ion。 'I will take your pony on that； then。'
'From your account？'
'Omally； you know I never carry money。'
'The Princess Royal need one hundred and fifty…six；' boomed the adjudicator； taking up the chalks。
The lift engineer； making much of his every movement； stepped on to the oche。 There was a ripple amongst the crowd as his first dart entered the treble twenty。 A whistle as his second joined it and a great cry of horror as his third skimmed the double eighteen by a hairbreadth。 Crimson to the tips of his small and shell…likes； the lift engineer returned to his chair； and the obscurity from which he had momentarily emerged。
'Unfortunate；' said Professor Slobe； rubbing his hands together； 'I have noticed in matches past that the lift engineer has a tendency to buckle under pressure。'
Omally made a sour face； he had noticed it also； but in the heat of the betting had neglected to note the running order of the players。 'The North Star needs eighty…seven。'
Amidst much cheering； this figure was easily acplished； with a single nineteen； a double nineteen and a double fifteen。
'I am up already；' said Professor Slobe to the scowling Irishman。
'And I；' said Pooley。
Now began the usual debate which always marred championship matches。 A member of the Princess Royal's team accused the men from the Star of playing out of order。 The adjudicator； who had not taken the obvious course of forcing them to sport name tags； found himself at a disadvantage。
Omally； who had spotted the omission early in the game； shook his head towards Professor Slobe。 'I can see all betting on this one being null and void；' said he。
'I might possibly intervene。'
That would hardly be sporting now； would it； Professor？'
'You are suggesting that I might have a bias？'
'Perish the thought。 It is your round is it not； Jim？'
Pooley； who had been meaning to broach the subject of a loan； set against his potential winnings； began to pat at his pockets。 'You find me financially embarrassed at present；' he said。
'I think not；' said Professor Slobe。 'I recall asking you for a pound's…worth of change from the Swan's cash register。'
'You did sir； yes。' Pooley shook his head at the Professor's foresight and fought his way towards the bar。
Neville faced his customer with a cold good eye。 'e to kick me in the cobblers again； Pooley？' he asked。 'You are here on sufferance you know； as a guest of Omally and the Professor。'
Jim nodded humbly。 'What can I say？'
'Very little；' said Neville。 'Can you smell creosote？'
Pooley's moustachios shot towards the floor like a dowser's rod。 'Where？' he asked in a tremulous voice。
'Somewhere close；' said Neville。 'Take my word； it bodes no good。'
'Be assured of that。' Pooley loaded the tray and cast a handful of coins on the counter。
'Keep the change；' he called； retreating fearfully to his table。
'We're up next；' said Omally； upon the shaky Jim's return。 'Will you wager a pound or two upon the home team？'
'Neville smells creosote；' said Jim。
'Take it easy。' Professor Slobe patted the distraught Pooley's arm。 'I have no doubt that they must suspect something。 Be assured that they are being watched。'
The Captain Laser Alien Attack machine rattled out another series of electronic explosions。
Norman stepped on to the mat amidst tumultuous applause。 He licked the tips of his darts and nodded towards the adjudicator。
'Swan to throw；' said that man。
Norman's mastery of the game； his style and finesse； were legend in Brentford。 Certain supporters who had moved away from the area travelled miles to witness his yearly display of skill。 One pink…eyed man； who kept forever to the shadows； had actually travelled from as far afield as Penge。
'One hundred and eighty；' shouted the adjudicator； although his words were lost in the Wembley roar of the crowd。
'It is poetry；' said Omally。
'Perfect mastery；' said Pooley。
'I think it has something to do with the darts；' said Professor Slobe； 'and possibly the board； which I understand he donated to the Swan。'
'You are not implying some sort of electronic duplicity upon the part of our captain； are you？' Omally asked。
'Would I dare？ But you will notice that each time he throws； the Guinness clock stops。 This might be nothing more than coincidence。'
The whole world holds its breath when Norman throws；' said Omally； further shortening the already impossibly foreshortened odds upon the home team。 'Whose round is it？'
'I will go on to sherry now； if you please；' said the Professor。 'I have no wish to use the Swan's convenience tonight。'
'Quite so；' said John。 'We would all do well to stay in the crowd。 Shorts all round then。' Rising from the table； he took up his book； and departed into the crowd。
Old Pete approached Professor Slobe and greeted the scholar with much hand…wringing。 'My dog Chips tells me that we have a bogey in our midst；' said he。
'And a distinguished one of the literary persuasion；' the elder ancient replied。 'Tell your dog that he has nothing to fear； he is on our side。'
Old Pete nodded and turned the conversation towards the sad decline in the nation's morals and Professor Slobe's opinion of the post office puter。
Omally found the boy Nick at the bar； ordering a half of light and lime。 'Have this one on me；' he said； handing the boy two florins。 'You are doing a grand job。'
Raffles Rathbone raised a manicured eyebrow。 'Don't tell me you now approve？' he asked。
'Each to his own。 I have never been one to deny the pleasures of the flesh。 Here； have a couple of games on me and don't miss now； will you？' He dropped several more coins into the boy's outstretched palm。
'I never miss；' Nick replied。 'I have the game mastered。'
'Good boy。 Two gold watches and a small sweet sherry please； Neville。'
The part…time barman glared at Omally。 'You are paying for these；' he snarled。 'I still have my suspicions。'
'You can owe me later；' Omally replied； delving into his pockets。 'I am a man of my word。'
'And I mine； eighteen and six please。'
'Do you know something I don't？' Nick asked the Irishman。
'A good many things。 Did you have anything specific in mind？'
'About the machine？'
'Nothing。 Is something troubling you？'
Nick shook his limey head and turned his prodigious nose once more towards the unoccupied machine。 'I must be going now；' he said； 'the Captain awaits。'
'Buffoon；' said Omally beneath his breath。 By the time he returned to the table； the Swan's team had disposed of their adversaries in no uncertain fashion。
'I am sure that I am up by at least two bob on that game；' said Pooley。
Two and fourpence；' said Professor Slobe。 'Don't let it go to your head。'
The final eliminating match lay between the Four Horsemen and the Albany Arms； whose team of old stalwarts； each a veteran of Gallipoli； had been faring remarkably well against spirited opposition。
'Albany Arms to throw；' boomed himself。
'Leave me out of this one；' said Pooley。 'Unless God chooses to intervene upon this occasion and despatch Young Jack into the bottomless pit； I feel it to be a foregone conclusion。'
'I will admit that you would have a wager at least one hundred pounds to win yourself another two and four…pence。'
'Don't you feel that one thousand to one against the Albany is a little cruel？'
'But nevertheless tempting to the outside better。'
'Taking money from children；' said Professor Slocornbe。 'How can you live with yourself； John？'
Omally grinned beneath his beard。 'Please do not deny me my livelihood；' said he。
From their first dart onwards； the Albany began to experience inexplicable difficulties with their game。 Several of the normally robust geriatrics became suddenly subject to unexpected bouts of incontinence at their moments of throwing。 Others mislaid their darts or spilled their beer； one even locked himself in the gents' and refused to e out until the great grinning black goat was removed from in front of the dartboard。
It was remarkable the effect that Young Jack could have upon his team's opponents。 The crowd； however； was not impressed。 Being responsive only to the finer points of the game and ever alert to such blatant skulduggery； th