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'Oh； so sorry；' said the bunged…up barman。
'We are doing our best；' Pooley assured him。 'It is just； well； the situation has some rather unique qualities； too hasty a decision could result in disaster。 '
'Tell you what；' said Old Pete； 'I'll go through the bar and into the cellar； I'll pull and you push。' Pete scuttled away through the saloon…bar door。
'There；' said Pooley。 'Help is at hand； do not worry。'
'I'm running out of breath；' mumbled the barman。 'I'll die here in full public gaze。 The humiliation； the shame。 What a way to go。'
'e on now；' said Jim； doing his best to usher away the crowd which now spilled out into the Haling Road。 'Be off about your business； please。' He shouted down towards the cellar； 'Pete； are you there？' But there was no reply。 'Now what is he playing at？' asked Pooley。 'I'll slip inside and see if he's all right。' Jim slipped into the bar； leaving the mob to close in about the howling barman。 He joined Old Pete up at the bar。
'Took your time； didn't you？' the elder enquired。 'Losing your grip then； is it？ Here； have one on the house。' He poured Jim a large whisky from the barman's reserve stock。 'Cheers；' he said。
'Down the hatch；' Pooley replied。 'No offence meant； Neville。'
'So；' Old Pete continued； 'what do you take it to be； publicity stunt do you think？'
Jim shrugged hugely。 'You've got me。 I can't see how it works； but he does appear to be wedged in solid。'
'Nah； he's probably up on blocks。 No doubt the brewery are planning a Billy Bunter night or some such abomination。'
'Perish the thought。' Jim Pooley crossed himself and tossed back his scotch。 'Any more left in that bottle？' he asked。
Outside； exciting things were about to happen。 Leo Felix； Brentford's Rastafarian used…car dealer； had been passing by in his tow…truck； seeing the crowd gathered outside the Swan； the free…ale sign had flashed up in his colourful head。 Now； he decided； might be a good time to make his peace with Neville； who had but recently barred him； once more； for life。 Even as Pete and Pooley chit…chatted in the bar； Leo； dreadlocks a…dangle； was busily engaged in hooking Neville up to the winch on the back of his truck。 'I and I soon have you back on your feet；' he assured Neville。 The part…time barman seemed strangely reticent about accepting this particular offer of help； and while the crowd applauded and offered encouragement； he shrieked and wriggled and invoked the aid of his pagan gods。 The way things were going he felt that he would soon be getting the opportunity to address them face to face。
Leo was by now up in his cab。 'Jah； Jah Willing；' he said as he revved the engine and ram…jammed his thumb down on the hoist button。 The cheering crowd parted as the hoist took up the slack。
'Oooooooooh；' went Neville as the improvised harness tightened beneath his armpits。
'Quite mild for the time of year；' said Jim as he poured two more drinks。
'Fair；' said Pete。 'I've seen better。'
Young Chips pricked up his ears as outside the barman's scream rose to a frequency beyond human register。 Sickening； bone…crunching sounds were emanating from the barman's middle regions and the cement about the cellar door's metal frame was splitting and shivering。 The crowd drew back in sudden alarm； this was no laughing matter。 'Switch your winch off； Leo；' shouted somebody。 'You'll pull him in half。' Leo thumbed the button。 He had been meaning to have it fixed for some time。 The thing popped out from the dashboard and fell into his upturned palm。 'Haile Selassie！' said Leo Felix。
'。。。；' went Neville the part…time barman。
'Back your truck up then for God's sake；' shouted another somebody； 'we'll try and get the cable off him。'
Leo hastened into the driving seat and stuck the customized Bedford into reverse。 Gear cogs ground together adding further screams of distress to those already being loudly voiced。
He had been meaning to get the reverse fixed for some time。
With an almighty clunk the gear found its housing； and lodged into it as firmly as a barman in a beer cellar。 Leo clawed at the gear…stick but it would not shift by an inch。 His knackered tow…truck； sick to the worn treads with its constant bad treatment； had chosen this of all times to exact revenge upon its Caribbean tormentor。 Tearing his keys from the dash； Leo Felix leapt pale…faced from the cab。 The malevolent tow…truck rolled relentlessly backwards； bound for the crowd and the struggling barman。
As the unstoppable vehicle gathered speed； those free to do so hastily took to their heels。 Neville stared up； his good eye starting from its socket。 The acrid smell of exhaust fumes filled his brain； and a rear number…plate which read NEM 1515 began to engulf his world。
It looked very much like strawberry jam time for Neville the part…time barman。 The truck's engine roared like some beast loosed from the bottomless pit； and ground upon its hellish course。 With one final despairing gasp Neville passed from consciousness； which as it happened was quite a shame because he missed the very best bit。
As the crowd burst asunder in a screaming panic…torn explosion； a heroic figure leapt into the fray。 He plunged through the mass of fleeing humankind and took up a stance between the atose barman and the roaring instrument of doom。 The feet of this titan were firmly rooted upon the pavement and his face was a cold mask of determination。 His eyes shone with a strange inner light。 With a single sudden lunge forward； he grasped the tailgate of the wheel…screeching vehicle and stopped it dead in its tracks。 The tyres squealed upon the pavement； raising black clouds of tread。 With superhuman effort Neville's deliverer dragged it up from the ground。 The engine whined into overdrive and exhaust smoke enveloped him in a great monoxide cloud of death。 Struggling beneath the weight of the possessed vehicle； he bore it aloft； and held it high above his head。 The truck rocked and shuddered； howling like a banshee； but in a moment he had done with it。
Brentford's St George cast down the mechanical dragon； bursting out its tyres； scrambling its axles； and driving its engine to ruination upon the cold stones of the pavement。 As the smoke cleared； small knots of the cowardly crowd stared back in wonder。 The hero calmly knotted the slackened hoist cable about his hand and tore it from its mountings。 He turned slowly towards Neville and； freeing him from his hangman's harness； stooped and carefully drew him up to pavement level； where he laid him gently to rest。
Before the crowd could arouse itself from its slack…jawed wonderment； engulf the hero； and raise him shoulder…high； Norman silently turned away from the scene of his glory and strode back to his corner…shop。
12
The ambulance bells had long died away into memory when three men came strolling along the Baling Road。 One was bowed and ancient； walking with the aid of a slim ebony cane； a mane of snow…white hair trailing out behind him。 Another was tall and gaunt with a great hawk of a nose； clad in an oddly Victorian tweed suit。 As to the last； he was Irish and wanted his thirty quid。
As these three approached the Swan； Sherlock Holmes suddenly laid a gentle palm upon the Professor's chest and said； 'Now what do you make of that！'
Professor Slobe shook his old head。 'Cellar doors ajar； a barman somewhat remiss in his duties？'
'Oh； no；' said Holmes。 'Much more。 And what here？'
The elder perused Leo's defunct tow…truck parked at the kerb； its back axle supported by two piles of red flettons。 'Unusual bravado upon the part of the local criminal fraternity？' he suggested。
'I think not。' Holmes drew out his glass and as Omally watched him； with one eye forever straying towards the saloon…bar door； he dropped to all fours and perused the pavement。
'How many entrances to this cellar？' asked Holmes； looking up。
'Just that；' said Omally。 'And a door behind the bar。'
'I see。' Holmes examined the blackened skid marks。 'Interesting；' said he。
'Riveting；' said John。 'Might we step inside now； please？'
Holmes rose to his feet and patted dust from his trouser knees。 'I think so；' he said。
Omally led the way and the three men entered the bar。 Pooley； wh