More Deadly Than The Male Read Free Page B

you like a little session with our Gladys in the park, George?"

    George looked uncomfortable. Sex embarrassed him, and Robinson was always making him feel awkward by his loose talk in mixed society.

    "Oh, shut up," he growled, and without looking at Gladys he muttered, "Give him a mild and hitter, please."

    Robinson grinned. "Glad, my girl, I believe we've the privilege of drinking in the company of a virgin. Not being one meself, and knowing from the saucy look in your eye, my pretty, that you'd make no false claims, we knows Who we're talking abaht, don't we?"

    Gladys giggled, drew another pint of beer and set it before Robinson. She glanced at George's red face, winked at him and said, "Don't you take any notice of him. It's those who talk the most that do the least."

    Robinson dug George in the ribs. "She's calling you a dirty old man, George," he cackled. "Maybe you are. What's your particular vice, old boy? 'Ere Glad, don't go away; you might learn something."

    "I can't waste my time talking nonsense with you," Gladys returned. "I've got my work to do."

    When she had gone to the other end of the bar, Robinson stared at her broad hack for a second or so and then winked at George.

    "Rather fancy her meself," he said, his small green eyes lighting up. "Think she's a proposition?"

    George scowled at him. "Oh, dry up," he snapped. "Can't you get your mind off women for five minutes?"

    Robinson gave him a sneering, amused smile. "Funny bloke, aren't you, George?" he said, taking out a crumpled packet of Woodbines. " 'Ere, have a smoke. The trouble with you, me boy, is you're repressed. You're scared of sex, and if you ain't careful, it'll fester inside you, and then anything may happen. Me—I'm as free as the air. It's just a cuppa tea to me. When I want it, I have it, and that way it don't do me any 'arm."

    George lit his cigarette, cleared his throat and produced a big envelope from the "poacher's" pocket he had had made inside his coat.

    "Now then," he said. "Let's see what I've got to do." He took from the envelope a packet of printed forms and a sheet of paper containing the addresses of the local schools. "I'm planting more forms this afternoon. I've to collect others from Radlet Road school. Ought to get something from them, and this evening I'll make some calls."

    Robinson glanced down the list of addresses and grunted. "All right," he said. "Still working Wembley? Where are you going next?"
    "Alperton, Harlesden and Sudbury," George returned. "I've got it all doped out. There's a good bunch of council houses in all those districts, and they haven't been worked for some time now."

    "I almost forgot," Robinson said, blowing a thin stream of smoke to the ceiling. "I've taken on a new salesman Thought I'd put him under your wing, George. You can show him the ropes, and he'll be company for you."

    "You mean you want me to train him?" George asked eagerly, his big face lighting up.

    Robinson nodded. "That's the idea," he said. "He's new to the game, and you know all the tricks by now; so I thought you might as well give me a hand."

    "Why, certainly," George said. He was delighted that Robinson should pay hint such a compliment. "Yes, I think I can teach him a few tricks. Who is he?"

    "Chap named Sydney Brant. Rum kind of a bloke, but he might get some business." Robinson glanced at the clock above the bar. "He ought to be here any minute now. Take him out this afternoon and show him how to plant the forms, will you? And then take him with you when you make your calls tonight. Anyway, I don't have to tell you what to do, do I?"

    "You leave it to me," George said, straightening up and feeling important. "Have another beer, Robo," and he signalled to Gladys.

    Robinson gave him a sly, amused look. He could see that George was delighted to be given some responsibility. That suited Robinson, as he was getting tired of showing new men how to get orders. If George wanted to do it, so much the better. Robinson