pushed the gun into his back. The tall Indian stopped near the table and look down at the dead man. His face was yellow with fear.
‘You see?’ asked Strickland coldly. ‘Mr. Imray is back.’
‘I see, sir.’
‘And now I know; you killed him, Bahahur Khan. Why?’
‘I killed him, sir, yes. He was not a good man, sir. He put his hand on my child’s head one day… the next day my child was very ill… and the next day he died. He was my oldest son, sir. Mr. Imray killed my son. He was a bad man. So I killed Mr. Imray in the evening of the same day when he came back from the office. Then I put him up above the ceiling and closed the door.’
Strickland turned to me. ‘You hear that? He killed Mr. Imray,’ he said. Then he went on: ‘You were clever, Bahahur Khan, but Mr. Imray came back. And now I’m taking you to the police station…’
‘But no, sir,’ Bahahur Khan said with a sad smile. ‘We are not going to the police station. Look, sir.’
He moved back from the table and showed us his foot. There was the head of the brown snake, the deadly ‘karait’, with its teeth in his foot.
‘You see, sir, I killed Mr. Imray but I do not want to die at the hands of the police. So I am dying now, here. This snake is killing me.’
An hour later Bahahur Khan was dead. Strickland called some of his policemen to take the two dead men. Imray and his killer, away to the town. And the ghost of Imray did not walk at night in the house again.
That night Tietjens came back inside the house and slept happily in her room.
One day Imray was there, in the little town in the north of India where he lived and worked, and the next day he was not. He disappeared. One day he was with his friends, having a drink at the bar, laughing with them, friendly, and then the next morning he was not at his office, his house was quiet, and nobody could find him.
‘Where did he go?’ his friends asked each other at the bar. ‘And why so suddenly? Why did he say nothing to us?’
They looked in the rivers near the town, and along the roads, but they found nothing. They telephoned all the hotels in the nearest big city, but nobody there knew anything about Imray. Days went by and Imray did not come back. His friends in the town slowly stopped talking about him. They sold his old car, his guns and all his other things, and his boss wrote a letter to Imray’s mother, back in England, and told her that her son was dead. Disappeared.
Imray’s house stood unlived-in and quiet for three or four long, hot summer months. The hottest weather was finished when my friend Strickland, a policeman, moved to live in it. People said that Strickland was a very strange man but I always went to see him and have dinner with him when I was in the town working for a day or two. He had one or two other friends too; he liked his guns, he liked fishing and he liked his dog – a very big dog, called Tietjens. Tietjens always went to work with Strickland and often helped him in his police work, so the people of the town were quite afraid of her. Tietjens moved into the house with Strickland and she took the room next to Strickland’s, where she had her food and where she slept.
One day, some weeks after Strickland went to live in Imray’s house, I arrived in the town at about five o’clock one afternoon and found that there were no rooms at the hotel, so I went round to Strickland’s place.
Tietjens met me at the door, showing her teeth, not moving. She knew me quite well by this time but she did not want me to go in. She waited for Strickland to come and say a friendly ‘Hello’ to me before she moved away. Strickland was happy to give me a room for two or three days, and I went to get my bag from my car.
It was a nice house, with a big garden. Inside, there were eight rooms, all white and clean. Strickland gave me a good room and at six o’clock his Indian servant, Bahadur Khan, brought us an early dinner.
‘I must go back to the office station for an hour or two after dinner, I’m afraid. My men are questioning a man down there, and I want to know what answers they’re getting,’ Strickland said.
He left me at the house with a good cigar, and with Tietjens, the dog. It was a very hot, late-summer evening. Soon after the living-room watched the rain and thought about my family and friends back home in England. Tietjens came and sat next to me and put her head on my lag, looking sad. The room was dark behind me and the only noise was the noise of the rain driving down out of the night sky.
Suddenly, without a sound, Strickland’s servant was there, standing next to me. His coat and shirt were wet from the rain. ‘Sorry, sir. There’s man here, sir. He’s asking to see somebody,’ the servant said.
I asked him to bring a light and went to the front door, but when the light came, there was nobody there. When I turned, I thought I saw a face looking in through one of the windows from the garden. It disappeared quickly.
‘Perhaps he went round to the back door,’ I said to the servant, so we went through the living-room and the quiet, dark kitchen to the back door. But there was nobody there. I went back to my chair and my thoughts by the window, not very happy with Strickland’s servant and not very happy about the face at the window, the strange visitor in the rain. I took some sugar with me to give to Tietjens, but she was out in the garden, standing in the rain, and did not want to come inside. She looked frightened, I thought.
Some time later Strickland arrived home, very wet, and the first thing he asked was: ‘Any visitors?’
I told him about the disappearing visitor in the rain. ‘I thought perhaps he had something important to tell you,’ I said, ‘but then he ran away without giving his name.’
At nine o’clock he said he was tired. I was tired too, so we got up to go to bed. Tietjens was outside in the rain, very wet. Strickland called her again and again, but she did not want to come into the house.
‘She does this every evening now,’ he said sadly. ‘I can’t understand it. She’s god a good, warm room in here, but she doesn’t come inside and sleep in it. She started doing this soon after we came to live in this place. Let’s leave her. She can sleep out there if she wants to.’ But I knew he was not happy to leave her outside in the rain.
The rain started and stopped again all night, but Tietjens stayed outside. She slept near my bedroom window and I heard her moving about. I slept very lightly and I had bad dreams. In my half-sleep I dream that somebody was calling to me in the night, asked me to come to them, to help them. Then I woke up, cold with fear, and found there was nobody there. Once in the night I looked out of the window and saw the big dog out there in the rain, with the hair on her neck and back standing up and a frightened, angry look on her face. I slept again but woke up suddenly when somebody tried to open the door of my room. They did not come in but walked on through the house. Later, I thought I heard the sound of something crying. I ran through to Strickland’s room, thinking he was ill or that he wanted my help, but he laughed at my fears and told me to go back to bed. I did not sleep again after that. I listened to the rain and waited for the first light of morning.
I stayed in the house with Strickland and his dog for two more days. Tietjens was quite happy inside the house all day, but as soon as night came she moved out into the garden and stayed there. I understood. I was very happy in the house in daytime, too, but in the evening and at night I did not like it. There was something very strange about the place. I heard the noise of feet on the floor, but there was nobody there. I heard doors open and close, I heard the chairs move and I thought somebody watched me from the darkest corners of the rooms when I walked round the house.
At the dinner on the third evening I talked to Strickland. ‘I’m going to the hotel tomorrow – they’ve got a room there now. I’m very sorry but I can’t stay here. It’s the noises in the house, you see. I’m not getting any sleep at night and I can’t work well in the day because I’m too tired.’
He listened carefully and I knew he understood. Strickland is a very understanding man. ‘Stay with me another day or two, my friend,’ he said. ‘Please don’t go. Wait and see what happens. I know what you’re talking about. I know there’s something very strange about this house, and I want to know what is it. I think Tietjens knows – she doesn’t like coming after dark…’
‘Where did he go?’ his friends asked each other at the bar. ‘And why so suddenly? Why did he say nothing to us?’
They looked in the rivers near the town, and along the roads, but they found nothing. They telephoned all the hotels in the nearest big city, but nobody there knew anything about Imray. Days went by and Imray did not come back. His friends in the town slowly stopped talking about him. They sold his old car, his guns and all his other things, and his boss wrote a letter to Imray’s mother, back in England, and told her that her son was dead. Disappeared.
Imray’s house stood unlived-in and quiet for three or four long, hot summer months. The hottest weather was finished when my friend Strickland, a policeman, moved to live in it. People said that Strickland was a very strange man but I always went to see him and have dinner with him when I was in the town working for a day or two. He had one or two other friends too; he liked his guns, he liked fishing and he liked his dog – a very big dog, called Tietjens. Tietjens always went to work with Strickland and often helped him in his police work, so the people of the town were quite afraid of her. Tietjens moved into the house with Strickland and she took the room next to Strickland’s, where she had her food and where she slept.
One day, some weeks after Strickland went to live in Imray’s house, I arrived in the town at about five o’clock one afternoon and found that there were no rooms at the hotel, so I went round to Strickland’s place.
Tietjens met me at the door, showing her teeth, not moving. She knew me quite well by this time but she did not want me to go in. She waited for Strickland to come and say a friendly ‘Hello’ to me before she moved away. Strickland was happy to give me a room for two or three days, and I went to get my bag from my car.
It was a nice house, with a big garden. Inside, there were eight rooms, all white and clean. Strickland gave me a good room and at six o’clock his Indian servant, Bahadur Khan, brought us an early dinner.
‘I must go back to the office station for an hour or two after dinner, I’m afraid. My men are questioning a man down there, and I want to know what answers they’re getting,’ Strickland said.
He left me at the house with a good cigar, and with Tietjens, the dog. It was a very hot, late-summer evening. Soon after the living-room watched the rain and thought about my family and friends back home in England. Tietjens came and sat next to me and put her head on my lag, looking sad. The room was dark behind me and the only noise was the noise of the rain driving down out of the night sky.
Suddenly, without a sound, Strickland’s servant was there, standing next to me. His coat and shirt were wet from the rain. ‘Sorry, sir. There’s man here, sir. He’s asking to see somebody,’ the servant said.
I asked him to bring a light and went to the front door, but when the light came, there was nobody there. When I turned, I thought I saw a face looking in through one of the windows from the garden. It disappeared quickly.
‘Perhaps he went round to the back door,’ I said to the servant, so we went through the living-room and the quiet, dark kitchen to the back door. But there was nobody there. I went back to my chair and my thoughts by the window, not very happy with Strickland’s servant and not very happy about the face at the window, the strange visitor in the rain. I took some sugar with me to give to Tietjens, but she was out in the garden, standing in the rain, and did not want to come inside. She looked frightened, I thought.
Some time later Strickland arrived home, very wet, and the first thing he asked was: ‘Any visitors?’
I told him about the disappearing visitor in the rain. ‘I thought perhaps he had something important to tell you,’ I said, ‘but then he ran away without giving his name.’
At nine o’clock he said he was tired. I was tired too, so we got up to go to bed. Tietjens was outside in the rain, very wet. Strickland called her again and again, but she did not want to come into the house.
‘She does this every evening now,’ he said sadly. ‘I can’t understand it. She’s god a good, warm room in here, but she doesn’t come inside and sleep in it. She started doing this soon after we came to live in this place. Let’s leave her. She can sleep out there if she wants to.’ But I knew he was not happy to leave her outside in the rain.
The rain started and stopped again all night, but Tietjens stayed outside. She slept near my bedroom window and I heard her moving about. I slept very lightly and I had bad dreams. In my half-sleep I dream that somebody was calling to me in the night, asked me to come to them, to help them. Then I woke up, cold with fear, and found there was nobody there. Once in the night I looked out of the window and saw the big dog out there in the rain, with the hair on her neck and back standing up and a frightened, angry look on her face. I slept again but woke up suddenly when somebody tried to open the door of my room. They did not come in but walked on through the house. Later, I thought I heard the sound of something crying. I ran through to Strickland’s room, thinking he was ill or that he wanted my help, but he laughed at my fears and told me to go back to bed. I did not sleep again after that. I listened to the rain and waited for the first light of morning.
I stayed in the house with Strickland and his dog for two more days. Tietjens was quite happy inside the house all day, but as soon as night came she moved out into the garden and stayed there. I understood. I was very happy in the house in daytime, too, but in the evening and at night I did not like it. There was something very strange about the place. I heard the noise of feet on the floor, but there was nobody there. I heard doors open and close, I heard the chairs move and I thought somebody watched me from the darkest corners of the rooms when I walked round the house.
At the dinner on the third evening I talked to Strickland. ‘I’m going to the hotel tomorrow – they’ve got a room there now. I’m very sorry but I can’t stay here. It’s the noises in the house, you see. I’m not getting any sleep at night and I can’t work well in the day because I’m too tired.’
He listened carefully and I knew he understood. Strickland is a very understanding man. ‘Stay with me another day or two, my friend,’ he said. ‘Please don’t go. Wait and see what happens. I know what you’re talking about. I know there’s something very strange about this house, and I want to know what is it. I think Tietjens knows – she doesn’t like coming after dark…’
It was a long, hot summer that year. Marcia went to church every Sunday morning, and Karin stayed at home with their father. When it was sunny – and it often was – Karin went up to her sunbed on the roof.
When Marcia went up to the roof garden, she always sat under the umbrella. But Karin put on lots of suntan oil and sat in the sun in her bikini.
‘The hot sun’s not good for your body,’ Marcia said.
Karin laughed. ‘Howard likes my body.’
‘No he doesn’t!’ Marcia said angrily.
‘Oh, he does!’ Karin said. ‘He’s very shy with women, but he always looks at my body very carefully. He does it all the time. Perhaps he wants me to take off—‘
‘Stop it, Karin!’ Marcia said. ‘Don’t say those things!’
Karin laughed. ‘What’s the matter, big sister? Are you afraid I’m going to take him from you?’
Marcia did not answer.
The next Sunday, Howard phoned Marcia early in the morning.
‘I – I don’t feel very well,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to church today.’
‘My love, I’m sorry,’ Marcia said. ‘Can I phone you when I get home?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said.
‘I can’t phone before one o’clock,’ Marcia said. ‘I’m going to be late back because there’s a meeting after church. Something about Africa, I think.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember,’ Howard said.
But Marcia was wrong. There was no meeting after church that morning. It was the next Sunday. So she left church at the usual time and arrived home at a quarter to twelve.
First she went in to see her father, but he was asleep. Then she phoned Howard, but there was no answer.
‘Perhaps he’s sleeping,’ she thought. And his mother doesn’t want to answer the phone.’
She went to her room and put on a long summer skirt. Then she went up to the roof garden.
She put her hand on the door to the roof… and stopped. The door was half open and she could hear voices. There was someone with Karin.
A man. Howard. Howard?
Marcia listened.
‘I feel bad about this,’ Howard said. ‘We must tell Marcia soon, Karin.’
‘No!’ Karin said quickly. She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s our secret, Howard. Only for a little longer. All right?’
‘I – I don’t like…’ he began.
‘But you do love me, Howard,’ Karin said. ‘Not Marcia? Say you love me. Please!’
Marcia suddenly felt cold.
‘You… you know I do,’ Howard answered. ‘But—‘
Karin kissed him. ‘It’s our little secret. Oh, is your car outside, my love? We don’t want Marcia to see it.’
‘I didn’t bring my car,’ Howard said. ‘I walked here.’
‘Good,’ Karin said. ‘But it’s getting late. You must go, before she comes home.’
They kissed again.
‘See you tomorrow. Usual time, usual place,’ said Karin. ‘Now, go!’
Marcia moved quickly and quietly away from the roof door, and ran to her bedroom. She did not want Howard or Karin to see her.
She heard their voices. Then the front door of the apartment opened and closed. Howard was gone.
Marcia sat on her bed for an hour. ‘Why, why, why?’ she thought. ‘Why does she do it? I stay at home with an old man all the time. I can’t go out to work, I can’t make new friends, I can’t meet new people. I go shopping once a week and I go to church once a week. That’s all. And then I met Howard. When he said “I love you”, I was so happy. And now…?’
Karin had everything. Good looks, a job, friends. She was young, she could have any man. So why Howard? Why, why, why?
‘It’s not because she wants him,’ Marcia thought. ‘It’s because I love him. It’s because she doesn’t want me to be happy.’
But you do love me, Howard. Not Marcia?
You know I do.
Was it true? Did Howard love Karin and not her? No! He saw only the beautiful, suntanned body. He didn’t know her.
‘She’s not going to have him…’ Maria thought..
Every evening that week, Howard drove Karin home after work. And every evening they got later and later.
The next Sunday, Marcia didn’t go to church.
‘I’ve got a bad head,’ she told Karin. ‘I just phoned Howard and told him, and he’s coming here after church as usual. I’m going back to sleep for an hour or two.’ And she went into her bedroom and shut the door.
Later in the morning, when Karin was with their father, Marcia went up to the roof garden. Karin’s bottle of suntan oil was on the table, and Marcia smiled.
When Karin came up to the roof, Marcia was in her chair under umbrella with a book in her hand.
‘Oh, is your head better?’ Karin asked.
‘Yes, thanks,’ Marcia said.
Karin wore her bikini, a new yellow one. She opened her bottle of suntan oil.
‘Oh, there’s not much here,’ she said. ‘I must get some more.’ She began to put some oil on her legs.
Twenty minutes later, Howard stopped his car in the street below. Up on the roof, Karin and Marcia heard the usual three little toots on his car horn.
‘He’s here,’ Karin said excitedly. ‘Your man’s here, big sister!’ And laughed.
Yes, Marcia thought. My man, not yours, Karin.
Karin jumped up from her sunbed. She ran to the wall at the edge of the roof to looked down and wave to Howard. She had no shoes on, and at the wall her feet suddenly slipped away from under her.
‘Aaagh!’ she cried.
She fell forward, and put out her hands to grab the wall. But the top of the wall was slippery too. Her hands could not hold it, and slipped away, off the wall, over the edge. And her body went on too, over the edge of the wall, and down…
Down… down… down…
Before she hit the ground, she knew.
Slippery… suntan oil… Marcia…
When Marcia went up to the roof garden, she always sat under the umbrella. But Karin put on lots of suntan oil and sat in the sun in her bikini.
‘The hot sun’s not good for your body,’ Marcia said.
Karin laughed. ‘Howard likes my body.’
‘No he doesn’t!’ Marcia said angrily.
‘Oh, he does!’ Karin said. ‘He’s very shy with women, but he always looks at my body very carefully. He does it all the time. Perhaps he wants me to take off—‘
‘Stop it, Karin!’ Marcia said. ‘Don’t say those things!’
Karin laughed. ‘What’s the matter, big sister? Are you afraid I’m going to take him from you?’
Marcia did not answer.
The next Sunday, Howard phoned Marcia early in the morning.
‘I – I don’t feel very well,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to church today.’
‘My love, I’m sorry,’ Marcia said. ‘Can I phone you when I get home?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said.
‘I can’t phone before one o’clock,’ Marcia said. ‘I’m going to be late back because there’s a meeting after church. Something about Africa, I think.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember,’ Howard said.
But Marcia was wrong. There was no meeting after church that morning. It was the next Sunday. So she left church at the usual time and arrived home at a quarter to twelve.
First she went in to see her father, but he was asleep. Then she phoned Howard, but there was no answer.
‘Perhaps he’s sleeping,’ she thought. And his mother doesn’t want to answer the phone.’
She went to her room and put on a long summer skirt. Then she went up to the roof garden.
She put her hand on the door to the roof… and stopped. The door was half open and she could hear voices. There was someone with Karin.
A man. Howard. Howard?
Marcia listened.
‘I feel bad about this,’ Howard said. ‘We must tell Marcia soon, Karin.’
‘No!’ Karin said quickly. She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s our secret, Howard. Only for a little longer. All right?’
‘I – I don’t like…’ he began.
‘But you do love me, Howard,’ Karin said. ‘Not Marcia? Say you love me. Please!’
Marcia suddenly felt cold.
‘You… you know I do,’ Howard answered. ‘But—‘
Karin kissed him. ‘It’s our little secret. Oh, is your car outside, my love? We don’t want Marcia to see it.’
‘I didn’t bring my car,’ Howard said. ‘I walked here.’
‘Good,’ Karin said. ‘But it’s getting late. You must go, before she comes home.’
They kissed again.
‘See you tomorrow. Usual time, usual place,’ said Karin. ‘Now, go!’
Marcia moved quickly and quietly away from the roof door, and ran to her bedroom. She did not want Howard or Karin to see her.
She heard their voices. Then the front door of the apartment opened and closed. Howard was gone.
Marcia sat on her bed for an hour. ‘Why, why, why?’ she thought. ‘Why does she do it? I stay at home with an old man all the time. I can’t go out to work, I can’t make new friends, I can’t meet new people. I go shopping once a week and I go to church once a week. That’s all. And then I met Howard. When he said “I love you”, I was so happy. And now…?’
Karin had everything. Good looks, a job, friends. She was young, she could have any man. So why Howard? Why, why, why?
‘It’s not because she wants him,’ Marcia thought. ‘It’s because I love him. It’s because she doesn’t want me to be happy.’
But you do love me, Howard. Not Marcia?
You know I do.
Was it true? Did Howard love Karin and not her? No! He saw only the beautiful, suntanned body. He didn’t know her.
‘She’s not going to have him…’ Maria thought..
Every evening that week, Howard drove Karin home after work. And every evening they got later and later.
The next Sunday, Marcia didn’t go to church.
‘I’ve got a bad head,’ she told Karin. ‘I just phoned Howard and told him, and he’s coming here after church as usual. I’m going back to sleep for an hour or two.’ And she went into her bedroom and shut the door.
Later in the morning, when Karin was with their father, Marcia went up to the roof garden. Karin’s bottle of suntan oil was on the table, and Marcia smiled.
When Karin came up to the roof, Marcia was in her chair under umbrella with a book in her hand.
‘Oh, is your head better?’ Karin asked.
‘Yes, thanks,’ Marcia said.
Karin wore her bikini, a new yellow one. She opened her bottle of suntan oil.
‘Oh, there’s not much here,’ she said. ‘I must get some more.’ She began to put some oil on her legs.
Twenty minutes later, Howard stopped his car in the street below. Up on the roof, Karin and Marcia heard the usual three little toots on his car horn.
‘He’s here,’ Karin said excitedly. ‘Your man’s here, big sister!’ And laughed.
Yes, Marcia thought. My man, not yours, Karin.
Karin jumped up from her sunbed. She ran to the wall at the edge of the roof to looked down and wave to Howard. She had no shoes on, and at the wall her feet suddenly slipped away from under her.
‘Aaagh!’ she cried.
She fell forward, and put out her hands to grab the wall. But the top of the wall was slippery too. Her hands could not hold it, and slipped away, off the wall, over the edge. And her body went on too, over the edge of the wall, and down…
Down… down… down…
Before she hit the ground, she knew.
Slippery… suntan oil… Marcia…
Marcia met Howard Collins at the church. Marcia was thirty-five years old, Howard was forty-one. Howard lived with his mother in a small house on the south side of the town. Marcia lived with her sister and father in an apartment, three street way.
Marcia did not work. Her father, George Grant, was ill and never left the apartment. He stayed in bed most of the time and always needed somebody with him. So Marcia stayed at home with her father, and only went out when her sister Karin was in the house.
The two sisters were very different. Marcia was short with a small round face and short black hair. Karin was ten years younger. She was tall, had long brown hair, and good legs, and a suntan all through the summer. People often said to Marcia, ‘Your sister is very beautiful.’ There were always lots of men ready to take Karin out to dinner or to cinema. But Marcia stayed at home.
Karin worked in a shop in the town. When she was at home, she liked to sit up on the roof garden of their apartment building.
It was one Sunday in May when Marcia came home with Howard the first time. She took him to see her father. George Grant was in bed. He had grey hair and a grey face. Sometimes he read a book, but mostly he just sat in bed and watched television.
‘This is Howard, father,’ Marcia said. ‘He works at the hospital, and we met at church. I told you about him last week. Do you remember?’
‘No,’ her father said. And he turned his face away, back to his television. He was not interested in new people or his daughter’s friends.
Just then, Karin came into the room. She wore a white bikini and white shoes. She smiled at Howard.
‘So you’re Howard,’ she said. ‘My big sister has got a boyfriend at last!’
Howard’s face went red and he looked down at his feet.
Karin laughed. ‘Come on up to the roof garden and have some wine. The sun is wonderful this morning.’
‘Oh, I…’ Howard began.
Marcia looked angrily at her sister. But then she said, ‘Yes, I must get father a drink. See you in a minute, Howard. Go up to the roof and talk to Karin.’
The sun was hot on the roof and Howard took off his coat. He looked around. There were three chairs, a sun umbrella, a sunbed, and a table with three glasses and a bottle of wine on it. There were tiles on the floor, and next to the little wall around the edge of the roof there were some flowers in boxes. This was the ‘garden’.
‘Very nice,’ said Howard.
Karin smiled at him.
‘We don’t see mane good-looking men up here,’ she said. ‘Sit down and have a drink.’
Howard’s face went o red again. He gave a shy little laugh. ‘Oh, er… thank you,’ he said. He tried not to look at Karin’s long suntanned legs, but it was not easy.
‘I come up here all the time when it’s sunny,’ Karin said. She began to put suntan oil on her arms and legs.
Howard watched.
Then Marcia arrived, and the three of them sat in the sun and drank wine. Marcia looked at Howard with love in her eyes. She did not look at Karin.
Karin watched them. Her eyes went from her sister, to Howard, and back again to her sister. She smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
Every Sunday morning after that, Marcia brought Howard home for a glass of wine after church. Howard stopped his car in the street outside the apartment building, and Marcia said, ‘Sound the horn, Howard. Tell Karin we’re here, then she can get the wine ready.’
So Howard gave three little toots on his car horn. On sunny days Karin always came to the wall at the edge of the roof, and looked over to wave at them. Then she went to get a wine.
She always wore her bikini or a very short skirt. Marcia never wore short skirt or a bikini.
‘My legs are too fat for bikinis,’ she told Howard.
‘Your legs are… very nice,’ he said shyly.
One day in June Karin asked Howard, ‘What time do you finish work, Howard?’
‘About six o’clock,’ he said.
‘Could you bring me home after work?’ Karin said. ‘My shop’s very near the hospital – you drive right past it. And you only live three streets away from us.’
‘There’s a very good bus,’ said Marcia quickly. ‘It stops outside our building.’
‘But the bus is so slow!’ Karin said. ‘Please, Howard!’
Howard looked from one sister to the other. ‘Oh, well… er, yes, all right then,’ he said.
‘Thank you!’ Karin said, and gave him a quick kiss.
So every evening Howard drove Karin home. On the first Friday they were an hour late. When they arrived, Marcia was at the door of the apartment building.
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Why are you so late?’
‘There was an accident,’ Karin said. ‘Three cars, all across the road – on that hill by the cinema, you know. We couldn’t go back. There were so many cars! Nobody could move!’
Howard said nothing.
Marcia did not work. Her father, George Grant, was ill and never left the apartment. He stayed in bed most of the time and always needed somebody with him. So Marcia stayed at home with her father, and only went out when her sister Karin was in the house.
The two sisters were very different. Marcia was short with a small round face and short black hair. Karin was ten years younger. She was tall, had long brown hair, and good legs, and a suntan all through the summer. People often said to Marcia, ‘Your sister is very beautiful.’ There were always lots of men ready to take Karin out to dinner or to cinema. But Marcia stayed at home.
Karin worked in a shop in the town. When she was at home, she liked to sit up on the roof garden of their apartment building.
It was one Sunday in May when Marcia came home with Howard the first time. She took him to see her father. George Grant was in bed. He had grey hair and a grey face. Sometimes he read a book, but mostly he just sat in bed and watched television.
‘This is Howard, father,’ Marcia said. ‘He works at the hospital, and we met at church. I told you about him last week. Do you remember?’
‘No,’ her father said. And he turned his face away, back to his television. He was not interested in new people or his daughter’s friends.
Just then, Karin came into the room. She wore a white bikini and white shoes. She smiled at Howard.
‘So you’re Howard,’ she said. ‘My big sister has got a boyfriend at last!’
Howard’s face went red and he looked down at his feet.
Karin laughed. ‘Come on up to the roof garden and have some wine. The sun is wonderful this morning.’
‘Oh, I…’ Howard began.
Marcia looked angrily at her sister. But then she said, ‘Yes, I must get father a drink. See you in a minute, Howard. Go up to the roof and talk to Karin.’
The sun was hot on the roof and Howard took off his coat. He looked around. There were three chairs, a sun umbrella, a sunbed, and a table with three glasses and a bottle of wine on it. There were tiles on the floor, and next to the little wall around the edge of the roof there were some flowers in boxes. This was the ‘garden’.
‘Very nice,’ said Howard.
Karin smiled at him.
‘We don’t see mane good-looking men up here,’ she said. ‘Sit down and have a drink.’
Howard’s face went o red again. He gave a shy little laugh. ‘Oh, er… thank you,’ he said. He tried not to look at Karin’s long suntanned legs, but it was not easy.
‘I come up here all the time when it’s sunny,’ Karin said. She began to put suntan oil on her arms and legs.
Howard watched.
Then Marcia arrived, and the three of them sat in the sun and drank wine. Marcia looked at Howard with love in her eyes. She did not look at Karin.
Karin watched them. Her eyes went from her sister, to Howard, and back again to her sister. She smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
Every Sunday morning after that, Marcia brought Howard home for a glass of wine after church. Howard stopped his car in the street outside the apartment building, and Marcia said, ‘Sound the horn, Howard. Tell Karin we’re here, then she can get the wine ready.’
So Howard gave three little toots on his car horn. On sunny days Karin always came to the wall at the edge of the roof, and looked over to wave at them. Then she went to get a wine.
She always wore her bikini or a very short skirt. Marcia never wore short skirt or a bikini.
‘My legs are too fat for bikinis,’ she told Howard.
‘Your legs are… very nice,’ he said shyly.
One day in June Karin asked Howard, ‘What time do you finish work, Howard?’
‘About six o’clock,’ he said.
‘Could you bring me home after work?’ Karin said. ‘My shop’s very near the hospital – you drive right past it. And you only live three streets away from us.’
‘There’s a very good bus,’ said Marcia quickly. ‘It stops outside our building.’
‘But the bus is so slow!’ Karin said. ‘Please, Howard!’
Howard looked from one sister to the other. ‘Oh, well… er, yes, all right then,’ he said.
‘Thank you!’ Karin said, and gave him a quick kiss.
So every evening Howard drove Karin home. On the first Friday they were an hour late. When they arrived, Marcia was at the door of the apartment building.
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Why are you so late?’
‘There was an accident,’ Karin said. ‘Three cars, all across the road – on that hill by the cinema, you know. We couldn’t go back. There were so many cars! Nobody could move!’
Howard said nothing.
Joey Kerrigan arrived in London in January 1912. He did not have a place to stay.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he thought, smiling. ‘Joey’s luck is going to find me a room.’
Joey thought a lot about luck. ‘One day I’m going to be rich,’ he told everybody. ‘Lucky people get rich, and I’m lucky.’
After a lot of walking, he found a room I n a house. It was near Tower Bridge. The room wasn’t very big but it was cheap. The landlord’s name was Mr. Webber. He looked Joey up and down.
‘What’s your name?’ he said. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Joey, Joey… Smith,’ Joey said. ‘I’m from Ireland.’
‘Well, you can have the room,’ Webber said, ‘but I want two weeks’ money now.’
‘I’ve only got one week’s money,’ Joey said.
‘And tomorrow’s Sunday,’ Webber said. ‘You can’t find a work on a Sunday. So when can you give me the second week’s money?’
Joey smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. ‘I can find work,’ he said. ‘I’m lucky. Good things happen to me. It’s called Joey’s lucky.’
On Sunday Joey stayed in bed all morning and in the afternoon he went for a walk. After an hour, he took a bag from a woman in Fleet Street.
The woman shouted, ‘Stop! Stop!’
But Joey was now fifty metes away, and there were no other people near.
Joey laughed and ran down a little street, then between two tall buildings down to the river.
He stopped and opened the bag. There was some money in it, but not very much. He took the money out, then put the bag into the river.
Later that day, he walked past a bookshop. There were lots of people there, looking at books, and Joey moved carefully between them. For a second he stood behind a fat man, then moved quietly away. The man did not feel Joey’s hand in his back pocket, but the man’s wallet was now inside Joey’s shirt.
It was a big, fat wallet, and when he got back to the house, he gave the landlord the second week’s money for the room.
‘You found work on s Sunday?’ Webber said. ‘Where? Who with?’
Joey smiled. ‘I told you, I’m lucky. Joey’s luck!’
For the nest three months, Joey Kerrigan walked the streets of London most days. He stole handbags from women, or things from shops, and he took wallets from men’s pockets. One morning at the beginning of April, he took a wallet from the pocket of an old man with a red face. Joey was usually a very good pickpocket – people never knew anything about it.
But not that morning. The man with the red face was quick. He turned, saw Joey, and shouted.
‘Hey! You! That’s my wallet! Come back here!’
But Joey was a good runner too. In two seconds he was round the corner into another street, then round another corner, and then he jumped onto a bus.
‘Joey’s luck!’ Joey said, laughing.
There was more luck for Joey that week. He first learned about Theo Goldman’s money in a pub near his landlord’s house. Webber went to the pub most evenings and sat with his friend, Goldman.
Goldman had a shop not far from the pub. He bought and sold a lot of different things – tables, chairs, beds, clocks, watches, books, pictures…
When Joey went into the pub that evening, he saw Webber and Goldman at a table near the window. There were a lot of people in the pub. Joey bought a drink, then found a chair near Webber and Goldman. They did not see him. Joey sat with his back to them, and listened.
‘But I need money to buy things when people bring them in,’ Goldman said.
‘Some money, yes,’ Webber answered. ‘But a hundred pounds or more? And in the shop? No, no, Theo!’
‘It’s not in the shop,’ Goldman said. ‘It’s in my room at the back.’
‘Do you have a good place to put it?’ Webber said.
Goldman laughed. ‘A very good place,’ he said.
Joey sat with his drink, thinking. He knew Goldman’s shop because it was in the same street as Webber’s house. Joey often walked past it.
‘A hundred pounds or more. I’m going to get that hundred pounds!’ he thought. ‘Then I can do anything! Perhaps begin a new life in America!’
He smiled. Joey’s luck again!
So the money was in the room at the back, in a very good place. But where was that place?
Joey saw an open door to the room at the back of the shop. Through the door he could see a table, two chairs and a big cupboard. Was Goldman’s money in that cupboard?
Suddenly, the old man looked up, and Joey quickly turned and walk away.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he thought, smiling. ‘Joey’s luck is going to find me a room.’
Joey thought a lot about luck. ‘One day I’m going to be rich,’ he told everybody. ‘Lucky people get rich, and I’m lucky.’
After a lot of walking, he found a room I n a house. It was near Tower Bridge. The room wasn’t very big but it was cheap. The landlord’s name was Mr. Webber. He looked Joey up and down.
‘What’s your name?’ he said. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Joey, Joey… Smith,’ Joey said. ‘I’m from Ireland.’
‘Well, you can have the room,’ Webber said, ‘but I want two weeks’ money now.’
‘I’ve only got one week’s money,’ Joey said.
‘And tomorrow’s Sunday,’ Webber said. ‘You can’t find a work on a Sunday. So when can you give me the second week’s money?’
Joey smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. ‘I can find work,’ he said. ‘I’m lucky. Good things happen to me. It’s called Joey’s lucky.’
On Sunday Joey stayed in bed all morning and in the afternoon he went for a walk. After an hour, he took a bag from a woman in Fleet Street.
The woman shouted, ‘Stop! Stop!’
But Joey was now fifty metes away, and there were no other people near.
Joey laughed and ran down a little street, then between two tall buildings down to the river.
He stopped and opened the bag. There was some money in it, but not very much. He took the money out, then put the bag into the river.
Later that day, he walked past a bookshop. There were lots of people there, looking at books, and Joey moved carefully between them. For a second he stood behind a fat man, then moved quietly away. The man did not feel Joey’s hand in his back pocket, but the man’s wallet was now inside Joey’s shirt.
It was a big, fat wallet, and when he got back to the house, he gave the landlord the second week’s money for the room.
‘You found work on s Sunday?’ Webber said. ‘Where? Who with?’
Joey smiled. ‘I told you, I’m lucky. Joey’s luck!’
For the nest three months, Joey Kerrigan walked the streets of London most days. He stole handbags from women, or things from shops, and he took wallets from men’s pockets. One morning at the beginning of April, he took a wallet from the pocket of an old man with a red face. Joey was usually a very good pickpocket – people never knew anything about it.
But not that morning. The man with the red face was quick. He turned, saw Joey, and shouted.
‘Hey! You! That’s my wallet! Come back here!’
But Joey was a good runner too. In two seconds he was round the corner into another street, then round another corner, and then he jumped onto a bus.
‘Joey’s luck!’ Joey said, laughing.
There was more luck for Joey that week. He first learned about Theo Goldman’s money in a pub near his landlord’s house. Webber went to the pub most evenings and sat with his friend, Goldman.
Goldman had a shop not far from the pub. He bought and sold a lot of different things – tables, chairs, beds, clocks, watches, books, pictures…
When Joey went into the pub that evening, he saw Webber and Goldman at a table near the window. There were a lot of people in the pub. Joey bought a drink, then found a chair near Webber and Goldman. They did not see him. Joey sat with his back to them, and listened.
‘But I need money to buy things when people bring them in,’ Goldman said.
‘Some money, yes,’ Webber answered. ‘But a hundred pounds or more? And in the shop? No, no, Theo!’
‘It’s not in the shop,’ Goldman said. ‘It’s in my room at the back.’
‘Do you have a good place to put it?’ Webber said.
Goldman laughed. ‘A very good place,’ he said.
Joey sat with his drink, thinking. He knew Goldman’s shop because it was in the same street as Webber’s house. Joey often walked past it.
‘A hundred pounds or more. I’m going to get that hundred pounds!’ he thought. ‘Then I can do anything! Perhaps begin a new life in America!’
He smiled. Joey’s luck again!
So the money was in the room at the back, in a very good place. But where was that place?
Joey saw an open door to the room at the back of the shop. Through the door he could see a table, two chairs and a big cupboard. Was Goldman’s money in that cupboard?
Suddenly, the old man looked up, and Joey quickly turned and walk away.
Carl laughed again, and Mr. Harris wanted to hit him. ‘Go home, little sister,’ Carl said. ‘I’m not going to give the diamonds back to you. Go home to your angry husband.’
Suddenly there was a knife in the young woman’s hand. A long, bright knife. Mr. Harris watched with his mouth open. He couldn’t speak or move.
‘Give the diamonds back to me!’ Elena cried. ‘Or I’m going to kill you!’ Her hand on the knife was white.
Carl laughed and laughed. ‘What a sister!’ he said. ‘What a kind, sweet sister! No, they’re my diamonds now. Put your knife away, little sister.’
But the knife in the white hand moved quickly: up, then down. There was a long, terrible cry, and Carl’s body fell slowly on to the seat. The color of the seat began to change to red, and the diamond necklace fell from Carl’s hand o n to the floor.
Elena’s face was white. ‘Oh no!’ she whispered. ‘Carl!’ Come back… come back! I didn’t want to kill you!’ But Carl didn’t answer, and the red blood ran slowly over the floor. Elena put her head in her hands, and again in the carriage there was a long, terrible cry.
Mr. Harris’s face was white too. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak. He stood up, and carefully moved to the door. The young woman was quiet now. She didn’t move or look up at Mr. Harris.
In the corridor, Mr. Harris ran. The guard was at the back of the train and Mr. Harris got there in half a minute. ‘Quickly!’ Mr. Harris said. ‘Come quickly! An accident… a young woman… oh dear! Her brother is… is dead!’
The guard ran with Mr. Harris back to the carriage. Mr. Harris opened the door and they went inside.
There was no dead body of a young man. There was no young woman… no blood, no knife, no diamond necklace. Only Mr. Harris’s bags and his hat and coat.
The guard looked at Mr. Harris, and Mr. Harris looked at him.
‘But…’ Mr. Harris began. ‘But they were here! I saw them! She… the young woman… She had a knife and she… she killed her brother.’
‘A knife, you say?’ The guard asked.
‘Yes,’ Mr. Harris said quickly. ‘A long knife, and her brother took her diamonds, so she—‘
‘Ah! Diamonds!’ the guard said. ‘Was the young woman’s name Elena?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it was!’ Mr. Harris said. ‘How do you know that? Do you… Do you know her?’
‘Yes—and no,’ the guard said slowly. He thought for a minute, then looked at Mr. Harris. ‘Elena di Saronelli,’ he said. ‘She had dark eyes and black hair. Very beautiful. She was half-Italian, half-Finnish. Her brother was a half brother. They had the same father, but his mother was Russian, I think.’
‘Was? Had?’ Mr. Harris stared at the guard. ‘But she… Elena… she alive! And where is she?’
‘Oh no,’ said the guard. ‘Elena di Saronelli died about eighty years ago. After she killed her brother with a knife, she jumped off the train, and died at once. It was near here, I think.’ He looked out of the window, into the night.
Mr. Harris’s face was very white again. ‘Eighty years ago!’ he whispered. ‘What are you saying? Were she and her brother… But I saw them!’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ the guard said. ‘You saw them, but they’re not alive. They’re ghosts. They often come on the night train at this time in September. I never see them, but somebody saw them last year. A man and his wife. They were very unhappy about it. But what can I do? I can’t stop Elena and Carl coming on the train.’
The guard looked at Mr. Harris’s white face. ‘You need a drink,’ he said. ‘Come and have a vodka with me.’
Mr. Harris didn’t usually drink vodka, but he felt afraid. When he closed his eyes, he could see again Elena’s long knife and could hear her terrible cry. So he went with the guard to the back of the train.
After the vodka, Mr. Harris felt better. He didn’t want to sleep, and the guard was happy to talk. So Mr. Harris stayed with the guard and didn’t go back hic carriage.
‘Yes,’ the guard said, ‘it’s a famous story. I don’t remember it all. It happened a long time ago, of course. Elena’s father was a famous man here in Finland. He was very rich once, but he had three or four wives and about eight children. And he liked the good things of life. So there wasn’t much money for the children. Carl, the oldest son, was a bad man, people say. He wanted an easy life, and money in his hand all the time.’
The train hurried on to Oulu through the black night, and the guard drank some more vodka. ‘Now, Elena,’ he said. ‘She didn’t have an easy life with those three difficult men – her father, her brother, her husband. One year she visited her mother’s family in Italy, and there she met her husband, di Saronelli. He was rich, but he wasn’t a kind man. They came back to Finland, and Carl often visited their house. He wanted money from his sister’s rich husband. Elena loved her brother, and gave him some money. But di Saronelli didn’t like Carl and was angry with Elena. He stopped giving her money, and after that… well, you know the story.’
‘Yes,’ Mr. Harris said. ‘Poor, unhappy Elena.’
Mr. Harris stayed with his friends in Oulu for two weeks. They were quiet weeks, and Mr. Harris had a good holiday. But he took the bus back to Helsinki. The bus was slow, and there were a lot of people on it, but Mr. Harris was very happy. He didn’t want to take the night train across Finland again.
Suddenly there was a knife in the young woman’s hand. A long, bright knife. Mr. Harris watched with his mouth open. He couldn’t speak or move.
‘Give the diamonds back to me!’ Elena cried. ‘Or I’m going to kill you!’ Her hand on the knife was white.
Carl laughed and laughed. ‘What a sister!’ he said. ‘What a kind, sweet sister! No, they’re my diamonds now. Put your knife away, little sister.’
But the knife in the white hand moved quickly: up, then down. There was a long, terrible cry, and Carl’s body fell slowly on to the seat. The color of the seat began to change to red, and the diamond necklace fell from Carl’s hand o n to the floor.
Elena’s face was white. ‘Oh no!’ she whispered. ‘Carl!’ Come back… come back! I didn’t want to kill you!’ But Carl didn’t answer, and the red blood ran slowly over the floor. Elena put her head in her hands, and again in the carriage there was a long, terrible cry.
Mr. Harris’s face was white too. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak. He stood up, and carefully moved to the door. The young woman was quiet now. She didn’t move or look up at Mr. Harris.
In the corridor, Mr. Harris ran. The guard was at the back of the train and Mr. Harris got there in half a minute. ‘Quickly!’ Mr. Harris said. ‘Come quickly! An accident… a young woman… oh dear! Her brother is… is dead!’
The guard ran with Mr. Harris back to the carriage. Mr. Harris opened the door and they went inside.
There was no dead body of a young man. There was no young woman… no blood, no knife, no diamond necklace. Only Mr. Harris’s bags and his hat and coat.
The guard looked at Mr. Harris, and Mr. Harris looked at him.
‘But…’ Mr. Harris began. ‘But they were here! I saw them! She… the young woman… She had a knife and she… she killed her brother.’
‘A knife, you say?’ The guard asked.
‘Yes,’ Mr. Harris said quickly. ‘A long knife, and her brother took her diamonds, so she—‘
‘Ah! Diamonds!’ the guard said. ‘Was the young woman’s name Elena?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it was!’ Mr. Harris said. ‘How do you know that? Do you… Do you know her?’
‘Yes—and no,’ the guard said slowly. He thought for a minute, then looked at Mr. Harris. ‘Elena di Saronelli,’ he said. ‘She had dark eyes and black hair. Very beautiful. She was half-Italian, half-Finnish. Her brother was a half brother. They had the same father, but his mother was Russian, I think.’
‘Was? Had?’ Mr. Harris stared at the guard. ‘But she… Elena… she alive! And where is she?’
‘Oh no,’ said the guard. ‘Elena di Saronelli died about eighty years ago. After she killed her brother with a knife, she jumped off the train, and died at once. It was near here, I think.’ He looked out of the window, into the night.
Mr. Harris’s face was very white again. ‘Eighty years ago!’ he whispered. ‘What are you saying? Were she and her brother… But I saw them!’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ the guard said. ‘You saw them, but they’re not alive. They’re ghosts. They often come on the night train at this time in September. I never see them, but somebody saw them last year. A man and his wife. They were very unhappy about it. But what can I do? I can’t stop Elena and Carl coming on the train.’
The guard looked at Mr. Harris’s white face. ‘You need a drink,’ he said. ‘Come and have a vodka with me.’
Mr. Harris didn’t usually drink vodka, but he felt afraid. When he closed his eyes, he could see again Elena’s long knife and could hear her terrible cry. So he went with the guard to the back of the train.
After the vodka, Mr. Harris felt better. He didn’t want to sleep, and the guard was happy to talk. So Mr. Harris stayed with the guard and didn’t go back hic carriage.
‘Yes,’ the guard said, ‘it’s a famous story. I don’t remember it all. It happened a long time ago, of course. Elena’s father was a famous man here in Finland. He was very rich once, but he had three or four wives and about eight children. And he liked the good things of life. So there wasn’t much money for the children. Carl, the oldest son, was a bad man, people say. He wanted an easy life, and money in his hand all the time.’
The train hurried on to Oulu through the black night, and the guard drank some more vodka. ‘Now, Elena,’ he said. ‘She didn’t have an easy life with those three difficult men – her father, her brother, her husband. One year she visited her mother’s family in Italy, and there she met her husband, di Saronelli. He was rich, but he wasn’t a kind man. They came back to Finland, and Carl often visited their house. He wanted money from his sister’s rich husband. Elena loved her brother, and gave him some money. But di Saronelli didn’t like Carl and was angry with Elena. He stopped giving her money, and after that… well, you know the story.’
‘Yes,’ Mr. Harris said. ‘Poor, unhappy Elena.’
Mr. Harris stayed with his friends in Oulu for two weeks. They were quiet weeks, and Mr. Harris had a good holiday. But he took the bus back to Helsinki. The bus was slow, and there were a lot of people on it, but Mr. Harris was very happy. He didn’t want to take the night train across Finland again.
Mr. Harris liked trains. He was afraid of aeroplanes, and didn't like buses. But trains- they were big and noisy and exciting. When he was a boy of ten, he liked trains. Now he was a man of fifty, and he still liked trains.
So he was a happy man on the night of the 14th of September. He was on the night train from Helsinki to Oulu in Finland, and he had ten hours in front of him.
‘I’ve got a book and my newspaper,’ he thought. ‘And there’s a good restaurant on the train. And then I’ve got two weeks’ holiday with my Finnish friends in Oulu.’
There weren’t many people on the train, and nobody came into Mr. Harris’s carriage. He was happy about that. Most people on the train slept through the night, but Mr. Harris liked to look out of the window, and to read and think.
After dinner in the restaurant Mr. Harris came back to his carriage, and sat in his seat next to the window. For an hour or two he watched the trees and lakes of Finland out of the window. Then it began to get dark, so he opened his book and began to read.
At midnight the train stopped at the small station of Otava. Mr. Harris looked out of the window, but he saw nobody. The train moved away from the station, into the black night again. Then the door of Mr. Harris opened, and two people came in. a young man and a young woman.
The young woman was angry. She closed the door and shouted at the man: ‘ Carl! You can’t do this to me!’ The young woman laughed loudly and sat down.
Mr. Harris was a small, quiet man. He wore quiet clothes, and he had a quiet voice. He did not like noisy people and loud voices. So he was not pleased. ‘Young people are always noisy,’ he thought. ‘Why can’t they talk quietly?’
He put his book down and closed his eyes. But he could not sleep because the two young people didn’t stop talking.
The young woman sat down and said in a quieter voice: ‘Carl, you’re my brother and I love you, but please listen to me. You can’t take my diamond necklace. Give it back to me now. Please!’
Carl smiled. ‘No, Elena,’ he said ‘I’m going back to Russia soon, and I’m taking your diamonds with me.’ He took off his hat and put it on the seat. ‘Elena. Listen. You have a rich husband, but I – I have no money. I have nothing! How can I live without money? You can give me money, so I need your diamonds, little sister.’
Mr. Harris looked at the young woman. She was small, with black hair and dark eyes. Her face was white and afraid. Mr. Harris began to feel sorry for Elena. She and her brother didn’t look at him once. ‘Can’t they see me?’ he thought.
‘Carl,’ Elena said. Her voice was very quiet now, and Mr. Harris listened carefully. ‘You came to dinner at our house tonight, and you went to my room and took my diamond necklace. How could you do that to me? My husband gave the diamonds to me. They were his mother’s diamonds before that. He’s going to be very, very angry – and I’m afraid of him.’
Her brother laughed. He put his hand in his pocket, then took it out again and opened it slowly. The diamond necklace in his hand was very beautiful. Mr. Harris stared at it. For a minute or two nobody moved and it was quiet in the carriage. There was only the noise of the train, and it went quickly on through the dark cold night.
Mr. Harris opened his book again, but he didn’t read it. He watched Carl’s face, with its hungry eyes and its cold smile. ‘What beautiful, beautiful diamonds!’ Carl said. ‘I can get a lot of money for these.’
‘Give them back to me, Carl,’ Elena whispered. ‘My husband’s going to kill me. You’re my brother… Please help me. Please!’
So he was a happy man on the night of the 14th of September. He was on the night train from Helsinki to Oulu in Finland, and he had ten hours in front of him.
‘I’ve got a book and my newspaper,’ he thought. ‘And there’s a good restaurant on the train. And then I’ve got two weeks’ holiday with my Finnish friends in Oulu.’
There weren’t many people on the train, and nobody came into Mr. Harris’s carriage. He was happy about that. Most people on the train slept through the night, but Mr. Harris liked to look out of the window, and to read and think.
After dinner in the restaurant Mr. Harris came back to his carriage, and sat in his seat next to the window. For an hour or two he watched the trees and lakes of Finland out of the window. Then it began to get dark, so he opened his book and began to read.
At midnight the train stopped at the small station of Otava. Mr. Harris looked out of the window, but he saw nobody. The train moved away from the station, into the black night again. Then the door of Mr. Harris opened, and two people came in. a young man and a young woman.
The young woman was angry. She closed the door and shouted at the man: ‘ Carl! You can’t do this to me!’ The young woman laughed loudly and sat down.
Mr. Harris was a small, quiet man. He wore quiet clothes, and he had a quiet voice. He did not like noisy people and loud voices. So he was not pleased. ‘Young people are always noisy,’ he thought. ‘Why can’t they talk quietly?’
He put his book down and closed his eyes. But he could not sleep because the two young people didn’t stop talking.
The young woman sat down and said in a quieter voice: ‘Carl, you’re my brother and I love you, but please listen to me. You can’t take my diamond necklace. Give it back to me now. Please!’
Carl smiled. ‘No, Elena,’ he said ‘I’m going back to Russia soon, and I’m taking your diamonds with me.’ He took off his hat and put it on the seat. ‘Elena. Listen. You have a rich husband, but I – I have no money. I have nothing! How can I live without money? You can give me money, so I need your diamonds, little sister.’
Mr. Harris looked at the young woman. She was small, with black hair and dark eyes. Her face was white and afraid. Mr. Harris began to feel sorry for Elena. She and her brother didn’t look at him once. ‘Can’t they see me?’ he thought.
‘Carl,’ Elena said. Her voice was very quiet now, and Mr. Harris listened carefully. ‘You came to dinner at our house tonight, and you went to my room and took my diamond necklace. How could you do that to me? My husband gave the diamonds to me. They were his mother’s diamonds before that. He’s going to be very, very angry – and I’m afraid of him.’
Her brother laughed. He put his hand in his pocket, then took it out again and opened it slowly. The diamond necklace in his hand was very beautiful. Mr. Harris stared at it. For a minute or two nobody moved and it was quiet in the carriage. There was only the noise of the train, and it went quickly on through the dark cold night.
Mr. Harris opened his book again, but he didn’t read it. He watched Carl’s face, with its hungry eyes and its cold smile. ‘What beautiful, beautiful diamonds!’ Carl said. ‘I can get a lot of money for these.’
‘Give them back to me, Carl,’ Elena whispered. ‘My husband’s going to kill me. You’re my brother… Please help me. Please!’
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