ROBBERY UNDER ARMS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22350, 22 February 1936, Page 25

ROBBERY UNDER ARMS

BY JOHN DWTNS

Hnnson pulled on to the side of the to light his pipe. It was a dreary night, and he had an hour's run before him. A light rain drove through the the twin beams of his car's headlights and wrinkled the puddles on the road. It was slippery going, but ho liked the muscular effort of keeping the *ar straight.

As ho groped for his pipe in his overcoat pocket his fingers touched cold steel. A sinile flickered over his face. What a comforting nuisance a worrying wife was. Ho thought Mildred had seemed a gay, madcap creature when ho first met her at the ice-rink, but now she had settled down to a life of perpetual anxiety; always fearful about hi hi and the two children, always expecting trouble, always taking precautions, some of them completely absurd. That safety pistol, which fired caps and had a blocked barrel, was one of the silliest. The only purpose it had served so far was as a joke with the boys in the local. She had laid it on the table with a dramatic gesture on Christmas Day. Her face, plumper than it had been in the old skating days, but s£ill pretty, had held an exaggeratedly serious look as she said: " Jim, this is another present for you. You can't be too careful with, aH these motor bandits about. Do, please, carry it with you for the sake of the children and me. I'm worried to death when you're driving home late."

He had laughed so much that his paper cap fell off. Then she had looked hurt, and her blonde head (not so blonde as it had been at the ice-rink, a fact that Mildred explained by saying that if Jim did not spend so much money at worthless drinking she could go more often to the hairdresser, and ba more presentable, like other women) had inclined a little forward. Hanson had known for the last five years what that inclination meant. He had waited until the first bright tear splashed down her nose, and then had leant over and kissed her and said: " Turn off the water works, my little cry baby. Of course I'll carry it, and the bad men who try to stop me had better look out." ... , . So he had slipped it in the pocket 'of his leather motoring coat. It was a life-like imitation of the real, deathdealing automatic, heavy, nicely balanced to the feel. He left it just as a joke, of course. Hanson prided himself on having more than the average issue of common sense. His travelling job took him around England and Wales, and he often carried a fair amount of money with him, so he did not stop for any stray Dick or Harry who hailed him on the road. Give nobody a lift unless you know him; that was the best precaution against trouble. Safe in the citadel of his common sense and feeling pleasantly sentimental about his good wife Mildred. Hanson rammed a stray fragment of tobacco home with a stubby finger, got his pipe going strongly and started his engine. Only half an hour and he would be sitting in front of a comforting fire, with a contented stomach, and Mildred -would be telling him the domestic troubles and the latest wisecracks of that prodigy, little Jim. and the Wimbledon gossip. Although he had been away only a day—he left at 6 a.m. and she had simply opened a pair of violet eveß and said, " Take care of yourself for me and the children," and wriggled across to his side of the bed—he felt like a sailor almost home from the sea. Just then a man stepped into the irlare of the headlights, his hand raised. He was sopping wet. A shapeless felt hat had flopped about his face and his jacket collar was turned up round his ears. He wore no overcoat and he was short and slight, like a jockey. Before Hanson could throw in his clutch and move off the man was alongside. He rapped a knuckle on the glass and shouted, " Can 1 have a lift?" There was a bedraggled appeal about the fellow. It was a bit risky talking to a stranger on the road, but, after all, he was obviousi.v a wizened rat of a man, a weakling# Hanson felt confident that he was more than a match for the stranger if he tried any funny business. Cautiously Hanson turned the handle to lower the window. The man put his head inside. His face was pinched and white and it inspired suspicion. It was not a bit ruddy or weathero«aten, as one might expect a tramp's to be; its owner might have spent a long time underground. " What's wrong?" asked Hanson. " Are you going to London, by any ehance, guv'nor?" The voice had an importuning whine about it. " Yes." Hanson wished he had driven in auicklv without civinc the fellow a chance to talk to him. His eyes were too close together and he had not had a shave for weeks. " Could you be a sport and give us a lift?" Hanson's sense of precaution told him that he would be a fool to take the man aboard. Ho might be any sort of criminal. At the least he was an unsavoury, out-of-work good-for-nothing, but, well, ho was a human being, and there was something infinitely pathetic about him. Mentally registering the fact that he was a double-dyed ass, Hanson said, " All right, get in the other side.' 1 " Thanks, guv'nor." The man ran round and climbed into the other front scat." Ho gave the door a tremendous bang. " Don't smash the hinges," Hanson snapped, under the irritation of the self-criticism he was enduring. He had broken his rule. " Sorry, guv'nor." " And don't call me guv'nor." " 0.K., er—boss." Hanson, now thoroughly annoyed with himself and his ' companion, let the car out. He drove too fast for the slippery road, and the car swayed about uneasily. " Got a fag, mate?" The whine cut across the drumming of tho engine. Hanson gave a cynical snort. What the deuce did tho blighter think ho was on, a de luxe voyagd? " I 'aven't had a smoke for ten days." The ferrety eyes supplicated Hanson. He could feel them on him without turning his head. It occurred to him that it was an old trick of footpads to ask a man for a match, aftd then hit him while his hands were occupied. Brusquely Hanson took one hand off the wheel, extracted a packet of cigarettes and tossed it to tho man. Tho cigarettes were caught in a pair of grimy paws. t " Got a match, mate? I've got the breath, thanks." " Oh, hell," said Hanson. Ho found a box of matches and handed them over. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that his passenger fumbled out three eigarettes ; putting one in his mouth and two in his pocket. Nerve. " Why don't you take tho lot while 3'ou're about it?" "No offence, mate." The fellow's voice was getting confoundedly cheerful. The grimy fingers began trying to put the two purloined fags back in the packet. Hanson noticed.

A SHORT STORY

( COPYRIGHT)

" Oh, keep them now, for God's sake." , " 0.K., guv'nor." "And don't call me " " Sorry, mate, no offence." The fellow grinning cheerfully, the cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. Hanson's mind was collecting all the adjectives it know to describe the colossal cheek of this infinitely detestable gutter-bred gaolbird. He was so angry that he could not speak. The passenger evidently guessed some measure of his unpopularity. Ho did not attempt to make conversation. Perversely, Hanson was now annoyed because the fellow did not try to relieve the journey by some small talk or some explanation of who the devil he was and what he was doing; after all he was getting a free ride and cigarettes and shelter, and ho was not even polite enough to speak. And why the dickens did ho continually slide over on his seat until his thigh was pressed against the driver's? Hanson squirmed when this happened, and the man slid back again. Glancing at him occasionally, Hanson could see that his head was sunk and his body' slumped. ' Perhaps he was asleep. Yes, that was it, he was snoring Kently. Damn him! Hanson's heat of anger had died down and he felt a vindictive pleasure in planning a rude awakening. He swerved round the next curve and nearly had the breath knocked out of him by the impact of the passenger's body. The man sprawled over him for a moment and his hands clutched him. " Gawd! What was that?" " For goodness sake get over in your seat. What the devil is wrong with you?" " I though we'd ad a smash or somethin'. Must have dozed off. Sorry, guv'nor " That jolted him out of his snooze, .thought Hanson, the lazy swine. I'll bet he hasn't done a tap of work for years, and lie's the sort of man we've got to keep on the dole by crippling ourselves paying income-tax. He got a fright, all right, the way he clawed me. Yes, he certainly had the wind up. Funny the way his hands clutched me in that terrified way. Terrified . . . why should he be so terrified? Perhaps the police are after him; that'll be it. He may be just out of gaol. What could he bo in for? Thieving. He's a thief, just a mean thief; he hasn't got the guts to be anything else. Just a sneaking pickpocket. Pickpockets. Didn't they bump into you accidentally in crowded places and fade away with j-our wallet or your watch. Watch . . . good God. Hanson, keeping an eye on the passenger, who seemed to be torpid again —it was suspicious the way ho had nodded off again so quickly, very suspicions—slowed down, took one hand off the wheel and ran it into the top left-hand pocket of his waistcoat. He knew, before his fingers had explored the cavity, what he would find —no watch, no gold second-anniversary-of-wedding-present-from-wife watch. That watch might be a bit unreliable, and he did not use it much, but it had cost a fiver, he knew, because he had eventually to pay for it himself in spite of Mildred's protestations that she was going to economise with the housekeeping to give it to him.* For a moment Hanson was undecided. The blood seemed to have surged into his head. For the first time in his life he was face to face with deliberate, premeditated crime. He was up against a crook—not just a friendly business bit of a twister, but a desperado. Mildred was right after all —motoring was dangerous. . . . Mildred. . . . Mildred's gun! A plan leapt to his mind. He pulled up sharply, too sharply, and the car did a mild skid which, he feared, kept him a moment to long in wrenching out the gun and shoving it in the passenger's stomach. The tramp was startled into conscious life by the combined jerk and prod. Hands up and no funny business!" Hanson's voice was a little fluty from the excitement. Horror came into the man's little eyes. " Guv'nor, guv'nor, blime, what's wrong?" His voice was a shriek. " Hands up!" said Hanson, a little more sur6 of his voice. Two dirty hands went smartly up to the roof. " Now hand it over." " Hand over what, guv'nor? Honest to Gawd, strike me breath, I 'aven't got a thing." The whine was tremolo and the eyes were still horror-stricken. For a split second Hanson played with the idea of " frisking " the man in the way he had seen it done so efficiently on the pictures, but the operation seemed a bit ticklish to undertake with the left hand, He decided not to risk it. " Hand over that watch and be quick or I shoot." The tramp hesitated, received another jab from the gun, and then inserted an agued hand into his damp and dirty front and brought out a bright golden watch. " Guv'nor," he said, " guv'nor, listen, for Gawd's sake " " Shut up!" Hanson was in a glow of triumph. He slipped the watch into h?a pocket and felt like Caesar. " Now get out!" That came automatically to his mouth; it was in the best movingnieturr tradition. • climax —"Get out and be damned to you." It was magnanimous, too —and it would have been difficult keeping tho thief covered until they reached tho nearest police station. " Get out!" The man unlatched tho door and fell out in his anxiety to get away. " Now run, and keep on running!" Hanson, waving the revolver, enjoyed tho sight of the man legging it down the road in the rain. Ho was scared stiff. Hanson laughed with relief. He probably thought I was going to murder him and burn him up in tho car, lie told himself. As ho drove oft Hanson ran over the incidents and decided that he had acquitted himself admirably. What a story it was going to make for the boys in the local, it would have to be embellished a "bit. The robber would have to be big and hefty, with a blue chin and. yes, why not a gun? Why shouldn't he have been armed? Ho probably was, but I was too quick on the draw for him. He ran into the garage, scraping a bit of paint off the left rear wing, but not caring. He kissed Mildred with great, light-hearted affection, smelt the steak-and-kidney pie, settled down to a meal, and held himself back until he had finished. Then he began, " Your old pop-gun saved my life to-day. It was like this ff Ho was a good story-teller. He elaborated. He would not let Mildred finish the washing-up. She had to sit down, her hands twitching with the dish towel. As ho unwound the tale, her face was a mirror of succeeding emotion, alarm, fear, terror and relief. Only once did she try to interrupt with " Yes, but dear . . " Wait a minute," said Hanson impatiently. He ran on and finished in a grand climax. Ho put the pipe which he had been gripping to represent a gun into his mouth and sat back. " But, dear," said Mildred. " Well, what is it?" said Hanson, a little peeved that there had not been quite the reaction he had expected. Women could not appreciate a good stor.v, anyhow, but wait till the boys in the local . , . "But, dear," said Mildred, honeysweet, " you know I had to get you up early this morning, and I took your watch out of your pocket last night and left it under my pillow. Don't you remember, dearP"