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Certainly； in the past； Norman's little scientific diversions had not been altogether successful。 In fact he had bee something of a figure of fun because of them。 But this time he was sure he had cracked it。 The people of Brentford would certainly sit up and take notice of this one。 If his calculations； bined with those of a certain Germanic physicist not altogether unknown for his theory of relativity； proved to be correct； then things were going to be very different indeed hereabouts。
Norman patted the tiny brown package。 If all was present and correct he would begin the first practical working tests this very early…closing day； then we would see what we would see。
The shop bell rang in a customer。 It was Old Pete with his half…terrier Chips as ever upon his heels。 'Morning； Norman；' said the ancient； cheerily； 'a half…ounce of Ships if you will。'
'Grmmph mmmph；' the shopkeeper replied； for the first time being aware that the Captain Laser Astrogum had suddenly set hard in his mouth； welding his upper plate to his lower set。
'Grmmph mmmph？' queried Old Pete； scratching at his snowy head。 'Now what would it be this time？ Let me guess？ Experimenting with some advanced form of Esperanto is it？ Or having a try at ventriloquism？'
Norman clutched at his jaw and grew red about the jowls； his eyes began to roll。
'Ah；' said Old Pete； tapping at his nose。 'I think I am beginning to get the measure of it。 Something in mime； isn't it？ Now let's have a go； I'm quite good at this； give me a clue now； how many words hi the title？'
Norman tore at his welded teeth and bashed at the counter…top with a clenched fist。
'Five words；' said Old Pete。 'No； six； seven？ Is it a film or a book？'
Norman lurched from the counter in a most grotesque fashion； grunting and snorting。 Old Pete stepped nimbly aside as he blundered past； while Young Chips sought a safe hideyhole。
'It's a poser；' said the Old One； as Norman threw himself about the shop； toppling the magazine stand and spilling out its contents。 'I have it； I have it！' he cried suddenly。 'It is the now legendary Charles Laughton in his famous portrayal of Victor Hugo's Hunchback of Notre Dame。'
In hearty congratulations for Norman's excellent impersonation the old man； who still retained a considerable amount of strength in his right arm despite his advancing years； slapped Norman upon the back。 The blow loosened the cemented teeth； which flew from the shopkeeper's mouth； tumbled noisily across the linoleum； and finally came to rest in an impenetrable place beneath the counter； where they lay in the darkness grinning ruefully。
'Sanks yous；' spluttered Norman； 'sanks yous； Petes。'
'Credit where credit is due；' the elder replied。 'My tobacco now； if you please。'
Norman staggered to the counter and tore out a one…ounce packet from the tin。 'Ons a houses；' he whistled through his naked gums。 'Ons a houses。'
Old Pete； who was never a man to look a gift impersonator in the mouth； accepted his reward with a hasty display of gratitude and departed the shop at speed。 Halfway up the Ealing Road Young Chips unearthed a pristine copy of Bra…Busting Beauties from its secret hiding place beneath a beer crate outside the Swan。
'This has all the makings of being a most profitable day；' said the ancient to his furry panion。 Young Chips woofed nonmittally。 Being naturally clairvoyant he sensed something rather to the contrary and therefore wished to reserve judgement for the present。
4
The allotment golfers had e to something of a critical stage in their game。 They had by now reached the eighteenth 'green and Omally had but to sink a nine…foot putt across Reg Watling's furrowed spinach patch to take the match。 Betting had been growing steadily during the morning's play and with each increase in financial risk the two men had grown ever more tight…lipped； eagle…eyed； and alert to the slightest infringement of the rules。
Omally spat on his palms and rubbed them together。 He stalked slowly about his ball and viewed it from a multiplicity of angles。 He scrutinized the lie of the land； tossed a few straws into the air and nodded thoughtfully as they drifted to earth。 He licked his finger and held it skyward； he threw himself to the ground and squinted along his putter sniper fashion。 'Right then；' said the broth of a boy。 'It looks like child's play。'
Pooley； who was employing what he referred to as 'the psychology'； shook his head slowly。 'That would be at least a three to the sinking I would believe。'
Omally gestured over his shoulder to the water…butt wherein lay Pooley's ball。 'You would be phoning for Jacques Cousteau and his lads； I shouldn't wonder。'
Pooley shrugged。 'That is an easy shot pared to this。'
Omally sniggered。 'Keep your eye on the ball； Jim；' he advised。
Omally's putting technique bore an uncanny resemblance to that practised by seasoned Yorkshire batsmen at the Oval。 The putter had a tendency to dig well in on such occasions； sometimes to a depth of some three inches or more； and once beyond digging range。 There was generally a fair amount of lift on the ball； although the Now Official Handbook of Allotment Golf suggested that any balls putted above shoulder height should be considered as drives and the player penalized accordingly。
Omally squared up his ball whilst Pooley continued to employ 'the psychology'。 He coughed repeatedly； rustled sweet papers in his pocket and scuffed his blakey'd heels in the dust。 'Is that a Lurcher or a Dane？' he asked； pointing towards some canine of his own creation。
Omally ignored him。 There was big beer money on this shot。 John suddenly swung the putter in a blurry arc and struck deeply behind his ball； raising a great clod of earth； which is referred to in golfing circles as a divot。 The ball cannonaded across the allotment； with a whine like a doctored torn struck a section of corrugated iron fencing； bowled along Old Pete's herbaceous border； and skidded to a halt a mere inch from the eighteenth hole。
Omally swore briefly； but to the point； flung down his putter and turned his back upon the wanton pill。
'Bad luck；' said Pooley； amid an ill…concealed snigger。 By way of consolation； he added； 'It was a brave try。 But would you prefer that I pause a moment before sinking my ball； on the off chance that an earth tremor might secure you the match？'
Omally kicked his golf bag over。
'Steady on；' said Pooley。
John turned upon him bitterly； 'Go on then； Jimmy boy；' he sneered； 'let us see you take your shot。'
'You won't like it。'
'Won't I； though？'
Pooley tapped at his nose。 'Care to up the betting a trice？'
Omally stroked his chin。 'From the water…butt in one； that is what you are telling me？' Pooley nodded。 'Unless you； like the Dalai Lama； have mastered the techniques of levitation and telekinesis； which I do not believe； I do not rate your chances。'
'You will kick yourself afterwards。'
Omally spat on to his palm and slapped it into that of his panion。 'All bets are doubled； will that serve you？'
'Adequately。' Pooley strolled over to the water…butt。 With the lie of the land； it certainly was in a perfect line for the hole。 Just down a slight slope and into the depression where lay the eighteenth。
'I shall play it from here；' said Jim； turning his back upon the target。
Omally stuck his hands into his pockets。 'As you please；' said he。
'I will play it with a mashie if you have no objections。'
'None whatever。' Omally selected the club and handed it to his panion。 Pooley leant forward and chalked a small cross at the base of the water…butt。 Drawing back； he grasped the club hammerlike in his right fist and with a lewd wink struck the ancient zinc tank a murderous blow。
It was a sizeable hole and the water burst through it with great enthusiasm。 Bearing down with the sudden torrent； and evidently much pleased to be free of its watery grave； Pooley's ball bobbed along prettily。 It danced down the slight incline； pirouetted about the eighteenth hole； as if taking a final bow； then plunged into it with a sarcastic gurgle。
'My game；' said Pooley rubbing his hands together。 'Best we settle up now； I think。'
Omally struck his panion a devastating blow to the skull。 Jim collapsed into a forest of bean poles but rose almost immediately with a great war cry。 He leapt upon Omally； catching him around the waist and bearing him towards the now muddy ground。 'Poor loser！' he shouted； grinding his thumb into Omally's right eye。
'Bloody damn cheat；' the other replied； going as ever for the groin。
The two men were more than equally matched； although Omally was by far the dirtier fighter。 They bowled over and over in the mud； bringing into play a most extraordinary diversity of unsportsmanlike punches； low kicks and back elbows。 They had been tumbling away in like fashion for some ten minutes； doing each other the very minimum amount of damage； yet expending a great deal of energy； when each man suddenly became aware that his antics were being observed。
Some twenty yards or so away； a solitary figure in a grey coverall suit stood silently watching。 At the distance it was difficult to make out his features clearly； but they seemed wide and flat and had m