PC Higgins released his grip on the man's arm and stared. «Saved who, sir?» He cast a look over the parapet at the turgid river gurgling beneath the arches. What in bloody hell? Was there somebody down there after all?
«We saved Blade,» said the tall gentleman. «He came back to us dying of plague, you know, but we saved him. Narrow thing, though. If it hadn't been for the drugs we had flown in from the States we would have lost him. Goddamn his Lordship to hell!»
PC Higgins tapped him on the shoulder in a kindly manner. «I'm sure you did, sir, and I'm glad it came out all right. Now, how about a little walk with me? It's after ten, and cold, and home is a cozy place to be.»
«I have been walking,» the man said. «Walking and walking and walking. I must have walked over half of London. And I have been drinking.»
PC Higgins had his moments. He smiled now and said, «Do tell me, sir. It's the last thing I would have thought.»
«I have, though,» the man said. He fell in step with the constable, who still held him lightly by the arm. PC Higgins breathed easier. It was going to be all right. No trouble of arrest. Now if he could find one of those sodding cabs that always disappeared when you needed them most.
A gust of Scotch blew into his wind-reddened face. The tall old man said, «I suppose you want some identification, officer. My name is J.» He made no effort to produce his wallet or cardcase.
Higgins let it pass. J was good enough. Drunks came up with some mighty queer answers.
«I've been drinking all night,» the man said. «Drinking and drinking and drinking. Making a fool of myself. Don't care. Couldn't help it. Glad I did. Because they saved him, you see. Saved Blade.»
PC Higgins nodded. «You told me, sir. Now if we could step along a bit livelier, sir? I've still my patrol to finish.»
«He came back raving and near dead,» said the man. «Took the fools forever to diagnose plague. Can't really blame them, I suppose. Like bubonic and yet not bubonic. Couldn't find the bacillus pestis, you see.»
«I'm sure,» said PC Higgins and rolled his eyes skyward. You got all kinds. He thought of the snug cottage in the country, just purchased with his savings, and of the roses he meant to grow. Five months to go. Only five months. Lord gimme strength, he prayed.
They left the bridge and the constable cast around for a taxi. Not an effing cab in sight. Naturally. He took the man's arm again and led him gently down Bridge Street. There was an all-night stand down Whitehall a way.
«He was yellow,» said the man. He pulled his arm away from the constable and pointed to a traffic stripe glinting in the street lights. «As yellow as that divider strip.»
PC Higgins made comforting sounds. «Now, now, sir.
No need to dwell on it. I'm sure the gentleman is going to be all right.»
«He will. He is going to get well. But no thanks to them, to those fools of doctors. They thought he had simple jaundice. I had to do it! I had to insist that they make a culture and find a growth media, search for some sort of bug. You'd have thought I was the doctor. And it was his Lordship, damn him to hell; but give credit where it is due, it was Lord L who got the drugs in from the States.»
PC Higgins turned his face away from the blast of Scotch breath. Enough to make a man drunk just smelling it.
«I am very drunk,» said the man.
The constable nodded heavily, gravely. «That you are, sir. Bed is where you belong. Just as soon as we find you a taxi.»
«I am drunk, drunk, drunk,» said the man. He skipped a few steps, whirled, leaped into the air and clicked his heels, then faced the constable. «Haven't been this drunk in forty years. Since I came down from Cambridge. Did I tell you my name was J? Are you going to arrest me?»
PC Higgins tipped back his helmet and scratched his balding brow. Lumme! This gent really had his load on. Where in the bunking hell was a taxi? The cabstand, now looming into view, was deserted.
«No need to arrest you, sir. Unless you become disorderly, and I'm sure a gentleman like you—»
The man called J leaned toward the constable, supporting himself by clinging to a lamp standard. His eyes were glazed and owlish. He said, «A gentleman like me does some very queer things, constable. Things you wouldn't dream of — things you wouldn't want to dream of!»
Ignoring the cold wind, PC Higgins took off his helmet and wiped his brow with a huge colored handkerchief. «I'm sure you do, sir. And I'm sure I wouldn't — Oho, there is a taxi now! Just pulling up.»
PC Higgins put his whistle to his mouth and puffed out a mighty blast. The taxi made a U-turn and came back to them. The constable bundled his charge into the back seat. «There you are, sir. You'll be fine, you will. Now just go home and have a nice sleep.»
The man leaned out the window. For a moment his eyes cleared and there was concern on his face. His face was steady. «Thank you, constable. And I would appreciate it if you would just forget this — forget everything I said, whatever it may have been.» He fell back into the seat and gave the driver an address in Belgravia.
PC Higgins spoke as the taxi pulled away. «I'll forget it, sir. With pleasure.»
PC Higgins turned and started back toward Westminster Bridge. Five months until he took his pension. He grinned. Five months wasn't so long. Then he could grow roses— and rest his feet.