The Maggie by James Dillon White Read Free Book Online

young man, ’less ye want a clout.’
    â€˜But please, madam. If you could just wait one moment.’ Pusey danced before her like a fencing master, anguished, outraged, but determined that she should not pass.
    Meanwhile in the inner room Marshall was beginningto feel uneasy. He watched the waiter hand Campbell a glass of whisky but he refused his own Vichy water. He looked out over the street and then, as the waiter left, turned anxiously back to Campbell.
    He said, ‘Well, I don’t want to go to the police, but I can tell you right now that from the look of her,’ he slapped his hand against the newspaper, ‘and the way this character MacTaggart navigates, I want my cargo off that boat. If your boat is available from tomorrow morning, let’s radio MacTaggart to put into the nearest . . .’
    Campbell shook his head. ‘Ye canna do that. They’ve no radio.’
    â€˜But whoever heard of a cargo vessel without radio?’
    Campbell said gently, ‘You understand, they usually carry coal or . . .’
    Marshall put his hands to his eyes. ‘Coal! And I’ve got four thousand pounds’ worth of stuff aboard it, that’s taken me months to get together.’ He sat down on the table, determined to remain calm. ‘How do I get in touch with them?’
    Campbell said, ‘I can give ye a list of harbour and pier masters and their telephone numbers.’
    Marshall jumped up with enthusiasm and made for the door. ‘That’s fine. I’ll have Pusey start on it right . . .’
    His voice trailed off as he opened the door and saw the wretched Pusey defending himself from Sarah. ‘What the heck!’
    Red-faced and malevolent, Sarah switched her attack to him. ‘Ah, here ye are, then! And is that the kind of man ye are, to do a helpless old woman out o’ her rights?’
    â€˜I beg your pardon, madam?’ he said. ‘All right, Pusey, let’s go into my room and find out what this is all about.’
    As he turned masterfully he caught an impression of Campbell’s smile, then he was borne forward by the urgent tide of plaintiffs.
    Pusey: ‘Really, madam, I must insist. I – I’m sorry, Mr Marshall . . .’
    Miss Peters: ‘This lady says she is . . .’
    Sarah: ‘Don’t you dare to touch me, young man. I’ll have you know I’m the rightful owner of the . . .’
    Marshall held up his hands. ‘Here, just a minute.’ He squared his shoulders and spoke in his Overseas Manager’s voice. ‘Please ! What is all this? Who is this lady?’
    In the momentary silence Sarah pushed herself before him. She said with emphasis, ‘Sarah MacTaggart, the legitimate owner of the Puffer, and I’m here to tell ye that whatever money it is that ye owe, it’s to be paid to me , or I’ll go to the police.’
    Marshall said, in a reasonable tone, ‘Well, Mrs MacTaggart . . .’
    â€˜Miss!’
    â€˜Well, Miss MacTaggart, I’m sorry to have to inform you that I don’t owe any money at all. On the contrary! Your father, by resorting to tactics . . .’
    â€˜He’s no’ my father, he’s my brither, the blackhearted . . .’
    Marshall held on to the table. He said with a slow, measured calmness, ‘Whoever he is, he practically stole four thousand pounds’ worth of goods. By sheer misrepresentation . . .’ He stopped, bewildered, as he saw anotherface in the nightmare, a young man standing behind this formidable female, a young man writing down all that was being said. Marshall pushed past Pusey and Miss Peters. He pointed wildly: ‘Who – what – who is this . . . ?’
    The young man said cheerfully, ‘My name’s Fraser, Mr Marshall. From the Glasgow Star .
    It took a full minute for this to sink in. Then Marshall snatched the paper from the