Under the Net by Iris Murdoch Page B

telephone.
    There was no reply from Madge’s number, so I judged that the coast was clear and set off. I still had my key to the flat and I let myself in, wondering what was the best place to store the radiogram, whether at Dave’s or at Mrs Tinckham’s. I bounded into the sitting-room, and was well inside the door when I saw a man standing on the other side of the room with a bottle in his hand. It needed but one glance to tell me that this was Sacred Sammy. He was dressed in tweeds and had the look of an outdoor man who had lived too much by electric light. He had a heavy reddish face and a powerful spread of nose. His hair was only slightly grey. He held his head well and the bottle by the neck. He looked at me now with a calm bland dangerous look. It was evident to me that he knew who I was. I hesitated. Sammy has his name in lights, but he used to be a real race-course bookie, and there was no doubt that he was a tough customer. I estimated the distance between us and took a step back. Then I took off my belt. It was a rather heavy leather belt with a strong brass buckle. This was only a feint. I have seen Guardsmen do this before a fight and it’s an impressive gesture. I had no intention of using it as a weapon, but prevention is better than a fracas and Sammy, who perhaps didn’t know that I was a Judo expert, might have it in mind to start something. If he came at me I had already planned to give him an old-fashioned flying mare.
    While I was performing these manoeuvres I saw Sammy’s face soften into a look of affected incomprehension.
    â€˜What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked.
    I wasn’t quite ready for this, and felt let down. ‘Don’t you want to fight?’ I replied, with irritation.
    Sammy stared at me, and then broke into a roar of laughter. ‘My, my!’ he said. ‘Whatever gave you that idea. You’re Donaghue, aren’t you? Here, have a lotion.’ And quick as a flash he put a glass of whisky into my free hand. You can imagine what a fool I felt, with the whisky in one hand and my belt in the other.
    When I had reorganized myself, I said, hoping that I didn’t sound sheepish, ‘I suppose you’re Starfield?’ I felt thoroughly at a loss. I suspected that it ought to be up to me whether we fought or not. I certainly didn’t want to fight, but I had let Sammy get the initiative now, and no mistake, and I hated that too.
    â€˜That’s me,’ said Sammy, ‘and you’re young Donaghue. Well, what a fire-eater!’ and he went off into another explosion of laughter. I took a gulp of the whisky and put on my belt, endeavouring to wear the expression of one who, contrary to appearances, is master of the situation. The films provide one with useful conventions of this kind. I looked Sammy up and down with deliberation. He was rather a handsome creature in the style already indicated. There was a crude power in him, and I set myself to see the Sammy whom Madge saw. It wasn’t difficult. He had humorous triangular blue eyes, which noticed my scrutiny with amusement and returned it with mock seriousness.
    â€˜You’re quite a young fellow!’ said Sammy. ‘You know, I could never get much out of Madge about you.’ He refilled my glass.
    â€˜I expect you’re fed up about being fired out,’ he added in a completely unprovocative tone.
    â€˜Look here, Starfield,’ I said, ‘there are some things a gentleman can’t discuss coolly. If you want to fight, good. If not, shut up. I’ve come here to fetch some of my things, not to chat with you.’ I was pleased not to be feeling afraid of him, and I hoped he was aware of it, but I knew that my speech would have sounded better if I hadn’t been drinking the man’s whisky. It also occurred to me at that moment that Sammy might dispute my ownership of the radiogram.
    â€˜You’re a touchy fellow,’ said