Ratman's Notebooks Read online

  I took a little sideways look at the girl to see if she was watching me, but she was looking out of the window. I sometimes feel that if people are watching me they can maybe know what I’m thinking.

  In our firm the staff are always paid on the last day of the month, and they’re always paid in cash. This month the last day is a Saturday. Saturday is the half-day with us, and when the month ends on a Saturday I always draw the money for the salaries on the Friday. So on the Friday after next Jones will have quite a lot of money to count. Perhaps I’ll draw a little extra by mistake.

  Today I told Jones about my money. He was very impressed. A cunning look immediately came into his eyes. I’m sure he began straight off to try to work out some scheme to get hold of part of it. Part of it! That’d be a first instalment. He’d want it all. But his first reaction was a sort of sly deference. And that’ll go on till he manages to get hold of it or I lose it some other way. Not that I shall lose it. I’m not as stupid as he thinks. And whatever happens I’ll make sure he doesn’t get near any of it. It’s funny the feeling he has for money. He respects anyone who’s richer than he is, and when I get this money I should be a good deal richer than him.

  One thing you can say about Jones. He’s a fast worker. About twelve o’clock today he sent one of the typists—the one he calls his secretary—to the Cash Office with a message that he wanted to see me. Both the Book-keeper and the girl looked quite startled. Obviously they thought I was going to get the sack. I didn’t. In fact I guessed pretty well what was in the wind. Of course getting the sack wouldn’t matter to me financially any more, though it might upset my plans for Jones Day. The Book-keeper knows nothing of my new financial status. As I got up to go to Jones’s office he came over and whispered, ‘If Mr. Jones says anything it’s nothing to do with me. I’ve always put in a good word for you when I could.’

  I thanked him, but of course you never know what people really do say about you behind your back.

  Jones smiled at me very affably and waved me to a comfortable chair. But he didn’t offer me a cigarette, though he was smoking himself. Of course I don’t smoke. He smokes like a fish. He waited till I was thoroughly settled. Then he started off, ‘I’ve been giving some thought to this problem of yours.’

  Of course I knew very well what he meant, but I pretended not to understand. I put on a puzzled expression. ‘Problem?’

  Jones looked slightly irritated, but he kept control of his temper in a way he would never have bothered to do before he heard about my money. ‘The investment problem you consulted me about. This money you have coming to you.’

  Of course I hadn’t consulted him. I’d just told him about it. This was the artfulness of him and I found myself saying without really meaning to, ‘Oh yes. I don’t quite know what I ought to put it into.’ And of course I don’t. I’ve never had money to invest before. But I had no intention of taking Jones’s advice.

  Jones gave a long drag at his cigarette and then let out a great cloud of smoke. ‘Of course you could put it into equities, spread it over really sound securities. You’d get four and a half to five per cent, depending on what you selected.’

  ‘That’s not a very high yield.’

  ‘It’s a shocking low yield, and not all that safe even so. Some of these high priced stocks can come a cropper just as quick as any others.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I agreed vaguely, feeling that even if I didn’t take Jones’s advice I’d still quite a problem on my hands.

  ‘And then there are Government stocks,’ he went on. ‘You can get a yield of six per cent there all right, but when you try to get your money out you’ll probably find you won’t be able to get as much out as you put in—and in any case what you do get will be worth less.’

  He gave another long draw on his cigarette and I felt we were really getting near the point. ‘It certainly is a problem,’ I commented, just because I felt he expected me to say something, and I wanted to keep him going. I mean I wanted to find out what villainy he had thought up.

  ‘Of course there are always private companies,’ he said, letting the smoke clear a bit and giving me one of those quick, furtive looks that now always make me think of Ben.

  I’ve known him like this before—all over himself to be helpful, but with deep dark schemes of his own. Not so deep either. You could see through them with a pitchfork. ‘Sometimes it’s easier to get into private companies than to get out of them,’ I remarked, remembering Father’s shares and what Jones had got them at. He was the only buyer, though we heard afterwards that someone else might have been interested.

  ‘Ah yes,’ he answered. ‘I suppose you’re thinking of my position, saddled with a lot of shares there’s no market in, but I couldn’t let you and your mother starve.’

  I gaped at the absolute brazenness of it, and he went on without turning a hair, ‘I always had a great respect for your father and a great affection for him. In the last years we were very close and I like to feel that I lightened his burden more than somewhat.’

  At this I could only gasp. I’m sure Father would never have trusted him an inch. But I was longing to know what his scheme was.

  ‘What I was going to suggest was this company.’ He held up his hand as if I had been going to interrupt him. ‘No. I’m not going to ask you to buy back shares. We are both fully aware of the disadvantages of that. What I had in mind was more in the nature of a partnership. As you know the position of this business has improved very considerably since I took control, but I have been a good deal hampered at times by lack of capital. We could have made twice the money we have made. Now if you were to put in twenty thousand. . . .’ He paused to see how I would take it.

  Secretly I laughed to myself. Just as I’d expected, the first instalment. Two bites at the cherry—and as Churchill might have said, ‘Some cherry!’

  I said, ‘What interest would I get?’

  He rubbed his chin for a bit and then lit another cigarette. ‘I thought perhaps we might manage participating up to twelve and a half per cent.’

  I felt a little foolish. ‘I don’t quite know what you mean. I mean what participating means.’

  He grinned. ‘I’m inviting you to become my partner. We would enter into a partnership agreement whereby you would be assured of a share in the profits up to twelve and a half per cent on the amount you’d invested—twenty thousand, two thousand five hundred a year.’

  I must confess it sounds awfully good and I still can’t see the catch in it. I’m almost glad that the money hasn’t come through yet. I believe I’d have handed it over to him there and then. But I remembered something. ‘What security would I have?’ I enquired.

  ‘The best security in the world. The money’d still be there.’

  ‘Do you mean you wouldn’t use it? What good would it be to you if you didn’t use it?’

  ‘Of course we’d use it, but it would still be there in the form of goods and in money owed us by our customers.’

  I thought the goods would be all right. Jones is a pretty shrewd buyer, but I wasn’t so sure about our customers. Some of them seem pretty shaky. ‘What about bad debts? If a customer went bust and didn’t pay, would that be my money lost?’

  Again he looked slightly irritated and I wondered if this was where the catch was. ‘Of course bad debts are a risk, but they’re a risk we run all the time. Over the last ten years our percentage of bad debts to turnover has been just over a quarter of one per cent. We reckon on a net profit on turnover of five per cent before tax, and we usually manage to turn our money just over three times in the year. That gives a profit of slightly over fifteen per cent on capital invested. So I’m putting you on to a good thing.’

  It certainly seemed so, but I remembered that it was the same business that Father had owned, and he hadn’t found it so profitable in his latter years. I was almost afraid
to mention this. At times I feel rather frightened of Jones, but I plucked up courage. ‘Father didn’t find it such a good thing.’

  ‘Your father didn’t turn his money often enough. He’d have stuff lying eighteen months at a time, some of it nearly unsaleable. Often he’d have to take less than cost to get rid of it. That’s where the money was lost.’ He got up suddenly. ‘Well you can think it over. Let me know when the money comes through. Now you’d better get back to your work.’

  I hurried out feeling that he’d suddenly got fed up with me. There’s no doubt Jones is an efficient businessman, and I suppose you’d say he doesn’t suffer fools gladly, which means he’s no time for people like me—because there’s no doubt he considers me a fool. Perhaps I am from his point of view. Anyhow I left him feeling like a fool—very small in fact. I sort of shrank through the door of the Cash Office, got over to my desk somehow and started in at my work as quickly as I could.

  The girl was over to me like a shot. ‘He hasn’t sacked you has he?’

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that.’

  ‘Well I’m glad of that at any rate,’ said the Book-keeper. He’s got ears about a mile long.

  ‘Well what did he want then?’ the girl demanded. She’s not very polite sometimes. ‘You were in there quite a while.’

  ‘He just wanted a little talk,’ I answered nonchalantly. ‘A matter he wanted to discuss.’

  She got quite huffed. ‘Oh if you’re going to be snooty about it you can just keep it to yourself—and if you do get the sack I’m sure I don’t care.’

  I wouldn’t have minded this if it hadn’t been for the Bookkeeper. I could see him laughing away to himself fit to bust. He didn’t make a sound, so that the girl, who was facing the other way didn’t even realise that she was making a fool of herself. The silly thing was that of course I meant to tell her all about it. It was the Book-keeper I was keeping in the dark because he doesn’t know about my money. I was meaning to talk to the girl at lunch-time, but I didn’t get a chance. She must have had her lunch in the Ladies. She didn’t even give me any soup. I’ve come to count on that soup. I mean I allow for it when I’m packing my lunch-box at home. The result was I didn’t have enough to eat and rumbled a bit during the afternoon. I always do rumble if I don’t get my meals at the proper time and enough of them. And of course soup’s a very filling thing. Leaving it out if you’ve made allowances for it makes quite a hole. I don’t know whether the girl heard my rumbles or not, but later on she looked as if she was sorry and at going-home time she said, ‘Goodnight,’ in a very friendly way.

  I’ve told the girl all about my interview with Jones. I had her out in the car again. She’s sorry she was cross. She thought I was trying to keep secrets from her. She never thought we might have talked about something I didn’t want the Book-keeper to know.

  She thinks that if once Jones got his hands on the money I’d never see it again, capital or interest.

  ‘Of course there’d always be the other half. He only suggested putting twenty thousand into the business. I’d have the other twenty.’

  ‘He’d have it before you were a year older. I don’t know why you’ve gone so soft about him all of a sudden. He just has to be half-civilised to you for ten or fifteen minutes and you’re ready to eat out of his hand.’

  All I’d said was that he’d really seemed to be trying to be helpful. Only ‘Seemed.’ I didn’t say he was. And it was quite true. He did seem to be trying to be helpful. I was amused. Little she knew. Me being soft with Jones. Jones Day is only a week away. However there was no harm in fostering the impression. ‘Oh maybe he’s not such a bad soul after all,’ I remarked in a nice syrupy voice. ‘I expect he really wants to be a help. Perhaps he feels we had a bit of a rough deal the time Father died and thinks he sees a way of making it up to me, perhaps helping himself a bit at the same time.’

  ‘Helping himself,’ she said, ‘full-stop. Don’t you let him have a penny.’

  Of course I don’t intend to. Anyhow there won’t be time.

  Jones Eve. Approaching midnight. All my preparations are made. This time tomorrow Jones should be dead.

  I think it will be quite simple really. I’ll come into the office and find him checking the cash, trying to catch me out, making sure I haven’t been pinching a bit on the quiet, hoping I have. . . . I’ll pretend that I’ve come to talk a bit more about investing my money, but I’ll have the rod he killed Socrates with. He’ll wonder what that’s for.

  Now it is Jones Day. I must have gone to sleep for a little in my chair. I thought I was too excited to sleep. I’d better go up to bed all the same—even though I probably won’t sleep once I’m there. Still I ought to get my clothes off and rest. I’ll need all my wits about me tomorrow—I mean this evening.

  It’s done. Oh God.

  I can’t possibly sleep. I might as well write it down. It may stop me trembling . . . start right from the . . . start right . . . if I start right from the beginning. . . .

  If only I had a drink of whisky. They say . . . I sold the only bottle we had . . . never been opened . . . the time I’d no money.

  Funny no rats, left them all behind.

  I suddenly remembered Mother’s wardrobe. I always had an idea she’d something there. It was only a very small bottle, with about two mouthfuls left in the bottom. But it’s done the trick.

  The thing that was worrying me was the car. I thought if I left the car outside the office it might look a bit conspicuous. I mean there aren’t many people or cars about those streets at night and a policeman might just note the number, just in case. But of course I’d forgotten about Jones’s car. And then I had a bit of luck. Inspiration you might call it. I tried all the doors and he’d left one open. Well. I simply transferred the rats to Jones’s car and went away and left mine in a park. Then I came back and let them straight into the office. I didn’t see a soul either time and Jones never heard the door opening or shutting. I could see that his light was on. I tip-toed down the passage and got the metal rod. It’s always in the corner behind the meter-box. I don’t know why. That’s where the boy got it from that time. Jones can’t have heard a thing.

  I opened the door of his office suddenly. He looked up. You wouldn’t even have thought he was very surprised. But he must have been. The money was all round him on Father’s big desk, neat piles of coins, bundles of notes, still there. Didn’t take any. Might be blood on them.

  I stood there looking at him, the rod upright in my hand. Like Moses.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’ I think he thought I was drunk.

  ‘I wanted to ask you about my money. It’s come.’ This is true. I received the first payment, a Banker’s draft on account of income this morning.

  ‘I think you’d better leave it till tomorrow,’ he suggested. ‘I’m busy at the moment.’

  ‘I wanted to get you when you were alone,’ I told him. ‘There’ll be other people here tomorrow.’

  I kept the door open and all the time we were talking the rats were slipping in round my feet. But he wasn’t looking at my feet. ‘Does it matter?’ he asked.

  ‘It matters to me,’ I answered. ‘I wouldn’t want a lot of people about.’ And I couldn’t help smiling, because he didn’t know yet why I didn’t want a lot of people about.

  ‘I’ve come for revenge,’ I explained.

  ‘Revenge for what?’ I thought he sounded annoyed and that perhaps he was beginning to feel a little frightened.

  ‘Revenge for the death of Socrates.’

  ‘Who the hell’s Socrates?’ Obviously he hadn’t a notion, but I’d got him worried.

  ‘They made him drink hemlock.’

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’ He was trying to be jocular. Humour the drunk man.

  ‘It’s a deadly poison.’

 
Just then he happened to glance down. ‘Oh God!’ he said. ‘Look at the rats.’

  ‘Yes,’ I responded. ‘Look at the rats. Lots of rats. Not just one any more. Have a good look at them. Look at the rats.’ I pointed the rod at him and made passes with it in the air, as if I was fencing.

  He was watching me very intently and suddenly a sort of look of understanding seemed to break over his face. ‘You wouldn’t be Ratman, by any chance?’ he enquired.

  I let out a loud laugh. ‘Yes. I’m Ratman.’ I shouted. ‘You didn’t think there was a ratman, did you? But I’ve been Ratman all along. From the very beginning. And Socrates was a rat and you killed him with this rod.’

  He gave a bit of a snigger. ‘Oh so that was Socrates was it. It’s nice to know.’

  ‘Oh very nice,’ I agreed sarcastically. ‘And it was very nice the way you killed him with this rod. What’s more, he was my friend. The best friend I ever had. The only friend I ever had since they poisoned my dog.’

  In spite of being able to be sarcastic I was in quite a state. All the humiliations I’d suffered from him over the years boiled up in me. Oh how I hated him. I gave him a poke with the rod. It wasn’t a very hard poke, but it was meant to hurt and I’m sure it did. He gave a sort of yelp. He tried to push back his chair, but he couldn’t. The legs caught in the carpet or something. His yelp instead of making me feel sorry for him set me on fire. I remembered Socrates and Jones poking at him with this very rod. Now I had Jones at my mercy. He couldn’t get out of the chair. Every time he tried I put in another quick, rapier-like thrust. Of course his clothes were saving him. I couldn’t have got through and drawn blood and it didn’t occur to me to go for his face and neck. I was panting with passion and excitement. It was hard work.