THE BLACK CAP
BLACK CAP
NEW STORIES of MURDER C- MYSTERY
COMPILED BY
CYNTHIA ASQUITH
V
c\
HUTCHINSON & CO. (Publishers), LTD.
Paternoster Row LONDON, E.C.4.
CONTENTS
PAGE
' SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES? By J. M* Barrie - 9
THE KILLING-BOTTLE* By L* P* Hartley - 32
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE* By Mrs* Belloc Lowndes 79
A CONSIDERABLE MURDER* By Barry Pain - - 105
THE TARN* By Hugh Walpole - n
* THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY* By Arthur Machen - 134
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE* By Edgar Wallace - 149
THE PRINCE* By W* B* Maxwell - - 166
THE SMILE OF KAREN* By Oliver Onions - - 173
THE LOVELY LADY* By D* H* Lawrence 216
THE HOSPITAL NURSE* By Shane Leslie - - 239 '
.. TELLING* By Elizabeth Bowen - 250
- FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE* By W. Somerset
Maugham 259
THE LOVELY VOICE* By Lady Cynthia Asquith - 297
vii
THE BLACK CAP
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
AN UNCOMFORTABLE PLAY*
BY J. M. BARRIE
For the past week the hospitable Sam Smith has been
entertaining a country house party, and we choose to raise
the curtain on them towards the end of dinner. They are
seated thus, the host facing us :
Lady Jane
(Miss Fay Comptori)
Sir Joseph
(Mr. Cyril Maude]
Mrs. Preen
(Lady Tree)
Mr. Vaile
(Mr. Nelson Keys]
Mr. Gourlay
(Sir Johnston
Forbes -Robertson)
Hcst
(Mr. Dion Boucicault)
Lady Wrathie
(Miss Sybil Thorndike)
Mr. Preen
(Sir Charles Hawlrey}
Miss Vaile
(Miss Marie Lohr)
Mrs. Bland
(Miss Madge
Titheradge)
Capt. Jennings
(Mr. Leon Quartermaine')
Miss Tsit
(Miss Irene Vanbrugh)
Mrs. Castro
(Miss Lillah McCarthy]
Butler
(Sir Gerald du Maurier)
Maid
(Miss Hilda Trevelyan)
* This is the first act of an unfinished play originally produced at the opening
of the Royal Dramatic Academy's theatre, which accounts for the brilliancy of
the cast. Now first published!
9
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
Smith is a little old bachelor, and sits there beaming on
his guests like an elderly cupid. So they think him, but
they are to be undeceived. Though many of them have not
met until this week, they have at present that genial regard
for each other which steals so becomingly over really nice
people who have eaten too much.
Dolphin, the butler, is passing round the fruit. The
only other attendant is a maid in the background, as for an
emergency, and she is as interested in the conversation as
he is indifferent to it. If one of the guests were to destroy
himself, Dolphin would merely sign to her to remove the
debris while he continued to serve the fruit.
In the midst of hilarity over some quip that we are just
too late to catch, the youthful Lady Jane counts the company
and is appalled.
LADY JANE : We are thirteen, Lady Wrathie*
(Many fingers count.)
LADY WRATHIE : Fourteen.
CAPT* JENNINGS : Twelve*
LADY JANE : We are thirteen*
HOST : Oh, dear, how careless of me* Is there anything
I can do ?
SIR JOSEPH (of the city) : Leave this to me* All keep your
seats*
MRS* PREEN (perhaps rather thankfully) : I am afraid Lady
Jane has risen*
(Lady Jane subsides.)
LADY WRATHIE : Joseph, you have risen yourself*
(Sir Joseph subsides.)
MRS* CASTRO (a mysterious widow from Buenos Ayres) :
Were we thirteen all those other nights ?
MRS* PREEN : We always had a guest or two from outside,
you remember*
10
J* ML BARRIE
Miss ISIT (whose name obviously needs to be queried) :
All we have got to do is to make our number
fourteen*
VAILE : But how, Miss Isit ?
Miss ISIT : Why, Dolphin, of course.
MRS. PREEN : It's too clever of you, Miss Isit* Mr*
Smith, Dolphin may sit down with us, mayn't
he?
MRS* CASTRO : Please, dear Mr* Smith ; just for a
moment* That breaks the spell*
SIR JOSEPH : We won't eat you, Dolphin* (But he has
crunched some similar ones.)
HOST : Let me explain to him* You see, Dolphin, there
is a superstition that if thirteen people sit down
at table something staggering will happen to one
of them before the night is out* That is it,
isn't it ?
MRS* BLAND (darkly) : Namely, death*
HOST (brightly) : Yes, namely, death*
LADY JANE : But not before the night is out, you dear ;
before the year is out*
HOST : I thought it was before the night is out*
(Dolphin is reluctant.)
GOURLAY : Sit here, Dolphin*
Miss VAILE : No, I want him*
Miss ISIT : It was my idea, and I insist on having him*
MRS* CASTRO : Yes, here between us*
(Dolphin obliges.)
MRS* PREEN (with childish abandon] : Saved*
HOST : As we are saved, and he does not seem happy,
may he resume his duties ?
LADY WRATHIE : Yes, yes ; and now we ladies may with-
draw*
ii
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
PREEN (the most selfish of the company, and therefore perhaps
the favourite] : First, a glass of wine with you,
Dolphin.
VAILE (ever seeking to undermine Preen' s popularity] : Is
this wise ?
PREEN (determined to carry the thing through despite this
fellow] : To the health of our friend Dolphin*
(Dolphin's health having been drunk,
he withdraws his chair and returns to the
sideboard. As Miss Isit and Mrs* Castro
had made room for him between them exactly
opposite his master, and the space remains
empty, we have now a better view of the
company. Can this have been the author's
object ?]
SIR JOSEPH (pleasantly detaining the ladies] : One moment*
Another toast* Fellow- guests, to-morrow morn-
ing, alas, this party has to break up, and I am
sure you will all agree with me that we have had
a delightful week* It has not been an eventful
week ; it has been too happy for that*
CAPT* JENNINGS : I rise to protest* When I came here a
week ago I had never met Lady Jane, Now, as
you know, we are engaged* I certainly call it
an eventful week*
LADY JANE : Yes, please, Sir Joseph*
SIR JOSEPH : I stand corrected* And now we are in
the last evening of it ; we are drawing nigh to
the end of a perfect day*
PREEN (who is also an orator] : In seconding this
motion
VAILE : Pooh* (He is the perfect little gentleman, if socks
and spats can do it.]
J. M. BARRIE
SIR JOSEPH : Though I have known you intimately for
but a short time, I already find it impossible to
call you anything but Sam Smith*
MRS. CASTRO : In our hearts, Mr. Smith, that is what we
ladies call you also.
PREEN : If I might say a word
VAILE : Tuts.
SIR JOSEPH : Ladies and gentlemen, is he not like a
pocket edition of Mr. Pickwick ?
GOURLAY (an artist) : Exactly. That is how I should
like to paint him.
MRS. BLAND : Mr. Smith, you love, we think that if you
were married you could not be quite so nice.
SIR JOSEPH : At any rate, he could not be quite so simple.
For you are a very simple soul, Sam Smith.
Well, we esteem you the more for your sim-
plicity. Friends all, I give you the toast of Sam
Smith.
(The toast is drunk with acclamation, and
Dolphin, who has paid no attention to it,
again hovers round with wine.}
HOST (rising in answer to their appeals and warming them
with his Pickwickian smile) : Ladies and gentle-
men, you are very kind, and I don't pretend
that it isn't pleasant to me to be praised. Tell
me, have you ever wondered why I invited you
here?
Miss ISIT : Because you like us, of course, you muddle-
headed darling.
HOST : Was that the reason ?
SIR JOSEPH : Take care, Sammy, you are not saying what
you mean.
13
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
HOST : Am I not ? Kindly excuse. I daresay I am as
simple as Sir Joseph says. And yet, do you
really know me? Does any person ever know
another absolutely ? Has not the simplest of us
a secret drawer inside him with with a lock to
it?
Miss ISIT : If you have, Mr. Smith, be a dear and open
it to us.
MRS. CASTRO: How delicious. He is going to tell us
of his first and only love.
HOST : Ah, Mrs. Castro, I think I had one once, very
nice, but I have forgotten her name. The person
I loved best was my brother.
PREEN : I never knew you had a brother.
HOST : I suppose none of you knew. He died two years
ago.
SIR JOSEPH : Sorry, Sam Smith.
MRS. PREEN (drawing the chocolates nearer her) : We should
like to hear about him if it isn't too sad.
HOST : Would you ? He was many years my junior,
and as attractive as I am commonplace. He
died in a foreign land. Natural causes were
certified. But there were suspicious circum-
stances, and I went out there determined to
probe the matter to the full. And I did, too.
PREEN : You didn't say where the place was.
HOST : It was Monte Carlo.
(He pauses here, as if to give time for some-
thing to happen^ but nothing does happen
except that Miss Isit's wine-glass slips from her
hand to the floor.)
Dolphin, another glass for Miss Isit.
LADY JANE : Do go on,
14
J. ML BARRIE
HOST : My enquiries were slow, but I became convinced
that my brother had been poisoned*
MRS. BLAND : How dreadful. You poor man*
GOURLAY : I hope, Sam Smith, that you got on the track
of the criminals ?
HOST : Oh yes.
(A chair creaks.}
Did you speak, -Miss Isit?
Miss ISIT : Did I ? I think not. What did you say
about the criminals ?
HOST : Not criminals ; there was only one.
PREEN : Man or wgman.?
HOST : We are not yet certain. What we do know is
that my brother was visited in his rooms that
night by someone who must have been the
murderer. It was someone who spoke English
and who was certainly dressed as a man, but
it may have been a woman. There is proof
that it was someone who had been to the tables
that night. I got in touch with every " pos-
sible/' though I had to follow some of them to
distant parts.
LADY WRATHIE : It is extraordinarily interesting.
HOST : Outwardly many of them seemed to be quite
respectable people.
SIR JOSEPH : Ah, one can't go by that, Sam Smith.
HOST : I didn't. I made the most exhaustive enquiries
into their private lives. I did it so cunningly
that not one of them suspected why I was so
anxious to make his or her acquaintance ; and
then, when I was ready for them, I invited
them to my house for a week, and they are all
sitting round my table this evening.
(-4s the monstrous significance of this sinks
into them, there is a hubbub at the table.)
15
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
You wanted to know why I had asked you here,
and I am afraid that in consequence I have
wandered a little from the toast; but I thank
you, Sir Joseph, I thank you all, for the too
kind way in which you have drunk my health,
(He sits down as modestly as he had risen,
but the smile has gone from his face ; and the
curious which includes all the diners may
note that he is licking his lips. In the babel
that again breaks forth, Dolphin, who has
remained stationary and vacuous for the speech,
goes the round of the table refilling glasses.)
PREEN (the first to be wholly articulate) : In the name of
every one of us, Mr, Smith, I tell you that this
is an outrage,
HOST : I was afraid you wouldn't like it,
SIR JOSEPH : May I ask, sir, whether all this week you
have been surreptitiously ferreting into our
private affairs, perhaps even rummaging our
trunks ?
HOST (brightening) : That was it. You remember how I
pressed you all to show your prowess on the
tennis courts and the golf links while I stayed at
home? That was my time for the trunks,
LADY JANE : Was there ever such a man ? Did you
open our letters ?
HOST : Every one of them. And there were some very
queer things in them. There was one about a
luncheon at the Ritz* " You will know me,"
the man wrote, " by the gardenia I shall carry
in my hand/' Perhaps I shouldn't have men-
tioned that. But the lady who got that letter
need not be frightened. She is married, and
her husband is here with her, but I won't tell
you any more,
16
J* M* BARRIE
Miss ISIT : I think he should be compelled to telL
PREEN : Wrathie, there are only two ladies here with
their husbands*
SIR JOSEPH : Yours and mine, Preen.
LADY WRATHIE : Joseph, I don't need to tell you it
wasn't your wife*
MRS. PREEN : It certainly wasn't yours, Willie*
PREEN (with a sinking] : Of that I am well assured*
SIR JOSEPH : Take care what you say, Preen* That is
very like a reflection on my wife*
GOURLAY : Let that pass* The other is the serious thing
so serious that it is a nightmare* Whom do
you accuse of doing away with your brother,
sir ? Out with it*
HOST : You are not all turning against me, are you ? I
assure you I don't accuse any of you yet* I
know that one of you did it, but I am not sure
which one* I shall know soon*
VAILE : Soon ? How soon ?
HOST : Soon after the men join the ladies to-night* I
ought to tell you that I am to try a little ex-
periment to-night, something I have thought out
which I have every confidence will make the
guilty person fall into my hands like a ripe plum*
(He indicates rather horribly how he will squeeze
it.)
LADY JANE (hitting his hand) : Don't do that*
SIR JOSEPH (voicing the general unrest) : We insist, Smith,
on hearing what this experiment is to be*
HOST : That would spoil it* But I can tell you this*
My speech had a little pit in it, and all the time
I was talking I was watching whether any of
you would fall into that pit*
B.C. 17 B
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
MRS* PREEN (rising) : I didn't notice any pit*
HOST : You weren't meant to, Mrs* Preen*
PREEN : May I ask* without pressing the personal note*
did anyone fall into your pit ?
HOST : I think so*
CAPT, JENNINGS : Smith* we must have the name of this
person*
LADY WRATHIE : Mrs* Preen has fainted*
(Preen hurries slowly to his wife's assistance,
and there is some commotion.)
MRS* PREEN : Why what who I am all right now*
Willie* go back to your seat* Why are you all
staring at me so ?
Miss ISIT : Dear Mrs* Preen* we are so glad that you are
better* I wonder what upset you ?
PREEN (imprudently) : I never knew her faint before*
Miss ISIT : I expect it was the heat*
PREEN (nervous) : Say it was the heat* Emily*
MRS* PREEN : No* it wasn't the heat* Miss Isit* It was
Mr* Smith's talk of a pit*
PREEN : My dear*
MRS* PREEN : I suddenly remembered how* as soon as
that man mentioned that the place of the crime
was Monte Carlo* some lady had let her wine-
glass fall* That was why I fainted* I can't
remember who she was*
LADY WRATHIE : It was Miss Isit*
MRS* PREEN: Really?
Miss ISIT : There is a thing called the law of libel* If
Lady Wrathie and Mrs* Preen will kindly
formulate their charges
GOURLAY : Oh* come* let us keep our heads*
HOST : That's what I say*
18
J* M BARRIE
GOURLAY : What about a motive ? Scotland Yard always
seeks for that first*
HOST : I see two possible motives. If a woman did it
well, they tended to run after my brother, and
you all know of what a woman scorned is capable*
PREEN (reminiscent) : Rather*
HOST : Then, again, my brother had a large sum of
money with him, which disappeared*
SIR JOSEPH : If you could trace that money it might be a
help*
HOST : All sorts of things are a help* The way you are
all pretending to know nothing about the
matter is a help* It might be a help if I could
find put which of you has a clammy hand that
at this moment wants to creep beneath the table*
(Not a hand creeps.)
Fll tell you something more* Murderers' hearts
beat differently from other hearts* (He raises
his finger.) Listen*
(They listen.)
Whose was it ?
(A cry from Miss Vaile brings her into
undesired prominence.)
Miss VAILE (explaining) : I thought I heard it* It seemed
to come from across the table*
(This does not give universal satisfaction.)
Please don't think because this man made me
scream that I did it* I never was on a yacht
in my life, at Monte Carlo or anywhere else*
(Nor does even this have the desired effect.)
VAILE (sharply) : Bella*
Miss VAILE : Have I said anything odd ?
19
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
GOURLAY : A yacht ? There has been no talk about a
yacht*
Miss VAILE (shrinking) : Hasn't there ?
HOST : Perhaps there should have been* It was on his
yacht that my brother died*
MRS* CASTRO : You said in his rooms*
HOST : Yes* that is what I said* I wanted to find out
which of you knew better*
LADY JANE : And Miss Vaile
Miss VAILE : I can explain it all if if
Miss ISIT : Yes, give her a little time*
HOST : Perhaps you would all like to take a few minutes*
Miss VAILE : I admit that I was at Monte Carlo with
my brother when an Englishman died there
, rather mysteriously on a yacht* When Mr*
Smith told us of his brother's death, I concluded
that it was probably the same person*
VAILE : I presume that you accept my sister's statement ?
Miss ISIT : Ab-sol-ute-ly*
HOST : She is not the only one of you who knew that
yacht* You all admit having been at Monte
Carlo two years ago, I suppose ?
CAPT* JENNINGS : One of us wasn't* Lady Jane was
never there*
HOST (with beady eyes) : What do you say to that, Lady
Jane?
(Lady Jane falters.)
CAPT* JENNINGS : Tell him, Jane*
HOST : Yes, tell me*
CAPT* JENNINGS : You never were there ; say so*
LADY JANE : Why shouldn't I have been there ?
20
J* ML BARRIE
CAPT JENNINGS : No reason* But when I happened to
mention Monte Carlo to you the other day I
certainly understood Jane, I never forget
a word you say, and you did say you had never
been there,
LADY JANE : So you you, Jack you accuse me you
CAPT* JENNINGS : I haven't, I haven't*
LADY JANE : You have all heard that Captain Jennings
and I are engaged* I want you to understand
that we are so no longer*
CAPT* JENNINGS : Jane*
(She removes the engagement ring from
her finger and hesitates how to transfer it to
the donor, who is many seats apart from
her. The ever-reso urceful Dolphin goes to her
with a tray on which she deposits the ring,
and it is thus conveyed to the unhappy
Jennings* Next moment Dolphin has to
attend to the maid, who makes an audible
gurgle of sympathy with love, which is a
breach of\etiqu^tte. He opens the door for
her, and she makes a shameful exit. He
then fills the Captain's glass.)
HOST (in one of his nicer moods) : Take comfort, Captain*
If Lady Jane should prove to be the person
wanted mind you, perhaps she isn't why, then
the ring is a matter of small importance, because
you would be parted in any case* I mean by
the handcuffs* I forgot to say that I have them
here* (He gropes at his feet, where other people
merely have a table-napkin.) Pass them round,
Dolphin* Perhaps some of you have never seen
them before*
PREEN : A pocket edition of Pickwick we called him ; he
is more like a pocket edition of the devil*
21
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES ?
HOST : Please, a little courtesy. After all, I am your host*
(Dolphin goes the round of the table with
the handcuffs on the tray that a moment ago
contained a lover's ring. They meet with no
success.)
Do take a look at them, Mrs* Castro ; they are
an adjustable pair in case they should be needed
for small wrists* Would you like to try them
on, Sir Joseph? They close with a click a
click*
SIR JOSEPH (pettishly) : We quite understand*
(Mrs* Bland rises.)
MRS* BLAND : How stupid of us* We have all forgotten
that he said the murderer may have been a
woman in man's clothes, and I have just re-
membered that when we played the charade on
Wednesday he wanted the ladies to dress up as
men* Was it to see whether one of us looked
as if she could have passed for a man that night
at Monte Carlo ?
HOST : YouVe got it, Mrs*
SIR JOSEPH : Well, none of you did dress up, at any rate*
MRS* BLAND (distressed) : Oh, Sir Joseph* Some of us
did dress up, in private, and we all agreed that
of course there's nothing in it, but we all agreed
that the only figure which might have deceived
a careless eye was Lady Wrathie's*
PREEN : I say !
LADY WRATHIE : Joseph, do you sit there and permit
this?
HOST : Now, now, there is nothing to be touchy about*
Have I not been considerate ?
J* ML BARRIE
SIR JOSEPH : Smith, I hold you to be an impudent
scoundrel*
HOST : May not I, who lost a brother in circumstances
so painful, appeal for a little kindly consideration
from those of you who are innocent shady
characters though you be ?
PREEN : I must say that rather touches me* Some of us
might have reasons for being reluctant to have
our past at Monte enquired into without being
the person you are asking for*
HOST : Precisely* I am presuming that to be the position
of eleven of you*
LADY WRATHIE : Joseph, I must ask you to come
upstairs with me to pack our things*
Miss ISIT : For my part* after poor Mr* Smith's appeal
I think it would be rather heartless not to stay
and see the thing out* Especially, Mr* Smith,
if you would give us just an inkling of what
your little experiment in the drawing-room
is to be ?
HOST : I can't say anything about it except that it isn't to
take place in the drawing-room* You ladies are
to go this evening to Dolphin's room, where we
shall join you presently*
(Even Dolphin is taken aback.)
MRS* PREEN : Why should we go there ?
HOST : Because I tell you to, Mrs* Preen*
LADY WRATHIE : I go to no such room* I leave this house
at once*
MRS* PREEN : I also*
LADY JANE : All of us* I want to go home*
LADY WRATHIE : Joseph, come*
23
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
MRS* PREEN : Willie, I am ready. I wish you a long
good-bye, Mr. Smith.
(Their dignified advance upon the door is
spoilt on opening it by their finding a policeman
(Mr. Norman Forbes) standing there. They
glare at Mr. Smith.)
HOST : The ladies will now adjourn to Dolphin's room.
LADY WRATHIE : I say no.
MRS. CASTRO : Let us. Why shouldn't the innocent ones
help him?
(She gives Smith her hand with a disarming
smile.)
HOST : I knew you would be on my side, Mrs. Castro.
Cold hand warm heart. That is the saying,
isn't it ?
(She shrinks.)
LADY WRATHIE : Those who wish to leave this man's
house, follow me.
HOST (for her special benefit) : My brother's cigarette case
was of faded green leather, and a hole had been
burned in the back of it.
(For some reason this takes the fight out
of her, and she departs for Dolphin's room,
tossing her head, and followed by the other
ladies.}
VAILE (seeing Smith drop a word to Miss Vaile as she goes) :
What did you say to my sister ?
HOST : I only said to her that she isn't your sister. (The
last lady to go is Miss Isit). So you never met
my brother, Miss Isit ?
Miss ISIT : Not that I know of, Mr. Smith.
HOST : I have a photograph of him that I should like to
show you.
24
J* M* BARRIE
Miss ISIT : I don't care to see it.
HOST : You are going to see it, (It is in his pocket, and
he suddenly puts it before her eyes.}
Miss ISIT (surprised) : That is not (She checks her-
self.}
HOST : No, that is not my brother* That is someone
you have never seen* But how did you know
it wasn't my brother ?
(She makes no answer.}
I rather think you knew Dick, Miss Isit*
Miss ISIT (dropping him a curtsey} : I rather think I did,
Mr* Sam* What then ?
(She goes impudently. Now that the ladies
have left the room, the men don't quite know
what to do except stare at their little host.
Decanter in one hand and a box of cigarettes in
the other, he toddles down to what would
have been the hostess's chair had there been a
hostess.}
HOST : Draw up closer, won't you ?
(They don't want to, but they do, with
the exception of Vaile, who is studying a picture
very near the door.}
You are not leaving us, Vaile ?
VAILE : I thought
HOST (sharply} : Sit down*
VAILE : Oh, quite*
HOST : You are not drinking anything, Gourlay* Cap-
tain, the port is with you*
(The wine revolves, but no one partakes.}
PREEN (heavily) : Smith, there are a few words that I
think it my duty to say* This is a very unusual
situation*
25
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
HOST : Yes. You'll have a cigarette, Preen ?
(The cigarettes are passed round and share
the fate of the wine.)
GOURLAY : I wonder why Mrs* Bland she is the only
one of them that there seems to be nothing
against.
VAILE : A bit fishy, that,
PREEN (murmuring) : It was rather odd my wife fainting.
CAPT* JENNINGS (who has been a drooping figure since a
recent incident) : I daresay the ladies are saying
the same sort of thing about us* (He lights a
cigarette one of his own. Dolphin is offering
them liqueurs.)
PREEN (sulkily) : No, thanks* (But he takes one.) Smith,
I am sure I speak for all of us when I say we
should esteem it a favour if you would ask
Dolphin to withdraw*
HOST : He has his duties*
GOURLAY (pettishly, to Dolphin) : No, thanks* He gets
on my nerves* Can nothing disturb this man ?
CAPT* JENNINGS (also refusing) : No, thanks* Evidently
nothing*
SIR JOSEPH (reverting to a more hopeful subject) : Every-
thing seems to point to its being a woman
wouldn't you say, Smith ?
HOST : I wouldn't say everything, Sir Joseph* Dolphin
thinks it was a man*
SIR JOSEPH : One of us here ?
(Smith nods, and they survey their friend
Dolphin with renewed distaste.)
GOURLAY : Did he know your brother ?
HOST : He was my brother's servant out there*
26
J. ML BARRIE
VAILE (rising) : What ? He wasn't the fellow who ?
HOST: Who 'what, Vaile?
PREEN : I say.
VAILE (hotly) : What do you say ?
PREEN : Nothing (doggedly) But I say*
(Though Dolphin is now a centre of interest,
no one seems able to address him personally.)
GOURLAY : Are we to understand that you have had
Dolphin spying on us here ?
HOST : That was the idea. And he helped me by taking
your finger-prints.
VAILE: How can that help ?
HOST : He sent them to Scotland Yard.
SIR JOSEPH (vindictively) : Oh, he did, did he ?
PREEN : What shows finger-marks best ?
HOST : Glass, I believe.
PREEN (putting down his glass) : Now I see why the
Americans went dry.
SIR JOSEPH : Smith, how can you be sure that Dolphin
wasn't the man himself ?
(Mr. Smith makes no answer. Dolphin
picks up Sir Joseph's napkin and returns it
to him.)
PREEN : Somehow I still cling to the hope that it was a
woman.
VAILE : If it is a woman, Smith, what will you do ?
HOST : She shall hang by the neck until she is dead.
You won't try the benedictine, Vaile ?
VAILE : No thanks.
(The maid returns with coffee, which she
presents under Dolphin's superintendence.
Most of themaccept. The cups are already full.)
27
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
SIR JOSEPH (in his lighter manner) : Did you notice what
the ladies are doing in Dolphin's room, Lucy ?
MAID (in a tremble, and wishing she could fly from this
house) : Yes, Sir Joseph, they are wondering,
Sir Joseph, which of you it was that did it*
PREEN : How like women*
GOURLAY: By the way, Smith, do you know how the
poison was administered ?
HOST : Yes, in coffee* (He is about to help himself.)
MAID : You are to take the yellow cup, sir*
HOST : Who said so ?
MAID : The lady who poured out this evening, sir*
PREEN : Aha, who was she ?
MAID : Lady Jane Wraye, sir*
PREEN : I don't like it*
GOURLAY : Smith, don't drink that coffee*
CAPT* JENNINGS (in wrath) : Why shouldn't he drink it ?
GOURLAY : Well, if it was she a desperate woman it
was given in coffee the other time, remember*
But stop, she wouldn't be likely to do it in the
same way a second time*
VAILE : I'm not so sure* Perhaps she doesn't suspect
that Smith knows how it was given the first
time* We didn't know till the ladies had left
the room*
PREEN (admiring him at last) : I say, Vaile, that's good*
CAPT* JENNINGS : I have no doubt she merely meant that
she had sugared it to his taste*
VAILE : Sugar*
PREEN (pinning his faith to Vaile) : Sugar*
GOURLAY : Couldn't we analyse it ?
38
J* M* BARRIE
CAPT* JENNINGS (the one who is at present looking most like
a murderer] : Smith, I insist on your drinking
that coffee*
VAILE : Lady Jane. Who would have thought it*
PREEN (become a mere echo of Vaile) : Lady Jane. Who
would have thought it,
CAPT* JENNINGS : Give me the yellow cup* (He drains it
to the dregs.)
SIR JOSEPH : Nobly done, in any case* Look here*
Jennings you are among friends it hadn't an
odd taste, had it ?
CAPT* JENNINGS : Not a bit*
VAILE : He wouldn't feel the effects yet*
PREEN : He wouldn't feel them yet*
HOST : Vaile ought to know*
PREEN : Vaile knows*
SIR JOSEPH : Why ought Vaile to know, Smith ?
HOST : He used to practise as a doctor*
SIR JOSEPH : You never mentioned that to me, Vaile*
VAILE: Why should I?
HOST : Why should he ? He is not allowed to practise now*
(We now see that Vaile has unpleasant
teeth.)
PREEN : A doctor poison ease of access* (His passion
for Vaile is shattered. He gives him back the
ring, as Capt* Jennings might say, and wanders
the room despondently.)
SIR JOSEPH : We are where we were again*
(Dolphin escorts out the maid, who is
not in a condition to go alone.)
CAPT* JENNINGS : At any rate that fellow has gone*
29
SHALL WE JOIN THE LADIES?
GOURLAY (the first to laugh for some time) : Excuse me.
I suddenly remembered that Wrathie had called
this the end of a perfect day.
HOST : It isn't ended yet.
(Mr* Preen in his wanderings toward the
sideboard encounters a very large glass and a
small bottle of brandy. He introduces them
to each other* He swirls the contents in the
glass as if hopeful that it may climb the rim
and so escape without his having to drink it*
This is a trick which has become so common
with him that when lost in thought he some-
times goes through the motion though there
is no glass in his hand.)
PREEN (communing with his ego) : I feel I am not my old
bright self. (Sips.) I can't believe for a
moment that it was my wife. (Sips.) And yet
(sips) that fainting, you know. (Sips.) I
should go away for a bit until it blew over.
(Sips.) I don't think I should ever marry again.
(Sips and sips, and becomes perhaps a little more
like his old bright self.)
GOURLAY : There is something shocking about sitting
here, suspecting each other in this way. Let
us go to that room and have it out.
HOST : I am quite ready. Nothing more to drink, any-
one ? Bring your cigarette, Captain.
SIR JOSEPH (hoarsely) : Smith Sam before we go, can
I have a word with you alone ?
HOST : Sorry, Joseph. And now, shall we join the
ladies ?
(As they rise, a dreadful scream is heard
from the direction of Dolphin's room a
woman's scream. Next moment Dolphin
reappears in the doorway. He is no longer
30
J. M* BARRIE
the imperturbable butler. He is livid. He
tries to speak, but no words will come out
of his mouth. Capt, Jennings dashes past him,
and the others follow. He looks at his master
with mingled horror and appeal, and then goes.
Smith sits down again to take one glass of
brandy. Where he sits we cannot see his face,
but his rigid little back is merciless. As he rises
to follow the others the curtain falls on act
one.)
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
BY L* P. HARTLEY
UNLIKE the majority of men, Jimmy Rintoul enjoyed the
hour or so's interval between being called and having
breakfast ; for it was the only part of the day upon which
he imposed an order* From nine-fifteen onwards the day
imposed its order upon him* The 'bus, the office, the
hasty city luncheon ; then the office, the bus, and the
unsatisfactory interval before dinner : such a promising
time and yet, do what he would with it, it always seemed
to be wasted* If he was going to dine alone at his club,
he felt disappointed and neglected ; if, as seldom happened,
in company, he felt vaguely apprehensive* He expected
a good deal from his life, and he never went to bed without
the sense of having missed it* Truth to tell, he needed a
stimulus, the stimulus of outside interest and appreciation,
to get the best out of himself* In a competitive society,
with rewards dangled before his eyes, his nature fulfilled
itself and throve* How well he had done at school, and
even afterwards, while his parents lived to applaud his
efforts* Now he was thirty-three ; his parents were dead ;
there was no one close enough to him to care whether he
made a success of his life or not* Nor did life hand out
to grown-up men incontestable signs of merit and excel-
lence, prizes bound in vellum or silver cups standing
proudly on ebony pedestals* No, its awards were far
less tangible, and Jimmy, from the shelter of his solicitors'
office, sometimes felt glad that its more sensational prises
were passing out of his reach that he need no longer
L* P. HARTLEY
feel obliged, as he had once felt, to climb the Matterhorn,
play the Moonlight Sonata, master the Spanish language,
and read the Critique of Pure Reason, before he died*
His ambition was sensibly on the ebb*
But not in the mornings* The early mornings were
still untouched by the torpors of middle-age* Dressing
was for Jimmy a ritual, and like all rituals it looked forward
to a culmination* Act followed act in a recognised
sequence, each stage contributing its peculiar thrill,
opening his mind to a train of stimulating and agreeable
thoughts, releasing it, encouraging it* And the culmina-
tion : what was it ? Only his morning's letters and the
newspaper ! Not very exciting* But the newspaper
might contain one of those helpful, sympathetic articles
about marriage, articles that warned the reader not to
rush into matrimony, but to await the wisdom that came
with the early and still more with the late thirties ; articles
which, with a few tricks of emphasis, of skipping here
and reading between the lines there, demonstrated that
Jimmy Rintoul's career, without any effort of his own, was
shaping itself on sound, safe lines* The newspaper, then,
for reassurance ; the letters for surprise ! And this
morning an interesting letter would be particularly wel-
come* It would distract his mind from a vexing topic
that even the routine of dressing had not quite banished
the question of his holiday, due in a fortnight's
time*
Must it be Swannick Fen again ? Partly for lack of
finding others to take their place he had cherished the
interests of his boyhood, of which butterfly- collecting was
the chief* He was solitary and competitive, and the
hobby ministered to both these traits* But alas, he had
not the patience of the true collector ; his interest fell
short of the lesser breeds, the irritating varieties of
Wainscots and Footmen and what-nots* It embraced
only the more sensational insects the large, the beautiful,
and the rare* His desire had fastened itself on the
B.C. 33 c
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
Swallow-tail butterfly as representing all these qualities.
So he went to Swannick, found the butterfly, bred it,
and presently had a whole hutch-full of splendid green
caterpillars* Their mere number, the question of what
to do with them when they came out, whether to keep
them all in their satiating similarity, to give them away,
or to sell them ; to let them go free so that the species
might multiply, to the benefit of all collectors ; to kill
all but a few, thus enhancing the value of his own these
problems vexed his youthful, ambitious, conscientious
mind* Finally he killed them alL But the sight of four
setting-boards plastered with forty identical insects des-
troyed by a surfeit his passion for the Swallow-tail butter-
fly* He had coaxed it with tempting baits : the Pine Hawk
moth, the Clifden Nonpareil ; but it would not respond,
would accept no pis aller, being, like many passions,
monogamous and constant* Every year, in piety, in
conservatism, in hope, he still went to Swannick Fen ;
but with each visit the emotional satisfaction diminished*
Soon it would be gone*
However, there on his dressing-table (for some reason)
stood the killing-bottle mutely demanding prey* Al-
most without thinking he released the stopper and snuffed
up the almond-breathing fumes* A safe, pleasant smell ;
he could never understand how anything died of it, or
why cyanide of potassium should figure in the chemists'
book of poisons* But it did ; he had had to put his
name against it* Now, since the stuff was reputed to be
so deadly, he must add a frail attic to the edifice of dressing,
and once more wash his hands before breakfast* In a
fortnight's time, he thought, I shall be doing this twenty
times a day*
On the breakfast-table lay a large, shiny blue envelope*
He did not recognise the handwriting, nor, when he
examined the post-mark, did it convey anything to him*
The flap, gummed to the top and very strong, resisted
his fingers* He opened it with a knife and read :
34
L* P. HARTLEY
Verdew Castle.
My dear Rintoul,
How did you feel after our little dinner on Saturday ?
None the worse, I hope. However, Tm not writing to
enquire about your health, which seems pretty good, but
about your happiness, or what I should like to think would
be your happiness. Didn't I hear you mutter (the second
time we met, I think it was, at Smallhouse's) something
about going for a holiday in the near future ? Well, then,
couldn't you spend it here with us, at Verdew ? Us being
my brother Randolph, my wife, and your humble servant.
I'm afraid there won't be a party for you ; but we could
get through the day somehow, and play bridge in the evenings.
Randolph and you would make perfect partners, you would
be so kind to each other. And didn't you say you collected
bugs ? Then by all means bring your butterfly-net and your
killing-bottle and your other engines of destruction and park
them here ; there are myriads of green-flies, bluebottle- flies,
may-flies, dragon-flies, and kindred pests which would be all
the better for your attentions. Now don't say no. It
would be a pleasure to us, and I'm sure it would amuse you
to see ye olde castle and us living in our medieval seclusion.
I await the favour of a favourable reply, and will then tell
you the best way of reaching the Schloss, as we sometimes
call it in our German fashion.
Yours,
Rollo Verdew.
Jimmy stared at this facetious epistle until its purport
faded from his mind, leaving only a blurred impression
of redundant loops and twirls* Verdew's handwriting
was like himself, bold and dashing and unruly* At least*
this was the estimate Jimmy had formed of him, on the
strength of three meetings* He had been rather taken
by the man's bluff, hearty manner, but he did not expect
Verdew to like him : they were birds of a different
feather* He hadn't felt very well after the dinner, having
35
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
drunk more than was good for him in the effort to fall in
with his host's mood ; but apparently he had succeeded
better than he thought* Perhaps swashbucklers like
Verdew welcomed mildness in others. If not, why this
invitation? He considered it. The district might be
entomologically rich* Where exactly was Verdew Castle ?
He had, of course, a general idea of its locality, correct to
three counties ; he knew it was somewhere near the
coast* Further than that, nothing ; and directly he began
to sift his knowledge he found it to be even less helpful
than he imagined* The note-paper gave a choice of
stations : wayside stations they must be, they were both
unknown to him* The postal, telegraphic, and telephonic
addresses all confidently cited different towns Kirton
Tracy, Shrivecross, and Pawlingham names which seemed
to stir memories but never fully awakened recollection*
Still, what did it matter? Verdew had promised to
tell him the best route, and it was only a question of
getting there, after all* He could find his own way
back*
Soon his thoughts, exploring the future, encountered
an obstacle and stopped short* He was looking ahead
as though he had made up his mind to go* Well, hadn't
he ? The invitation solved his immediate difficulty : the
uncertainty as to where he should take his holiday* The
charm of Swannick had failed to hold him* And yet,
perversely enough, his old hunting-ground chose this very
moment to trouble him with its lures: its willows, its
alders, the silent clumps of grey rushes with the black
water in between* The conservatism of his nature, an
almost superstitious loyalty to the preferences of his early
life, protested against the abandonment of Swannick
Swannick, where he had always done exactly as he liked,
where bridge never intruded, and the politenesses of
society were unknown* For Jimmy's mind had run
forward again, and envisaged existence at Verdew Castle
as divided between holding open the door for Mrs* Rollo
36
L. P. HARTLEY
Verdew, and exchanging compliments and forbearances
and commiseration with Rollo's elder (or perhaps younger,
he hadn't said) brother Randolph across the bridge-table,
with a lot of spare time that wasn't really spare and a
lot of being left to himself that really meant being left to
everybody.
Jimmy looked at the clock : it was time to go.
If it amused his imagination to fashion a mythical
Verdew Castle, he neither authorised nor forbade it. He
still thought himself free to choose. But when he reached
his office his first act was to write his friend a letter of
acceptance.
Four days later a second blue envelope appeared on
his breakfast-table. It was evidently a two-days' post
to Verdew Castle, for Rollo explained that he had that
moment received Jimmy's welcome communication.
There followed a few references, necessarily brief, to
matters of interest to them both. The letter closed with
the promised itinerary :
So we shall hope to see you in ten days' time, complete
with lethal chamber and big-game apparatus. I forget
whether you have a car ; but if you have, I strongly advise
you to leave it at home. The road bridge across the estuary
has been dicky for a long time. They may close it any day
now, since it was felt to wobble the last time the Lord-
Lieutenant crossed by it. You would be in a mess if you
found it shut and had to go trailing thirty miles to Amplesford
(a hellish road, since it's no one's interest to keep it up). If
the bridge carried the Lord-Lieutenant it would probably
bear you, but I shouldn't like to have your blood on my
head ! Come, then, by train to Verdew Grove. I recom-
mend the four o'clock ; it doesn't get here till after dark, but
you can dine on it, and it's almost express part of the way.
The morning train is too bloody for anything : you would
die of boredom before you arrived, and I should hate that
to happen to any of my guests. I'm sorry to present you
37
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
with such ghastly alternatives, but the Castle was built here
to be out of everyone's reach, and by Heaven, it is I Come
prepared for a long stay. You must. I'm sure the old
office can get on very well without you. You're lucky to
be able to go away as a matter of course, like a gentleman.
Let us have a line and we'll send to meet you, not my little
tin kettle but Randolph's large, majestic Daimler. Good-bye.
Yours,
Rollo.
It was indeed a troublesome, tedious journey, involving
changes of train and even of station* More than once
the train, having entered a terminus head first, steamed
out tail first, with the result that Rintoul lost his sense of
direction and had a slight sensation of vertigo whenever,
in thought, he tried to recapture it. It was half-past nine,
and the sun was setting, when they crossed the estuary*
As always in such places, the tide was low and the sun's
level beams illuminated the too rotund and luscious
curves of a series of mud-flats* The railway-line ap-
proached the estuary from its marshy side, by a steep
embankment* Near by, and considerably below, ran the
road bridge an antiquated affair of many arches, but
apparently still in use, though there seemed to be no
traffic on it* The line curved inwards, and by straining
his neck Rintoul could see the train bent like a bow,
and the engine approaching a hole, from which a few
wisps of smoke still issued, in the ledge of rock that crowned
the further shore* The hole rushed upon him ; Rintoul
pulled in his head and was at once in darkness* The
world never seemed to get light again* After the long
tunnel they were among hills that shut out the light that
would have come in, and stifled the little that was left
behind* It was by the help of the station lantern that he
read the name, Verdew Grove, and when they were
putting his luggage on the motor he could scarcely distin-
38
L. P. HARTLEY
guish between the porter and the chauffeur. One of them
said :
44 Did you say it was a rabbit ? *
And the other : 44 Well, there was a bit of fur stuck
to the wheel/'
4 You'd better not let the boss see it," said the first
speaker*
44 Not likely/' And so saying, the chauffeur, who
seemed to be referring to an accident, climbed into the
car. As Rollo had said, it was a very comfortable one.
Jimmy gave up counting the turns and trying to catch
glimpses of the sky over the high hedges, and abandoned
himself to drowsiness. He must have dozed, for he did
not know whether it was five minutes or fifty
before the opening door let in a gust of cool air and
warned him that he had arrived.
For a moment he had the hall to himself. It did not
seem very large, but to gauge its true extent was difficult,
because of the arches and the shadows. Shaded lamps
on the tables gave a diffused but very subdued glow ;
while a few unshaded lights, stuck about in the groining
of the vault, consuming their energy in small patches of
great brilliancy, dazzled rather than assisted the eye.
The fact that the spaces between the vaulting-ribs were
whitewashed seemed to increase the glare. It was curious
and not altogether happy, the contrast between the
brilliance above and the murk below. No trophies of the
chase adorned the walls ; no stags' heads or antlers, no
rifles, javelins, tomahawks, assegais or krisses. Clearly
the Verdews were not a family of sportsmen. In what
did Randolph Verdew's interests lie ? Rintoul wondered,
and he was walking across to the open grate, in whose
large recess a log-fire flickered, when the sound of a
footfall startled him. It came close, then died away
completely, then still in the same rhythm began again.
It was Rollo.
Rollo with his black moustaches, his swaggering gait,
39
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
his large expansive air, his noisy benevolence* He
grasped Jimmy's hand.
But before he could say more than " Damned glad/'
a footman appeared. He came so close to Jimmy
and Rollo that the flow of the latter's eloquence was
checked*
44 Mr* Rintoul is in the pink room/' announced the
footman*
Rollo put his little finger in his mouth and gently
bit it*
" Oh* but I thought I said "
44 Yes, sir/' interrupted the footman* " But Mr*
Verdew thought he might disturb Mr* Rintoul in the
onyx room, because sometimes when he lies awake at
night he has to move about, as you know, sir* And he
thought the pink room had a better view* So he
gave orders for him to be put there, sir*"
The footman finished on a tranquil note and turned
to go* But Rollo flushed faintly and seemed put out*
14 I thought it would have been company for you having
my brother next door," he said* 44 But he's arranged
otherwise, so it can't be helped* Shall I take you to the
room now, or will you have a drink first ? That is, if I
can find it," he muttered* 44 They have a monstrous
habit of sometimes taking the drinks away when Randolph
has gone to bed* And by the way, he asked me to make
his excuses to you* He was feeling rather tired* My
wife's gone, too* She always turns in early here ; she
says there's nothing to do at Verdew* But, my God,
there's a lot that wants doing, as I often tell her* This
way*"
Though they found the whisky and soda in the drawing-
room, Rollo still seemed a little crestfallen and depressed ;
but Jimmy's spirits, which sometimes suffered from the
excessive buoyancy of his neighbour's, began to rise* The
chair was comfortable ; the room, though glimpses or
stone showed alongside the tapestries, was more habitable
40
L, P. HARTLEY
and less ecclesiastical than the halL In front of him was
an uncurtained window through which he could see,
swaying their heads as though bent on some ghostly
conference, a cluster of white roses, I'm going to enjoy
myself here, he thought.
Whatever the charms of the onyx room, whatever
virtue resided in the proximity of Mr, Randolph Verdew,
one thing was certain : the pink room had a splendid view.
Leaning out of his window the next morning Jimmy
feasted his eyes on it. Directly below him was the moat,
clear and apparently deep. Below that again was the
steep conical hill on which the Castle stood, its side
intersected by corkscrew paths and level terraces. Below
and beyond, undulating ground led the eye onwards and
upwards to where, almost on the horizon, glittered and
shone the silver of the estuary. Of the Castle were visible
only the round wall of Jimmy's tower, and a wing of the
Tudor period, the gables of which rose to the level of
his bedroom window. It was half-past eight and he
dressed quickly, meaning to make a little tour of the
Castle precincts before his hosts appeared,
His intention, however, was only partially fulfilled,
for on arriving in the hall he found the great door still
shut, and fastened with a variety of locks and bolts, of
antique design and as hard to open, it seemed, from
within as from without. He had better fortune with a
smaller door, and found himself on a level oblong stretch
of grass, an island of green, bounded by the moat on the
east and on the other sides by the Castle walls. There
was a fountain in the middle. The sun shone down
through the open end of the quadrangle, making the
whole place a cave of light, flushing the warm stone of
the Elizabethan wing to orange, and gilding the cold, pale
mediaeval stonework of the rest, jimmy walked to the
moat and tried to find, to right or left, a path leading to
other parts of the building. But there was none. He
turned round and saw Rollo standing in the doorway.
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
44 Good-morning/' called his host* 44 Already thinking
out a plan of escape ? "
Jimmy coloured slightly. The thought had been
present in his mind, though not in the sense that Rollo
seemed to mean it*
44 You wouldn't find it very easy from here/' remarked
Rollo, whose cheerful humour the night seemed to have
restored* 44 Because even if you swam the moat you
couldn't get up the bank : it's too steep and too high*"
Jimmy examined the further strand and realised that
this was true*
44 It would be prettier," Rollo continued, 44 and less
canal-like, if the water came up to the top ; but Randolph
prefers it as it used to be* He likes to imagine we're
living in a state of siege*"
" He doesn't seem to keep any weapons for our
defence," commented Jimmy* 44 No arquebuses or bows
and arrows ; no vats of molten lead*"
" Oh, he wouldn't hurt anyone for the world," said
Rollo* 44 That's one of his little fads* But it amuses
him to look across to the river like one of the first
Verdews and feel that no one can get in without his leave*"
u Or out either, I suppose," suggested Jimmy*
4 Well," remarked Rollo, 44 some day I'll show you
a way of getting out* But now come along and look at
the view from the other side ; we have to go through
the house to see it*"
They walked across the hall, where the servants were
laying the breakfast-table, to a door at the end of a long
narrow passage* But it was locked* 44 Hodgson ! "
shouted Rollo*
A footman came up*
4 Will you open this door, please ? ' said Rollo*
Jimmy expected him to be angry, but there was only a
muffled irritation in his voice* At his leisure the footman
produced the key and let them through*
' That's what comes of living in someone else's
43
L* P. HARTLEY
house/' fumed Rollo, once they were out of earshot*
44 These lazy devils want waking up* Randolph's a
damned sight too easy-going/'
" Shall I see him at breakfast ? " Jimmy enquired*
44 I doubt it*" Rollo picked up a stone, looked round,
for some reason, at the Castle, and threw the pebble at
a thrush, narrowly missing it* " He doesn't usually
appear till lunch-time* He's interested in all sorts of
philanthropical societies* He's always helping them to
prevent something* He hasn't prevented you, though,
you naughty fellow," he went on, stooping down and
picking up from a stone several fragments of snails'
shells* 44 This seems to be the thrushes' Tower Hill*"
" He's fond of animals, then ? " asked Jimmy*
u Fond, my boy?" repeated Rollo* "Fond is not
the word* But we aren't vegetarians* Some day I'll
explain all that* Come and have some bacon and eggs*"
That evening in his bath, a large wooden structure
like a giant's coffin, Jimmy reviewed the day, a delightful
day* In the morning he had been taken round the
Castle ; it was not so large as it seemed from outside it
had to be smaller, the walls were so thick* And there were,
of course, a great many rooms he wasn't shown, attics,
cellars, and dungeons* One dungeon he had seen : but
he felt sure that in a fortress of such pretensions there
must be more than one* He couldn't quite get the 44 lie "
of the place at present; he had his own way of finding
his room, but he knew it wasn't the shortest way* The
hall, which was like a Clapham Junction to the Castle's
topographical system, still confused him* He knew the
way out, because there was only one way, across a
modernised drawbridge, and that made it simpler* He
had crossed it to get at the woods below the Castle, where
he had spent the afternoon, hunting for caterpillars* They
had really left him alone even severely alone ! Neither
of Rollo's wife nor his brother was there as yet any sign*
43
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
" But I shall see them at dinner/' he thought, wrapping
himself in an immense bath-toweL
The moment he saw Randolph Verdew, standing
pensive in the drawing-room, he knew he would like him*
He was an etherealised version of Rollo, taller and slighter.
His hair was sprinkled with grey and he stooped a little.
His cloudy blue eyes met Jimmy's with extraordinary
frankness as he held out his hand, and apologised for his
previous non-appearance.
44 It is delightful to have you here/' he added. 44 You
are a naturalist, I believe/'
His manner was formal but charming, infinitely
reassuring.
' 4 I am an entomologist," said Jimmy, smiling.
" Ah, I love to watch the butterflies fluttering about
the flowers and the moths, too, those big heavy fellows
that come in of an evening and knock themselves about
against the lights. I have often had to put as many as
ten out of the window, and back they come the deluded
creatures. What a pity that their larvae are harmful and
in some cases have to be destroyed ! But I expect you
prefer to observe the rarer insects ? "
'' 4 I'm hoping to catch sight of one or two rare ones
while I'm here," answered Jimmy, with an uneasy sense
of being disingenuous.
'' 4 I'm sure I hope you will," said Randolph Verdew,
with so much feeling in his voice that Jimmy nearly
smiled. 44 You must get Rollo to help you."
14 Oh," said Jimmy. " Rollo ! "
'' 4 I hope you don't think Rollo indifferent to
Nature ? " asked his brother, with distress in his voice
and an engaging simplicity of manner. " He has had
rather a difficult life, as I expect you know. His affairs
have kept him a great deal in towns and he has had little
leisure very little leisure."
" He must find it restful here," remarked Jimmy,
again with the sense of being more tactful than truthful.
44
L* P. HARTLEY
44 I'm sure I hope he does* Rollo is a dear fellow ;
I wish he came here oftener* Unfortunately his wife
does not care for the country, and Rollo himself is
very much tied by his new employment the motor
business/'
44 Hasn't he been with Scorcher and Speedwell's
long?' 1
" Oh no ; poor Rollo, he is always trying his hand at
something new* He ought to have been born a rich
man instead of me " Rudolph spread his hands out with a
gesture of helplessness* " He could have done so much,
whereas I ah, here he comes* We were talking about
you, Rollo*"
44 No scandal, I hope ; no hitting a man when he's
down?"
* Indeed, no* We were saying we hoped you would
soon come into a fortune*"
4 Where do you think it's coming from ? " demanded
Rollo, screwing up his eyes as though the smoke from his
cigarette had made them smart*
" Perhaps Vera could tell us," rejoined Randolph
mildly, making his way to the table, though his brother's
cigarette was still unfinished* 44 How is she, Rollo ?
I hoped she would feel sufficiently restored to make a
fourth with us this evening*"
" Still moping," said the husband* 44 Don't waste
your pity on her* She'll be all right to-morrow/'
They sat down to dinner*
The next day, or it might have been the day after,
Jimmy was coming home to tea from the woods below
the Castle* On either side of the path was a hayfield*
They were mowing the hay* The mower was a new one,
painted bright blue ; the horse tossed its head up and
down ; the placid afternoon air was alive with country
sounds, whirring, shouts, and clumping footfalls* The
scene was full of an energy and gentleness that refreshed
45
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
the heart* Jimmy reached the white iron fence that
divided the plain from the Castle mound and, with a sigh,
set his feet upon the ig-ag path* For though the hill
was only a couple of hundred feet high at most, the
climb called for an effort he was never quite prepared to
make* He was tramping with lowered head, conscious
of each step, when a voice hailed him*
" Mr* Rintoul ! "
It was a foreign voice, the z's pronounced like e's*
He looked up and saw a woman, rather short and dark,
and a stranger, watching him from the path above*
44 You see I have come down to meet you," she said,
advancing with short, brisk, but careful and unpractised
steps* And she added, as he still continued to stare
at her :
44 Don't you know ? I am Mrs* Verdew*"
By this time she was at his side*
44 How could I know ? " he asked, laughing,
and shaking the hand she was already holding out to
him* All her gestures seemed to be quick and
unpremeditated*
44 Let us sit here," she said, and almost before she
had spoken was sitting, and had made him sit, on the
wooden bench beside them* 44 I am tired from walk-
ing down-hill ; you will be tired by walking fup-hill :
therefore we both need a rest*"
She decided it all so quickly that Jimmy, whose
nature had a streak of obstinacy, wondered if he were
really so tired after all*
" And who should I have been, who could I have
been, but Mrs* Verdew ? " she demanded challengingly*
Jimmy saw that an answer was expected, but couldn't
think of anyone who Mrs* Verdew might have been*
' I don't know," he said feebly*
" Of course you don't, silly," said Mrs* Verdew*
" How long have you been here ? "
44 I can't remember* Four or five days, I think,"
L. P. HARTLEY
said Jimmy, who disliked being nailed down to a definite
fact.
44 Four or five days ? Listen to the man, how vague
he is ! " commented Mrs. Verdew, with a gesture of
impatience apostrophising the horizon. ' Well, whether
it's five days or only four, you must have learnt one thing
that no one enters these premises without leave/'
" Premises ? " murmured Jimmy.
" Hillside, garden, grounds premises/' repeated Mrs.
Verdew. 44 How slow you are ! But so are all English-
men/'
' 4 I don't think Rollo is slow," remarked Jimmy, hoping
to carry the war into her country.
44 Sometimes too slow, sometimes too fast, never the
right pace," pronounced his wife. 44 Rollo misdirects
his life."
u He married you," said Jimmy gently.
Mrs. Verdew gave him a quick look. * That was
partly because I wanted him to. But only just now,
for instance, he has been foolish."
" Do you mean he was foolish to come here ? "
"-I didn't mean that. Though I hate the place, and
he does no good here."
4 What good could he do ? " asked Jimmy, who was
staring vacantly at the sky. " Except, perhaps, help his
brother to look after to look after "
' That's just it," said Mrs. Verdew. " Randolph
doesn't need any help, and if he did he wouldn't let
Rollo help him. He wouldn't even have him made a
director of the coal-mine ! "
4 What coal-mine ? " Jimmy asked.
" Randolph's. You don't mean to say you didn't
know he had a coal-mine? One has to tell you every-
thing ! "
14 I like you to tell me things ! " protested Jimmy.
" As you don't seem to find out anything for yourself,
I suppose I must. Well, then: Randolph has a coal-
47
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
mine, he is very rich, and he spends his money on nothing
but charitable societies for contradicting the Laws of
Nature* And he won't give Rollo a penny not a penny,
though he is his only brother, his one near relation in
the world ! He won't even help him to get a job ! "
14 I thought he had a job," said Jimmy, in perplexity*
4 You thought that ! You'd think anything ! " ex-
claimed Mrs* Verdew, her voice rising in exasperation*
44 No, but he told me he came here for a holiday,"
said Jimmy pacifically*
44 Holiday, indeed ! A long , holiday* I can't think
why Rollo told you that* Nor can I think why I bore
you with all our private troubles* A man can talk to a
woman about anything ; but a woman can only talk to
a man about what interests him*"
" But who is to decide that ? "
' The woman, of course ; and I see you're getting
restless*"
" No, no* I was so interested* Please go on*"
" Certainly not* I am a Russian, and I often know
when a man is bored sooner than he knows himself*
Come along," pulling him from the bench much as a
gardener uproots a weed ; " and I will tell you something
very interesting* Ah, how fast you walk ! Don't you
know it's less fatiguing to walk uphill slowly and you
with all those fishing-nets and pill-boxes* And what on
earth is that great bottle for ? "
' I try to catch butterflies in these," Jimmy explained*
" And this is my killing-bottle*"
4 What a horrible name* What is it for ? "
" I'm afraid I kill the butterflies with it*"
" Ah, what a barbarian ! Give it to me a moment*
Yes, there are their corpses, poor darlings* Is that
Randolph coming towards us? No, don't take it away*
I can carry it quite easily under my shawl* What was
I going to tell you when you interrupted me ? I remember
it was about the terrace* When I first came here I used
L, P. HARTLEY
to feel frightfully depressed it was winter and the sun
set so early, sometimes before lunch ! In the afternoons
I used to go down the mound, where I met you, and wait
for the sun to dip below that bare hill on the left. And
I would begin to walk quite slowly towards the Castle, and
all the while the sun was balanced on the hill-top like
a ball ! And the shadow covered the valley and kept
lapping my feet, like the oncoming tide ! And I would
wait till it reached my ankles, and then run up into the
light, and be safe for a moment. It was such fun, but
I don't expect you'd enjoy it, you're too sophisticated.
Ah, here's Randolph, Randolph, I've been showing
Mr, Rintoul the way home ; he didn't know it he doesn't
know anything ! Do you know what he does with this
amusing net ? He uses it to catch tiny little moths, like
the ones that get into your furs. He puts it over them
and looks at them, and they're so frightened, they think
they can't get out ; then they notice the little holes, and
out they creep and fly away ! Isn't it charming ? "
u Charming," said Randolph, glancing away from the
net and towards the ground,
4 Now we must go on. We want our tea terribly ! "
And Mrs, Verdew swept Jimmy up the hill.
With good fortune the morning newspaper arrived
at Verdew Castle in time for tea, already a little out of
date. Jimmy accorded it, as a rule, the tepid interest
with which, when abroad, one contemplates the English
journals of two days ago. They seem to emphasise one's
remoteness, not lessen it. Never did Jimmy seem further
from England, indeed, further from civilisation, than when
he picked up the familiar sheet of The Times. It was
like a faint rumour of the world that had somehow found
its way down hundreds of miles of railway, changed
trains and stations, rumbled across the estuary and
threaded the labyrinth of lanes and turnings between
Verdew Grove and the Castle, Each day its news seemed
B.C. 49 D
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
to grow less important, or at any rate less important to
Jimmy* He began to turn over the leaves* Mrs* Verdew
had gone to her room, absent-mindedly taking the killing-
bottle with her* He was alone ; there was no sound save
the crackle of the sheets* Unusually insipid the news
seemed* He turned more rapidly* What was this ? In
the middle of page fourteen, a hole? No, not a mere
hole : a deliberate excision, an operation performed with
scissors* What item of news could anyone have found
worth reading, much less worth cutting out ? To Jimmy's
idle mind, the centre of page fourteen assumed a tre-
mendous importance, it became the sun of his curiosity's
universe* He rose ; with quick cautious fingers he searched
about, shifting papers, delving under blotters, even
fumbling in the more public-looking pigeon-holes*
Suddenly he heard the click of a door opening, and with
a bound he was in the middle of the room* It was only
Rollo, whom business of some kind had kept all day
away from home*
" Enter the tired bread-winner/' he remarked* " Like
to see the paper ? I haven't had time to read < it*" He
threw something at Jimmy and turned on his heel*
It was The Times. With feverish haste Jimmy turned
to page fourteen and seemed to have read the paragraph
even before he set eyes on it* It was headed :
44 MYSTERIOUS^OUTBREAK AT VERDEW
44 The sequestered, little-known village of Verdew-le-Dale has
again been the scene of a mysterious outrage, recalling the murders
of John Didwell and Thomas Presland in 1910 and 1912, and the
occasional killing of animals which has occurred since* In this
instance, as in the others, the perpetrator of the crime seems to
have been actuated by some vague motive of retributive justice.
The victim was a shepherd-dog, the property of Mr, J, R, Cross*
The dog, which was known to worry cats, had lately killed two
belonging to an old woman of the parish* The Bench, of which
Mr, Randolph Verdew is chairman, fined Cross and told him to
50
L. P. HARTLEY
keep the dog under proper control, but did not order its destruction*
Two days ago the animal was found dead in a ditch, with its throat
cut. The police have no doubt that the wound was made by the
same weapon that killed Didwell and Presland. who, it will be
remembered, had both been prosecuted by the R.S.P.C.A. for
cruelty and negligence resulting in the deaths of domestic animals.
At present no evidence has come to light that might lead to the
detection of the criminal, though the police are still making
investigations/'
" And I don't suppose it will ever come to light/'
Jimmy muttered.
4 What do you suppose won't come to light ?
enquired a voice at his elbow. He looked up. Randolph
Verdew was standing by his chair, and looking over his
shoulder at the newspaper.
Jimmy pointed to the paragraph.
" Any clue to the identity of the man who did
this."
" No/' said Randolph after a perceptible pause.
14 I don't suppose it will." He hesitated a moment and
then added :
" But it would interest me much to know how that
paragraph found its way back into the paper."
Jimmy explained.
4 You see/' observed Randolph, 44 I always cut out,
and paste into a book, any item of news that concerns the
neighbourhood, and especially Verdew. In this way
I have made an interesting collection."
4 There seem to have been similar occurrences here
before," remarked Jimmy.
* There have, there have," Randolph Verdew said.
u It's very strange that no one has even been suspected/*
Randolph Verdew answered obliquely:
44 Blood calls for blood. The workings of justice are
secret and incalculable."
' Then you sympathise a little with the murderer ? "
Jimmy enquired*
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
44 I ? " muttered Randolph, " I think I hate cruelty
more than anything in the world/'
" But wasn't the murderer cruel ? " persisted Jimmy,
14 No/' said Randolph Verdew with great decision,
" At least/' he added in a different tone, 44 the victims
appear to have died with the minimum of suffering.
But here comes Vera, We must find a more cheerful
topic of conversation, Vera, my dear, you won't dis-
appoint us of our bridge to-night ? '
Three days elapsed, three days rendered slightly
unsatisfactory for Jimmy from a trivial cause. He could
not get back his killing-bottle from Mrs, Verdew, She
had promised it, she had even gone upstairs to fetch it ;
but she never brought it down. Meanwhile, several fine
specimens (in particular a large female Emperor moth)
languished in match-boxes and other narrow receptacles,
damaging their wings and even having to be set at liberty.
It was very trying. He began to feel that the retention
of the killing-bottle was deliberate. In questions of
conduct he was often at sea. But in the domain of man-
ners, though he sometimes went astray, he considered
that he knew very well which road he ought to take, and
the knowledge was a matter of pride to him. The thought
of asking Mrs, Verdew a third time to restore his property
irked him exceedingly. At last he screwed up his courage.
They were walking down the hill together after tea,
" Mrs, Verdew," he began,
14 Don't go on," she exclaimed, ' I know exactly
what you're going to say. Poor darling, he wants to have
his killing-bottle back. Well, you can't* I need it
myself for those horrible hairy moths that come in at
night,"
" But Mrs, Verdew ! " he protested,
" And please don't call me Mrs, Verdew, How long
have we known each other ? Ten days ! And soon
you've got to go ! Surely you could call me Vera ! "
52
L* P. HARTLEY
Jimmy flushed* He knew that he must go soon,
but didn't realise that a term had been set to his
stay*
14 Listen/' she continued, beginning to lead him down
the hill : " when you're in London I hope you'll often
come to see us/'
''* I certainly will/' said he*
44 Well, then, let's make a date* Will you dine with
us on the tenth ? That's to-morrow week*"
44 I'm not quite sure " began Jimmy unhappily,
looking down on to the rolling plain and feeling that he
loved it*
" How long you're going to stay ? " broke in Mrs*
Verdew, who seemed able to read his thoughts* " Why
do you want to stay ? There's nothing to do here : think
what fun we might have in London* You can't like this
place and I don't believe it's good for you ; you don't
look half as well as you did when you came*"
' I feel very well," said Jimmy*
4t Feeling is nothing," said Mrs* Verdew* " Look at
me* Don't I look well ? " She turned up to him her
face : it was too large, he thought, and dull and pallid
with powder ; the features were too marked : but un-
deniably it had beauty* '' 4 I suppose I do : I feel well*
But in this place I believe my life might stop any moment
of its own accord ! Do you never feel that? "
' No," said Jimmy, smiling*
" Sit down," she said suddenly, taking him to a seat
as she had done on the occasion of their first meeting*
" and let me have your hand not because I love you,
but because I'm happier holding something, and it's a
pretty hand*" Jimmy did not resist : he was slightly
stupefied, but somehow not surprised by her behaviour*
She held up his drooping hand by the wrist, level with
her eyes, and surveyed it with a smile, then she laid it,
palm upward, in her lap* The smile vanished from her
face : she knitted her brows*
53
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
4 I don't like it," she said, a sudden energy in her
voice*
" I thought you said it was a pretty hand/' murmured
Jimmy*
44 I did ; you know I don't mean that* It is pretty :
but you don't deserve to have it, nor your eyes, nor your
hair ; you are idle and complacent and unresponsive and
ease-loving you only think of your butterflies and your
killing-bottle ! " She looked at him fondly ; and Jimmy,
for some reason, was rather pleased to hear all this*
" No, I meant that I see danger in your hand, in the lines*"
" Danger to me ? " murmured Jimmy*
' To whom else ? Ah, God, the conceit of men ! Yes,
to you/'
44 What sort of danger physical danger ? " enquired
Jimmy, only moderately interested*
" Danger de mort" pronounced Mrs* Verdew*
" Come, come," said Jimmy, bending forward and
looking into Mrs* Verdew's face to see if she was pre-
tending to be serious* 4 When does the danger
threaten ? '
4 Now," said Mrs* Verdew*
Oh, thought Jimmy, what a tiresome woman !
So you think I'm in danger, do you, Mrs* Verdew, of
losing my head at this moment ? God, the conceit of
women ! He stole a glance at her ; she was looking
straight ahead, her! lips pursed up and trembling a little,
as though she wanted him to kiss her* Shall I? he
thought, for compliance was in his blood and -he always
wanted to do what was expected of him* But at that very
moment a wave of irritability flooded his mind and
changed it : she had taken his killing-bottle, spoilt and
stultified four precious days, and all to gratify her caprice*
He turned away*
" Oh, I'm tougher than you think," he said*
' Tougher ? " she said* " Do you mean your skin ?
All Englishmen have thick skins*" She spoke resentfully ;
54
L. P. HARTLEY
then her voice softened. " I was going to tell you "
She uttered the words with difficulty, and as though
against her will. But Jimmy, not noticing her changed
tone and still ridden by his irritation, interrupted her*
' That you'd restore my killing-bottle ? '
44 No, no/' she cried in exasperation, leaping to her
feet. " How you do harp on that wretched old poison
bottle ! I wish I'd broken it ! " She caught her breath,
and Jimmy rose too, facing her with distress and contrition
in his eyes. But she was too angry to heed his change
of mood. ' 4 It was something I wanted you to know
but you make things so difficult for me ! I'll fetch you
your bottle/' she continued wildly, 44 since you're such
a child as to need it ! No, don't follow me ; I'll have it
sent to your room."
He looked up ; she was gone, but a faint sound of
sobbing disturbed the air behind her.
It was evening, several days later, and they were sitting
at dinner. How Jimmy would miss these meals when he
got back to London ! For a night or two, after the scene
with Mrs. Verdew, he had been uneasy under the
enforced proximity which the dining-table brought ; she
looked at him reproachfully, spoke little, and when he
sought occasions to apologise to her, she eluded them.
She had never been alone with him since. She had, he
knew, little control over her emotions, and perhaps her
pride suffered. But her pique, or whatever it was, now
seemed to have passed away. She looked lovely to-night
and he realised he would miss her. Rollo's voice, when
he began to speak, was like a commentary on his thoughts.
4 Jimmy says he's got to leave us, Randolph," he said.
" Back to the jolly old office."
' That is a great pity," said Randolph in his soft
voice. 4 We shall miss him, shan't we, Vera ? "
Mrs. Verdew said they would.
" All the same, these unpleasant facts have to be
55
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
faced/' remarked Rollo. " That's why we were born.
I'm afraid you've had a dull time, Jimmy, though you
must have made the local flora and fauna sit up. Have
you annexed any prize specimens from your raids upon
the countryside ? "
44 I have got one or two good ones/' said Jimmy with
a reluctance that he partially attributed to modesty.
" By the way/' said Rollo, pouring himself out a glass
of port, for the servants had left the room, " I would like
you to show Randolph that infernal machine of yours,
Jimmy. Anything on the lines of a humane killer bucks
the old chap up no end/' He looked across at his
brother, the ferocious cast of his features softened into
an expression of fraternal solicitude.
After a moment's pause Randolph said : " I should be
much interested to be shown Mr. Rintoul's invention."
" Oh, it's not my invention," said Jimmy, a little
awkwardly.
* You'll forgive me disagreeing with you, Rollo,"
Mrs. Verdew, who had not spoken for some minutes,
suddenly remarked. " I don't think it's worth Randolph's
while looking at it. I don't think it would interest
him a bit."
14 How often have I told you, my darling," said Rollo,
leaning across the corner of the table towards his wife,
44 not to contradict me ? I keep a record of the times
you agree with me : December, 1919, was the last."
u Sometimes I think that was a mistake," said Mrs.
Verdew, rising in evident agitation, 44 for it was then
I promised to marry you." She reached the door before
Jimmy could open it for her.
44 Ah, these ladies ! " moralised Rollo, leaning back and
closing his eyes. ' What a dance the dear things lead
us, with their temperaments." And he proceeded to
enumerate examples of feminine caprice, until his
brother proposed that they should adjourn to the bridge
table.
56
L* P. HARTLEY
The next morning Jimmy was surprised to find a note
accompany his early-morning tea*
Dear Mr. Rintoul (it began), since I mustn't say " Dear
Jimmy'' (" I never said she mustn't/' Jimmy thought*)
/ know it isn't easy for any man, most of all an Englishman,
to understand moods, but I do beg you to forgive my foolish
outburst of a few days ago. I think it must have been
the air or the lime in the water that \made t me un po'
nervosa, as the Italians say. I know you prefer a life
utterly flat and dull and even it would kill me, but there !
I am sorry. You can't expect me to change, a mon age !
But anyhow try to forgive me.
Yours,
Vera Verdew.
P.S. / wouldn't trouble to show that bottle to Randolph.
He has quite enough silly ideas in his head as it is.
What a nice letter, thought Jimmy drowsily* He
had forgotten the killing-bottle* I won't show it to
Randolph* Jimmy thought , unless he asks me*
But soon after breakfast a footman brought him a
message : Mr* Verdew was in his room and would be
glad to see the invention (the man's voice seemed to
put the word into inverted commas) at Mr* Rintoul's
convenience* * Well/' reflected Jimmy* " if he's to see
it working it must have something to work on*" Aim-
lessly he strolled over the drawbridge and made his way,
past blocks of crumbling wall* past grassy hummocks
and hollows* to the terraces* They were gay with
flowers ; and looked at from above* the lateral stripes and
bunches of colour* succeeding each other to the bottom
of the hill* had a peculiarly brilliant effect* What should
he catch ? A dozen white butterflies presented themselves
for the honour of exhibiting their death-agony to Mr*
57
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
Randolph Verdew, but Jimmy passed them by. His
collector's pride demanded a nobler sacrifice. After
twenty minutes' search he was rewarded ; his net fell
over a slightly battered but still recognisable specimen
of the large Tortoiseshell butterfly. He put it in a pill-box
and bore it away to the house. But as he went he was
visited by a reluctance, never experienced by him before,
to take the butterfly's life in such a public and cold-
blooded fashion ; it was not a good specimen, one that
he could add to his collection ; it was just cannon-fodder.
The heat of the day, flickering visibly upwards from the
turf and flowers, bemused his mind ; all around was
a buying and humming that seemed to liberate his
thoughts from contact with the world and give them the
intensity of sensations. So vivid was his vision, so
flawless the inner quiet from which it sprang, that he
came up with a start against his own bedroom door.
The substance of his day-dream had been forgotten ;
but it had left its ambassador behind it something that,
whether apprehended by the mind as a colour, a taste, or
a local inflammation, spoke with an insistent voice and
always to the same purpose : " Don't show Randolph
Verdew the butterfly ; let it go, here, out of the window,
and send him an apology."
For a few minutes, such was the force of this inward
monitor, Jimmy did contemplate setting the butterfly at
liberty. He was prone to sudden irrational scruples and
impulses, and if there was nothing definite urging him
the other way he often gave in to them. But in this case
there was. Manners demanded that he should accede
to his host's request ; the rules of manners, of all rules
in life, were the easiest to recognise and the most satis-
factory to act upon. Not to go would clearly be a breach
of manners.
" How kind of you," said Randolph, coming forward
and shaking Jimmy's hand, a greeting that, between two
58
L, P. HARTLEY
members of the same household, struck him as odd*
4 You have brought your invention with you ? "
Jimmy saw that it was useless to disclaim the honour
of its discovery* He unwrapped the bottle and handed
it to Randolph,
Randolph carried it straight away to a high window,
the sill of which was level with his eyes and above the top
of Jimmy's head* He held the bottle up to the light.
Oblong in shape and about the size of an ordinary jam-jar,
it had a deep whitish pavement of plaster, pitted with
brown furry holes like an over-ripe cheese. Resting on
the plaster, billowing and coiling up to the glass stopper,
stood a fat column of cotton-wool. The most striking
thing about the bottle was the word POISON, printed in
large, loving characters on a label stuck to the outside,
" May I release the stopper ? " asked Randolph at
length,
* You may/' said Jimmy, 44 but a whiff of the stuff
is all you wan./'
Randolph stared meditatively into the depths of the
bottle, 44 A rather agreeable odour/' he said, 44 But
how small the bottle is, I had figured it to myself as
something very much larger,"
" Larger?" echoed Jimmy, "Oh no, this is quite
big enough for me, I don't need a mausoleum,"
" But I was under the impression," Randolph Verdew
remarked, still fingering the bottle, 44 that you used it to
destroy pests,"
' If you call butterflies pests," said Jimmy, smiling,
" I am afraid that some of them must undeniably be
included in that category," pronounced Mr, Verdew,
his voice edged with a melancholy decisiveness, 44 The
cabbage butterfly, for instance. And it is, of course, only
the admittedly noxious insects that need to be destroyed,"
44 All insects are more or less harmful," Jimmy
said,
Randolph Verdew passed his hand over his brow. The
59
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
shadow of a painful thought crossed his face, and he
murmured uncertainly :
44 I think that's a quibble* There are categories* * *
I have been at some pains to draw them up* * * * The
list of destructive lepidoptera is large, too large* * * *
That is why I imagined your lethal chamber would be a
vessel of considerable extent, possibly large enough to
admit a man, and its use attended by some danger to
an unpractised exponent*"
44 Well/' said Jimmy, 4t there's enough poison here to
account for half a town* But let me show you how it
works*" And he took the pill-box from his pocket*
Shabby, battered and cowed, the butterfly stood motion-
less, its wings closed and upright*
4 Now/' said Jimmy, " you'll see*"
The butterfly was already between his fingers and
half-way to the bottle when he heard, faint but clear, the
sound of a cry* It was two-syllabled, like the interval
of the cuckoo's call inverted, and might have been his
own name*
4 Listen!' 1 he exclaimed* ' What was that? It
sounded like Mrs* Verdew's voice*" His swiftly-turning
head almost collided with his host's chin, so near had the
latter drawn to watch the operation, and chased the tail-
end of a curious look from Randolph Verdew's face*
44 It's nothing," he said* " Go on*"
Alas, alas, for the experiment in humane slaughter !
The butterfly must have been stronger than it looked ;
the power of the killing-bottle had no doubt declined with
frequent usage* Up and down, round and round flew
the butterfly ; its frantic flutterings could be heard through
the thick walls of its glass prison* It clung to the cotton-
wool, pressed itself into corners, its straining, delicate
tongue coiling and uncoiling in the effort to suck in a
breath of living air* Now it was weakening* It fell
from the cotton-wool and lay with its back on the plaster
slab* It jolted itself up and down and, when strength
60
L* P. HARTLEY
for this movement failed, it clawed the air with its thin
legs as though pedalling an imaginary bicycle. Suddenly,
with a violent spasm, it gave birth to a thick cluster of
yellowish eggs* Its body twitched once or twice and
at last lay still*
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders in annoyance and
turned to his host* The look of horrified excitement,
whose vanishing vestige he had seen a moment before,
lay full and undisguised upon Randolph Verdew's face*
He only said :
44 Of what flower or vegetable is that dead butterfly
the parasite ? "
44 Oh, poor thing/' said Jimmy carelessly, " it's rather a
rarity* Its caterpillar may have eaten an elm-leaf or two
nothing more* It's too scarce to be a pest* It's fond of
gardens and frequented places, the book says rather
sociable, like a robin*"
44 It could not be described as injurious to human life ? "
44 Oh no* It's a collector's specimen really* Only
this is too damaged to be any good*"
44 Thank you for letting me see the machine in opera-
tion," said Randolph Verdew, going to his desk and
sitting down* Jimmy found his silence a little em-
barrassing* He packed up the bottle and made a rather
awkward, self-conscious exit*
The four bedroom-candles always stood, their silver
flashing agreeably, cheek by jowl with the whisky decanter
and the hot-water kettle and the soda* Now, the others
having retired, there were only two, one of which (some-
what wastefully, for he still had a half -empty glass in his
left hand) Rollo was lighting*
44 My dear fellow," he was saying to Jimmy, " I'm
sorry you think the new model insecticide fell a bit flat*
But Randolph's like that, you know : damned un-
demonstrative cove, I must say, though he's my own
brother*"
61
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
44 He wasn't exactly undemonstrative, answered
Jimmy, perplexity written on his face.
44 No, rather like an iceberg hitting you amidships,"
said his friend. 44 Doesn't make a fuss, but you
feel it all the same. But don't you worry, Jimmy : I
happen to know that he enjoyed your show. Fact
is, he told me so." He gulped down some
whisky.
" I'm relieved/' said Jimmy, and he obviously spoke
the truth. 4 I've only one more whole day here, and
I should be sorry if I'd hurt his feelings."
44 Yes, and I'm afraid you'll have to spend it with him
alone," said Rollo, compunction colouring his voice.
44 I was coming to that. Fact is, Vera and I have un-
expectedly got to go away to-morrow for the day." He
paused ; a footman entered and began walking uncertainly
about the room. " Now, Jimmy," he went on, 44 be a good
chap and stay on a couple of days more. You do keep
us from the blues so. That's all right, Williams, we
don't want anything/' he remarked parenthetically to the
footman's retreating figure. 44 I haven't mentioned it to
Randolph, but he'd be absolutely charmed if you'd grace
our humble dwelling a little longer. You needn't tell
anyone anything : just stay, and we shall be back the
day after to-morrow. It's hellish that we've got to go,
but you know this bread-winning business : it's the early
bird that catches the worm. And talking of that, we
have to depart at cock-crow. I may not see you again
that is, unless you stay, as I hope you will. Just send a
wire to the old blighter who works with you and tell him
to go to biases."
' Well," said Jimmy, delighted by the prospect, " you
certainly do tempt me."
Then fall, my lad," said Rollo, catching him a heavy
blow between the shoulder-blades. 44 1 shan't say good-
bye, but 'au revoir.' Don't go to bed sober; have
another drink."
62
L. P. HARTLEY
But Jimmy declined* The flickering candles lighted
them across the hall and up the stone stairs.
And it's lucky I have a candle, thought Jimmy,
trying in vain the third and last switch, the one on
the reading-lamp by the bed. The familiar room seemed
to have changed, to be closing hungrily, with a vast
black embrace, upon the nimbus of thin clear dusk that
shone about the candle. He walked uneasily up and
down, drew a curtain and let in a ray of moonlight. But
the silver gleam crippled the candle-light without adding
any radiance of its own, so he shut it out. This window
must be closed, thought Jimmy, that opens on to the
parapet, for I really couldn't deal with a stray cat in this
localised twilight. He opened instead a window that
gave on to the sheer wall. Even after the ritual of tooth-
cleaning he was still restless and dissatisfied, so after a
turn or two he knelt by the bed and said his prayers
whether from devotion or superstition he couldn't tell :
he only knew that he wanted to say them.
" Come in ! " he called next morning, in answer to
the footman's knock.
' I can't come in, sir," said a muffled voice. " The
door's locked."
How on earth had that happened? Then Jimmy
remembered. As a child he always locked the door
because he didn't like to be surprised saying his prayers.
He must have done so last night, unconsciously. How
queer ! He felt full of self-congratulation he didn't
know why. " And oh, Williams ! " he called after the
departing footman.
4 Yes, sir?"
' The light's fused, or something. It wouldn't go on
last night."
4 Very good, sir."
Jimmy addressed himself to the tea. But what was
this ? Another note from Mrs. Verdew !
63
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
Dear Jimmy (he read),
You will forgive this impertinence, for I've got a piece
of good news for you. In future, you won't again be able
to say that women never help a man in his career I " (Jimmy
was unaware of having said so*) As you know, Rollo and
I have to leave to-morrow morning. I don't suppose he
told you why, because it's rather private. But he's em-
barking on a big undertaking that will mean an enormous
amount of litigation I and. lawyers' fees I Think of that I
( Though I don't suppose you think of anything else.) I know
he wants you to act for him : but to do so you positively
MUST leave Verdew to-morrow. Make any excuse to
Randolph ; send yourself a telegram if you want to be
specially polite : but you must catch the 8.30 p.m. to London.
It's the chance of a lifetime I of a life. You can get through
to Rollo on the telephone next morning. Perhaps we could
lunch together or dine? A bientot, therefore.
Your friend,
Vera Verdew.
P.S. / shall be furious if you don't come.
Jimmy pondered Mrs* Verdew's note, trying to read
between its lines* One thing was clear : she had fallen
in love with him* Jimmy smiled at the ceiling* She
wanted to see him again, so soon, so soon ! Jimmy smiled
once more* She couldn't bear to wait an unnecessary
day* How urgent women were ! Jimmy smiled more
indulgently* And, also, how exacting* Here was this
cock-and-bull story, all about Rollo's " undertaking "
which would give him, Jimmy, the chance of a lifetime !
And because she was so impatient she expected him to
believe it ! Luncheon, indeed ! Dinner ! How could
they meet for dinner, when Rollo was to be back at
Verdew that same evening? In her haste she had not
even troubled to make her dates credible* And then :
'* I shall be furious if you don't come*" What an argu-
ment ! What confidence in her own powers did not that
L* P. HARTLEY
sentence imply ! Let her be furious, then, as furious as
she liked*
Her voice, just outside his door, interrupted his
meditation.
" Only a moment, Rollo, it will only take me a
moment ! "
And Hollo's reply, spoken in a voice as urgent as hers,
but louder :
44 I tell you there isn't time : we shall miss the train/'
He seemed to hustle her away downstairs, poor Vera*
She had really been kind to Jimmy, in spite of her pre-
posterous claims on his affection* He was glad he would
see her again to-morrow * * * Verdew was so much nicer
than London* * * * He began to doze*
On the way back from the woods there was a small
low church with a square tower and two bells the lower
one both cracked and flat* You could see up into the belfry
through the slats in the windows* Close by the church
ran a stream, choked with green scum except where the
cattle went down to drink, and crossed by a simple bridge
of logs set side by side* Jimmy liked to stand on the
bridge and listen to the unmelodious chime* No one
heeded it, no one came to church, and it had gone sour
and out of tune* It gave Jimmy an exquisite, slightly
morbid sense of dereliction and decay, which he liked to
savour in solitude ; but this afternoon a rustic had got
there first*
" Good-day," he said*
" Good-day/' said Jimmy*
4 You're from the Castle, I'm thinking ? " the country-
man surmised*
44 Yes*"
" And how do you find Mr* Verdew ? "
4 Which Mr* Verdew?"
' Why, the squire, of course*"
4 I think he's pretty well," said Jimmy*
B.C. 65 E
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
" Ah, he may appear to be so," the labourer observed ;
" but them as has eyes to see and ears to hear, knows
different/'
* Isn't he a good landlord ? " asked Jimmy*
44 Yes/' said the old man* " He's a tolerable good
landlord* It isn't that/' He seemed to relish his
mysteriousness*
44 You like Mr* Rollo Verdew better? " suggested Jimmy*
44 I wouldn't care to say that, sir* He's a wild one,
Mr* Rollo*"
' Well, anyhow, Mr* Randolph Vefdew isn't wild*"
" Don't you be too sure, sir*"
4 I've never seen him so*"
44 There's not many that have* And those that have
some won't tell what they saw and some can't*"
4 Why won't they?"
" Because it's not their interest to*"
14 And why can't the others ? "
" Because they're dead*"
There was a pause*
" How did they die ? " asked Jimmy*
' That's not for me to say," the old man answered,
closing his mouth like a trap* But this gesture, as Jimmy
had already learned, was only part of his conversational
technique* In a moment he began again :
44 Did you ever hear of the Verdew Murders ? "
14 Something*"
44 Well, 'twasn't only dogs that was killed*"
" I know*"
44 But they were all killed the same way*"
"How?"
4 With a knife," said the old man* 44 Like pigs*
From ear to ear," he added, making an explanatory
gesture ; '" from ear to ear*" His voice became re-
miniscent* 44 Tom Presland was a friend o' mine* I
seed him in the evening and he said, he says, 4 That
blamed donkey weren't worth a ten-pound fine*' And
66
L. P. HARTLEY
I said, 4 You're lucky not to be in prison/ for in case
Sou don't know, sir, the Bench here don't mind fellows
eing a bit hasty with their animals, although Mr. Verdew
is the chairman, I felt nigh killing the beast myself
sometimes, it was that obstinate. 4 But, Bill/ he says,
4 I don't feel altogether comfortable when I remember
what happened to Jack Didwell.' And sure enough he
was found next morning in the ditch with his throat
gapin' all white at the edges, just like poor old Jack.
And the donkey was a contrary beast, that had stood
many a knock before, harder than the one what killed
him."
" And why is Mr. Verdew suspected ? '
44 Why, sir, the servants said he was in the Castle all
night and must have been, because the bridge was drawed.
But how do they know he had to use the bridge ? Anyhow,
George Wiscombe swears he saw him going through
Nape's Spinney the night poor old Tom was done in.
And Mr. Verdew has always been cruel fond of animals,
that's another reason."
How easy it is, thought Jimmy, to lose one's reputation
in the country !
* Tell me," he said, 44 how does Mr. Verdew satisfy
his conscience when he eats animals and chickens, and
when he has slugs and snails killed in the garden ? "
" Ah, there you've hit it," said the old man, not at all
nonplussed. 44 But they say Mr. Rollo Verdew has
helped him to make a mighty great list of what may be
killed and what mayn't, according as it's useful-like to
human beings. And anybody kills anything, they persuade
him it's harmful and down it goes on the black list.
And if he don't see the thing done with his own eyes, or
the chap isn't hauled up before the Bench, he doesn't
take on about it. And in a week or less it's all gone
from his mind. Jack and Tom were both killed within
a few days of what they'd done becoming known ; so
was the collie dog what was found here a fortnight back."
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
14 Here ? " asked Jimmy*
44 Close by where you're standing. Poor beast, it
won't chase those b y cats no more. It was in a mess.
But, as I said, if what you've done's a week old, you're
safe, in a manner of speaking."
44 But why, if he's really dangerous,'* said Jimmy,
impressed in spite of himself by the old man's tacit assump-
tion of Randolph's guilt, " doesn't Mr. Rollo Verdew
get him shut up ? "
This simple question evoked the longest and most
pregnant of his interlocutor's pauses. Surely, thought
Jimmy, it will produce a monstrous birth, something to
make Suspicion itself turn pale.
44 Now don't you tell nothing of what I'm saying to
you," said the old man at length. 44 But it's my belief
that Mr. Rollo don't want his brother shut up ; no, nor
thought to be mad. And why ? Because if people know
he's mad, and he goes and does another murder, they'll
just pop him in the lunatic asylum and all his money will
go to Government and charity. But if he does a murder
like you or me, and the circumstances are circumstantial,
hell be hanged for it, and all the money and the Castle
and the coal-mine will go into the pockets of Mr. Rollo."
' I see," said Jimmy. 44 It sounds very simple."
' I'm not swearing there's anything of the sort in
Mr. Rollo's mind," said the old man. " But that's the
way I should look at it if I was him. Now I must be
getting along. Good-night, sir."
44 Good-night."
Of course it wasn't really night, only tea-time, five
o'clock ; but he and his acquaintance would meet no
more that day, so perhaps the man was right to say good-
night. Jimmy's thoughts, as he worked his way up the
Castle mound, were unclear and rather painful. He didn't
believe a tithe of what the old man said. It was not even
a distortion of the truth ; it was an ignorant and vulgar
L* P. HARTLEY
slander, that had no relation to the truth except by a
kind of contiguity* But it infected his mood and gave a
disagreeable direction to his thoughts. He was lonely ;
Randolph had not appeared at lunch, and he missed Rollo,
and even more he missed (though this surprised him)
Rollo's wife. He hadn't seen much of them, but suddenly
he felt the need of their company* But goodness knows
where they are, thought Jimmy ; I can't even telephone
to them* In the midst of these uneasy reflections he
reached his bedroom door* Walking in, he could not
for a moment understand why the place looked so strange*
Then he realised : it was empty* All his things had been
cleared put of it*
44 Evidently/' thought Jimmy, 44 they've mistaken the day
I was going away, and packed me ! " An extraordinary
sensation of relief surged up into his heart* Since his
luggage was nowhere to be seen, it must have been stacked
in the hall, ready for his departure by the evening train*
Picturing himself already at the guichet of Verdew Grove
station buying a ticket for London, Jimmy started for
the hall*
Williams cut short his search*
4 Were you looking for your things, sir ? " he asked,
with a slight smile* " Because they're in the onyx room*
We've moved you, sir*"
44 Oh/' said Jimmy, following in the footman's wake*
"Why?"
' It was Mr* Verdew's orders, sir* I told him the
light was fused in your bedroom, so he said to move you
into the onyx room*"
44 The room next his ? "
* That's right, sir*"
14 Couldn't the fuse be mended ? "
' I don't think it was the fuse, sir*"
" Oh, I thought you said it was*"
So this was the onyx room* Certainly its colours
were dark and lustrous and laid on in layers, but Jimmy
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
didn't care for them* Even the ceiling was parti-coloured.
Someone must have been given a free hand here ; perhaps
Vera had done the decoration* The most beautiful thing
in the room was the Chinese screen masking the door that
communicated, he supposed, with Randolph's bedroom.
What a clatter it would make if it fell, thought Jimmy,
studying the heavy, dark, dully-shining panels of the
screen* The door opening would knock it over* He
heard the footman's voice*
'* Is it for one night or more, sir ? I've packed up
some of your things*"
' Fm not sure yet," said Jimmy* 4 Williams, will
this screen move ? " -
The footman took hold of the screen with both hands
and telescoped it against his chest* There was revealed
an ordinary-looking door covered with green baize*
Jimmy could see the point of a key-head, so the door was
probably not very thick*
' This used to be the dressing-room," Williams
volunteered, as though making a contribution to Jimmy's
unspoken thoughts*
' Thank you," said Jimmy, " and would you mind
putting that screen back ? * * * And, Williams ! '
The footman stopped*
* There's still time to send a telegram ? "
" Oh yes, sir* There's a form here*"
All through his solitary tea Jimmy debated with him-
self as to whether he should send the telegram a telegram
of recall, of course, it would be* The message presented
no difficulty* " Wire if Croxford case opens Tuesday*"
He knew that it did, but his attendance was not at all
necessary* He was undoubtedly suffering from a slight
attack of nerves ; and nowadays one didn't defy nerves,
one yielded to them gracefully* " I know that if I stay
I shall have a bad night," he thought ; " I might as well
spend it in the train*" But of course he hadn't meant to
go at all ; he had even promised Rollo to stay* He had
70
L* P. HARTLEY
wanted to stay* And in a sense he still meant, he still
wanted to stay. To leave abruptly to-night would be
doubly rude : rude to Randolph, rude to Rollo* Vera
alone would be pleased, Vera, whose clumsy attempt to
lure him to London he had so easily seen through* Vera,
whose " I shall be furious if you don't come " rankled
whenever he thought of it* Every moment added its
quota to the incubus of indecision that paralysed his
mind* Manners, duty, wishes, fears, all were contra-
dictory, all pulled in different directions* A gust of
apprehension sent him hot-foot to the writing-table* The
telegram was ready written when, equally strong, an
access of self-respect came and made him tear it up* At
last he had an idea* At six o'clock he would send the
telegram ; the office might still be open* There would
still be time to get a reply* If, in spite of this twofold
obstacle he had an answer, he would take it as the voice
of Fate, and leave that night* * * *
At half-past seven Williams came in to draw the
curtains ; he also brought a message* Mr* Verdew begged
Mr* Rintoul to excuse him, but he felt a little unwell,
and was dining in his own room* He hoped to see Mr*
Rintoul to-morrow to say good-bye* 4 You are going,
then, sir ? " added the footman*
Jimmy blindfolded his will, and took an answer at
random from among the tablets of his mind*
44 Yes* And Williams ! " he called out*
"Sir?"
'' 4 I suppose it's too late now for me to get an answer
to my telegram ? ''
" I'm afraid so, sir*"
For a second Jimmy sunned himself in a warm glow
of recovered self-esteem* Luck had saved him from a
humiliating flight* Now his one regret was that his
nerves had cheated him of those few extra days at Verdew*
' If there had been a bolt on my side of the green door," he
said to himself," I should never have sent that telegram*"
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
How like, in some ways, was the last evening to the
first. As bedtime approached, he became acutely con-
scious of his surroundings of the stone floors, the vaulted
passages, the moat, the drawbridge all those concrete
signs which seemed to recall the past and substitute it
for the present. He was completely isolated and im-
mured ; he could scarcely believe he would be back in
the real, living world to-morrow* Another glass of
whisky would bring the centuries better into line. It
did ; and, emboldened by its heady fumes, he inspected,
with the aid of his candle (for the ground-floor lights had
been turned out) the defences of door and window, and
marvelled anew at their parade of clumsy strength. Why
all these precautions when the moat remained, a flawless
girdle of protection ?
But was it flawless? Lying in bed, staring at the
painted ceiling, with its squares and triangles and riot
of geometrical designs, Jimmy smiled to remember
how Rollo had once told him of a secret entrance,
known only to him* He had promised to show it to
Jimmy, but he had forgotten. A nice fellow, Rollo,
but he didn't believe they would ever know each
other much better. When dissimilar natures come
together, the friendship ripens quickly, and as quickly
falls. Rollo and Jimmy just tolerated each other
they didn't share their lives, their secrets, their secret
passages. . . .
Jimmy was lying on his back, his head sunk on the
brightly-lit pillow, his mind drowsier than his digestion.
To his departing consciousness the ceiling looked like a
great five of diamonds spread over his head ; the scarlet
lozenges moved on hinges, he knew that quite well, and
as they moved they gave a glimpse of black and let in a
draught. Soon there would be a head poking through
them all, instead of through this near corner one, and
that would be more symmetrical. But if I stand on the
bed I can shut them ; they will close with a click. If
72
L. P. HARTLEY
only this one wasn't such a weight and didn't stick so. . * *
Jimmy awoke in a sweat, still staring at the ceiling*
It heaved and writhed like a half-dead moth on the
setting-board. But the walls stood still, so that there
was something more than whisky at the back of it. And
yet, when he looked again, peace had descended on the
ceiling.
The dream was right ; he could touch the ceiling by
standing on the bed. But only with the tips of his fingers.
What he needed was a bar of some kind with which to
prise it open. He looked round the room, and could
see nothing suitable but a towel-horse. But there were
plenty of walking-sticks downstairs. To light his candle
and put on his dressing-gown and slippers was the work
of a moment. He reached the door in less time than it
takes to tell. But he got no further, because the door
was locked.
Jimmy's heart began to beat violently. Panic bubbled
up in him like water in a syphon. He took a wild look
round the room, ran to the bed-head, and pressed the
bell-button as though he meant to flatten it in its socket.
Relief stole into his heart. Already he heard in imagina-
tion the quick patter of feet in the corridor, the hurried,
whispered explanations, the man's reassuring voice :
14 I'll be with you in a moment, sir." Already he felt
slightly ashamed of his precipitate summons, and began to
wonder how he should explain it away. The minutes
passed, and nothing happened. He need not worry yet ;
it would take Williams some time to dress, and no doubt
he had a long way to come. But Jimmy's returning
anxiety cried out for some distraction, so he left the edge
of the bed where he had been sitting, fetched the towel-
horse, and, balancing unsteadily on the mattress, began
to prod the ceiling. Down came little flakes and pellets
of painted plaster ; they littered the sheets and would
be very uncomfortable to sleep on. . . .Jimmy stooped
to flick them away, and saw from the tail of his eye that
73
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
since he rang five minutes had gone by. He resumed
the muffled tattoo on the ceiling. Suddenly it gave ; the
red diamond shot upwards and fell back, revealing a
patch of black and letting in a rush of cool air.
As, stupefied, Jimmy lowered his eyes, they fell upon
the screen. It was moving stealthily outwards, toppling
into the room. Already he could see a thin strip of the
green door. The screen swayed, paused, seemed to hang
by a hair. Then, its leaves collapsing inwards upon each
other, it fell with a great crash upon the floor. In the
opening stood Randolph, fully dressed ; he had a revolver
in his right hand, and there was a knife between
his teeth. It was curved and shining, and he
looked as though he were taking a bite out of the new
moon.
The shot missed Jimmy's swaying legs, the knife only
graced his ankle, and he was safe in the darkness of the
attic, with the bolt of the trap-door securely shut. He
ran trembling in the direction the draught came from,
and was rewarded first by a sense of decreasing darkness,
and then by a glimpse, through a framed opening in the
roof, of the stars and the night sky.
The opening was low down, and to climb out was
easy. He found himself in a leaden gully, bounded on
one side by a shallow parapet two feet high, and on the
other, as it seemed, by the slope of the roof. Finding
his way along the gully, he was brought up sharp against
an octagonal turret, that clearly marked the end of the
building. The moat was directly below him. Turning
to the left, he encountered another similar turret, and
turning to the left again he found himself up against a wall
surmounted by tall chimneys. This wall appeared to be
scored with projections and indentations soot-doors he
guessed them to be ; he hoped to be able to use them to
climb the wall, but they were awkwardly spaced, close
to the parapet, and if he missed his footing he ran the
risk of falling over its edge.
74
>
L* P. HARTLEY
He now felt a curious lightheartedness, as though he
had shuffled off every responsibility : responsibility to-
wards his clothes, which were torn and dirty, towards his
foot, which was bleeding, towards trains, letters, engage-
ments all the petty and important demands of life.
Cold, but not unhappy, he sat down to await day-
break*
The clock had just chimed three-quarters, which three-
quarters he did not know, when he heard a scraping
sound that seemed to come from the corresponding
parapet beyond the roof* He listened, crouching in the
angle between the chimney wall and the battlement* His
fears told him that the sound was following the track
by which he had come ; the shuffling grew indistinct,
and then, the first turret passed, began to draw nearer*
It could only be Randolph, who clearly had some means of
access to the roof other than the trap-door in Jimmy's
bedroom* He must have, or he could not have reached
it to spy on his victim while he was asleep* Now he was
turning the last corner* Jimmy acted quickly and with
the courage of desperation* At the corner where he
crouched there projected above the battlement three sides
of an octagonal turret, repeating the design of the true
turrets at the end* Grasping the stone as well as he
could, he lowered himself into space* It was a terrible
moment, but the cautious shuffle of Randolph's approach
deadened his fear* His arms almost at their full stretch,
he felt the dripstone underneath his feet* It seemed
about six inches wide, with a downward curve, but it
sufficed* He changed his grip from the plain stone band
of the parapet to the pierced masonry beneath it, which
afforded a better purchase, and held his breath* Randolph
could not find him unless he leant right over the balustrade*
This he never did* He muttered to himself ; he climbed
up to the apex of the roof ; he examined the flue-doors,
or whatever they were* All this Jimmy could clearly
see through the quatrefoil to which he was clinging*
75
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
He heard Randolph say, " I shall find him when the light
comes/' and then he disappeared. The clock struck four,
four-fifteen, four-thirty, and then a diffused pallor began
to show itself in the eastern sky*
The numbness that had taken hold of Jimmy's body
began to invade his mind, which grew dull and sleepy
under the effort of compelling his tired hands to retain
their hold. His back curved outwards, his head sank
upon his breast ; the changes of which his cramped position
admitted were too slight to afford his body relief* So
that he could not at once look round when he heard
close above his head the sound of an opening door and the
sharp rattle of falling mortar* He recognised the figure
as it passed him Rollp's*
Jimmy restrained his impulse to call out* Why had
Rollo come back? Why was he swaggering over the
roofs of Verdew Castle at daybreak looking as though he
owned it ? It was not his yet* Rollo turned, and in the
same leisurely fashion walked back towards Jimmy's
corner* His face was set and pale, but there was triumph
in his eyes, and cruelty, and the marks of many passions
which his every-day exterior had concealed* Then his
eyebrows went up, his chin quivered, and his underlip
shot out and seemed to stretch across his face* " Just
five minutes more, five minutes more ; I'll give him
another five minutes," he kept muttering to himself* He
leaned back against the wall* Jimmy could have touched
the laces of his shoes, which were untied and dirty* " Poor
old Jimmy, poor old James ! " Rollo suddenly chanted,
in a voice that was very distinct, but quite unlike his own*
To Jimmy's confused mind he seemed to be speaking of
two different people* u He came to Verdew Castle, and
left it all in " he paused " in flames* Never mind,
Jimmy," he added in the conciliatory tone of one who,
overcome by his better nature, at last gives up teasing*
44 Anyhow, it's ten to one against*" He stumbled down
the gully and round the bend*
L* P. HARTLEY
Jimmy never knew how he summoned strength to
climb over the parapet* He found himself sprawling in
the gully, panting and faint* But he had caught sight of
a gaping hole like a buttery-hatch amid the tangle of soot-
doors, and he began to crawl towards it* He was trying to
bring his stiff knee up to his good one when from close
by his left ear he heard a terrible scream* It went shoot-
ing up, and seemed to make a glittering arc of sound in
the half-lit sky* He also thought he heard the words,
" Oh, God, Randolph, it's me ! " but of this he
was never certain* But through all the windings of
Rollo's bolt-hole, until it discharged itself at the base of
a ruined newell-staircase among the outbuildings, he
still heard the agonised gasping, spasmodic, yet with
a horrible rhythm of its own, that followed Rollo's
scream* He locked the cracked, paintless door with the
key that Rollo had left, and found himself among the lanes*
Late in the evening of the same day a policeman asked
to see Mrs* Verdew, who was sitting in a bedroom in the
King's Head inn at Fremby, a market town ten miles
from Verdew Castle* She had been sitting there all day,
getting up from time to time to glance at a slip of paper
pinned to one of the pillows* It was dated " 7*30 a*m*,
July loth," and said, " Back in a couple of hours* Have
to see a man about a car* Sorry* ROLLO *" She
wouldn't believe the constable when he said that her hus-
band had met with an accident, some time early that
morning, probably about five o'clock* " But look ;
but look ! " she cried* " See for yourself ! It is his
own handwriting ! He says he went away at half-
past seven* Why are all Englishmen so difficult to
convince ? '
4 We have a statement from Mr* Randolph Verdew,"
said the policeman gently* " He said that he * * * he
* * * he met Mr* Rollo at the Castle in the early hours
of the morning*"
77
THE KILLING-BOTTLE
" But how can you be so stupid ! " cried Mrs, Verdew.
; * It wasn't Rollo it was Mr. Rintoul who . . ."
4 What name is that ? tj asked the policeman, taking
out his note-book.
But Mrs. Verdew did not answer ; she had fainted.
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
BY MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
HETTY MINGLE sat on an iron chair in a side path of the
picturesque, rather overcrowded, public garden of that
famous inland watering place, Lackston Spa. It was a
beautiful July day, yet she felt, as she would have put it
to herself, very lonesome, though she was living in a
nice, well-furnished boarding-house, where she was only
paying four guineas a week, with no extras*
One reason why Hetty Mingle felt unlike her generally
placid self was that to-day was her birthday. She was
thirty-three to-day ; but she did not look her age* Apart
from her somewhat thickset figure, she might have been
in her early twenties*
A year ago her dear, clever, sharp-tongued mother
had still been alive, and Hetty had had almost more to
do than her poor brain could stand* Though they could
well have afforded a nurse, Mrs* Mingle, who was an
invalid, would only tolerate her daughter about her, and
that though she would often cry crossly, " Why, I've
never met such a butter-fingered soul as you are, my
dear ! "
Hetty had been frightened of her mother ; sometimes
deep in her heart she had rebelled against her, hurt, even
angry on occasion, at being always treated as a child,
never as a grown woman* But oh, how she missed her
mother now ! How strange, almost frightening, it was
79
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
to know Hetty knew, rather than felt, things that she
hadn't a friend in the world except Mr* Quin, the old
lawyer who paid her income quarterly, as had been her
mother's wish, in the form of a cheque for a hundred and
thirty-six pounds* This big cheque she, Hetty, at once
always put into a local branch of the Midland Bank*
Just after her mother's death, eight months ago, over
five hundred pounds a year had seemed to Hetty Mingle
an enormous income the sort of income one woman
alone could surely never spend* But she knew better
now* All the same, she sometimes told herself with
satisfaction that she was indeed well situated in having
no one to spend her money on but herself* Even so,
to-day she certainly did feel curiously lonely*
Opening her scarlet leather bag Hetty was fond of
bright colours she took put of it a thick envelope* As
she read the superscription, tears welled up into her
prominent china-blue eyes, for on the envelope was
written : u For my daughter Hetty ; to be opened and
read immediately after my death*"
Hetty Mingle hadn't looked at what was in that
envelope for quite a long time, for as long, perhaps, as
two months* But now, because it was her birthday, she
thought she would like to read what was written there
again* So she took out the three big sheets of paper,
and read over her mother's last words, knitting her brows
in her effort to understand everything quite clearly*
Though my illness has been a great trial to you, I know
that you will miss me, Hetty. So I am writing down a
number of things which will be a help to you after I am
gone.
Lodgings will never be of any use to you, and hotels
will be too expensive. So, to please me, I beg you always to
try and live in some nice boarding-house situated in a healthy
town. When you get tired of one place, you can easily move
on to another.
80
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
/ have always kept myself to myself, and I advise you,
my dear, to do the same. The sort of people who try and
make friends with other people generally end by wanting to
get something oat of them. You can be just pleasant and
friendly, without ever being familiar.
Never you go and lend a penny of your money to anybody.
If you feel sorry for someone, you give them a little present
right out. Short reckonings make long friends. When in
any money difficulty you go straight to Mr. Quin. But
beware of troubling him too often. He doesn't like it.
Don't believe those silly folk who run down single life.
Marriage isn't all it seems to be.
Now I hate to write what Tm going to put down here,
my dear, but I've got to do it. You're not the sort of young
person any man will ever like for herself.
If I didn't now know myself to be dying, I wouldn't write
such a disagreeable thing. But that's the one thought that
is worrying me, Hetty. I'm so afraid that some bad man
will try and marry you for your money, I never taught you
to tell untruths, and I don't like beginning to do it now ;
but if anyone is so impudent as to ask you about your money,
you just say quietly that you've only got a small annuity.
Those who ask no questions hear no lies.
I've had a hard life, Hetty, harder than I've ever let
you know. I should like to believe what religious people
say but I don't. If, however, they do happen to be right,
you may feel quite sure of one thing, that is, that, so far as
she can, your mother will always watch over you.
Read over, now and again, all I've written down for you,
my daughter. It's all true, if it isn't all pleasant.
Poor Hetty Mingle ! Her mother's arid philosophy
of life, long before her mother's death, had been con-
stantly impressed on her. Yet, during the last few months,
the words written on these three sheets of notepaper had
saved her from several very real pitfalls, and of that fact
she was vaguely aware,
B.C. 81 F
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
The one thing she had just read which she did resent
and very, very much resent were those curious, unkind
words about no one wanting to marry her for herself!
Already, as to that, her mother had been proved wrong,
for five months ago a very nice gentleman had asked
her to marry him. But he had been over thirty years
older than herself, and she hadn't liked him at alL Still,
he had been what her then landlady had called " very
persistent, and, as a matter of fact, Hetty had left Bath,
where they were both living in the same boarding-house,
mainly because he worried her so*
14 A very nice day, and not too warm for|the time of
year, isn't it ? "
She turned round, surprised, to see that a pleasant,
youngish-looking, fair man had drawn up a chair close to
where she was sitting.
44 I'm a stranger to this town," he went on, in a deep,
caressing voice, " I wonder if you could tell me the
location of the best picture palace in Lackston ? t:
Now Hetty Mingle did happen to know where there
was a splendid picture palace. It stood just behind the
boarding-house where she was staying* So, feeling rather
pleased with herself, she tried to explain exactly where it
was* Most questions left her without an answer*
44 I can see that you've not come to this town to be
cured of any ailment," observed the pleasant-spoken
young man* * You look, if you'll excuse my saying so,
remarkably healthy*"
Hetty felt pleased, and she would have liked, but she
had not a ready tongue, to answer his compliment by
another ; 'or he, too, with his chubby face, bright hazel
eyes, and lice fair moustache, looked in the pink of
condition, as the saying is* But instead of saying anything
she suddenly burst out laughing, as she often did when
she was pleased*
" I'm here on business," he said genially* " My
82
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
business is looking out for antiques. They're often to
be picked up cheap in this sort of town/'
44 Fancy that ! " she exclaimed.
44 If you can put me on to anything of the sort well,
I'm prepared to pay you a very handsome commission
for same."
Hetty was more used to people who wanted to be
given money than to those who offer money, and her
heart warmed to the speaker of those kindly words.
44 Now, wherever you may happen to be, in rooms
or an hotel, maybe ? '
He looked at her insinuatingly ; but she only smiled
foolishly.
44 There may be some nice little bit of furniture
a lady's workbox, for instance. I mean the kind
that has legs. Or perhaps a pretty painted chair or
two ? "
And then at last Hetty Mingle did think of something
to say.
44 There's nothing of the sort where I'm living," she
said slowly, and there was real regret in her voice. 44 Of
course, I haven't been into all the bedrooms, but it's a
boarding-house "
The stranger looked just a little disappointed. He
had noticed that she was very nicely dressed, though in
a rather old-fashioned way. Her gown was of good grey
silk, and her black satin cloak was fastened with a real
diamond brooch.
Hetty Mingle's long-dead father had been a jeweller.
4 You find a boarding-house more comfortable and
homely than an hotel, I expect ? " observed the young
man.
* I hate hotels," she exclaimed with sudden spirit.
4 You don't get the value for your money you ought to
do in an hotel."
" Right ! " he approved. '' 4 I'm beginning to see that
you're a very sensible young lady."
83
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
Hetty bridled a little. It was pleasant to be called
a sensible young lady. No one had ever called her that
before.
As a matter of fact, the stranger took her for a widow.
44 Do you often come out here I mean into this
garden?"
She gave a sudden loud laugh. * There isn't much
else to do in the morning, is there, in a place like this ? "
" Ever go to the Pictures ? " he asked, leaning forward.
' 4 I do, now and again/'
She hesitated, for already she didn't want him to
think her mean. " But good seats run away with a lot
of money," she said.
" Would you think me presuming if I asked you to
come with me to the Pictures to-morrow I mean, of
course, with me standing Sam ? "
A look of real pleasure flashed into Hetty Mingle's
stolid face. When a couple staying in her boarding-
house asked her to go to the Pictures they always made
her pay for herself, and once a young widowed lady, with
whom she had foolishly made friends, had actually expected
her to pay for them both !
In spite of her strict adhesion to her mother's advice
concerning questions as to her income, Miss Mingle's
fellow-boarders generally soon ended by forming a correct
idea of her circumstances. So it was a delightful, as
well as a novel, experience, to find someone, especially a
nice young man, actually wanting to treat her to something.
Even so, she looked at him helplessly, wondering, in
a muddled, anxious way, when and how they were to
meet. She wouldn't for the world have allowed him to
call for her at the boarding-house. Hetty hated and
feared what her mother had always called " tittle-tattle,"
and she was painfully sensitive to any form of ridicule.
Meanwhile the stranger was looking at her very hard
out of the corner of his eye.
" My name's Williams," he said ; " Henry Williams."
84
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDFS
He waited, and as she said nothing, he asked, again
with that peculiarly ingratiating smile, " May I ask your
name ? "
44 My name " she was a little taken aback by the
question ; still, what could she do but answer it ? 44 is
Henrietta Mingle."
' Is it Miss or is it Mrs.? '
" Miss, of course," and a silly smile quavered over
her face.
At once he said, for he was the kind of man
who always prefers to tell an untruth if it be equally
convenient :
44 Now then, that's funny ! I felt sure from the first
that you were a single lady : "
44 Are you married ? " asked Hetty inquisitively. She
really felt she would like to know.
" Not me ! " he answered gaily, 44 though I've plenty
with which to keep a wife which is more than some chaps
can say in these hard times. But I've never yet met the
lady that I wanted to make Mrs. Williams."
She got up, and so did he. The garden had already
begun to look solitary, for it was close on one o'clock.
" Shall we say here, to-morrow, at two ? " he asked
abruptly. Without waiting for her flustered answer he
went on : * Then we might go a little turn before the
Pictures. There won't be any hurry, for I shall book
our seats in advance."
Hetty never forgot that first afternoon with Henry
Williams at the Pictures. She thinks of it, sometimes,
even now. It was the first time, in her thirty-three years
of life, that a man had ever held her hand. . . .
And thus began, in this casual, careless way, the one
great adventure of Hetty Mingle's life. Day by day,
evening by evening, her acquaintance with Henry Williams
grew closer and closer, so close indeed that any other
young woman would have felt no surprise when he
85
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
asked her, as he did at the end of a fortnight, to be his
wife.
And yet, though she was so simple, poor Hetty was
as cunning as only the very simple can be* Not a creature
in the boarding-house where she was living had had a
suspicion of what was going on* True, Miss Mingle was
out a great deal, but then all the boarders were out a great
deal, in the beautiful summer weather* And while the
others went on long char-a-banc excursions, Hetty and
her new friend spent their time in the old curiosity shops
of the town, and in motoring round the villages near by,
where now and again a good thing could be picked up
cheap* So it was that when, sixteen days after their
first meeting in the public garden of Lackston Spa, the
two actually became engaged, Hetty assented eagerly to
her lover's proposal that they should go south, and be
married in Canterbury*
During those sixteen days Henry Williams had ex-
pended and he kept a careful record of all his expendi-
ture twelve pounds, fourteen shillings, and sixpence, on
his courtship of Hetty Mingle* In return she had told
him everything there was to tell about herself ; and, during
a lightning visit to London, he had spent a very useful
shilling at Somerset House*
One day, while he was cheerfully describing their
joint future, he had observed : " On the day we're married,
we shall each have to make a new will, my dear* I'll
leave you everything I've got quite a tidy little bit, I'm
glad to say*"
To his annoyed surprise, she had not made him the
answer he had expected* But he had become accustomed
to such omissions on her part* However, he had not
supposed he would have any trouble with her, and
neither had he* Immediately on leaving the little Canter-
bury church where they had been married he had ex-
plained to her that it was much nicer and more respectable
to be married in a church than at a registrar's office they
86
MRS*BELLOC LOWNDES
had gone into a local lawyer's office, each to make a short
will leaving to the other all of which he, or she, should
die possessed*
Hetty's bridegroom had made her do something else
on her wedding day, and, just a little to his surprise,
she had jibbed to use an expression to which Mr* Wil-
liams was partial. But in the end she had done what
he asked, for by that time she was very much in love.
Besides, had she not just promised to " obey " him ? as
he jokingly reminded her*
This which he made his newly-made wife do on her
wedding day was to write a careful, though not a too intelli-
gently worded, letter, acquainting the old solicitor, Mr*
Quin, with the fact of her marriage to a gentleman named
Williams, who dealt in antiques*
The bridegroom pondered carefully over the question
of what address the bride should give Mr* Quin, the more
so that they meant to move about a bit, before settling
down* Then suddenly he exclaimed : ' I must be
getting dotty ! You need only give him, my dear, the
name of the bank here, in Canterbury, where youVe just
paid in his cheque* We'll have to keep in touch with the
bank ; and your old rascal of a lawyer, the speaker
considered all lawyers rascals, as well as his own special
enemies " would find it out in any case, once his cheque
was passed through*
ii
Dr* Pomfret-Smith was the only medical man in the
lovely Sussex village of Kidlingpoint* He liked the
neighbourhood, and the neighbourhood liked him, but
from a strictly professional point of view both the old-
world hamlet, and the mushroom bungalow-town on the
strip of shingle above the beach half a mile away, were
almost unpleasantly healthy* Indeed, but for the fact
that his delicate little wife had three hundred a year of
8?
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
her own, they could never, as they sometimes smilingly
told one another, have stuck it out !
As so often happened, the doctor was sitting after
luncheon, on a very hot late August day, in the little study
which was also his consulting-room, idly reading a book,
when he was told that a Mr* Williams wished to see him*
A moment later the visitor was shown into the room,
looking, as a man is apt to look in such circumstances,
just a little foolish*
Dr* Pomfret-Smith felt a twinge of disappointment ;
for Mr* Williams could only be described as extraordin-
arily ordinary* He was a fair, stocky man on the short
side, and Pomfret-Smith, who prided himself, as doctors
are apt to do, on his power of human diagnosis, told
himself that here, surely, was a prosperous commercial
traveller*
Mr* Williams looked but this was a mere detail very
well indeed, a fact further proved by his first words,
which were : " Fve not come to consult you about myself*
I've come to ask you just to see my wife, doctor* She
doesn't seem quite the thing, and I'm a bit uneasy about
her/'
Dr* Pomfret-Smith insensibly thawed, for the stranger
had an unexpectedly attractive voice*
* What's the matter with Mrs* Williams ? " he asked
kindly*
44 She's been having awful headaches, and that seems
quite wrong in a place like this ! Also she turned a bit
faint yesterday*"
The doctor looked at the young man thoughtfully*
44 Perhaps she was doing too much before she came down
here* I suppose you're just starting your holiday ? "
A somewhat embarrassed smile came over Mr* Wil-
liams' face*
4 Well," he said, " the truth is, doctor, we're still on
our honeymoon* We were married at St* Olave's, in
Canterbury, just three weeks ago*"
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
44 I see* Is she quite well, apart from these headaches ?
Cheerful, and so on ? "
44 Very cheerful/' was the eager answer* ' In fact, I
had quite a job to make her come along and see you/'
44 Then she's here?"
" She's here, right enough* But I thought I'd better
see you first/'
The doctor felt just a little surprised when Mr* Wil-
liams brought his bride into the consulting-room* He had
expected to see a nervous-looking girl, thin and sallow,
wearing, maybe, very high heels, and one of those foolish
little hats which give no shade* Instead, he saw before
him a rather stoutly-built young woman who looked, as
far as he could see, quite well* She was very plain, and
her costume, a green coat and skirt, was very unbecoming ;
still, she had a good-humoured, kindly face, though her
expression was just a little vacant*
* Well, Mrs* Williams, I hear you have not been well*
Perhaps the sea has upset you ? It does some people*"
She began to laugh, " He ! he ! he ! " as if he had
said something very funny*
'' 4 I've often lived by the sea* Never did me any
harm ! Yet the last day or two I've just felt queer
I can't say more than that," and she began to laugh
again*
44 Perhaps your wife would like to see me alone, Mr*
Williams?"
And then there came a great change over the woman
standing there* A look of alarm, almost of suspicion,
flashed over her large pink and white face* 44 Oh no ! "
she cried* ' I'd rather my husband stayed with me*"
The doctor gave an inward smile* His unspoken question
was answered ; she was evidently very fond of this young
man ; they were on excellent terms the one with the other*
' The sun's been very hot this last day or two* I
expect you've been sitting out on the beach, and that
you've simply got what I call a sun-headache* If you'll
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
wait a moment I'll give you something that I hope will
do you good/'
He made out a prescription for a soothing mixture,
and handed it to his new patient's husband* " By the
way, where are you staying ? " he asked.
We've taken the Old Bungalow for two months*
sir/'
14 I'm sorry you've done that* It's such a funny,
ramshackle place* Why, it hasn't even a bathroom !
But then I suppose you bathe a lot in the sea ? '
4 Why, yes," the man smiled broadly* " We do do
that, doctor* But all the same as there's plenty of water
laid on in the place, I'm hiring a bath, and having it moved
in*"
He turned to his wife* " Now then, Hetty* I think
we left your parasol in the other room* Will you go and
get it, my dear ? '
She went off obediently, and then Mr* Williams turned
to the doctor* ' I'm very much obliged to you," he
exclaimed* 44 I expect she'll be as right as a trivet to-
morrow ! " And, to the surprise of Dr* Pomf ret- Smith,
he laid a ten-shilling note on the table*
4 I hope this is right, sir ? Short reckonings make
long friends ! "
In spite of himself the medical man felt pleased* He
knew only too well how difficult it was for him to collect
small accounts, especially from those of his patients
whom the Kidlingpoint folk called 44 our bungalow
visitors*"
' I'd like you to see my wife again, doctor, if "she
doesn't feel better this next day or two*"
" I shall be delighted to see Mrs* Williams at any time,"
said Dr* Pomfret-Smith cordially* 44 If you don't want
to come all the way to the village, you've only got to send me
a message, and I'll cycle down to the Old Bungalow*"
It was pleasant to have earned ten shillings in as many
minutes, and with practically no trouble at all*
90
MRS* BELLOC LOWNDES
Four days later Hetty Williams, as she was now-
though she couldn't get used to thinking of herself as
that was sitting on the verandah of the oddly-built Old
Bungalow, which stood by itself, quite a way beyond the
others*
She felt queerly lonely and depressed no doubt be-
cause this was the first time her husband had left her
since their wedding-day* And that wasn't all !
Something had altered her dear " hubby/' as he had
taught her to call him* It wasn't so much that he was
unkind, as that he was no longer affectionate and " jolly*"
He had begun to change in his manner to her after that
visit of theirs to the doctor* She wondered hazily, poor
soul, whether she had offended him in any way* He had
spent a long time, yesterday afternoon, writing a letter,
arid she had caught a glimpse of the address* It was to
a Mrs* " Somebody " she hadn't been able to see the
name in London, S*W*, and it had made her feel vaguely
jealous*
Then, this morning, he had suddenly told her that
he had to go away for a night on business, and as he was
going off, when she had put her arms round his neck,
he had pushed her away roughly, with : " There, that'll
do ! Even new-married folk can't always be kissing and
cuddling one another "
Now Hetty could not have echoed the old philosopher
who observed : " I think therefore I am*" Yet she was
capable of very real mental pain and distress, and she was
suffering, now, as she had never suffered before during her
thirty-three years of life*
For one thing, the hundred and thirty odd pounds
she had received just two days before her marriage was
melting far too quickly*
Her husband had begun by making her draw out
fifty pounds at the time she had gone to the bank to
register her new signature* She had never drawn so big
a cheque before, and it had made her feel quite nervous*
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
Also she had not quite liked his at once assuming the
charge of her money* She had become used to keeping
the little cash she thought it well to have in her possession,
in a jewel-box of which she always wore the key round
her neck*
All this being so, imagine her horrified astonishment
when, twelve days after their marriage, Henry Williams
had casually observed one morning that, as their " oof "
was running out, she had better make out another cheque,
this time for twenty pounds*
That suggestion had seriously upset her, and it had
led to their first quarrel*
But in the end she had given him the cheque, although
she had at first vehemently declared that nothing would
make her do so ! And then, a few days ago, he had made
her draw yet another cheque, but this time she had under-
stood the reason, for it was to pay half the rent in advance
of this queer, ramshackle, funny looking bungalow, on
the verandah of which she was now sitting, staring out
at the dimpling blue sea with puzzled, anxious, red-
rimmed eyes* * * *
All at once there fell on her ears the discordant peal
of the loud, old-fashioned front-door bell of the bungalow*
Why, who could it be? They didn't know anyone yet
in this queer place*
Slowly she rose from the basket-chair, and, walking
through into the central room, or hall, she opened the
front door* Just outside was a cart and, standing on the
half-made road, and right across the now open door, lay a
huge white bath*
Now Hetty had secretly thought it a very silly thing of her
hubby to want to have this kind of bath here* There was
a big tin basin which the people who had been there before
had found good enough* But Henry Williams had been
set, from the first minute, as she now reminded herself
crossly, on having a proper bath ; and he had arranged
to hire one for two months from the local plumber*
92
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
The plumber had very honestly pointed out to them
that they would have a job emptying the bath, as there was
nothing to take off the water* But the new tenant of
the Old Bungalow had been quite sharp about it. * That's
my business ! " he had exclaimed. And then, laughingly,
he had added, " I do like a nice drop of clean fresh water
after I've had my dip in the sea ! " And the plumber
had answered, amiably enough, " Why, yes, sir ; most
people do, I fancy/'
Three men were now standing on the narrow, stony,
dusty road outside, and on Hetty's opening the door,
one of them exclaimed in a truculent voice : " Well, now,
missus where are we to put this 'ere hobject? The
gentleman said as it wasn't to be delivered till to-morrow ;
but we was coming down this way with the cart, so we
brought it to-day. You see, it's a bit of a job, for it'll
take us three men to move that bath into the 'ouse ; but
you won't forget us, on such a hot day as this ? "
Now Hetty had no idea where her husband did wish
this tiresome bath to be put. As a matter of fact there were
two taps in the house, one in the kitchen, and one in a
kind of scullery. But she knew it would be equally
inconvenient to have the bath placed under either tap.
As she stood hesitating, and muttering half to herself,
4 I don't know where he does want it put," the most
intelligent of the three men sized her up, as the saying is.
14 Hadn't we better just put the bath in the hall ?
When your good gentleman is back, I'll send down two
of our chaps to help to move it ; 'tisn't as if there was
stairs."
She nodded, and after they had put the bath in a
corner of the hall, just opposite her own bedroom door,
Hetty unwillingly produced a shilling.
As the three went off without thanking her, she felt
just a little sorry she hadn't made it two shillings. But
when she remembered how quickly her money was going,
she reminded herself of an old proverb her mother had
93
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
been fond of quoting. This proverb runs, " Be just
before you are generous/'
About seven o'clock Henry Williams came home. He
looked tired, cross, and, to her intense astonishment, and
yes, horror, when he saw the place where the bath had
been put, be began to swear furiously* Poor Hetty had
not known there was such language in the world !
At last she began, timidly, to remonstrate ; and savagely
he turned on her with a volley of oaths. Then, suddenly
seeing how much he was scaring her, he pulled himself
together.
44 I'm not blaming you, my dear ! I'm cursing the
fool who sent the thing here to-day, and his
men who dared to leave it in such a place as that.
Why, it stands to reason we want it where the other old
tub stands, in the scullery that's the place for a bath ! "
4 I'm very sorry," she murmured, still shaking with
fear. 4t I'll walk up to the village to-morrow morning,
and get them to send two men down."
44 You'll do nothing of the kind ! " he said sharply.
' 4 I'll get in a couple of chaps from off the beach, give
'em sixpence each, and lend a hand myself. That damned
plumber 'ud go and charge quite a lot for sending his
men here again."
in
It was ten o'clock that same evening, and Hetty felt,
as she always did feel at night, overwhelmingly sleepy.
Her husband had recovered his temper. Even so he had
been unpleasantly sarcastic when she had confessed that
she had no idea how something tasty could be made
from what remained of the cold meat on which they had
now lived for two days.
At last she said nervously, 44 Don't you think it's about
time for bed/ ducky ? "
94
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
He answered at once. " You go to bed, my dear.
As for me, I'll go out for a turn and a cigar, before turning
in."
He kissed her in a perfunctory way, and she went off
into her room feeling happier.
Very early in their married life, in fact, the day after
they were married, Henry Williams had explained to her
that he couldn't sleep with anyone else in his bedroom,
and since then they had always had separate rooms. In
the hotels where they had stayed he had always taken, as
a matter of course, the best of the two rooms, but here,
to Hetty's grateful surprise, her husband had good-
naturedly insisted that she should have the large bedroom
overlooking the beach, and he the smaller one at the
back.
To-night, after she had undressed, there suddenly
came over her a most curious feeling. She felt that her
dead mother was close to her, an invisible, while yet an
almost palpable, presence. And the effect of this curious,
disturbing, sensation was that it made her feel not only
queerly frightened, but also most unwontedly wide awake.
Even so, she got into bed, and after what seemed to
her a long while she went to sleep.
It may have been a few minutes, or it may have been
an hour later, when all at once she awoke awoke, or so
it seemed to her, to hear her dead mother's voice saying
what her mother had so often said in life : " Try and
think, Hetty, child. Try and think for yourself, my dear."
She sat up, and then, to her great surprise, she saw
a line of gleaming light beneath her door. The Old
Bungalow, in common with all the other newer and smarter
bungalows, had had the electric light put in last year.
Apart from that narrow line of light there was also,
higher up, a shaft of diffused brilliance like that produced
by the bull's-eye of a small lantern. Though it looked
oddly eerie in the otherwise dark room, Hetty did not think
it strange, for she knew what caused it. Her bedroom
95
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
door was made of cheap grained foreign wood, and one
of the knots in the wood had gone, leaving a round hole*
The owner of the bungalow had pointed this fact
out with a smile to Hetty, observing as he did so : " Anyone
standing the other side of the door can see into this room
through that hole, so my wife generally hangs a skirt, or
something of the sort, on one of the hooks* That makes
it quite O*K* ! "
She told herself that her hubby had evidently left
the light on by accident when he had come in and gone to
bed* What a waste ! She must get up and put it out,
even at the risk of waking him, for, unlike herself, he was
a very light sleeper* Slipping out of bed as quietly as
she could, all at once she heard him moving about the
hall*
What could he be doing there, at this time of night ?
As is the case with all those poor humans dowered
with Hetty's peculiar mentality, there was a cunning, as
well as an inquisitive, streak in her nature* So instead of
opening the door, as an ordinary woman would have done,
and ordering her husband off, good-humouredly or other-
wise, to bed, she crept across the room, and looked
through the little round hole in the door*
And then, the sight which met her eyes was so extra-
ordinary and unexpected that she nearly burst into a loud
guffaw of laughter* Nearly, but not quite, for she felt
very curious to see what it was that her hubby was going
to do next*
What he was doing now was funny enough, for Henry
Williams had taken off his outdoor shoes, and in his stock-
inged feet he was capering about on the floor of the hall
with a most odd kind of expression on his fleshy face*
It was just as if he were hugely enjoying some silly secret
joke all to himself !
Suddenly he scampered over to the bath* Whatever
was he going to do there? What queer creatures men
were what babies, after all ! Several times Hetty had
96
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
heard people say that men were nothing more than grown-
up children but she had never believed it till to-night*
Her husband, with the quick agility of a monkey,
swung himself over the side into the huge empty bath*
Now he was sitting in it, of course fully dressed, his
face convulsed with secret amusement*
He sat up* He lay half-down* He leapt about in the
big white cavity* Once he so entirely disappeared under
the rim that she could not see him at all from where
she stood hidden, fascinated by his antics*
Then, all at once, he leapt out of the bath, and walking
quickly over to the wall by the front door, he put out
the electric light, and a moment later she heard the sound
of his door shutting quietly*
Henry Williams was very nice to Hetty the next
morning, nicer than he'd been since he had taken her to
see the doctor*
They walked up to the village together, and went into
several of the shops* At the butcher's he chaffed her so
funnily about her ignorance of housekeeping, that the
people who were in the shop laughed aloud* At last he
waggishly exclaimed, " She's new to it, you know, my
little wife is ! Why, we've only been married about a
fortnight*" And he won the butcher's heart, too, by
saying that he only liked English meat no old dead stuff
for him, even if it did come from Canterbury, New
Zealand !
After they were back home again in the bungalow,
he himself cooked the piece of undercut they had brought
with them* Hetty was taken aback, she even felt mortified,
to find how well her husband could cook*
* You'll find I can do most things, old girl," he said
cheerfully, flattered by her surprise*
But after they had eaten their tasty little meal he sud-
denly exclaimed : " I'm afraid I'll have to go away again
this afternoon, dearie* I've got to meet a man over
B.C. 97 G
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
Horsham way, to look at an old sideboard they say was
stolen out of a grand house fifty years ago*"
44 I did think you'd stay with me to-day," she said
complainingly, and already on the brink of tears* 44 It's
awful dull here, all by myself*"
44 Business must come first," he answered tartly*
" But cheer up, old girl, and remember that care killed
the cat ! I shan't be gone long this time* We might
have a dip in the sea when I come back, and I'll hot
you up a nice bath to-night* Now you'll like that ? "
44 Well, yes," she said, wiping her eyes, 44 I shall like
that* I always had a good look at the bathroom before
going into a new boarding-house, for I do like a good hot
bath once a week* But won't hotting the water give a
lot of trouble ? "
" Only trouble to me," he said gallantly* " And I'd
do a good bit more for you than that, my dear ! By the
way, the lady who lives at the third bungalow from here,
her name's Jones good old name is coming to see
you to-day* I said you'd be in about three o'clock ;
I didn't think you'd want the bother of getting tea for
her*"
44 I don't feel as if I want to see anyone," she said
grumpily*
He replied sharply : 44 Nonsense ! It's always a mistake
not to get on with one's neighbours* And mind you give
your hubby a good character," and this time he gave
her a really affectionate kiss*
She smiled it was a more intelligent smile than her
usual smile, and he said quickly : 44 Hullo ! What's the
laugh about ? "
" Only something that came into my head like*"
She had remembered, suddenly, her husband's extra-
ordinary antics of the night before ; and long after he was
gone she went on smiling to herself, and feeling happier
than she had felt for several days*
Mrs* Jones duly came to call, and her coming further
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
cheered Hetty, for the good lady told her new neighbour
all about the local politics. She explained that most of
the " beachcombers/' as they were styled, longed to
organise some kind of co-operative arrangement about
food* Such an arrangement would save such a lot on each
woman's weekly bills, especially as the shopkeepers up in
the village were such robbers.
Now this was a point that Hetty not only understood,
but thoroughly appreciated as well ; and she promised
to enlist her husband's sympathy with the scheme, ex-
plaining proudly that Mr. Williams was a very clever
business man.
Mrs. Jones stayed a long time at the Old Bungalow ;
perhaps she was hoping for a cup of tea, but if so, she
was disappointed.
After she had gone, Hetty, who always found anything
like a long-sustained conversation very tiring, lay back in
one of the two wicker chairs on the verandah, and fell
asleep.
And then, just as had been the case last night, she
must have begun dreaming of her mother ; for she awoke
with a start to hear her mother's voice, again uttering
words that had once been so familiar :
" Hetty, my dear ! Be careful ! Look where you're
going, my child."
She stood up, feeling just a bit dased, yet as if some-
thing were urging her footsteps to go indoors. Slowly she
got up and yawned ; then she pushed open the door which
gave into the centre room of the bungalow.
Then she began to giggle, for the big white bath looked
so odd, standing there in the further right-hand corner,
without any proper taps, and with its squat iron feet still
swathed in straw and paper.
A stronger breeze than usual was blowing in from the
beach, and tiny wisps of straw were flying over the floor.
Her face stiffened. It was too bad of those men not to
have taken away all that stuff! Had she noticed this
99
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
omission on their part, she would not have given them
that shilling.
Then Hetty told herself that there was one thing she
could occupy herself in doing this dull afternoon she
could take all that nasty straw and old paper away*
Fetching a knife from the kitchen, she knelt down
rather heavily on the boarded floor, and began sawing
through the strong cords which bound the straw and
paper round the nearest iron foot of the bath*
Though she was wide awake now, it was funny how
curiously near to her her mother still seemed to be* It was
an uncanny, disconcerting feeling. She had never felt
that way in any of the boarding-houses she had lived
in since her mother's death*
Now Mrs* Mingle, unlike Hetty, had been a great one
for reading, and it gave Mrs* Mingle's daughter quite
a turn when she saw that the big sheet of crumpled paper
she had just unwound from the iron foot of the bath
was part of an old News of the World, her mother's
favourite paper*
She took it up, and smoothed it out flat on the floor*
And then, all at once, Hetty began to laugh aloud ;
though what was printed there, staring up at her, was
really very sad, come to think of it !
BRIDE DIES IN HER BATH
Last Tuesday morning, at the Eastbourne Coroner's Court,
there was opened an inquest on Mary Anne Love, the wife of
George Love, who was found dead in her bath. The circumstances
were peculiarly sad, for Mr. and Mrs. Love were only married
three weeks ago. Dr. Pember, of 32, Marine Parade, gave evidence
that he had attended deceased a week before her death. But she
had only been slightly indisposed, and there had been nothing
really wrong with her. He had made a post-mortem examination,
and he could but conclude that she had turned faint in the water,
and that, slipping down in the bath, her head had become
immersed, and so she had been suffocated. Many women got
into the way of taking a bath which was a great deal too hot*
IOO
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
Hetty told herself, grimacing foolishly, that she must
be careful not to have her bath-water too hot to-night.
There came a sudden knock at the front door, and she
pulled herself up by the edge of the bath on to her feet.
She was curiously inactive and heavy for a woman of her
age.
On opening the front door, she saw with surprise that
the postman stood there. It was the first time he had
called at the Old Bungalow since they had taken it.
44 Mrs. Williams ? " he said questioningly, and on her
saying 44 Yes," he handed her an envelope. Then she
saw, with a slight feeling of misgiving, that it was a letter
from the lawyer, Mr. Quin, redirected on from the
Canterbury bank.
But there was nothing to worry about, though Mr.
Quin's typewritten letter was marked 44 Private " Hetty
couldn't think why.
The writer began by explaining that he had been
away on a holiday. He expressed great surprise at the
news of Hetty's marriage, and he concluded by saying
that he hoped she would find it convenient to come to
London soon, as he wished to see her concerning the
re-investment of a small portion of her capital.
There came another sudden knock at the door, and
this time, to Hetty's astonishment, it was a telegraph-boy
who stood there.
44 It can't be for here," she said crossly.
" Aren't you Mrs. Williams?" he asked. " If so,
this is sure for you, ma'am."
She opened the telegram to find that it was from
her husband, explaining that he had been detained, and
that he couldn't be back till the next day.
By now poor Hetty felt really very upset and flustered.
She told herself that this was too bad of her hubby !
In fact, really unkind. She didn't feel at all like staying
here all by herself to-night. She had never slept alone
in a house in her life, and she wasn't going to begin now.
101
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
All at once she began to giggle again. She could play
at that game as well as her hubby ! Why shouldn't she
go up to London this very afternoon? She knew of a
nice boarding-house in Bayswater where they were
always pleased to see her. She could see Mr. Quin
to-morrow morning, and be back here in the afternoon,
probably before her husband had arrived home.
Going into her bedroom, she looked at the contents
of her purse. There were only thirty-five shillings
there. Still, that was ample to take her to London, and
provide her with a night's lodging, before seeing the
lawyer.
Slowly Hetty put on her outdoor things, and then,
all at once, she told herself that she must leave word she
had gone, or her hubby might come back before her,
after all. She was beginning, too, to feel just a little bit
afraid that he might be angry at what she was going to do.
Still, Mr. Quin was her own lawyer, and he wanted to see
her about her own money.
All the same, she might as well write her hubby a nice
letter her very first letter to him, too explaining about
Mr. Quin, and, maybe, adding something to make him
laugh ! So, cutting out that funny little paragraph about
the bride who had died in her bath, she took a piece of
the cheap notepaper Williams always used, and on it she
wrote, laboriously, in her big, childish hand :
Dear Henry,
I am going tip to London just to see Mr. Quin. He
wants to see me about my money. Til be back to-morrow.
Isn't this a funny bit I've cut out of an old paper ? Having
that bath here makes me think of it.
Your affectionate wife,
Henrietta Williams.
She put the letter and the cutting into an envelope
and, addressing it to " Mr. Williams/' she left it on the hall
1 02
MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
table, which she dragged into the middle of the room, so
that he couldn't miss seeing it*
Then she opened the front door, and passing through
it, put the key under the mat. Her hubby had taught
her to do that the first day they had come here.
Hetty's interview with Mr. Quin the next morning
was, on the whole, quite satisfactory. He hadn't much
to say, after all, though he did scold her somewhat for
not having let him know, before it took place, about her
marriage. As for the business he had wanted to see
her about, it was only to put her new name to a mortgage.
But no one was more surprised than Mr. Quin not
even Hetty herself at what happened, when she went
back home that same afternoon !
Astounding to relate, Hetty, on reaching Kidlingpoint,
found the Old Bungalow shut up, and her husband gone.
She soon, however, learnt what had happened.
After coming back that morning, Mr. Williams, it
seems, had locked up the bungalow, taking, oddly enough,
his wife's little bits of rather valuable jewellery along with
him.
Then he had gone all round the village, leaving word
with the various tradesmen, as well as the house-agent,
that when Mrs. Williams came back from town she would
pay up everything, and follow him. He also found time
to have the bath moved back to the plumber's shop.
But though she did pay up everything, even, on Mr.
Quin's advice, to the extra month's tenancy of the Old
Bungalow, Hetty found it impossible to follow her husband,
owing to the simple, though singular, fact that he had
left no address.
Much surprised and distressed, poor Hetty, again
owing to Mr. Quin's advice, had costly advertisements
inserted in the agony columns of all the daily papers. But
they brought no news, either of him, or from him, and
after a time, for a very good reason not unconnected
103
AN UNRECORDED INSTANCE
with a certain trial at the Old Bailey which Mr* Quin
did not think it necessary to impart to his client, the old
lawyer recommended that she should drop the name of
Williams, and call herself Mrs* Mingle, her dear mother's
name*
And so it is as Mrs* Mingle that Hetty is leading a
placid life, first in one nice boarding-house, and then in
another, keeping herself to herself* The memory of her
great adventure becomes fainter and fainter as time goes
on ; but she does feel it to be a source of solid satisfaction
that she is now known as Mrs*, and not as Miss, Mingle*
104
A CONSIDERABLE MURDER
BY BARRY PAIN
MR* ALBERT TRUSWORTH MACKINDER, having made much
money in the City of London, retired to a house by the
sea at Helmstone. He was at this time a widower of
fifty-eight and he was accompanied by his only daughter,
Elsa, a pretty child of sixteen. Mr. Mackinder was
satisfactory to the local society and was not displeased
with it himself* But he had had many ideas in his life,
and the idea which possessed him most strongly at present
was that he was interested in the onward march of science.
For this reason he interested himself deeply in Dr. Bruce
Perthwell. Dr. Perthwell attended Miss Mackinder once
and Mr. Mackinder twice on all three occasions for
colds. When Dr. Perthwell recommended that they
should stay in bed, feed light, and take the medicine which
he would send up to the house, results had been satisfactory
on each occasion. But this did not impress Mr. Mackinder
nearly so much as the way in which Dr. Perthwell spoke
of the mysteries and magic of science. Dr. Perthwell
was a clean-shaven man, grey-haired, with an authoritative
face and a very convincing manner.
Mr. Mackinder liked him and asked him to dinner
frequently, for though Mr. Mackinder knew that it was
too late in life for him to take up any really serious study
of science, he was quite glad to have such scientific facts
as Dr. Perthwell might be disposed to let drop, duly
prepared and seasoned to suit the appetite of the elderly.
In this way Mr. Mackinder learnt what was, roughly
105
A CONSIDERABLE MURDER
speaking, the velocity of light, and, if he happened to
require Vitamin C, in what articles of diet he would do
best to search for it* This was all very good for Mr*
Mackinder and kept him up in his belief that the world
was an interesting place*
Now it happened that Elsa Mackinder invited to stay
with her a friend to whom she had been long attached,
Miss Jessie Palkinshaw, of the same age as herself and
destined for the nursing profession* On the night of her
arrival Mr* Mackinder, to square the table, invited
Dr* Perthwell to join them at dinner, which he did*
Dr* Perthwell got, perhaps, a little tired of preaching
extreme moderation and temperance all day, and liked
to relax a little in the evening* Mr* Mackinder's dinners
were good* His cellar was good* There was no in-
tolerable excess, but Mr* Mackinder and his guest generally,
as is sometimes said, did themselves fairly well* It was
after the two ladies had retired to the drawing-room that
Mr* Mackinder refilled Dr* Perthwell's glass with '96 and
addressed himself to a subject which had been somewhat
in his mind that day*
44 You know, Doctor, I was reading that murder case in
the papers this morning* It pu^les me* Why do those
poison people always bungle it? Why do they choose
poison such as arsenic which can so easily be traced ? "
Dr* Perthwell fixed his meditative eyes on the ceiling*
' 4 I should say it is principally from ignorance* No
doctor, of course, would make such a blunder* But
not even every doctor, not by a long way, knows what is
actually possible*"
44 And what is actually possible ? " asked Mr* Mac-
kinder eagerly*
' Well/' said Dr* Perthwell, " there are two drugs
which can be procured at any chemist's without any
formalities, and neither of them is in the least degree
injurious* But if you mix, say, a quarter of a teaspoonful
of one with a quarter of a teaspoonful of the other and
1 06
BARRY PAIN
give that in a glass of water to any person, in less than
an hour that person will be dead. And no post-mortem,
no examination of any kind will ever find the slightest
trace of poison in the body/'
" Amazing," said Mr, Mackinder. " Perfectly
amazing. That reallv is so ? "
44 It is/'
44 I suppose I shouldn't ask it/' said Mr. Mackinder,
" but could you tell me what the names of these two
drugs are ? "
4 Undoubtedly I could," said the doctor, 44 but "
Mr. Mackinder refilled the doctor's glass.
" After all," said Dr. Perthwell, 44 you are a student
of science. You are no ordinary layman. I have no
doubt that your interest is quite legitimate. Would you
be willing to swear to me on your word of honour that
you have no intention of murdering anybody, and that
if I give you these names you will keep them strictly to
yourself?'
44 Certainly," said Mr. Mackinder. 44 I am at peace
with the world and have no desire to injure anybody
whatever let alone murder them."
Dr. Perthwell went to the door of the dining-room,
opened it, closed it again, and returned to his seat.
4 You will pardon me, Mr. Mackinder. I had to be
quite certain that I could not be overheard."
He gave the names of the two drugs and Mr. Mackinder
wrote them down in his note-book. He put each name
down on a different page and the two pages were at some
distance apart. Mr. Mackinder was cunning.
On the following day Mr. Mackinder purchased,
without question or suspicion being roused, one ounce
of each of these drugs, at two different chemists'. He
was surprised at the vast amount he got for sixpence. He
had enough to murder the entire neighbourhood if he
had had any spite against it.
He was a methodical man. He took two large sheets
107
A CONSIDERABLE MURDER
of white paper and cut them into small squares* Into
each square he put a quarter of a teaspoon of the first
drug and folded it into a neat packet. He then took two
sheets of blue paper and did the same thing with the
other drug, being perhaps inspired with the classical
example of the Seidlitz powder* There was still some
of each drug remaining, and this he destroyed in the fire*
He placed the packets neatly in a cardboard cigarette-box
and put the box in a large desk which in theory he always
kept locked, and quite frequently did*
He had now the means at hand to destroy forty-eight
people* He positively tingled with power* If the worst
came to the worst and at present there was no worst
and it was not coming to anything he felt that he could
deal with it*
And the years went on* It happened that once Elsa
asked her father :
44 What are all those funny little papers in the cigarette-
box in your writing-desk ? I noticed them to-day when
I went there to get stamps* By the way, you don't keep
as many stamps as you used to*"
4 Well," said Mr* Mackinder, " as regards the papers
in the box, I think I may tell you about them because
they are of extraordinary interest* But so far as I remem-
ber, I am to some extent restricted* You would have to
promise me that you would tell nobody what I am
going to tell you*"
" Of course," said Elsa*
Mr* Mackinder then told his daughter precisely what
Dr, Perthwell had told him*
And the years still went on and Miss Jessie Palkinshaw
became a fully-qualified nurse and went in for private
work* And then came the letter from Robert Filminster*
Mr* Mackinder knew Mr* Filminster, whose age was
at this time verging on the nineties, quite well* He
108
BARRY PAIN
knew that Mr. Filminster had been a friend of his fathers
and had, in fact, financed him over various crises before
the business came to a position of steady security* He
had been assured by Mr. Filminster that the greater part
of his property would go to Mr. Mackinder for life and
to his daughter after him.
Mr. Filminster's letter was simply pathetic. He said
that he knew he was on the verge of death. The end of
the lease of his house was up and he had been unable,
even by a most extravagant offer, to obtain just two or
three weeks' prolongation. He felt that he could not go
into a hotel, for that would kill him painfully and at once.
He knew that he asked much, but would Mr. Mackinder
consent to put him up, together with his nurse, Jessie
Palkinshaw, until the end came ?
Mr. Mackinder felt that he could not do otherwise
than accept. His daughter Elsa agreed with him. She
was also glad of this coincidence which brought Jessie
Palkinshaw back into her life. Questioned, Mr. Mackinder
could say very little about Mr. Filminster. He remem-
bered him as a very quiet and scholarly old gentleman.
He reproached himself that they had not met more
frequently in recent years.
So Mr. Filminster was accepted and arrived in his
own expensive car with his nurse by his side. He seemed
somewhat wearied with the journey and glad to get to bed.
Not till he was safely asleep did Jessie Palkinshaw descend
to talk things over with the eager Elsa Mackinder. They
both rejoiced at the renewal of their rapturous friendship.
Miss Palkinshaw looked like a saint of wonderful serenity
in her nurse's uniform. Elsa, with her shingled hair,
felt worldly and common in comparison.
' Tell me now, darling/' said Elsa. " What kind of
a man is this Mr. Filminster ? "
' I think," said Nurse Palkinshaw, " that you are
likely to have trouble with him. It cannot be for long,
however, because his own doctor assured me that he
109
A CONSIDERABLE MURDER
could not last for more than a week, and there was even
some question whether he would not die in the car
coming down here. But Mr. Filminster does not like
doctors and cannot be expected to do everything they
say/'
" But what kind of man is he ? "
44 He's more than one kind of man. The first week
I was with him he was always very patient and nice and
behaved himself. He can do it still if he wants to do it.
He was all right when he arrived here to-day, for instance.
Otherwise he has become so eccentric and wild no doubt
owing to his disease that sometimes it is very, very
difficult to put up with him. Of course, a nurse who is
any good must be prepared to put up with absolutely
anything. I was sent to him by a doctor who is well
disposed towards me and has plenty of work to give.
I don't want to lose my market. Whatever Mr. Filminster
does or does not dp I shall hang on until the lid's screwed
down. When he is in one of his bad moods he uses the
most terrific language you ever heard."
" Blasphemous ? '
' That of course. Only yesterday in three words he
implied that my soul was lost, that I had the hsemorrhagic
diathesis, and that I was of illegitimate birth. But
that's not all, by a long way. He often uses language which
is well, physiological."
44 But they have physiological language in books, don't
they ? '
44 There are two kinds of physiological language.
His is the other. I advise you to keep out of his way as
much as possible."
14 Oh, but I do want to help," said Elsa. ' I don't
want you to be worked to death. If you can put up
with things, I must make up my mind to put up with
them, too."
44 Well," said the nurse, 44 he's not perhaps been quite
so bad lately. He's had a good deal of pain and that
no
BARRY PAIN
always keeps him quiet. I don't think he's actually
broken a measuring-glass for three days/'
44 I suppose the poor old man can't hold them
properly/'
44 That's not it* He throws them, you know. He
throws pretty well everything. He says it's the only
form of exercise that he's got now. We buy our
measuring- glasses by the dozen, and they don't last long.
Every now and then he gets a fit of wonderful activity
and would go out into the street if he were allowed to
have any clothes in his room. But he isn't. Of course,
I have to use a good deal of tact. As a matter of fact
I could pick the old chap up and carry him. But if he
used any great effort, that might bring on the end suddenly.
No, I shouldn't describe it as a soft case not easy, by any
means."
At dinner that night Mr. Mackinder heard much of
the story and was calmly philosophical.
44 We must make up our minds to be patient," he said.
44 It is a question of a few days only. Surely we can
put up with that. To-morrow Dr. Perthwell will be in
to see him. No doubt he will be able to tell us some-
thing."
On the next morning at breakfast Nurse looked a little
worn. Mr. Mackinder asked kindly how her patient
was getting on.
14 If anything he seems a little stronger. He had one
of his fits of activity, but he's safely asleep again now*
He's started porridge-sloshing again."
" Started which ? " asked Mr. Mackinder.
" Porridge-sloshing is what he calls it. He always
will have porridge for breakfast, and the doctors say he is
to have anything he likes. Some days he will eat it and
some days he won't. It's when he won't that he starts
this porridge-sloshing. He fills the spoon full with
porridge, holds the end of the handle in one hand, and
with a finger of the other draws back the tip of the spoon
in
A CONSIDERABLE MURDER
and suddenly lets go* He can send it quite a consider-
able distance that way* He generally aims at the
different pictures in the room, but he's got me with it
two or three times* It always seems to amuse him,
Of course, it makes a good deal of work clearing up
afterwards*
" Naturally/' said Mr* Mackinder* ' I should hate
to be unkind, but I think I must just ask Perthwell if he
doesn't think the poor old chap had better be put into
a one of those institutions where those old chaps are
put, you know*"
But Dr* Perthwell gave no support to these hopes*
44 My dear Mackinder," he said, 44 I could not
possibly certify this Mr* Filminster* He is eccentric,
no doubt, and his temperament is much altered by his
illness, as any medical man would expect* But he has
no delusions and he is not dangerous to anybody* Even
if he were I should advise you to let him remain* So
far as I can see, in three days he must be dead* You do
not want to stuff him into an asylum just for those last
three days of his life*"
" Certainly not," said Mr* Mackinder* ' I had not
realised that the end was so near* Three days, I think
you said ? "
44 I may be wrong, but from my observations to-day
I should think three days would be the limit*"
But Mr* Filminster had no great belief in doctors*
He lived on for another two months, and by that time the
nerves of Mr* Mackinder, his daughter Elsa, and Nurse
Palkinshaw were framed and pulped* Most of the work
fell on them* The butler had already left on the grounds
that he had been engaged for a private house and not
for Bedlam* And Mr* Mackinder did not care to risk
losing any other of the upper servants* He and his
daughter and the nurse saw it through, relieving one
another at intervals* All Dr* Perthwell could say was
that he had never seen such a case before* He had never
112
BARRY PAIN
met with such extraordinary vitality. Any ordinary man
must have been dead long before.
Mr. Mackinder, his daughter, and the nurse used no
hypocrisy. They longed for Mr. Filminster's death.
As a concession to decency they said it would be a blessed
release for all concerned.
After luncheon Nurse Palkinshaw and Elsa Mackinder
were taking two hours off duty for the preservation of
their health and sanity. The nurse had had a fit of
hysterics of brief duration just before luncheon. Mr.
Mackinder remained on duty. From his study he could
easily hear Mr. Filminster's bell if he struck it. However,
Mr. Filminster was now asleep and Mr. Mackinder hoped
that, as usual, there would be nothing for him to do.
Requiring a postcard, he opened his desk, and he left it
open. And then he heard the whirr of the bell on the
table by Mr. Filminster's bedside. Almost immediately
it was repeated. Mr. Mackinder hurried upstairs.
He had hardly got inside the door when a slipper,
thrown with considerable force, struck him in the face,
the heel of the slipper barking his nose.
4 Why don't you pay attention ? " said Mr. Filminster.
* I want a whisky and soda. The doctors said I could
have anything I liked, didn't they? When you're on
duty you're jolly well on duty, and don't you forget it
another time or I might hop out of bed and twist your
blessed nose."
The more salient and picturesque adjectives have been
omitted or substitutes have been provided.
p That is hardly the way to speak to me," said Mr.
Mackinder. " And you've caused the bridge of my nose
to bleed. However, I will bring you what you require."
Mr. Mackinder went downstairs with blue murder in
his heart. He remembered the open desk and the cigarette-
box with the papers in it. Without hesitation he took a
5 lass and emptied into it a white powder and a blue powder,
n this he poured whisky and subsequently soda-water.
B.C. 113 H
A CONSIDERABLE MURDER
Mr. Filminster took the contents of the glass in one
draught, told Mr* Mackinder where he could go, and then
flung the glass after him, but fortunately missed* In two
minutes more Mr* Filminster was asleep again*
Downstairs Mr* Mackinder wrestled with his agonised
conscience* But as he summed up the question he could
not see that he had done much harm* There was not a
day when Mr* Filminster did not beg them to give him
something to put an end to it all* There was the best
medical opinion that he could only live for a few hours now*
The man was simply killing his daughter Elsa and Nurse
Palkinshaw and they were both absolute wrecks* On the
whole Mr* Mackinder decided he had acted wisely* He
then put a small strip of pink plaster across the bridge
of his nose*
He waited impatiently for the return of his daughter
and the nurse about an hour later* In reply to their
enquiries he said that he had taken up a whisky and soda
to Mr* Filminster and this was all there had been for
him to do*
He waited for them to go upstairs and to come down
quickly announcing that Filminster was dead*
They did not come down quickly* When they ap-
peared in the drawing-room Elsa rang for tea quite
casually and Nurse Palkinshaw said that Mr* Filminster
seemed stronger but was not in a good temper*
Mr* Mackinder reflected* Those drugs had been in
his desk for some time* Possibly they had now lost their
efficacy* He was in reality not sorry to think so*
On the following morning, as Mr* Mackinder sat at his
early breakfast at eight o'clock, Nurse Palkinshaw entered
the room*
44 Mr* Filminster is dead/' she said* " He seems to
have passed away in his sleep* I have telephoned to
Dr* Perthwell* But that is not all* I was tried beyond
human endurance* I have a confession to make to you*"
She made it*
114
BARRY PAIN
44 What am I to do ? " she cried despairingly.
14 Nothing whatever at present/' said Mr, Mackinder.
14 Leave things entirely in my hands. I will tell you more
after the funeral/'
And then, after the nurse had gone out, Elsa entered*
She helped herself to a poached egg and a cup of China
tea and then burst into tears and said she must confess all*
Her father heard the confession and gave his instructions*
t4 At present/' he said, 44 say nothing to anybody.
After the funeral we must decide what is the right and
moral thing to do/'
Dr. Perthwell had not the least hesitation in giving
a certificate that the death was due to natural causes,
and in due course the funeral took place. Afterwards, by
appointment, Dr. Perthwell attended Mr. Mackinder at
his house.
4 I think," said Mr. Mackinder, 44 by your certificate
you attribute poor Filminster's death to his illness."
" Of course I did. It was the truth. Why not ? '
'* I have your promise of secrecy ? I am speaking, so
to say, under the seal of the professional ? "
| Yes, yes."
4 Well, I may tell you that Filminster was murdered."
^Murdered?"
' Yes. What is more, he was murdered three times."
| Three times ? "
' Yes, and not only that. He also committed suicide/*
' I think you'd better give me the details of this extra-
ordinary story."
Mr. Mackinder then narrated how he himself had
murdered Filminster. He showed that his motives were
the best possible, and said nothing about the abrasion on
his nose.
14 And then," Mr. Mackinder continued, * 4 my daughter
and the nurse came back. My daughter is absolutely
devoted to Jessie Palkinshaw. She heard the language
that Mr. Filminster was using to his nurse and felt
"5
A CONSIDERABLE MURDER
absolutely unable to endure it* Unluckily, my desk was
still wide open on the study table* She emptied one of
each of the powders into the tea which was being taken
up to him/'
" Go on/' said Dr* PerthwelL " He was murdered
three times, you say/'
" And also committed suicide* I think the nurse did
what she did in a fit of temporary insanity caused by the
awful overstrain* In the evening she took up to his room
the cigarette-box containing the poisons and put the
powders into his last whisky and soda* I cannot under-
stand it, but she left that box on the table by his bedside*
There was also there a jug of water and a glass* In the
morning she found that the glass had been used and one
of the white papers and one of the blue lay on the table*
He had taken his own life*"
" I don't think so," said Dr* Perthwell cheerily*
' What's all this about white and blue papers ? '
" Surely you remember that you once told me that
there were two drugs you gave me the name of them
which were innocuous in themselves but would be fatal
in one hour if mixed together*"
'Well," said Dr* Perthwell, "you rather tempted
me, you know* You did like to have a sensational story,
didn't you ? As a matter of fact, those drugs are both of
them, singly or in conjunction, absolutely harmless*
Had it been otherwise, you can't suppose that any
conscientious medical man would have told you the
facts ! "
4 Why not?"
4 You promised me absolute secrecy, you know*"
' Yes," said Mr* Mackinder* ' I think there was
something said* As a matter of fact, I told nobody but
my own daughter, and the supposed poisons were very
frequently kept locked up*"
' Then how did the nurse know about it ? '
4 Well, the nurse is one of my daughter's most intimate
116
BARRY PAIN
friends and she promised Elsa that it shouldn't go any
further."
The doctor yawned*
'' 4 I see/' he said* 4 Well, I must be getting on.
I shouldn't let it worry me if I were you. I don't suppose
any one of the three was completely sane at the time."
That afternoon, I regret to say, Mr. Mackinder, his
daughter, and the nurse went to the Pictures.
117
THE TARN
BY HUGH WALPOLE
As Foster moved unconsciously across the room, bent
towards the bookcase, and stood leaning forward a little,
choosing now one book, now another, with his eye, his
host, seeing the muscles of the back of his thin, scraggy
neck stand out above his low flannel collar, thought of the
ease with which he could squeeze that throat, and the
pleasure, the triumphant, lustful pleasure, that such an
action would give him.
The low, white-walled, white-ceilinged room was
flooded with the mellow, kindly Lakeland sun. October
is a wonderful month in the English Lakes, golden, rich,
and perfumed, slow suns moving through apricot-tinted
skies to ruby evening glories ; the shadows lie then thick
about that beautiful country, in dark purple patches, in
long web-like patterns of silver gauze, in thick splotches
of amber and grey. The clouds pass in galleons across
the mountains, now veiling, now revealing, now descending
with ghost-like armies to the very breast of the plains,
suddenly rising to the softest of blue skies and lying thin
in Ia2y languorous colour.
Fenwick's cottage looked across to Low Fells ; on his
right, seen through side windows, sprawled the hills
above Ullswater.
Fenwick looked at Foster's back and felt suddenly sick,
so that he sat down, veiling his eyes for a moment with
118 '
THE TARN
his hand* Foster had come up there, come all the way
from London, to explain* It was so like Foster to want
to explain, to want to put things right* For how many
years had he known Foster? Why, for twenty at least,
and during all those years Foster had been for ever deter-
mined to put things right with everybody* He could
never bear to be disliked ; he hated that anyone should
think ill of him ; he wanted everyone to be his friend*
That was one reason, perhaps, why Foster had got on so
well, had prospered so in his career ; one reason, too,
why Fenwick had not*
For Fenwick was the opposite of Foster in this* He
did not want friends, he certainly did not care that people
should like him that is, people for whom, for one reason
or another, he had contempt and he had contempt for
quite a number of people*
Fenwick looked at that long, thin, bending back and
felt his knees tremble* Soon Foster would turn round
and t-hat high reedy voice would pipe out something about
the books* * What jolly books you have, Fenwick ! n
How many, many times in the long watches of the night,
when Fenwick could not sleep, had he heard that pipe
sounding close there yes, in the very shadows of his
bed ! And how many times had Fenwick replied to it :
f I hate you ! You are the cause of my failure in life !
You have been in my way always* Always, always,
always ! Patronising and pretending, and in truth showing
others what a poor thing you thought me, how great a
failure, how conceited a fool ! I know* You can hide
nothing from me ! I can hear you ! "
For twenty years now Foster had been persistently in
Fenwick's way* There had been that affair, so long ago
now, when Robins had wanted a sub-editor for his wonder-
ful review, the Parthenon, and Fenwick had gone to see
him and they had had a splendid talk* How magnificently
Fenwick had talked that day ; with what enthusiasm he
had shown Robins (who was blinded by his own conceit,
119
THE TARN
anyway) the kind of paper the Parthenon might be ; how
Robins had caught his own enthusiasm, how he had
pushed his fat body about the room, crying : " Yes, yes,
Fenwick that's fine ! That's fine indeed ! " and then
how, after all, Foster had got that job.
The paper had only lived for a year or so, it is true,
but the connection with it had brought Foster into
prominence just as it might have brought Fenwick !
Then, five years later, there was Fenwick's novel, " The
Bitter Aloe " the novel upon which he had spent three
years of blood- and-tears endeavour and then, in the very
same week of publication, Foster brings out " The Circus/'
the novel that made his name ; although, Heaven knows,
the thing was poor enough sentimental trash. You may
say that one novel cannot kill another but can it not?
Had not " The Circus " appeared would not that group of
London know-alls that conceited, limited, ignorant, self-
satisfied crowd, who nevertheless can do, by their talk,
so much to affect a book's good or evil fortunes have
talked about " The Bitter Aloe " and so forced it into
prominence? As it was, the book was still-born and
44 The Circus " went on its prancing, triumphant way*
After that there had been many occasions some small,
some big and always in one way or another that thin,
scraggy body of Foster's was interfering with Fenwick's
happiness*
The thing had become, of course, an obsession with
Fenwick* Hiding up there in the heart of the Lakes, with
no friends, almost no company, and very little money,
he was given too much to brooding over his failure* He
was a failure and it was not his own fault* How could it
be his own fault with his talents and his brilliance ? It
was the fault of modern life and its lack of culture, the
fault of the stupid material mess that made up the
intelligence of human beings and the fault of Foster*
Always Fenwick hoped that Foster would keep away
from him* He did not know what he would not do did
120
HUGH WALPOLE
he see the man* And then one day, to his amazement,
he received a telegram :
Passing through this way May I stop with you Monday
and Tuesday Giles Foster.
Fenwick could scarcely believe his eyes, and then
from curiosity, from cynical contempt, from some deeper,
more mysterious motive that he dared not analyse he
had telegraphed, " Come,"
And here the man was* And he had come would
you believe it ? to " put things right/' He had heard
from Hamlin Eddis that Fenwick was hurt with him,
had some kind of a grievance*
44 I didn't like to feel that, old man, and so I thought
Fd just stop by and have it out with you, see what the
matter was, and put it right*"
Last night after supper Foster had tried to put it right*
Eagerly, his eyes like a good dog's who is asking for a bone
that he knows he thoroughly deserves, he had held
out his hand and asked Fenwick to 44 say what was
up/'
Fenwick simply had said that nothing was up ; Hamlin
Eddis was a damned fool*
" Oh, I'm glad to hear that ! " Foster had cried,
springing up out of his chair and putting his hand on
Fenwick's shoulder* " I'm glad of that, old man* I
couldn't bear for us not to be friends* We've been friends
so long*"
Lord ! How Fenwick hated him at that moment !
II
4 What a jolly lot of books you have ! " Foster turned
round and looked at Fenwick with eager, gratified eyes*
14 Every book here is interesting ! I like your arrangement
121
THE TARN
of them, too, and those open bookshelves it always seems
to me a shame to shut up books behind glass ! "
Foster came forward and sat down quite close to his
host* He even reached forward and laid his hand on his
host's knee* " Look here ! I'm mentioning it for the
last time positively ! But I do want to make quite
certain* There is nothing wrong between us, is there,
old man ? I know you assured me last night, but I just
want "
Fenwick looked at him and, surveying him, felt
suddenly an exquisite pleasure of hatred* He liked the
touch of the man's hand on his knee ; he himself bent
rorward a little and, thinking how agreeable it would be
to push Foster's eyes in, deep, deep into his head, crunching
them, smashing them to purple, leaving the empty, staring,
bloody sockets, said :
44 Why, no* Of course not* I told you last night*
What could there be?"
The hand gripped the knee a little more tightly*
44 I am so glad ! That's splendid ! Splendid ! I hope
you won't think me ridiculous, but I've always had an
affection for you ever since I can remember* I've always
wanted to know you better* I've admired your talent
so greatly* That novel of yours the the the one
about the aloe "
" 4 The Bitter Aloe'?"
44 Ah, yes, that was it* That was a splendid book*
Pessimistic, of course, but still fine* It ought to have
done better* I remember thinking so at the time*"
4 Yes, it ought to have done better*"
44 Your time will come, though* What I say is that
good work always tells in the end*"
4 Yes, my time will come*"
The thin piping voice went on :
44 Now, I've had more success than I deserved* Oh
es, I have* You can't deny it* I'm not falsely modest*
mean it* I've got some talent, of course, but not so
HUGH WALPOLE
much as people say* And you ! Why, you've got so
much more than they acknowledge* You have, old man*
You have indeed* Only I do hope you'll forgive my
saying this perhaps you haven't advanced quite as you
might have done* Living up here* shut away here, closed
in by all these mountains, in this wet climate always
raining why, you're out of things ! You don't see
people, don't talk and discover what's really going on*
Why, look at me ! "
Fenwick turned round and looked at him*
14 Now, I have half the year in London, where one
gets the best of everything, best talk, best music, best
plays ; and then I'm three months abroad, Italy or Greece
or somewhere, and then three months in the country*
Now that's an ideal arrangement* You have everything
that way*"
Italy or Greece or somewhere !
Something turned in Fenwick's breast, grinding,
grinding, grinding* How he had longed, oh, how passion-
ately, for just one week in Greece, two days in Sicily !
Sometimes he had thought that he might run to it, but
when it had come to the actual counting of the pennies
* * * And how this fool, this fathead, this self-satisfied,
conceited, patronising * * *
He got up, looking out at the golden sun*
4 What do you say to a walk ? " he suggested* ' The
sun will last for a good hour yet*"
in
As soon as the words were out of his lips he felt as
though someone else had said them for him* He even
turned half-round to see whether anyone else were there*
Ever since Foster's arrival on the evening before he had
been conscious of this sensation* A walk ? Why should
he take Foster for a walk, show him his beloved country,
point out those curves and lines and hollows, the broad
123
THE TARN
silver shield of Ullswater, the cloudy purple hills
hunched like blankets about the knees of some recumbent
giant? Why? It was as though he had turned round
to someone behind him and had said : " You have some
further design in this/'
They started out* The road sank abruptly to the
lake, then the path ran between trees at the water's edge*
Across the lake tones of bright yellow light, crocus-hued,
rode upon the blue* The hills were dark*
The very way that Foster walked bespoke the man*
He was always a little ahead of you, pushing his long,
thin body along with little eager jerks, as though, did he
not hurry, he would miss something that would be im-
mensely to his advantage* He talked, throwing words
over his shoulder to Fenwick as you throw crumbs of
bread to a robin*
" Of course I was pleased* Who would not be ?
After all, it's a new prize* They've only been awarding it
for a year or two, but it's gratifying really gratifying
to secure it* When I opened the envelope and found the
cheque there well, you could have knocked me down
with a feather* You could, indeed* Of course, a hundred
pounds isn't much* But it's the honour "
Whither were they going? Their destiny was as
certain as though they had no free-will* Free-will?
There is no free-will* All is Fate* Fenwick suddenly
laughed aloud*
Foster stopped*
"Why, what is it?"
"What's what?"
4 You laughed*"
" Something amused me*"
Foster slipped his arm through Fenwick's*
''* It is jolly to be walking along together like this, arm
in arm, friends* I'm a sentimental man* I won't deny
it* What I say is that life is short and one must love one's
fellow-beings, or where is one ? You live too much alone,
124
HUGH WALPOLE
old man/' He squeezed Fenwick's arm. " That's the
truth of it/'
It was torture, exquisite, heavenly torture. It was
wonderful to feel that thin, bony arm pressing against his.
Almost you could hear the beating of that other heart.
Wonderful to feel that arm and the temptation to take it
in your hands and to bend it and twist it and then to hear
the bones crack . . . crack . . . crack. . . . Wonderful
to feel that temptation rise through one's body like boiling
water and yet not to yield to it. For a moment Fenwick's
hand touched Foster's. Then he drew himself apart.
44 We're at the village. This is the hotel where they
all come in the summer. We turn off at the right here.
I'll show you my tarn."
IV
' Your tarn ? " asked Foster. " Forgive my ignorance,
but what is a tarn exactly ? "
44 A tarn is a miniature lake, a pool of water lying in
the lap of the hill. Very quiet, lovely, silent. Some of
them are immensely deep."
' I should like to see that."
44 It is some little distance up a rough road. Do you
mind?"
u Not a bit. I have long legs."
" Some of them are immensely deep unfathomable
nobody touched the bottom but quiet, like glass, with
shadows only "
14 Do you know, Fenwick, I have always been
afraid of water I've never learnt to swim. I'm afraid
to go out of my depth. Isn't that ridiculous ? But it is
all because at my private school, years ago, when I was a
small boy, some big fellows took me and held me with
my head under the water and nearly drowned me. They
did indeed. They went farther than they meant to.
I can see their faces."
125
THE TARN
Fenwick considered this. The picture leapt to his
mind. He could see the boys large strong fellows, prob-
ably and this skinny thing like a frog, their thick hands
about his throat, his legs like grey sticks kicking out of
the water, their laughter, their sudden sense that some-
thing was wrong, the skinny body all flaccid and still
He drew a deep breath.
Foster was walking beside him now, not ahead of him,
as though he were a little afraid and needed reassurance.
Indeed, the scene had changed. Before and behind them
stretched the uphill path, loose with shale and stones.
On their right, on a ridge at the foot of the hill, were some
quarries, almost deserted, but the more melancholy in
trw fading afternoon because a little work still continued
there; faint sounds came from the gaunt listening chimneys,
a stream of water ran and tumbled angrily into a pool
below, once and again a black silhouette, like a question-
mark, appeared against the darkening hill.
It was a little steep here and Foster puffed and blew.
Fenwick hated him the more for that. So thin and
spare, and still he could not keep in condition ! They
stumbled, keeping below the quarry, on the edge of the
running water, now green, now a dirty white-grey, pushing
their way along the side of the hill.
Their faces were set now towards Helvellyn. It
rounded the cup of hills closing in the base and then
sprawling to the right.
44 There's the tarn ! " Fenwick exclaimed and then
added, 44 The sun's not lasting as long as I had expected.
It's growing dark already."
Foster stumbled and caught Fenwick's arm.
44 This twilight makes the hills look strange like living
men. I can scarcely see my way."
4 We're alone here," Fenwick answered. " Don't
you feel the stillness? The men will have left
the quarry now and gone home. There is no one in
all this place but ourselves. If you watch you will see a
136
HUGH WALPOLE
strange green light steal down over the hills. It lasts
for but a moment and then it is dark.
44 Ah, here is my tarn* Do you know how I love this
place, Foster ? It seems to belong especially to me, just
as much as all your work and your glory and fame and
success seem to belong to you. I have this and you have
that. Perhaps in the end we are even, after all. Yes. . . ,
44 But I feel as though that piece of water belonged to
me and I to it, and as though we should never be separated
yes. . . . Isn't it black ?
' 4 It is one of the deep ones. No one has ever sounded it.
Only Helvellyn knows, and one day I fancy that it will take
me, too, into its confidence, will whisper its secrets "
Foster sneezed.
44 Very nice. Very beautiful, Fenwick. I like your
tarn. Charming. And now let's turn back. That is a
difficult walk beneath the quarry. It's chilly, too."
14 Do you see that little jetty there ? " Fenwick led
Foster by the arm. " Someone built that out into the
water. He had a boat there, I suppose. Come and look
down. From the end of the little jetty it looks so deep
and the mountains seem to close round."
Fenwick took Foster's arm and led him to the end of
the jetty. Indeed, the water looked deep here. Deep and
very black. Foster peered down, then he looked up at
the hills that did indeed seem to have gathered close around
him. He sneezed again.
" I've caught a cold, I am afraid. Let's turn home-
wards, Fenwick, or we shall never find our way."
14 Home then," said Fenwick, and his hands closed
about the thin, scraggy neck. For the instant the head
half turned, and two startled, strangely childish eyes
stared ; then, with a push that was ludicrously simple,
the body was impelled forward, there was a sharp cry,
a splash, a stir of something white against the swiftly
gathering dusk, again and then again, then far-spreading
ripples, then silence.
127
THE TARN
The silence extended. Having enwrapped the tarn
it spread as though with finger on lip to the already
quiescent hills, Fenwick shared in the silence. He
luxuriated in it. He did not move at all. He stood there
looking upon the inky water of the tarn, his arms folded,
a man lost in intensest thought. But he was not thinking.
He was only conscious of a warm, luxurious relief, a
sensuous feeling that was not thought at all.
Foster was gone that tiresome, prating, conceited,
self-satisfied fool ! Gone, never to return. The tarn
assured him of that. It stared back into Fenwick's face
approvingly as though it said : " You have done well
a clean and necessary job. We have done it together,
you and I. I am proud of you."
He was proud of himself. At last he had done
something definite with his life. Thought, eager, active
thought, was beginning now to flood his brain. For all
these years he had hung around in this place doing nothing
but cherish grievances, weak, backboneless now at last
there was action. He drew himself up and looked at
the hills. He was proud and he was cold. He was
shivering. He turned up the collar of his coat. Yes,
there was that faint green light that always lingered in
the shadows of the hills for a brief moment before darkness
came. It was growing late. He had better return.
Shivering now so that his teeth chattered, he started
off down the path, and then was aware that he did not
wish to leave the tarn. The tarn was friendly the only
friend he had in all the world. As he stumbled along in
the dark this sense of loneliness grew. He was going home
to an empty house. There had been a guest in it last
night. Who was it ? Why, Foster, of course Foster
with his silly laugh and amiable, mediocre eyes. Well,
Foster would not be there now. No, he never would be
there again.
128
HUGH WALPOLE
And suddenly Fenwick started to run. He did not
know why, except that, now that he had left the tarn, he
was lonely* He wished that he could have stayed there
all night, but because it was cold he could not, and so
now he was running so that he might be at home with the
lights and the familiar furniture and all the things that
he knew to reassure him*
As he ran the shale and stones scattered beneath his feet*
They made a tit-tattering noise under him, and someone
else seemed to be running too. He stopped, and the
other runner also stopped* He breathed in the silence.
He was hot now* The perspiration was trickling down
his cheeks* He could feel a dribble of it down his back
inside his shirt* His knees were pounding* His heart
was thumping* And all around him the hills were so
amazingly silent, now like india-rubber clouds that you
could push in or pull out as you do those india-rubber
faces, grey against the night sky of a crystal purple, upon
whose surface, like the twinkling eyes of boats at sea,
stars were now appearing*
His knees steadied, his heart beat less fiercely, and he
began to run again* Suddenly he had turned the corner
and was out at the hotel* Its lamps were kindly and
reassuring* He walked then quietly along the lake-side
path, and had it not been for the certainty that someone
was treading behind him he would have been comfortable
and at his ease* He stopped once or twice and looked
back, and once he stopped and called out, " Who's there ? '
Only the rustling trees answered*
He had the strangest fancy, but his brain was throbbing
so fiercely that he could not think, that it was the tarn
that was following him, the tarn slipping, sliding along
the road, being with him so that he should not be lonely*
He could almost hear the tarn whisper in his ear : * 4 We
did that together, and so I dp not wish you to bear all the
responsibility yourself* I will stay with you, so that you
are not lonely*"
B.C. 129 i
THE TARN
He climbed down the road towards home, and there
were the lights of his house* He heard the gate click
behind him as though it were shutting him in. He went
into the sitting-room, lighted and ready. There were the
books that Foster had admired.
The old woman who looked after him appeared.
4 Will you be having some tea, sir ? '
44 No, thank you, Annie/'
44 Will the other gentleman be wanting any ? "
4 No ; the other gentleman is away for the night/'
' Then there will be only one for supper ? "
44 Yes, only one for supper/'
He sat in the corner of the sofa and fell instantly into
a deep slumber.
VI
He woke when the old woman tapped him on the
shoulder and told him that supper was served. The
room was dark save for the jumping light of two uncertain
candles. Those two red candlesticks how he hated
them up there on the mantelpiece ! He had always hated
them, and now they seemed to him to have something of
the quality of Foster's voice that thin, reedy, piping tone.
He was expecting at every moment that Foster would
enter, and yet he knew that he would not. He continued
to turn his head towards the door, but it was so dark there
that you could not see. The whole room was dark except
just there by the fireplace, where the two candlesticks
went whining with their miserable twinkling plaint.
He went into the dining-room and sat down to his
meal. But he could not eat anything. It was odd that
place by the table where Foster's chair should be. Odd,
naked, and made a man feel lonely.
He got up once from the table and went to the window,
opened it and looked out. He listened for something.
130
HUGH WALPOLE
A trickle as of running water, a stir, through the silence,
as though some deep pool were filling to the brim* A rustle
in the trees, perhaps. An owl hooted. Sharply, as
though someone had spoken to him unexpectedly behind
his shoulder, he closed the window and looked back,
peering under his dark eyebrows into the room.
Later on he went up to bed.
VII
Had he been sleeping, or had he been lying lazily, as
one does, half-doling, half-luxuriously not-thinking?
He was wide awake now, utterly awake, and his heart was
beating with apprehension. It was as though someone
had called him by name. He slept always with his
window a little open and the blind up. To-night the
moonlight shadowed in sickly fashion the objects in his
room. It was not a flood of light nor yet a sharp splash,
silvering a square, a circle, throwing the rest into ebony
darkness. The light was dim, a little green, perhaps,
like the shadow that comes over the hills just before
dark,
He stared at the window, and it seemed to him that
something moved there. Within, or rather against the
green-grey light, something silver-tinted glistened. Fen-
wick stared. It had the look, exactly, of slipping
water.
Slipping water! He listened, his head up, and it
seemed to him that from beyond the window he caught
the stir of water, not running, but rather welling up and
up, gurgling with satisfaction as it filled and filled,
He sat up higher in bed, and then saw that down the
wallpaper beneath the window water was undoubtedly
trickling. He could see it lurch to the projecting wood
of the sill, pause, and then slip, slither down the incline.
The odd thing was that it fell so silently.
THE TARN
Beyond the window there was that odd gurgle, but
in the room itself absolute silence* Whence could it
come? He saw the line of silver rise and fall as the
stream on the window-ledge ebbed and flowed*
He must get up and close the window* He drew his
legs above the sheets and blankets and looked down*
He shrieked* The floor was covered with a shining
film of water* It was rising* As he looked it had covered
half the short stumpy legs of the bed* It rose without
a wink* a bubble, a break ! Over the sill it poured now
in a steady flow, but soundless* Fenwick sat up in the
bed, the clothes gathered up to his chin, his eyes blinking,
the Adam's apple throbbing like a throttle in his
throat*
But he must do something, he must stop this* The
water was now level with the seats of the chairs, but
still was soundless* Could he but reach the door !
He put down his naked foot, then cried again* The
water was icy cold* Suddenly, leaning, staring at its dark,
unbroken sheen, something seemed to push him forward*
He fell* His head, his face was under the icy liquid ;
it seemed adhesive and, in the heart of its ice, hot like
melting wax* He struggled to his feet* The water was
breast-high* He streamed again and again* He could
see the looking-glass, the row of books, the picture of
Diirer's " Horse," aloof, impervious* He beat at the
water, and flakes of it seemed to cling to him like scales
of fish, clammy to his touch* He struggled, ploughing
his way towards the door*
The water now was at his neck* Then something had
caught him by the ankle* Something held him* He
struggled, crying: " Let me go ! Let me go ! I tell you
to let me go ! I hate you 1 I hate you ! I will not come
down to you ! I will not "
The water covered his mouth* He felt that someone
pushed in his eyeballs with bare knuckles* A cold hand
reached up and caught his naked thigh*
132
HUGH WALPOLE
VIII
In the morning the little maid knocked and, receiving
no answer, came in, as was her wont, with his shaving-
water* What she saw made her scream* She ran for
the gardener*
They took the body with its staring, protruding eyes,
its tongue sticking out between the clenched teeth, and
laid it on the bed*
The only sign of disorder was an overturned water-jug*
A small pool of water stained the carpet*
It was a lovely morning* A twig of ivy idly, in the
little breeze, tapped the pane*
133
THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY
BY ARTHUR MACHEN,
THE public taste in murders is often erratic, and sometimes,
I think, fallible enough. Take, for example, that Crippen
business. It happened seventeen years ago, and it is
still freshly remembered and discussed with interest.
Yet it was by no means a murder of the first rank. What
was there in it ? The outline is crude enough ; simple,
easy, and disgusting, as Dr, Johnson observed of another
work of art, Crippen was cursed with a nagging wife of
unpleasant habits ; and he cherished a passion for his
typist. Whereupon, he poisoned Mrs, Crippen, cut her
up and buried the pieces in the coal-cellar. This was
well enough, though elementary ; and if the foolish little
man had been content to lie quiet and do nothing, he
might have lived and died peaceably. But he must needs
disappear from his house the action of a fool and cross
the Atlantic with his typist absurdly and obviously dis-
guised as a boy : sheer, bungling imbecility. Here,
surely, there is no single trace of the master's hand ; and
yet, as I say, the Crippen Murder is reckoned amongst
the masterpieces. It is the same tale in all the arts : the
low comedian was always sure of a laugh if he cared to
tumble over a pin ; and the weakest murderer is sure of
a certain amount of respectful attention if he will take
the trouble to dismember his subject. And then, with
134
ARTHUR MACHEN
respect to Crippen : he was caught by means of the
wireless device, then in its early stages. This, of course,
was utterly irrelevant to the true issue ; but the public
wallows in irrelevance* A great art critic may praise a
great picture, and make his criticism a masterpiece in
itself* He will be unread ; but let some asinine para-
graphist say that the painter always sings " Tom Bowling"
as he sets his palette, and dines on boiled fowl and apricot
sauce three times a week then the world will proclaim
the artist great.
ii
The success of the second-rate is deplorable in itself ;
but it is more deplorable in that it very often obscures
the genuine masterpiece* If the crowd runs after the
false, it must neglect the true* The intolerable " Romola"
is praised ; the admirable " Cloister and the Hearth " is
waived aside* So, while the very indifferent and clumsy
performance of Crippen filled the papers, the extraordinary
Battersea Murder was served with a scanty paragraph or
two in obscure corners of the Press* Indeed, we were
so shamefully starved of detail, that I only retain a bare
outline of this superb crime in my memory ; but, roughly,
the affair was shaped as follows : In the first floor of one
of the smaller sets of flats in Battersea a young fellow
(? 1 8 20) was talking to an actress, a " touring " actress of
no particular fame, whose age, if I recollect, was drawing
on from thirty to forty* A shot, a near shot, broke in
suddenly on their talk* The young man dashed out of
the flat, down the stairs, and there, in the entry of the
flats, found his own father, shot dead* The father, it
should be remarked, was a touring actor, and an old
friend of the lady upstairs* But here comes the magistral
element in this murder* Beside the dead man, or in the
hand of the dead man, or in a pocket of the dead man's
135
THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY
coat I am not sure how it was there was found a
weapon made of heavy wire a vile and most deadly
contraption, fashioned with curious and malignant in-
genuity* It was night-time, but the bright light of a
moon ten days old was shining, and the young man said
he saw someone running and leaping over walls* But
mark the point : the dead actor was hiding beneath his
friend's flat, hiding and lying in wait, with his villainous
weapon to his hand* He was expecting an encounter
with some enemy, on whom he was resolved to work at
least deadly mischief, if not murder*
Who was that enemy ? Whose bullet was it that was
swifter than the dead man's savage and premeditated
desire ?
We shall probably never know* A murder that might
have stood in the very first rank, that might have vied with
the affair of Madeleine Smith there were certain indica-
tions that made this seem possible was suffered to fade
into obscurity, while the foolish crowd surged about
elementary Crippen and his bungling imbecilities* So
there were once people who considered " Robert Elsmere "
as a literary work of palmary significance*
in
Naturally, and with some excuse, the war was re-
sponsible for a good deal of this sort of neglect* In
those appalling years there was but one thing in men's
heads ; all else was blotted out* So, little attention was
paid to the affair of the woman's body, carefully wrapped
in sacking, which was found in Regent's Square, by
the Gray's Inn Road* A man was hanged without phrases,
but there were one or two curious points in the case*
Then, again, there was the Wimbledon Murder, a singular
business* A well-to-do family had just moved into a big
house facing the Common, so recently that many of its
goods and chattels were still in the packing-cases* The
ARTHUR MACHEN
master of the house was murdered one night by a man who
made off with his booty. It was a curious haul, consisting
of a mackintosh worth, perhaps, a couple of pounds, and a
watch which would have been dear at ten shillings. This
murderer, too, was hanged without comment ; and yet, on
the face of it, his conduct seems in need of explanation.
But the most singular case of all those that suffered from
the preoccupations of the war was, there is no doubt, the
Islington Mystery, as the Press called it. It was a striking
headline, but the world was too busy to attend. The
affair got abroad, so far as it did get abroad, about the
time of the first employment of the tanks ; and people
were trying not to see through the war correspondents,
not to perceive that the inky fandangoes and corroborees
of these gentlemen hid a sense of failure and disappoint-
ment.
IV
But as to the Islington Mystery this is how it fell
out. There is an odd street, not far from the region which
was once called Spa Fields, not far from the Pentonville
or Islington Fields, where Grimaldi, the clown, was once
accused of inciting the mob to chase an over-driven ox.
It goes up a steep hill, and the rare adventurer who pierces
now and then into this unknown quarter of London is
amazed and bewildered at the very outset, since there are
no steep hills in the London of his knowledge, and the
contours of the scene remind him of the cheap lodging-
house area at the back of hilly seaside resorts. But if
the site is strange, the buildings on it are far stranger.
They were no doubt set up at the high tide of Sir Walter
Scott Gothic, which has left such queer memorials behind
it. The houses of Lloyd Street are in couples, and the
architect, combining the two into one design, desired to
create an illusion of a succession of churches, in the
Perpendicular or Third Pointed manner, climbing up
137
THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY
the hilL The detail is rich, there are finials to rejoice
the heart, and gargoyles of fine fantasy, all carried out
in the purest stucco* At the lowest house on the right-
hand side lived Mr* Harold Boale and his wife, and a
brass plate on the Gothic door said, " Taxidermist :
Skeletons Articulated/' As it chanced, this lowest house
of Lloyd Street has a longer garden than its fellows,
giving on a contractor's yard, and at the end of the garden
Mr* Boale had set up the apparatus of his craft in an
outhouse, away from the noses of his fellow-men*
So far as can be gathered, the stuffer and articulator
was a harmless and inoffensive little fellow* His neigh-
bours liked him, and he and the Boule cabinet-maker
from next door, the Shell box-maker over the way, the
seal engraver and the armourer from Baker Square at
the top of the hill, and the old mercantile marine skipper
who lived round the corner in Marchmont Street, at the
house with the ivory junk in the window, used to spend
many a genial evening together in the parlour of the Quill
in the days before everything was spoilt by the war*
They did not drink very much or talk very much, any of
them ; but they enjoyed their moderate cups and the
snug comfort of the place, and stared solemnly at the old
coaching prints that were upon the walls, and at the
large glass painting depicting the landing of England's
Injured Queen, which hung over the mantelpiece, between
two Pink Dogs with gold collars* Mr* Boale passed as
a very nice sort of man in this circle, and everybody was
sorry for him* Mrs* Boale was a tartar and a scold* The
men of the quarter kept out of her way ; the women
were afraid of her* She led poor Boale the devil's own
life* Her voice, often enough, would be heard at the
Quill door, vomiting venom at her husband's address ;
and he, poor man, would tremble and go forth, lest some
worse thing might happen* Mrs* Boale was a short dark
woman* Her hair was coal black, her face wore an
expression of acid malignity, and she walked quickly but
ARTHUR MACHEN
with a decided limp* She was full of energy and the pest
of the neighbourhood, and more than a pest to her husband*
The war, with its scarcity and its severe closing hours,
made the meetings at the Quill rarer than before, and
deprived them of a good deal of their old comfort* Still,
the circle was not wholly broken up, and one evening
Boale announced that his wife had gone to visit relations
in Lancashire, and would most likely be away for a
considerable time*
4 Well, there's nothing like a change of air, so they
say/' said the skipper, " though I've had more than
enough of it myself *"
The others said nothing, but congratulated Boale in
their hearts* One of them remarked afterwards that
the only change that would do Mrs* Boale good was a
change to Kingdom Come, and they all agreed* They
were not aware that Mrs* Boale was enjoying the advan-
tages of the recommended treatment*
As I recollect, Mr* Boale's worries began with the
appearance of Mrs* Boale's sister, Mary Aspinall, a woman
almost as ill-tempered and malignant as Mrs* Boale
herself* She had been for some years nurse with a
family in Capetown, and had come home with her mistress*
In the first place, the woman had written two or three
letters to her sister, and there had been no reply* This
struck her as odd, for Mrs* Boale had been a very good
correspondent, filling her letters with " nasty things "
about her husband* So, on her first afternoon off after
her return, Mary Aspinall called at the house in Lloyd
Street to get the truth of the matter from her sister's own
lips* She strongly suspected Boale of having suppressed
her letters* ' The dirty little tike ; Fll serve him/' she
said to herself* So came Miss Aspinall to Lloyd Street
and brought out Boale from his workshop* And when he
139
THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY
saw her his heart sank. He had read her letters. But
the decision to return to England had been taken suddenly ;
Miss Aspinall had, therefore, said not a word about it*
Boale had thought of his wife's sister as established at
the other end of the world for the next ten, twenty years,
perhaps ; and he meant to go away and lose himself
under a new name in a year or two. And so, when he
saw the woman, his heart sank.
Mary Aspinall went straight to the point.
44 Where's Elisabeth ? " she asked. "Upstairs? I
wonder she didn't come down when she heard the
bell."
" No/' said Boale. He comforted himself with the
thought of the curious labyrinth he had drawn about his
secret ; he felt secure in the centre of it.
14 No, she's not upstairs. She's not in the house."
" Oh, indeed. Not in the house. Gone to see some
friends, I suppose. When do you expect her back ? ' V
44 The truth is, Mary, that I don't expect her back.
She's left me three months ago, it is."
4 You mean to tell me that ! Left you ! Showed
her sense, I think. Where has she gone ? "
* Upon my word, Mary, I don't know. We had a
bit of a to-do one evening, though I don't think I said much.
But she said she'd had enough, and she packed a few
things in a bag, and off she went. I ran after her and
called to her to come back, but she wouldn't so much as
turn her head, and went off King's Cross way. And
from that day to this I've never seen her, nor had a
word from her. I've had to send all her letters back to
the post-office."
Mary Aspinall stared hard at her brother-in-law and
pondered. Beyond telling him that he had brought it
on himself, there seemed nothing to say. So she dealt
with Boale on those lines very thoroughly, and made an
indignant exit from the parlour. He went back to stuff
peacocks, for all I know. He was feeling comfortable
140
ARTHUR MACHEN
again* There had been a very unpleasant sensation in
the stomach for a few seconds a very horrible fear at
the moment that one of the outer walls of that labyrinth
of his had been breached ; but now all was well again.
And all might have been permanently well if Miss
Aspinall had not happened to meet Mrs* Horridge in
the main road, close to the bottom of Lloyd Street* Mrs*
Horridge was the wife of the Shell box-maker* and the
two had met once or twice long ago at Mrs* Boale's tea-
table* They recognised each other* and after a few un-
meaning remarks, Mrs* Horridge asked Miss Aspinall if
she had seen her sister since her return to England*
44 How could I see her when I don't know where
she is ? " asked Miss Aspinall with some ferocity*
" Dear me ! you haven't seen Mr* Boale, then ? ' :
' 4 Fve just come from him this minute*"
44 But he can't have lost the Lancashire address,
surely?"
And so one thing led to another, and Mary Aspinall
gathered quite clearly that Boale had told his friends that
his wife was paying a long visit to relations in Lancashire*
In the first place the Aspinalls had no relations in Lanca-
shire they came from Suffolk and secondly Boale had
informed her that Elizabeth had gone away in a rage, he
knew not where* She did not pay him another visit then
and there, as she had at first intended. It was growing
late, and she took her considerations back with her to
Wimbledon, determined on thinking the matter out*
Next week she called again at Lloyd Street* She
charged Boale with deliberate lying, placing frankly
before him the two tales he had told* Again that horrid
sinking sensation lay heavy upon Boale. But he had
reserves*
14 Indeed," he said, " I've told you no lies, Mary*
It all happened just as I said before* But I did make up
that tale about Lancashire for the people about here* I
didn't like them to have my troubles to talk over, especially
141
THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY
as Elizabeth is bound to come back some time, and I hope
it will be soon/'
Miss Aspinall stared at the little man in a doubtful,
threatening fashion for a moment, and then hurried
upstairs* She came down soon afterwards*
44 I've gone through Elizabeth's drawers/' she said,
with defiance* 44 There's a good many things missing*
I don't see those bits of lace she had from Granny, and
the set of jet is gone, and so is the garnet necklace,
and the coral brooch* I couldn't find the ivory fan,
either*"
44 I found all the drawers wide open after she'd gone,"
sighed Mr* Boale* 44 I supposed she'd taken the things
away with her*"
It must be confessed that Mr* Boale, taught, perhaps,
by the nicety of his craft, had paid every attention to detail*
He had realised that it would be vain to tell a tale of his
wife going away and leaving her treasures behind her*
And so the treasures had disappeared*
Really, the Aspinall vixen did not know what to say*
She had to confess that Boale had explained the difficulty
of his two stories quite plausibly* So she informed him
that he was more like a worm than a man, and banged the
hall door* Again Boale went back to his workshop with
a warmth about his heart* His labyrinth was still secure,
its secret safe* At first, when confronted again by the
accusing Aspinall, he had thought of bolting the moment
he got the woman out of the house ; but that was unrea-
soning panic* He was in no danger* And he remem-
bered, like the rest of us, the Crippen case* It was running
away that had brought Crippen to ruin ; if he had sat
tight he would have sat secure, and the secret of the
cellar would never have been known* Though, as Mr*
Boale reflected, anybody was welcome to search his
cellar, to search here and there and anywhere on his
premises, from the hall door in front to the workshop
at the back* And he proceeded to give his calm, whole-
ARTHUR MACHEN
souled attention to a fine raven that had been sent round
in the morning.
Miss Aspinall took the extraordinary disappearance of
her sister back with her to Wimbledon and thought it
over* She thought it over again and again, and she could
make nothing of it* She did not know that people are
constantly disappearing for all sorts of reasons ; that
nobody hears anything about such cases unless some
enterprising paper sees matter for a " stunt/* and rouses
all England to hunt for John Jones or Mrs* Carraway*
To Miss Aspinall, the vanishing of Elizabeth Boale seemed
a portent and a wonder, a unique and terrible event ; and
she puzzled her head over it, and still could find no exit
from her labyrinth a different structure from the laby-
rinth maintained by the serene Boale* The Aspinall had
no suspicions of her brother-in-law ; both his manner
and his matter were straightforward, clear, and square*
He was a worm, as she had informed him, but he was
certainly telling the truth* But the woman was fond of
her sister, and wanted to know where she had gone and
what had happened to her ; and so she put the matter
into the hands of the police*
VI
She furnished the best description that she could of
the missing woman, but the officer in charge of the case
pointed out that she had not seen her sister for many
years, and that Mr* Boale was, obviously, the person to
be consulted in the matter* So the taxidermist was again
drawn from his scientific labours* He was shown the
information laid by Miss Aspinall and the description
furnished by her* He told his simple story once more,
mentioning the incident of his lying to his neighbours
to avoid unpleasant gossip, and added several details to
Miss Aspinall's picture of his wife* He then furnished
143
THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY
the constable with two photographs, pointed out the
better likeness of the two, and saw his visitor off the
premises with cheerful calm*
In due course, the " Missing " bill, garnished with a
reproduction of the photograph selected by Mr. Boale,
with minute descriptive details, including the " marked
limp/' was posted up at the police-stations all over the
country, and glanced at casually by a few passers-by here
and there. There was nothing sensational about the
placard ; and the statement, " Last seen going in the
direction of King's Cross/' was not a very promising
clue for the amateur detective. No hint of the matter
got into the Press ; as I have pointed out, hardly one per
cent, of these cases of " missing " does get into the Press.
And just then we were all occupied in reading the paeans
of the war correspondents, who were proving that an
advance of a mile and a half on a nine-mile front con-
stituted a victory which threw Waterloo into the shade.
There was no room for discussing the whereabouts of an
obscure woman whom Islington knew no more.
It was sheer accident that brought about the
catastrophe. James Curry, a medical student who had
rooms in Percy Street, Tottenham Court Road, was
prowling about his quarter one afternoon in an indefinite
and idle manner, gating at shop windows and mooning at
street corners. He knew that he would never want a
cash register, but he inspected the stock with the closest
attention, and chose a fine specimen listed at 75. Again,
he invested heavily in costly Oriental rugs, and furnished
a town mansion in the Sheraton manner at very consider-
able expense. And so his tour of inspection brought
him to the police-station ; and there he proceeded to read
the bills posted outside, including the bill relating to
Elisabeth Boale.
4 Walks with a marked limp."
James Curry felt his breath go out of his body in a
swift gasp. He put out a hand towards the railing to
144
ARTHUR MACHEN
steady himself as he read that amazing sentence over again*
And then he walked straight into the police-station*
The fact was that he had bought from Harold Boale,
three weeks after the date on which Elisabeth Boale was
last seen, a female skeleton* He had got it comparatively
cheaply* because of the malformation of one of the thigh
bones* And now it struck him that the late owner of
that thigh-bone must have walked with a very marked
limp*
VII
M'Aulay made his reputation at the trial* He de-
fended Harold Boale with magnificent audacity* I was
in court it was a considerable part of my business in
those days to frequent the Old Bailey and I shall never
forget the opening phrases of his speech for the prisoner*
He rose slowly, and let his glance go slowly round the court*
His eyes rested at last with grave solemnity on the jury*
At length he spoke* in a low* clear* deliberate voice,
weighing* as it seemed, every word he uttered*
14 Gentlemen/' he began, " a very great man, and
a very wise man, and a very good man once said that
probability is the guide of life* I think you will agree
with me that this is a weighty utterance* When we once
leave the domain of pure mathematics, there is very
little that is certain* Supposing we have money to invest :
we weigh the pros and cons of this scheme and that,
and decide at last on probable grounds* Or it may be
our lot to have to make an appointment ; we have to
choose a man to fill a responsible position, in which both
honesty and sagacity are of the first consequence* Again
probability must guide us to a decision* No one man
can form a certain and infallible judgment of another*
And so through all the affairs of life : we must be content
with probability, and again and again with probability*
Bishop Butler was right*
B.C. 145 K
THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY
" But every rule has its exception. The rule which
we have just laid down has its exception* That exception
confronts you terribly, tremendously, at this very moment*
You may think I do not say that you do think but you
may think that Harold Boale, the prisoner at the bar,
in all probability murdered his wife, Elisabeth Boale*"
There was a long pause at this point* Then :
" // you think that, then it is your imperative duty to
acquit the prisoner at the bar* The only verdict which
you dare give is a verdict of 4 Not Guilty*' '
Up to this moment, Counsel had maintained the low,
deliberate utterance with which he had begun his speech,
Eausing now and again and seeming to consider within
imself the precise value of every word that came to his
lips* Suddenly his voice rang out, resonant, piercing*
One word followed swiftly on another :
" This, remember, is not a court of probability*
Bishop Butler's maxim does not apply here* Here there
is no place for probability* This is a court of certainty*
And unless you are certain that my client is guilty, unless
you are as certain of his guilt as you are certain that two
and two make four, then you must acquit him*
" Again, and yet again this is a court of certainty*
In the ordinary affairs of life, as we have seen, we are
guided by probability* We sometimes make mistakes ;
in most cases these mistakes may be rectified* A disas-
trous investment may be counter-balanced by a pros-
perous investment ; a bad servant may be replaced by a
good one* But in this place, where life and death hang
in the balances which are in your hands, there is no room
for mistakes, since here mistakes are irreparable* You
cannot bring a dead man back to life* You must not say,
4 This man is probably a murderer, and therefore he is
guilty*' Before you bring in such a verdict, you must
be able to say, 4 This man is certainly a murderer*' And
that you cannot say, and I will tell you why*"
M'Aulay then took the evidence piece by piece*
146
ARTHUR MACHEN
Scientific witnesses had declared that the malformation
of the thigh-bone in the skeleton exhibited would produce
exactly the sort of limp which had characterised Elizabeth
Boale* Counsel for the defence had worried the doctors,
had made them admit that such a malformation was by
no means unique* It was uncommon. Yes, but not
very uncommon? Perhaps not* Finally, one doctor
admitted that in the course of thirty years of hospital
and private practice he had known of five such cases of
malformation of the thigh-bone* M'Aulay gave an in-
audible sigh of relief ; he felt that he had got his verdict*
He made all this quite clear to the jury* He dwelt
on the principle that no one can be condemned unless
the corpus delicti, the body, or some identifiable portion
of the body of the murdered person can be produced*
He told them the story of the Campden Wonder ; how
the " murdered " man walked into his village two years
after three people had been hanged for murdering him*
14 Gentlemen/' he said, " for all I know, and for all you
know, Elizabeth Boale may walk into this court at any
moment* I say boldly that we have no earthly right to
assume that she is dead*"
Of course Boale's defence was a very simple one*
The skeleton which he sold to Mr* Curry had been
gradually assembled by him in the course of the last three
years* He pointed out that the two hands were not a
very good match ; and indeed, this was a little detail that
he had not overlooked*
The jury took half an hour to consider their verdict*
Harold Boale was found " Not Guilty*"
He was seen by an old friend a couple of years ago*
He had emigrated to America, and was doing prosperously
in his old craft in a big town of the Middle West* He had
married a pleasant girl of Swedish extraction*
* You see," he explained, " the lawyers told me I
should be safe in presuming poor Elizabeth's death*"
He smiled amiably*
147
THE ISLINGTON MYSTERY
And, finally, I beg to state that this account of mine
is a grossly partial narrative* For all I know, assuming
for a moment the severe standards of M'Aulay, Boale
was an innocent man* It is possible that his story was
a true one* Elizabeth Boale may, after all, be living ;
she may return after the fashion of the " murdered "
man in the Campden Wonder* All the thoughts, devices,
meditations that I have put into the heart and mind of
Boale may be my own malignant inventions, without the
shadow of true substance behind them*
In theory, then, the Islington Mystery is an open
question* Certainly ; but in fact ?
148
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
BY EDGAR WALLACE
COLONEL CHARTRES DANE lingered irresolutely in the
broad and pleasant lobby. Other patients had lingered
awhile in that agreeable vestibule. In wintry days it was
a cosy place, its polished panelled walls reflecting the
gleam of logs that burnt in the open fireplace. There
was a shining oak settle that invited gossip, and old prints,
and blue china bowls frothing over with the flowers of
a belated autumn or advanced springtide, to charm the
eye.
In summer it was cool and dark and restful. The
mellow tick of the ancient clock, the fragrance of roses,
the soft breeze that came through an open casement
stirring the lilac curtains uneasily, these corollaries of
peace and order had soothed many an unquiet mind.
Colonel Chartres Dane fingered a button of his light
dust-coat, and his thin patrician face was set in thought,
He was a spare man of fifty-five ; a man of tired eyes
and nervous gesture,
Dr, Merriget peered at him through his powerful
spectacles and wondered.
It was an awkward moment, for the doctor had mur-
mured his sincere, if conventional, regrets and encourage-
ments, and there was nothing left but to close the door
on his patient,
4 You have had a bad wound there, Mr, Jackson/'
he said, by way of changing a very gloomy subject and
filling in the interval of silence. This intervention might
149
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
call to mind in a soldier some deed of his ; some far field
of battle where men met death with courage and fortitude*
Such memories might be helpful to a man under
sentence*
Colonel Dane fingered the long scar on his cheek*
44 Yes/' he said absently* " a child did that my niece*
Quite my own fault *"
44 A child ? ' Dr* Merriget appeared to be shocked*
He was, in reality* very curious*
4 Yes * * * she was eleven * * * my own fault* I
spoke disrespectfully of her father* It was unpardonable,
for he was only recently dead* He was my brother-in-
law* We were at breakfast, and she threw the knife * * *
yes * * ."
He ruminated on the incident, and a smile quivered
at the corner of his thin lips*
" She hated me* She hates me still * * * yes * * /'
He waited*
The doctor was embarrassed, and came back to the
object of the visit*
44 I should be ever so much more comfortable in my
mind if you saw a specialist, Mr* er Jackson* You
see how difficult it is for me to give an opinion ? I may
be wrong* I know nothing of your history, your medical
history, I mean* There are so many men in town who
could give you a better and more valuable opinion than I*
A country practitioner like myself is rather in a backwater*
One has the usual cases that come to one in a small country
town, maternity cases, commonplace ailments * * * it is
difficult to keep abreast of the extraordinary developments
in medical science* * * "
44 Do you know anything about Machonicies College ? "
asked the colonel unexpectedly*
44 Yes, of course*" The doctor was surprised* 44 It
is one of the best of the technical schools* Many of our
best doctors and chemists take a preparatory course there*
Why?"
150
EDGAR WALLACE
44 I merely asked* As to your specialists * * * I hardly
think I shall bother them/'
Dr* Merriget watched the tall figure striding down
the red-tiled path between the banked flowers, and was
still standing on the doorstep when the whine of his
visitor's machine had gone beyond the limits of his
hearing*
" H'm," said Dr* Merriget, as he returned to his study*
He sat awhile thinking*
44 Mr* Jackson ? " he said aloud* ' I wonder why the
colonel calls himself 4 Mr* Jackson ' ? "
He had seen the colonel two years before at a garden-
party* and had an excellent memory for faces*
He gave the matter no further thought* having certain
packing to superintend ; he was on the eve of his departure
for Constantinople a holiday trip he had promised him-
self for years*
On the following afternoon at Machonicies Technical
School a lecture was in progress*
44 * * * by this combustion you have secured true
K*c*y*, which we will now test and compare with the
laboratory quantities * * * a deliquescent and colourless
crystal extremely soluble* * * /'
The master, whose monotonous voice droned like the
hum of a distant big stationary blue-bottle* was a middle-
aged man to whom life was no more than a chemical
reaction, and love not properly a matter for his observation
or knowledge* He had an idea that it was dealt with
effectively in another department of the college * * *
metaphysics * * * or was it philosophy? Or maybe it
came into the realms of the Biological master*
Ella Grant glared resentfully at the crystals which
glittered on the blue paper before her, and snapped out
the bunsen burner with a vicious twist of finger and
thumb* Newman always overshot the hour* It was a
quarter-past five ! The pallid clock above the dais where
Professor Denman stood seemed to mock her impatience*
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
She sighed wearily, and fiddled with the apparatus
on the bench at which she sat* Some twenty other
white-coated girls were also fiddling with test-tubes and
bottles and graduated measures, and twenty pairs of eyes
glowered at the bald and stooping man who, unconscious
of the passing of time, was turning affectionately to the
properties of potassium* * * *
44 Here we have a metal whose strange affinity for
oxygen * * * eh, Miss Benson? * * * five? Bless my
soul, so it is ! Class is dismissed* And ladies, ladies,
ladies I Please, please let me make myself heard* The
laboratory keeper will take from you all chemicals you have
drawn for this experiment* * * *"
They were crowding toward the door to the change
room* Smith, the laboratory man, stood in the entrance
grabbing wildly at little green and blue bottles that were
thrust at him, and vainly endeavouring by a private system
of mnemonics to commit his receipts to memory*
44 Miss Fairlie, phial fairly ; Miss Jones, bottle bones ;
Miss Walter, bottle salter * * *"
If at the end of his collection he failed to recall a
rhyme to any name, the owner had passed without cashing
in*
4 Miss Grant * * *?"
The laboratory of the Analytical Class was empty*
Nineteen bottles stood on a shelf, and he reviewed them*
" Miss Grant * * *?"
No, he had said nothing about 44 aunt " or 44 can't "
or 44 pant*"
He went into the change room, opened a locker, and
felt in the pockets of the white overall* They were empty*
Returning to the laboratory, he wrote in his report book :
44 Miss Grant did not return experiment bottle*"
He spelt experiment with two r's and two m's*
Ella found the bottle in the pocket of her overall
as she was hanging it up in the long cupboard of the
change room* She hesitated a moment, frowning resent-
152
EDGAR WALLACE
fully at the little blue phial in her hand, and rapidly
calculating the time it would take to return to the laboratory
to find the keeper and restore the property* In the end,
she pushed it into her bag and hurried from the building*
It was not an unusual occurrence that a student over-
looked the return of some apparatus, and it could be
restored in the morning*
Had Jack succeeded? That was the thought which
occupied her* The miracle about which every junior
dreams had happened* Engaged in the prosecution of
the notorious Flackman, his leader had been taken ill,
and the conduct of the case for the State had fallen to
him* He was opposed by two brilliant advocates, and
the judge was a notorious humanitarian*
She did not stop to buy a newspaper ; she was in
a fret at the thought that Jack Freeder might not have
waited for her, and she heaved a sigh of relief when she
turned into the old-world garden of the court-house and
saw him pacing up and down the flagged walk, his hands
in his pockets*
* I am so sorry* * * *"
She had come up behind him, and he turned on his
heel to meet her* His face spoke success* The elation
in it told her everything she wanted to know, and she
slipped her arm through his with a queer mingled sense of
pride and uneasiness*
14 * * * the judge sent for me to his room afterwards,
and told me that the attorney could not have conducted
the case better than I."
" He is guilty ? " she asked, hesitating*
4 Who ? Flackman ? * * * I suppose so/' he said
carelessly* " His pistol was found in Sinnit's apartment,
and it was known that he quarrelled with Sinnit about
money, and there was a girl in it, I think, although we
have never been able to get sufficient proof of that to put
her into the box* You seldom have direct evidence in
cases of this character, Ella, and in many ways circum-
153
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
stantial evidence is infinitely more damning* If a witness
went into the box and said : 4 I saw Flackman shoot
Sinnit and saw Sinnit die/ the whole case would stand or
fall by the credibility of that evidence ; prove that witness
an habitual liar, and there is no chance of a conviction*
On the other hand* when there are six or seven witnesses,
all of whom subscribe to some one act or appearance or
location of a prisoner, and all agreeing * * * why, you
have him*"
She nodded*
Her acquaintance with Jack Freeder had begun on
her summer vacation, and had begun romantically but
unconventionally, when a sailing-boat overturned with its
occupant pinned beneath the bulging canvas* It was
Ella, a magnificent swimmer who, bathing, had seen the
accident and had dived into the sea to the assistance of
the drowning man*
1 This means a lot to me, Ella," he said earnestly,
as they turned into the busy street* " It means the
foundation of a new life*"
His eyes met hers, and lingered for a second, and she
was thrilled*
44 Did you see Stephanie last night ? " he asked
suddenly*
She felt guilty*
" No," she admitted, i4 but I don't think you ought
to worry about that, Jack* Stephanie is expecting the
money almost by any mail*"
44 She has been expecting the money almost by any
mail for a month past," he said drily, " and in the mean-
time this infernal note is becoming due* What I can't
understand * * *"
She interrupted him with a laugh*
4 You can't understand why they accepted my signa-
ture as a guarantee for Stephanie's," she laughed, 44 and
you are extremely uncomplimentary ! "
Stephanie Boston, her sometime room-mate, and now
154
EDGAR WALLACE
her apartmental neighbour, was a source of considerable
worry to Jack Freeder, although he had only met her
once. A handsome, volatile girl, with a penchant for
good clothes and a mode of living out of all harmony with
the meagre income she drew from fashion-plate artistry,
she had found herself in difficulties* It was a condition
which the wise had long predicted, and Ella, not so wise,
had dreaded* And then one day the young artist had
come to her with an oblong slip of paper, and an inco-
herent story of somebody being willing to lend her money
if Ella would sign her name, and Ella Grant, to whom
finance was an esoteric mystery, had cheerfully complied.
44 If you were a great heiress, or you were expecting a
lot of money coming to you through the death of a relative,
persisted Jack with a frown, 44 I could understand Isaacs
being satisfied with your acceptance ; but you aren't ! "
Ella laughed softly and shook her head*
44 The only relative I have in the world is poor dear
Uncle Chartres, who loathes me ! I used to loathe him,
top, but I've got over that* After daddy died I lived
with him for a few months, but we quarrelled over over
well, I won't tell you what it was about, because I am
sure he was sorry* I had a fiendish temper as a child,
and I threw a knife at him*"
14 Good lord ! " gasped Jack, staring at her*
She nodded solemnly*
' 4 I did so you see there is very little likelihood of
Uncle Chartres, who is immensely rich, leaving me any-
thing more substantial than the horrid weapon with
which I attempted to slay him ! "
Jack was silent* Isaacs was a professional money-
lender * * * he was not a philanthropist*
When Ella got home that night she determined to
perform an unpleasant duty* She had not forgotten Jack
Freeder's urgent insistence upon her seeing Stephanie
Boston she had simply avoided the unpalatable*
Stephanie's flat was on the first floor ; her own was
155
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
immediately above* She considered for a long time
before she pressed the bell*
Grace, Stephanie's elderly maid, opened the door, and
her eyes were red with recent weeping*
4 What is the matter ? " asked Ella in alarm*
44 Come in, miss/' said the servant miserably* 44 Miss
Boston left a letter for you."
44 Left ? " repeated Ella wonderingly* 44 Has she gone
away?"
" She was gone when I came this morning* The
bailiffs have been here* * * *"
Ella's heart sank.
The letter was short but eminently lucid :
/ am going away, Ella. I do hope that you will
forgive me. That wretched bill has become due, and I
simply cannot face you again. I will work desperately hard
to repay you, Ella * * *
The girl stared at the letter, not realising what it all
meant* Stephanie had gone away !
" She took all her clothes, miss* She left this morning,
and told the porter she was going into the country ; and
she owes me three weeks' wages ! "
Ella went upstairs to her own flat, dazed and shaken*
She herself had no maid ; a woman came every morning
to clean the flat, and Ella had her meals at a neighbouring
restaurant*
As she made the last turn of the stairs she was conscious
that there was a man waiting on the landing above, with
his back to her door* Though she did not know him, he
evidently recognised her, for he raised his hat* She had
a dim idea that she had seen him somewhere before, but
for the moment could not recollect the circumstances*
14 Good-evening, Miss Grant," he said amiably* ' I
think we have met before* Miss Boston introduced me
name of Higgins*"
She shook her head*
EDGAR WALLACE
44 I am afraid I don't remember you/' she said, and
wondered whether his business was in connection with
Stephanie's default*
44 I brought the paper up that you signed about three
months ago/'
Then she recalled him, and went cold*
44 Mr* Isaacs didn't want to make any kind of trouble,"
he said* 44 The bill became due a week ago, and we
have been trying to get Miss Boston to pay* As it is, it
looks very much as though you will have to find the
monev*"
* When ? " she asked in dismay*
u Mr* Isaacs will give you until to-morrow night,"
said the man* 44 I have been waiting here since five
o'clock to see you* I suppose it is convenient,
miss ? "
Nobody knew better than Mr* Isaacs' clerk that it
would be most inconvenient, not to say impossible, for
Ella Grant to produce four hundred pounds*
' 4 I will write to Mr* Isaacs," she said, finding her
voice at last*
She sat down in the solitude and dusk of her flat to
think things out* She was overwhelmed, numbed by
the tragedy* To owe money that she could not pay was
to Ella Grant an unspeakable horror*
There was a letter in the letter-box* She had taken
it out mechanically when she came in, and as mechanically
slipped her fingers through the flap and extracted a
folded paper* But she put it down without so much as a
glance at its contents*
What would Jack say? What a fool she had been,
what a perfectly reckless fool ! She had met difficulties
before, and had overcome them. When she had left her
uncle's house as a child of fourteen and had subsisted
on the slender income which her father had left her,
rejecting every attempt on the part of Chartres Dane to
leave the home of an invalid maiden aunt where she had
157
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
taken refuge, she had faced what she believed was the
supreme crisis of life*
But this was different*
Chartres Dane ! She rejected the thought instantly,
only to find it recurring* Perhaps he would help* She
had long since overcome any ill-feeling she had towards
him* for whatever dislike she had* had been replaced by
a sense of shame and repentance* She had often been on
the point of writing him to beg his forgiveness* but had
stopped short at the thought that he might imagine she
had some ulterior motive in seeking to return to his good
graces* He was her relative* He had some responsi-
bility * * * again the thought inserted itself* and suddenly
she made up her mind*
Chartres Dane's house lay twelve miles out of town*
a great rambling place set on the slopes of a wooded
hill* a place admirably suited to his peculiar love of
solitude*
She had some difficulty in finding a taxi-driver who
was willing to make the journey* and it had grown dark*
though a pale light still lingered in the western skies*
when she descended from the cab at the gateway of Hevel
House* There was a lodge at the entrance of the gate,
but this had long since been untenanted* She found
her way up the long drive to the columned portico in
front of the house* The place was in darkness* and she
experienced a pang of apprehension* Suppose he was
not there ? (Even if he were* he would not help her* she
told herself*) But the possibility of his being absent,
however* gave her courage*
Her hand was on the bell when there came to her a
flash of memory* At such an hour he would be sitting
in the window recess overlooking the lawn at the side
of the house* She had often seen him there on warm
summer nights* his glass of port on the broad window-
ledge* a cigar clenched between his white teeth* brooding
out into the darkness*
EDGAR WALLACE
She came down the steps, and walking on the close-
cropped grass bordering the flower-beds, came slowly,
almost stealthily, to the library window* The big case-
ment was wide open ; a faint light showed within, and
she stopped dead, her heart beating a furious rataplan
at the sight of a filled glass on the window-ledge* His
habits had not changed, she thought ; he himself would be
sitting just out of sight from where she stood, in that
little window recess which was nearest to her* Summon-
ing all her courage, she advanced still further* He was
not in his customary place, and she crept nearer to the
window*
Colonel Chartres Dane was sitting at a large writing-
table in the centre of the room ; his back was toward her,
and he was writing by the light of two tall candles that
stood upon the table*
At the sight of his back all her courage failed, and
as he rose from the table she shrank back into the shadow*
She saw his white hand take up the glass of wine, and after
a moment, peeping again, she saw him, still with his
back to her, put it on the table by him as he sat down
again*
She could not do it, she dare not do it, she told herself,
and turned away sorrowfully* She would write to
him*
She had stepped from the grass to the path when a
man came from an opening in the bushes and gripped
her arm*
" Hullo/ ' he said, " who are you, and what are you
doing here ? "
4 Let me go/' she cried, frightened, " I I "
4 What are you doing by the colonel's window ? "
4 I am his niece/' she said, trying to recover some of
her dignity*
14 I thought you might be his aunt/' said the game-
keeper ironically* " Now, my girl, I am going to take
you in to the colonel "
159
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
With a violent thrust she pushed him from her ;
the man stumbled and felL She heard a thud
and a groan, and stood rooted to the spot with
horror*
" Have I hurt you ? " she whispered. There was no
reply.
She felt, rather than saw, that he had struck his head
against a tree in falling, and, turning, she flew down the
drive, terrified, nearly fainting in her fright* The
cabman saw her as she flung open the gate and rushed
out*
14 Anything wrong ? " he asked*
' I I think I have killed a man/' she said incoherently,
and then from the other end of the drive she heard a
thick voice cry :
14 Stop that girl/'
It was the voice of the gamekeeper, and for a moment
the blood came back to her heart*
' Take me away, quickly, quickly/' she cried*
The cabman hesitated*
4 What have you been doing ? " he asked*
' Take take me away/' she pleaded*
Again he hesitated*
" Jump in," he said gruffly*
Three weeks later John Penderbury, one of the
greatest advocates at the Bar, walked into Jack Freeder's
chambers*
The young man sat at his table, his head on his arm,
and Penderbury put his hand lightly upon the shoulders
of the stricken man*
' You've got to take a hold of yourself, Freeder," he
said kindly* ' You will neither help yourself nor her by
going under*"
Jack lifted a white, haggard face to the lawyer*
' It is horrible, horrible," he said huskily* " She's
as innocent as a baby* What evidence have they ? '
160
EDGAR WALLACE
44 My dear good fellow/' said Penderbury, " the
only evidence worth while in a case like this is circum-
stantial evidence* If there were direct evidence we
might test the credibility of the witness* But in
circumstantial evidence every piece of testimony dovetails
into the other ; each witness creates one strand of the
net."
44 It is horrible, it is impossible, it is madness to think
that Ella could "
Penderbury shook his head* Pulling up a chair at
the other side of the table, he sat down, his arms folded,
his grave eyes fixed on the younger man*
(< Look at it from a lawyer's point of view, Freeder,"
he said gently* 44 Ella Grant is badly in need of money*
She has backed a bill for a girl friend, and the money is
suddenly demanded* A few minutes after learning this
from Isaacs' clerk she finds a letter in her flat, which she
has obviously read the envelope was opened and its
contents extracted a letter which is from Colonel Dane's
lawyers, telling her that the colonel has made her his sole
heiress* She knows, therefore, that the moment the
colonel dies she will be a rich woman* She has in her
handbag a bottle containing cyanide of potassium, and
that night, under the cover of darkness, drives to the
colonel's house and is seen outside the library window
by Colonel Dane's gamekeeper* She admitted, when she
was questioned by the detective, that she knew the colonel
was in the habit of sitting by the window, and that he
usually put his glass of port on the window-ledge* What
was easier than to drop a fatal dose of cyanide into the
wine ? Remember, she admitted that she had hated him,
and that once she threw a knife at him, wounding him,
so that the scar remained to the day of his death* She
admitted herself that it was his practice to put the wine
where she could have reached it*"
He drew a bundle of papers from his pocket, un-
folded them, and turned the leaves rapidly*
B.C. 161 L
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
" Here it is," and he read :
Yes, I saw a glass of wine on the window-ledge.
The colonel was in the habit of sitting in the window on
summer evenings. I have often seen him there, and I knew
when I saw the wine that he was near at hand.
He pushed the paper aside and looked keenly at the
wretched man before him,
44 She is seen by the gamekeeper, as I say/' he went
on, 44 and this man attempting to intercept her, she
struggles from his grasp and runs down the drive to the
cab. The cabman says she was agitated, and when he
asked her what was the matter, she replied that she had
killed a man "
" She meant the gamekeeper/' interrupted Jack.
44 She may or may not, but she made that statement.
There are the facts, Jack ; you cannot get past them.
The letter from the lawyers which she says she never
read the envelope was found open and the letter taken
out ; is it likely that she had not read it ? The bottle
of cyanide of potassium was found in her possession,
and " he spoke deliberately 44 the colonel was found
dead at his desk, and death was due to cyanide of potassium,
A candle which stood on his desk had been overturned
by him in his convulsions, and the first intimation the
servants had that anything was wrong was the sight of the
blazing papers on the table, which the gamekeeper saw,
when he returned to report what had occurred in the
grounds. There is no question what verdict the jury
will return,"
It was a great and a fashionable trial. The court-
house was crowded, and the public had fought for a few
places that were vacant in the gallery.
Sir Johnson Grey, the Attorney-General, was to lead
for the prosecution, and Penderbury had Jack Freeder
as his junior.
EDGAR WALLACE
The opening trial was due for ten o'clock, but it was
half-past ten when the Attorney-General and Penderbury
came into the court, and there was a light in Pender-
bury's eyes and a smile on his lips which amazed his
junior*
Jack had only glanced once at the pale, slight prisoner*
He dared not look at her*
44 What is the delay ? " he asked irritably* ' This
infernal Judge is always late*"
At that moment the court rose as the Judge came on
to the Bench, and almost immediately afterwards the
Attorney- General was addressing the court*
" My lord, he said, " I do not purpose offering any
evidence in this case on behalf of the Crown* Last night
I received from Dr* Merriget, an eminent practitioner of
Townville, a sworn statement on which I purpose examin-
ing him*
44 Dr* Merriget/' the Attorney- General went on, i4 has
been travelling in the Near East, and a letter which was
sent to him by the late Colonel Dane only reached him
a week ago, coincident with the doctor learning that these
groceedings had been taken against the prisoner at the
ar*
44 Dr* Merriget immediately placed himself in com-
munication with the Crown officers of the law, as a result
of which I am in a position to tell your lordship that I
do not intend offering evidence against Ella Grant*
" Apparently Colonel Dane had long suspected that
he was suffering from an incurable disease, and to make
sure, he went to Dr* Merriget and submitted himself to
an examination* The reason for his going to a strange
doctor is that he did not want to have it known that he
had been consulting specialists in town* The doctor
confirmed his worst fears, and Colonel Dane returned
to his home* Whilst on the Continent, the doctor
received a letter from Colonel Dane, which I purpose
reading*"
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
He took a letter from the table, adjusted his spectacles,
and read :
Dear Dr. Merriget,
It occurred to me after I had left you the day before
yesterday that you must have identified me, for I have a
dim recollection that we met at a garden-party. I am not,
as you suggested, taking any other advice. I know too well
that this fibrous growth is beyond cure, and I purpose to-night
taking a fatal dose of cyanide of potassium. I feel that I
must notify you in case by a mischance there is some question
as to how I met my death.
Very sincerely yours,
Chartres Dane.
44 I feel that the ends of justice will be served," con-
tinued the Attorney- General, " if I call the doctor. . . * "
It was not very long before another Crown case came
the way of Jack Freeder. A week after his return from
his honeymoon he was sent for to the Public Prosecutor's
office, and that gentleman interviewed him*
44 You did so well in the Flackman case, Freeder, that
I want you to undertake the prosecution of Wise. Un-
doubtedly you will gain kudos in a trial of this description,
for the Wise case has attracted a great deal of attention."
' What is the evidence ? " asked Jack bluntly*
44 Circumstantial, of course," said the Public Prose-
cutor, " but "
Jack shook his head.
44 I think not, sir," he said firmly, but respectfully.
44 I will not prosecute in another case of murder, unless
the murder is committed in my presence."
The Public Prosecutor stared at him.
44 That means you will never take another murder
prosecution* Have you given up criminal work, Mr.
Freeder?"
164
EDGAR WALLACE
44 Yes, sir/' said Jack gravely, 44 my wife doesn't like
it/'
To-day Jack Freeder is referred to in legal circles as
a glaring example of how a promising career can be ruined
by marriage*
THE PRINCE
BY W, B, MAXWELL
IN the little suburban slum between the railway and the
river they called him indifferently " The Prince/' u Prince
Charles/' or " Long Charlie/'
He was a lean, tall, limping blackguard ; and at
fifty years of age, with a leg stiffened by rheumatism, with
his hawk nose broadened and swollen, his fierce eyes
clouded and sometimes red at their rims, he showed but
little of the clear-cut beauty that in youth had started his
triumphs over the fairer sex. Nevertheless he still had
an air. Some quality of princeliness was still perceived
by his inferiors. The costers, rag-pickers, and other
riff-raff that formed the population of the river lane all
bowed down before him.
Ever since adolescence he had lived upon women.
As soon as he wooed and conquered one of them, he made
her cook for him, sweep for him, and if necessary beg or
steal for him. If she was troublesome he hit her. He
did not do it as you or I would hit a woman, doubtfully and
hesitatingly. He let fly. In lighter moments it was the
back of his hand across her mouth, so that she abruptly
seated herself on the pavement, bleeding and sobbing ;
but if really incensed he drove with his right fist, and
then the pavement seemed all soft as it rose to meet her,
and she lay huddled, face-downwards, unconscious. He
allowed her to lie there until he wanted to move on.
Then he stirred her with his boot. She got up, tottered,
166
W, B, MAXWELL
and followed him* For these and other reasons women
loved him.
But a man, even though he is a prince, must have
some visible means of support* Pride demands that he
shall appear to earn a livelihood. Prince Charlie hawked
pot-plants, limping after old ladies, bullying them, too,
if he caught them unprotected, and he also cadged round
the offices of all the charitable organisations of the suburb.
He was known to the police and in the past had been
watched by them, but they now disregarded him as mere
trash.
At present his companion was a fine, strong, black-
haired young woman named Maggie, They said that
she had been an organ-grinder's girl and that there was
Italian blood in her. If you washed her and made her
tidy, she looked diabolically handsome. One of Maggie's
own methods of washing was to take a dip in the river at
dawn, or just before it. She ran down the lane and
plunged.
The dark stream was almost invisible ; the shadows
beneath the poplars on the island, the barges, the further
shore, were dark as death ; but the white stone bridge
seemed to be made of ivory and opals, and it glimmered
faintly as the first arrows of light struck it. The tale
up and down the lane was that she swam stark naked.
She was a good swimmer.
With the prince she proved passionate and adoring.
She worshipped him. It was the devil in her that had
taken his fancy and made him woo her. But the first
time he wanted to chastise her she wouldn't have any,
It was up in their bedroom, with the window open to
a gentle summer night, just above the lean-to shed and
the rabbit hutches of their neighbour,
14 None of that, my lad," said Maggie, Quick as
lightning she had snatched up a bottle and she promised
to bash him with it, to split the glass all over his face,
" Put away that bottle,"
THE PRINCE
" Not much/'
u Put away that bottle/* repeated the prince*
" Then do you promise not to touch me ? "
44 Yes/*
" On your honour, Charlie ? "
" Yes/*
The moment she relinquished the bottle he knocked
her down, of course* They got on well after this*
Except for occasional tantrums, a fit of ugly temper once
in a way, she was a sweet and docile helpmate* No one
had ever worked harder for him than she did*
A good blackmailing lay of theirs was getting her clean
and neat, and putting her out in service as housekeeper
to some innocent old gentleman* Few old gentlemen
could resist her personality, and as soon as they showed
any interest in it she made a false accusation* Then the
prince pulled a locked trunk from under his bed, put on
a comparatively decent suit of clothes, and went to the
house as the injured husband* They made the victim
pay* If he was the sort of genuinely nice old gentleman
of whom his friends say they would never have believed
it, he paid handsomely*
A good lay ! The prince, rolling in hush-money, for
a little while resumed his full princehood* He bought
a new suit of clothes, frequented the tavern that was used
by the bookmakers, went to Kempton Park with a train-
load of the unspeakable scoundrels that our noble English
sport attracts and maintains* Night after night the
bedroom was afloat with liquor black-browed Maggie
filling the glasses, the prince and two pals playing cards
on the bed, and a smutty-faced girl from the barges
making music with a concertina* It was frightfully jolly
up in the bedroom* And if you felt sick, there was
always the window*
When the company left, Maggie was eager to embrace
him, hungry for caresses*
" Oh, it's lovely to be 'ome agin with you, Charlie/'
168
W* B* MAXWELL
She loved him more and more*
Yet so perverse is the human heart, so limitless the
ingratitude of princes, that he could not be true to her*
The other woman was a sort of taproom assistant at
a public-house close to the gasworks and some orchards
that now lay derelict* After making her acquaintance,
he used to hang about this bit of waste ground and the
neighbouring roads, forgetting dinner-time in his desire
for her, much as a dog will prowl insatiable along the
garden walls that hide a female of his race*
She was a big blonde* She had pallid blue eyes, a
wide loose mouth with a gap in the teeth that made her
lisp, and her age was uncertain even to herself* Why
was he caught by her ? How could he possibly prefer her,
a stupid lump, to that creature of mingled fire and
fidelity? Contrast* Because of her lighter colour*
Another piece of flesh, " with a different smell to it," as
he might have said himself*
He soon suspected that Maggie had discovered the
intrigue* In order to obtain freedom with his charmer,
he manoeuvred Maggie to the seaside on their lay ; and
the evening after her departure he took the other home
with him*
They were seated upon the bed, holding each other's
hands, when Maggie turned up very unexpectedly*
He was furious as well as disconcerted, but tried to
pass it off in princely fashion*
44 It's all right, Mag* I asked her upstairs to have a
drink*"
' Then why has she brought her leather bag ? " And
Maggie, snatching it open, pulled out a nightdress* 44 It's
all right, yes* * * * Charlie asked you to come up the
stairs* And I ask you to go down 'em bloody quick,
too*"
When Charlie returned after escorting the intruder
and carrying the violated bag for her, he found Maggie
THE PRINCE
lying on the bed and crying as if her heart would break*
" Oh, Charlie, Charlie/' she wailed despairingly, 4
can't bear it. * * * Not this. You might have knocked
me about you could have done what you liked with me,
but not this* * * * Oh, Prince, say you'll give her up/'
He said so* He promised to give her up ; and in due
course he broke his promise* Once more Maggie knew*
Instinctively, mysteriously, she divined the fresh betrayal*
44 You've bin with that woman agin* You can't deny
it*"
Then a dreadful noisy scene ensued, nearly all the
noise being made by Maggie* She was terrible in her
passion* She frightened him* She tore her black hair ;
she raved, calling upon the shades of her Italian ancestry
and imploring heaven to strike her dead there where she
stood if she didn't send him to kingdom-come for it*
Before she had done he was trembling and stammering
and meekly begging forgiveness* For the first time in
his long disgraceful career one of the worms had turned*
A woman had scared him*
He went out and strolled along the tow-path, feeling
thoroughly upset*
Some hours later, when Maggie was absent from their
room, he pulled the battered old trunk from beneath the
bed and groped under all the garments and indescribable
odds and ends in it for something that he kept right at the
bottom a revolver and some cartridges wrapped in oily
rags* They weren't there* They were gone* Strangely,
mysteriously, someone had got at them and taken them*
The perspiration broke out on the back of his neck*
Maggie ?
When he came home that night fear was with him ;
quivering, disconcerting fear, fear that had pangs deeper
than rheumatism, and nauseous qualms as distressful as
alcoholic sickness* There were horrid places in that
lane for a threatened man to pass corners of walls, dark
entries, alley-ways as black as pitch* He ran by some
170
W. B. MAXWELL
of them, limpingly but swiftly* At home he crept up the
stairs on all fours, waiting a few moments at each tread.
When he opened the bedroom door he flung it right back
and stepped aside.
But the bedroom was empty. Maggie was not there.
She did not come back that night, nor next day. She
did not come back at all.
Yet the fear remained with him. Maggie's absence
was too mysterious, too sinister. It got on his nerves.
On an evening in the autumn he had the other woman
in his room once more. Old as he was, he wanted to go
to Canada. He wanted her to go with him, but she
didn't take kindly to the notion. As he stood by the
window pleading with her, it seemed to him suddenly
that Maggie, or her ghost, was in the room. He moved
hastily from the window, and it seemed to him then that
Maggie was on the stairs. Maggie was outside too, waiting
for him. Maggie was all round the house.
44 Come on. Clear out of this/' he said brutally.
u D'ye hear ? Go down ahead of me an' see that
there's nobody down there. Then give me the signal,
an' I'll foller."
The woman went down, and standing below the window
called up to him softly.
He came down himself and made her precede him by
a dosen paces as they went up the lane. She did not see
the motionless figure in one of the entries, and, whatever
the sensations of that watcher, she was allowed to pass.
Then as the prince came abreast, an explosion shook
the walls. The revolver made as much noise in that
narrow space as if it had been a shell bursting. Three
shots were fired, and before the third of them twenty
people had come out of their houses.
" Stop her," screamed his lady-love. " She's killed
him."
But already men were in chase. They had seen her
171
THE PRINCE
running down the lane* She ran right down the lane
and plunged into the river*
The men peered and shouted, but could not see a sign
of her* There were things like her in the black flood
as it rolled by, but not her* A bargee hung a lantern over
the side of his barge, and its reflection, from the bank,
looked like a dead face*
No one ever saw her again* Had her clothes drowned
her, or had she succeeded in swimming across to the
Middlesex shore and getting clear away ? She was a good
swimmer*
172
THE SMILE OF KAREN
BY OLIVER ONIONS
(To June)
ALTHOUGH the sleigh had come to a standstill, I do not
think that half the people in it had any idea of what was
happening. All that they seemed to hear, besides their
own cheerful voices, was the dull rush of the torrent
below and a little clamour of bells whenever a horse moved
his head* But another sound, a leisurely " Cric-cric,
cric-cric," had seemed to me to grow more formidable
every moment, and I had climbed out of the sleigh and
was watching the man who was the cause of it.
We could hardly have come upon the timber-cart at
a more perilous spot. The road at that point, besides
being deep in snow, was not more than ten feet wide, and
the timber-cart had the right to the inside berth, the one
with the sheer face of precipitous rock that seemed to rise
to the skies. Only a low parapet separated the sleigh
from the abyss of tree-tops below. The problem was
how to pass.
The largest tree was sixty feet if it was an inch, and
if that could be cleared all would be well. It was against
the tree that the young man in the velvet jacket and
voluminous corduroys had set the jack. Without haste,
a pound or so at a time, he was slowly pumping power
into it, with the wall of rock to take the resistance.
173
THE SMILE OF KAREN
I learned soon enough that he could neither read nor
write. This that he was doing was his revelation of
himself, his signature upon the world. A slip of the jack,
a fragment of ice, a faltering of the man's nerve, and
there was no second chance* He knew it, and he, his
task, and the way he set himself to it, made on me
an impression of fatalistic beauty that has never left
me.
Imperceptibly, relentlessly, the tree became bowed
like a catapult. At every grind it gave on the rock's face
my heart leaped into my mouth. But he only stepped
back once or twice to see how much more there was to
do, and then bent to the ratchet again. The handsome
black brows under the black wideawake were hardly
knitted.
44 Cric-cric, cric-cric, cric-cric " Still he went on,
though the tree could have whisked us into the abyss as
easily as a finger flicks a pea.
44 Cric-cric, cric-cric, cric-cric "
And even did he bend the tree sufficiently to allow the
sleigh to pass he still had the task of rendering the dreadful
engine harmless again.
We did pass, or I should not be writing about Walther
Blum. The passengers did not resume their chatter,
because they had barely interrupted it. An hour later
we had arrived at our destination, but I confess that my
dreams that night were of elemental things of masses
and weights and forces and how man tames the devils
that abide in them. I was haunted by thoughts of the
precarious margins of safety by which we live, and by the
still more precarious assumption, that a man will never
fail of having himself in control. And above all, there
seemed to hang between me and the night a slightish
figure in a black velvet jacket and baggy corduroys, with
handsome dark brows over dark fatalistic eyes, who
himself seemed to possess something of that very
inimicality of the Nature against which he wrought. As
174
OLIVER ONIONS
long as things went well he held, as a dam holds ; but if
they went ill he was himself a tree to break, with a dreadful
sound, a rock to come thundering down.
II
It has more than once happened to me that a power-
fully received impression has been followed almost
immediately by another one, as if in some way I myself
were specially attuned and open to it* I am of a restless
disposition, and did not propose to make any long stay
in Haarheim ; and if Walther Blum (as I presently learned
his name to be) had made such an impression on me, and
was indeed a timber-carrier, well, these fellows spend
three-quarters of their lives on the road, and the chances
were that I should never see him again* But I did see
him again, and, as it happened, within a couple of nights
of that perilous exploit of his with the jack*
I am permitted a moderate amount of walking, though
not " winter sports " ; and as hotel life has long since
lost its attraction for me, I like to turn my back on the
ringing eisbahn and to seek the higher slopes, where the
clearings and the sawmills are, and the hydraulic mains
lean on the mountains like rods against a wall, and, higher
still, where the kites circle, and a thousand trees can be
cut and the face of the landscape is hardly changed*
With the close of the season the hotels shut down ;
direction and staff and clientele move elsewhere ; but
the timbermen and the men of the power-stations and the
cattlemen and sawyers remain* In the meantime their
wives sweep the floors and carry the pails and make the
beds at the hotels*
It was in these high regions that I saw Walther Blum
again* And I say that I saw him at night, though in that
electricity-flooded country of snowy tops and wooded
scarps, " artificial day " would serve as well, since they
THE SMILE OF KAREN
hold midnight carnivals on the eisbahn under the great
sputtering arcs, while frequently lights burn unheeded
at noon. There was, in fact, a carnival that night, and
I relied on its illumination to guide me home again, for
to tell the truth, I had no very clear idea where I was,
It was in order to ascertain this that I was making towards
another light, along a rough, snowy track that skirted
a clearing.
The light was a sort of blurred square, as if the window
was draped with some curtain-stuff, and as I drew nearer
I saw that it came from the window of a house or hut of
logs, apparently of two rooms that communicated. The
communicating door must have been open, for a remnant
of light was visible in the second window also. And then
I saw what it was that veiled the first window. They
were icicles. They made another bloated pane outside
the inner one, some of them three fingers thick, others
mere films, as if it had thawed and blown a gale and frozen
again simultaneously, and one liquefying finger had
passed its drops on to the next. This shutter of ice gave
the place an uncared-for look, for it could have been
cleared away in a couple of minutes, and even the light
within was no certain indication that there was anybody
there. I therefore approached the window before knocking
at the door.
I dimly saw that a hatted man sat inside at a table,
alone. The naked incandescent was immediately above
his head, and he appeared to be moving something
smoothly and regularly a few inches along the table, to
and fro. The rest was a mere distorted blur, through
which it was impossible that he should have seen
me, and I turned away quietly enough ; but suddenly
I heard the moving of his chair and his voice that
called.
4 Is that you, Karen ?'
The next moment the door was flung open and I stood
full in the light.
176
OLIVER ONIONS
In the German I make shift with I told him that I had
missed my way and would be grateful if he would direct
me to the Haarheim Palast* He stood aside to allow me
to enter.
44 Come in," he said, and he closed the door behind
me*
It was a rough and neglected interior, and it gave the
impression of having been shut up for some time* The
walls were of yellow pine, and there was probably an air-
space between them and the outer logs* The furniture
consisted of the table I had seen, a couple of chairs, a
sort of home-made settee with blankets and a great-coat
on it, a rack of crockery, a stopped fretwork clock, and
the stove* There was not as much as a print on the
walls, but ranged along a narrow shelf were the usual
trifles in carved wood paper-knives, boxes, blotters,
toy cattle, a bear, and the rest of the things people buy in
the picture-postcard shops and bring home as mementoes*
To make these things was evidently his way of passing
the evenings, as indeed the litter on the table showed,
for the light shone down on a handful of chisels and a
small saw ; and, mingled with chips and sawdust, on a
newspaper he couldn't read, stood a loaf of black bread
and half a sausage* The oilstone was there too, for the
smooth, regular movement I had seen through the icicled
window had been the sharpening of his penknife*
He showed no sign of recognising me as the passenger
who had got out of the sleigh to watch him at work with
the jack* He had taken off his wide hat, and its removal
showed a broad brow beneath thick rumpled hair, the low
growth of which made more emphatic still the hand-
someness of his brows* His youthful face he could not
have been more than five or six-and-twenty was weathered
to a clear even brown, and possibly he shaved twice a
week or so, for his small moustache was continued down-
wards in a soft smudge, which seemed to give a richness
to the fine line of his jaw* His eyes were very bright,
B.C. 177 M
THE SMILE OF KAREN
and even his wide corduroys did not conceal his powerful
grace of movement as he crossed to get the other chair
for me.
4 You are from the Haarheim Palast, Herr Doktor ? "
he said.
I told him Yes, but that there was a carnival that had
not greatly amused me, and I had taken a walk instead*
I also told him that I was neither Doktor nor Professor,
but he continued to call me " Herr Doktor " till the
end.
' There are many people there ? " he asked.
''* In the hotel ? It is full. They are even sleeping
in the bathrooms/*
" So. So. I was told so. It all makes work/'
" And brings money to Haarheim ? " I suggested.
" People lived here before the Palast was built/' he
answered moodily.
Then, as I looked again round the poor and brilliantly-
lighted interior, my eyes were attracted by something that
apparently he had made a hasty effort to conceal. Al-
though the table was strewn with fresh chippings, no
trinket-box or paper-knife was to be seen ; but half
hidden behind the newspaper on which the bread and
sausage stood was the object on which he had been at
work. I saw the head and shoulders of a small wooden
statuette.
There was that about the glimpse that made me wish
to see more, and in matters of that kind I permit myself
a little curiosity. He did not appear to have seen my
glance.
' I interrupted you at work ? " I said.
" No, Herr Doktor, my time is my own/'
44 You carve these animals and things ? "
44 Everybody here carves them. They are made in
every house/'
' 4 I am a kind of artist too. May I see that ? ' And
I nodded towards the figure*
OLIVER ONIONS
His bright eyes were mistrustfully on mine* Thinking
it might help matters if I gave him my name, which is
known here and there, I did so ; but he only shook his head*
He had never heard it* Nevertheless the fact that ap-
parently I had a name worth giving seemed to impress
him, and his eyes dropped* He muttered something I
didn't catch* He took up the penknife, as if he would
have resumed his sharpening* And then suddenly he
yielded* He rose, pushed the newspaper aside, and placed
the statuette in my hands*
I suppose I am about the last man in the world to lose
my head over a work of art* It has always seemed to me
that the more claims a thing makes the higher must be
the standard by which it is judged, and this is to reduce
the number of the world's masterpieces considerably*
Masterpieces ? Why do I mention the word ? A master-
piece has detachment, and this statuette had none* Its
merit was vehemently the other way* It banished the
very word " classic*" It was as much his own as his
own reluctant speech* If his fatalistic handling of the
jack had impressed me, all that I could now do was to
stare at the piece of wood in my hands* And as I like to
be right about my facts, let me first give its dimensions*
It was a woman's figure, about ten inches high, in the
attitude of dancing* Allowing a minimum for wastage,
the block in which it had slept before it came to life was
about 1 1 by 4 by 5 inches* Call it 12 by 6 by 6 inches,
or a quarter of a cubic foot* Those, I say, were the
dimensions of the original block* But the figure itself
contained nothing like that* Perhaps 6 cubic inches for
the trunk and head, 4 for the thighs and legs, and 2
for the arms total, 12 : out of 432 cubic inches all
but 12 had had to be laboriously cut away before the
figure emerged, and that at the risk of an oversawing or a
fracture at any moment* " What on earth made you
choose wood ? " one wanted to cry to him* * Why, you
could have set up a wire armature in an hour ! Is there
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THE SMILE OF KAREN
no clay in Haarheim? Couldn't you have bought a
pound or two of wax on one of your timber- journeys to
the towns ? Why this immense toil ? Are you truly of
a nature so tormented by itself that if no difficulties exist
you must create them ? "
For that was precisely what it looked like* He had
gone wilfully out of his way to postpone the consummation
of his work as long as possible. But now that the thing
was finished, or almost so, I had to admit that it was
neither wood nor wax, but flesh. The tendon of that
supporting ankle would be hard between the fingers, a
thumb run up that spine would feel the vertebrae* Feet,
ankles, neck were exquisitely finished. But the face, the
face only, was left. The cheeks remained rough and
pitted by the tool. And in some obscure way this was
a relief. For the figure was not merely a statuette of a
woman. It was of one given woman, in all the idiom of
her beauty, and to have given her a face would have been
to shout her name as well.
" Where," I asked slowly, " did you learn all this? "
He did not seem to understand " To carve wood ?
Everybody here carves wood. Our fathers carved wood,
and their fathers/'
44 Yes, paper-knives and Noah's Ark cows. But this ?
You have then studied ? "
He shook his head. At the Schools? No.
44 But, man ! I know what I am saying. One can get
a resemblance, even of anatomy. Nine people out of ten
are deceived. But not the tenth. It is not Nature, where
you can trace the effect back to the cause. It is Art,
where, if you do not understand the cause, the effect
cannot possibly be right/'
For the anatomy of that piece of wood left not a single
anatomical question unanswered. The heads of the
gastrocnemius would swell so, the soleus behave so, the
thin, taut flank stretch precisely so.
: * I can set bones," he said, as if in apology. " Often
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there are accidents in the woods. Then they send for me/'
" But are you not often away ? '
" Not now* That is finished. Josef Speck broke his
leg* I set it and took his team till he was well* Now I
am back, I help the second forester/'
44 I saw you on the road, when the sleigh could not
pass/'
' I did not see you* Herr Doktor*"
4 I saw you bend the pole with the jack*"
"So?" he said indifferently* " Something had to
be done*"
44 Tell me/' I said after a pause* 44 why you carved the
figure in wood* when there were easier ways ? Why make
it so difficult for yourself? "
He hesitated* at a loss for words* He muttered*
4 I don't know* How should I know ? I am not as
the Herr Doktor* It was as it was* It is still as it is*
It has always been so* And it is more difficult than you
know* More difficult more difficult his voice
sank* And then his manner changed* He had questions
to put to me, too* quick little questions* as far as I could
see without import*
' It is pleasant at the Palast ? '
I shrugged my shoulders* " Hotels are very much
alike*"
4 You are staying there long ? "
" Most likely not* No* Not long*"
* They are " the bright eyes were earnestly on
mine as he used the German equivalent 44 they are run
off their feet there ? I mean the service ? "
" I really don't know* The hotel is full* I don't
suppose they employ more people than they have work
for*"
14 No* I believe they work late/' he said* frowning*
his fingers drumming on the table again*
Light began to dawn on me* His first words on
hearing my foot on the snow outside had been, " Is that
181
THE SMILE OF KAREN
you, Karen ? " His questions about the hotel, the service,
the degree of its busyness, could only mean that he had
a wife at the hotel and was expecting her home. I was
looking intently at the tool-marked space where the
statuette's face should have been*
44 Why don't you finish it ? " I asked him.
He fixed me with his stare, as if I had committed an
impertinence, which quite possibly I had.
"What?" he demanded.
44 The hands, the feet, are wonderfully done. You
have even put life into the braiding of the hair. Why
leave the face like that ? '
I have seldom seen a man's expression change so
swiftly. A fire seemed to blaze up in him. Something
looked for a moment out of his eyes that made me afraid,
not, understand, for myself, but for the latent things so
imperfectly safeguarded in himself. I have stood on a
spot where they say the crust of the earth is only twelve
feet thick, and the ground rings hollow to your tread.
Sulphurous vapours trickle up from the crevices, and to
run a torch along them is to wake the whole region into
activity. I felt that I was experimenting with some such
torch now. His voice, which had been a pleasant soft
guttural, became strained and harsh.
44 Why ? " he said with sudden loudness. ' The
Herr Doktor asks me why? Why, indeed! I will tell
you. It is because she smiles ! Always she smiles !
Once she did not smile, not, at least, like that, and I was
>y. Now she smiles, and it drives me mad-
And with an abrupt movement he was on his feet and
struggling into the great-coat that lay on the settee.
I protested that it was not necessary that he should
accompany me. It would suffice if he indicated the way.
But his voice fell to a mutter again.
44 No. I will come. There is a branch of the paths
I will come. I will come to the hotel. It is nothing.
Often I have been later than this. We will leave the light.
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OLIVER ONIONS
There is a branch of two paths she knows it too ; if the
Herr Doktor will please "
Together we passed out of the hut, leaving the light
burning behind us.
Yes, it seemed clear enough all but one thing. He
had been sitting up for this wife who worked at the hotel,
and was now going to fetch her, as a husband should.
But the other thing remained. Most husbands are happy
in the smiles of their wives, but he was not. Once she
had not smiled, or not after that fashion, and he said he had
been happy. Now she smiled, smiled always, and he
left that portion of his carving blank and expressionless.
What sort of a smile was that ? I wondered deeply as we
trudged together along the cart-track at the wood's edge
and began to descend by rounded, monotonous hummocks
of snow.
But he said not another word. At the junction of the
tracks of which he had spoken he paused for a moment,
looking along both portions. Then he took the right-
hand one, which was obviously the more direct. A quarter
of an hour later I fancied I had picked up my bearings
again, and told him so, but still he tramped on at my
side without replying. A little later still we came upon
ski-tracks, and in one quarter the night seemed to have
paled perceptibly. We rounded a shoulder of the moun-
tain and gained its crest. Over the pines below was a
mist of light, from which faint sounds reached us. They
were still keeping up the carnival. We dropped down
the track to the Palast Hotel.
A plantation straggles upwards from the rear of the
hotel premises, and as we approached this Walther Blum
began to tread more carefully. His care increased as the
lights of the servants' quarters at the back began to appear
through the trees. Most of the lower windows were in
darkness, for the kitchens were hardly likely to be troubled
again at that hour of the night, but the floors above shone
out brightly enough, and through corridor window a
183
THE SMILE OF KAREN
shadow could even be seen to pass from time to time.
My own room was in the front of the hotel, where the
long balconies are, and one can look down on the eisbahn.
From this now came a confused babble of sound music,
a faint rattle of applause, the thin hum of skates* A swept
path ran round the hotel in that direction, I was about to
thank Walther Blum and to take this path when from the
darkness there came the sound of a door being softly
closed* Two low voices were heard, the one a woman's,
the other a man's*
44 No, go in now/' the woman's voice was saying* "If
he says he came to meet me I shall say I went the other
way round*"
" Dis bonsoir*"
14 No* not now be careful return to the bar "
' The colleague Otto is there ; just ten minutes, in
the wood "
44 No, I say "
We had drawn into the shadow of the trees* For all
her protests, there was the sound of a kiss* A door closed,
and in the semi-darkness a shadow was seen to steal
away* The shadow went, not in the direction by which
Blum and I had come, but by the other path* I looked
round for Blum*
He was not there* He was a dosen yards away* And
he was hurrying, not after the woman, but by the shorter
way we had taken, as if he wished to reach home first*
in
Unless one has need of something and rings for it one
usually sees little of one's chambermaid, and I had no
idea who performed this office for me at the Haarheim
Palast* Indeed, it was at my own risk if I concluded that
Walther Blum's wife was a chambermaid at all, and not
employed in some other branch of the service* My data
184
OLIVER ONIONS
for her identification were, on the one hand, uniquely
ample, and on the other, scanty to a degree. For all
practical purposes they resolved themselves into one dis-
tinguishing feature hair braided in a thick coronal round
the head, as if two heavy plaits had been brought forward
and woven together*
I have already remarked how, before what later seems
a hidden plan is unfolded and revealed, trifling events
add themselves to one another with increasing swiftness,
until the last trifling accident or two have almost the
force of a foregone conclusion* I was not thinking of
Walther Blum when I rang my bell some two mornings
later. Nor could I possibly know that, just as he had been
doing an injured timber-driver's job in an emergency, so
she now was temporarily taking over somebody else's
duties* She knocked and entered in answer to my ring ;
and she was so indubitably the woman of the statuette
that I could have called her by her name : Karen*
To my astonishment she seemed to be hardly more than
seventeen* Young to be married, I thought, and to a
husband in whom was something I do not know if
44 timeless " is the right word ; I mean something that
the years can neither add to nor take away from* She
was blue-eyed, fair as Ceres, and had a mou h like a
sealed rose* If, hastily summoning and dismissing a
recollection, I found her on the small side, these things,
after all, are more a matter of proportion than of actual
size* Her ample blue print skirt filled the doorway like
a bell, and her expression was one of petulant gravity,
as if, young as she was, she must struggle with things
beyond her years, while resenting and hating them* It
was right too that she should be a chambermaid* She
fitted in better with linen-closets and brush- cupboards
than if she had worn a smart apron or sat behind a cash-
desk* And I confess that it came over me with a shock
that not only could she apparently hold her vows loosely,
but was also capable of telling her husband that she
185
THE SMILE OF KAREN
had gone one way home when in fact she had taken
another*
I had no excuse for detaining her, and I told her what
I wanted ; but I missed not a single one of her movements
as she stooped to the pile of linen on the floor and began
to sort it* Then she looked up*
44 The gnadiger Herr has made a list ? " she asked in
good German*
44 No*"
' Then I will count it*"
So at least she could read and write* I continued to
watch her as she made her list* Once she turned her head,
and it was the identical turn of the statuette ; and the
wreath of the honey-fair hair was the same ; but her face
was hidden* She gathered the linen together* placed it
on a towel, and knotted the corners crosswise* She rose
with the bundle*
44 The gnadiger Herr would wish them quickly ? '
she said, the grave, resentful eyes on mine*
" As quickly as possible/'
44 It is done in the hotel* It will be ready at half-past
eight o'clock on Thursday evening* I shall do it myself*"
The door closed on her and her bundle*
So this was Karen of the smile ! Certainly I had seen
little smile enough, but possibly she was not yet restored
to a smiling humour, for had I been a woman I should not
have cared to return to that hut with the icicled window
and tell such a husband as Walther Blum a pack of lies
in his teeth* I would as soon not have gone home at all*
I wondered what her life with him was up there* He had
been away on the road* She too, as far as I could gather,
was temporarily undertaking other duties* But these were
interruptions to the routine* Soon the hotel would close*
She would return home, and all day long he would not
be far away merely in some neighbouring portion of the
forest, helping the second forester* A couple of strokes
with a brush-handle and that raffle of icicles would come
186
OLIVER ONIONS
splintering down. The interior would be set to rights*
Normal cohabitation would go on as before*
But I checked my thoughts, suddenly stilL Every-
thing as before ! How then had that been ? Since she
was certainly not yet eighteen there could not have been
a great deal of " before/' And why should his statuette,
so betrayingly evidential in everything else, keep that
blank, mocking, unfeatured face ? What was this reason
he gave of a smile ? A smile is a peaceful, happy thing*
So much can it do that, let a man but have it, and a load
falls from him, as the mass of late snow, slipping away,
suddenly shows the green all new and tender beneath*
Yet he had said it himself* She smiled, and the chisel
was arrested in his hand* She smiled, and every other
perfection that those few cubic inches of wood contained
became anonymous* She smiled, and at the mere recollec-
tion of it he broke out in fury before a stranger, " Why ?
I will tell you why ! Because she smiles ! Once she did
not smile, and I was happy* Now she smiles always,
always smiles and it is driving me mad ! "
Sufficiently occupied with these thoughts, I turned my
attention to the other man*
For I already knew who he was* Even the few words
I had overheard at the back of the hotel had had that
caressing yet acrid Neapolitan timbre. He was Nicolo,
the white-jacketed waiter in the American bar, and his
type is repugnant to me* He could not hide the fulsome
meanings in his strongly- staring black eyes, nor keep the
vain and conquering smile from his shaven lips* Shaven ?
He was shaven au bleu. He must have shaved twice a day
to keep the indigo so smoothly down* I learned that he
did in fact shave for the second time before coming on to
serve the evening cocktails, for, seeking a way up to the
roof early one evening to see what the view was like up
there, I came by chance upon the little room where daily
the barber attended, and there was Nicolo, with the
napkin tucked about the cauliflower of soap, his head back,
187
THE SMILE OF KAREN
and that ineffable smile on his face at something imaginary
between him and the ceiling* His teeth, too, were as
white as his barman's jacket, and as he polished his glasses
behind the counter he might have been under glass himself,
so sleek and unspotted a picture did he make.
In the circumstances I saw no reason why, over my
modest aperitif, I should not find out as much about Nicolo
as I could.
I soon had him marked down as a diligent fellow, with
ambitions. A German-Swiss hotel is no bad stepping-
stone from Naples to London, and Nicolo was making the
most of his time. He was continually checking his stock,
marking bottles, and copying the remaining quantities
into a little book ; and he had another book, too, with
coloured edges, in French, German, Italian and English.
It was a book of cookery-recipes, and his short straight nose
was never out of it. One of these days he was going to
have his own hotel. Every pfennig of change that was
pushed back to him as trinkgeld was set aside, and presently
he would be leaving Haarheim, not to return. He would
take his cookery-book with him in his trunk, and his
hard-boiled shirts, and his black bows and starched white
jackets. But he would not take his mistress, if she was
that. Why pay excess on superfluous luggage? There
were mistresses enough in London for a handsome, far-
seeing, ambitious fellow such as our Nicolo.
So there was dapper Nicolo, with his English lessons
in his spare hours, and his serenely-insolent way of looking
at women, and his smooth, plump hands that would let
them go like so many water-drops when he reached for a
towel. And there was Walther Blum, muttering, morose,
half savage as regarded one part of his nature, the other
half mingled flame and passion and nameless desire.
And apparently Nicolo got the kisses and Walther got the
smiles. It doesn't matter by what processes I pieced all
this together. I hardly think I did piece it together. It
fell together of itself. It was simply the final assembly
188
OLIVER ONIONS
of elements that had long been preparing, and I doubt if
anything could have changed the complete pattern into
which they finally felL On my walks, at my solitary table
in the corner, leaning over the balcony at night and
watching the waitings and acrobatics on the eisbahn,
I pondered much about it all, and one of the resolutions
to which I came was that when Karen brought my linen
back at half-past eight o'clock on the Thursday evening
I would be there to have, if possible, a word with
her*
IV
For I am no stranger to hotels, and I know what their
promises about laundry usually amount to* It comes
when it comes* But here was a promise much more
precisely made* It was made even to the half-hour* She
was doing it herself, and it was to be in my room at half-
past eight* Of course it might not come, but I was inclined
to dismiss that* There were too many things against it*
Say, for one thing, she was in love with this fellow* At
half-past eight the hotel, including myself, would be dining*
The bedrooms would long since have been made ready for
the night, except for the final touches that would only take
a few minutes* And at half-past eight Otto, as I knew,
relieved Nicolo at the American bar* It was the one
interval of the day that they might reasonably expect to
have to themselves* That, briefly, was my guess at the
position*
Yet I was dissatisfied with my guess* It seemed to
condemn her too summarily* There must be some reason
for the hate and resentfulness that dwelt so contradictorily
side by side with the gravity in her clear eyes, and I began
to play with hypotheses* Suppose (I argued to myself)
that she had been married a year* If she had had even a
little happiness during that year, it was as much as could
189
THE SMILE OF KAREN
have been expected from a man so palpably at odds with
the world and human life as he found it as Walther Blum*
The chances were that he avoided his kind, or classed
them, too, as phenomena with the trees and the rocks
and the snows. He must have been a very difficult man
to live with*
Yet it was a woman he had married, not a rock or a
tree ; and there had been something very steadfast in the
eyes she had turned up to me as she had packed my linen
on the floor* Apparently this man, who took life hardly
himself, had passed a hard portion on to her, too, and she
had flown to one who took it more easily, cajoled her,
flattered her, and would turn her off the moment he got
what he wanted* In that case I was sorry for her, but
except to tell her to make the best of her Walther and leave
the other alone, I should not have known how to advise
her*
I had intended to be in my room when Karen came at
half-past eight on Thursday ; as it turned out I had no
choice in the matter* A slight indisposition necessitated
my seeing the doctor that afternoon ; I was told that a
couple of days in bed would set me right ; and to bed
I was sent* I had been in bed some hours when I heard
Karen's tap at the door*
One minor difficulty at least was out of the way*
I could not very well have detained her had she wished
to finish the errand and be gone, but she, if she chose,
might, in the circumstances, linger as long as she wished*
She came in with my parcel* She wore the same little
jacket and wide blue print skirt as before* In anybody
else I should have called her salutation a curtsey, but in
her it was somehow both given and withheld* Then, in
the act of setting down the parcel, she paused*
44 The gnadiger Herr is not well ? " she asked, as if she
had only just noticed that I was in bed*
I told her that it was nothing, and that I should be all
right in a couple of days*
190
OLIVER ONIONS
44 Is it the gnadiger Herr's pleasure that I should count
the linen and put it away ? ' ;
14 If you would be so kind, Karen/'
She unfastened the parcel, checked its contents, and
began to open drawers* She did not ask where anything
was to be put, but went about her light task smoothly and
efficiently* Only towards the end of her shirt-and-collar
sorting did she delay a little* Then she turned, with the
last of the washing still in her hand*
' The gnadiger Herr then knows my name ? *
44 Yes* You are Karen, the wife of Walther Blum*
I have spoken with your husband*"
4 You know him ? ' ; The limpid blue eyes were on
mine, and she seemed to have forgotten the third-personal
address*
' Very slightly/' I answered, though I felt this to be,
in some odd way, untrue* 44 Among others, I am not at
all sure that he didn't save my life*"
Most people would have asked how that had come
about, but she only knitted the brows above the blue eyes*
She put away the last of the linen and closed the drawer*
I thought she was about to leave* But she stood there
with her hands on her hips (she seemed incapable of an
attitude that was not alive with grace, and her hands and
wrists in particular were full of the most moving beauty),
the small foot under the bell-shape of blue print tapping,
her teeth catching at that half-rose of a lower lip* No
wonder Blum had given forth her shape so passionately
in his wood* I could hardly take my eyes from her*
And then her own eyes, which had been on the polished
floor, met mine again*
' 4 I am also grateful to your husband for directing me
when I had missed my way/' I went on*
And that she did take up* 4 When ? " she demanded,
almost imperiously*
" Let me see* Four nights ago/'
She betrayed herself completely in her next question,
191
THE SMILE OF KAREN
for I might have met him anywhere ; but she didn't
seem to care* " And you went in ? " she challenged
me*
44 Yes/' I answered* There was no need to say where*
She herself went straight to the point*
44 And he walked back to the hotel with you ? "
44 Yes Though I didn't say so*"
Still she didn't seem to care* though she bit her lip
again* I would have given a fortune to have known all
that was passing behind those rounds of palest blue under
the wreath of fairest hair, but a very little I thought I did
know* I had been in her husband's house four nights
before* He had walked back to the hotel with me, aijd
she herself had slipped away like a shadow by another
path* There must have been let us call it a situation
when she had climbed the mountain and pushed at the
door of that solitary hut again* And above all, if I had
been inside I had seen the statuette*
' The gnadiger Herr speaks the truth," she said ;
" since I knew all that," she added, with a lift of her
head*
Then suddenly it came out, as if somebody else spoke
for me* Up to that moment it had not entered my head
to ask such a question*
44 Why do you smile, Karen ? I want to know why
you smile*"
Ah! (the eyes seemed to say)* So I knew that too !
Well, if I already knew it it saved the time and trouble of
explanation* All could be understood without further
ado* Nevertheless she repeated my question*
44 Why do I smile?"
4 Why do you smile?"
44 You have been in the house ? "
'" I said so*"
" And you saw it ? '
I spoke slowly " By 4 it ' you mean the thing that
doesn't smile ? "
OLIVER ONIONS
44 I knew you had seen it* It never will smile. It
will never be finished. But I I shall smile the more. * . *
So he told you that, too ? "
He told me that you smiled, and that it drove him mad/*
44 It is no worse to be mad than to be killed, as I have
been killed/' she answered with compressed lips. " One
can be killed, and yet go on living/'
Killed ! She, in the bloom and freshness of her
seventeen short years f * * * But girls have these fancies.
In another year or two she would be laughing at them
herself. I leaned up on my pillow and looked at her
attentively.
4 What do you mean, Karen ? ' :
She returned my look disdainfully, as if I and all like
me were things of so little importance that the truth could
be flung to us as one tosses a bone to a dog. But her hands
had left her hips, and were clenched at her sides.
4 Why should I not tell you ? Why should I not tell
everybody ? It is only he who doesn't understand ! "
broke from her. 44 Listen ! Do you know how old
I am ? I am seventeen-and-a-half years old. And I have
been married to Walther Blum one year one whole year !
I didn't want to marry him. He made me marry him.
We didn't even belong to the same valley. He lived in
one valley and I in another, with the Huldhorn between.
Among us we marry in the same valley because of the
mountain, because of the Huldhorn. Hardly a man can
pass the cornice in the winter. Even in the summer it is
a toil. So our young men marry the girls at home. But
he came over, down into our village from the skies. He
came over whatever the weather was, with runners on his
feet that he had made himself. He could have settled
among us, for he lived all alone, but he would not. He
told me that he would not come every night, but I soon
learned what that meant. It meant that he might not
arrive every night. But he set out every night. I asked
him once, when he was very late, whether he had got lost,
B.C. 193 N
THE SMILE OF KAREN
but he said he had a compass in his breast* I used to
open the shutters and look up at the crest of the hill for
his lantern/'
So he had made even his love difficult to the verge of
impossibility ! Her words pictured it all the more vividly
because of their very abruptness him in his hut making
ready his lantern ; his setting-out ; the diamonded night
sky overhead or else the blinding scurries of snow ; the
soft sliding thunder of a distant avalanche, the creep round
the cornice of the Huldhorn ; the pause to look down on
the handful of houses that made the hamlet and all guided
by that in his breast that he called a compass* I saw the
child of sixteen peering past the shutter for the winking
light of his lantern* And I was quite prepared to hear
that she had been afraid of him even then*
" My parents were against it, gnadiger Herr," she went
on more quietly* " They said it was not natural that
he should not be able to get a girl without coming over
the mountain* But he said, Get a girl ! He had seen
them girls ! They were nothing* If those were girls,
then / was something else, and he wanted me, whatever
I was, if those others were girls ! He said that my smile
made him warm even on the cornice of the Huldhorn*
My father said that was high-falutin' talk, and not good*
Let him come and make his home among us and then it
would be time to talk, my father said* And the Herr
Pastor, who was also my schoolmaster, said the same*
But I began not to listen to them* At first, all the same,
I didn't want to marry Walther* I told him not to come*
But he made me marry him, gnadiger Herr* He gave me
no peace* There is no peace where he is* If there is a
moment's peace an avalanche follows* And when I
learned that he set out every night, then the nights when
he didn't arrive were terrible* I felt that I had killed him
by not marrying him sooner* I was very young, gnadiger
Herr* I am older now* And so I married him*"
That, too, I could believe that he had made her
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OLIVER ONIONS
marry him. He had compelled her a little at a time, as he
had loaded up that sixty-foot tree, forcing it to bend*
And suddenly she stamped her small foot so that the blue
print bell shook with the passionate gesture.
" And what was it ? Lieber Gott ! Do the othei
men do so to the other girls ? Why, then, do they not
die ? But I have seen them laughing, these young married
girls ; how can they do it ? I tell you, you who lie there,
that it was endless ! Always it was so, always, always* * . ,
And there, with the Huldhorn between, where was there
to run to ? And what was the good of crying* No, I do
not wish ! He broke me, he broke me* It arrived that
he might do as he wished ; what did I care ? Then he
reproached me, but it no longer mattered to me* Nothing
mattered* And so I was contented, thinking I knew
the worst*
" But I did not know the worst, you who lie there ! \
she cried in a voice that mounted* u Having broken my
body he began to break my mind too ! I had had lessons
from the Herr Pastor* I could read and write ; I could
speak a little French ; and he could neither read nor
wri'.e nor speak French* And because I could not answer
his questions he called me a fool ! His questions, lieber
Gott ! He did not understand them himself* They were
not questions ! I have heard him say that he did not
know what it was he wanted to know ! How, then, should
/ know ? He called us all fools* Even the Herr Pastor
he called a fool* He said that we knew no more than he,
and that if he learned to read and write he would be the
greatest fool of all* And when one is called a fool
sufficiently one ceases to open one's mouth* Days passed
when I never spoke to him* Even at night I never spoke
to him* All was without words or speech, since he wished
it so* Why should one speak when one is a fool ? "
Poor, hapless pair ! What was there to say ? I said
what I could*
4 Much is laid on him, Karen*
195
THE SMILE OF KAREN
44 What is laid on him ? How, laid on him ? " she
flashed*
4 It hasn't got a name* He is right in saying that the
Herr Pastor knows no more of the reason of everything
than he* Nevertheless, it is fastened on him as they
fasten the trees to the carts with a chain and a winch *"
44 It is on me that it is fastened ! " she cried* " Listen
to me! Listen heedfully ! What had I left? My
beauty remained* I do not mean my beauty as at first,
though he might please himself about that* My beauty
to his eyes remained* That was all all ! And his eyes
never left me* They followed me about like the piercings
in a dark shutter* And then the other all else stopped*
I existed in his eyes only* I was his Gliederpuppe, his thing
that he copied from* Even in mid-winter I must go
about yes, even when I was sweeping up his chippings
or cooking the supper * * * but the gnadiger Herr has
seen* Soon I ceased to blush* That was not his first
statuette* Many he cast into the stove, saying it was all
they were fit for more true to say it was all / was fit for !
I was a fool* That other was finished* But this remained*
I had married a man who growled over pieces of wood*
I was something to turn into a piece of wood* If I could
tell you, you who lie there listening if I could tell
you "
I put up my hand to calm her* It was not necessary
to tell me ; the statuette had done that* I thought of
that lonely hut far up the Huldhorn* Terrible houses of
men, of which we see the outside only ! A mansion in a
London square, a crowded Paris tenement, a cabin on a
vineyard's slope, a log-hut high and lonely in a world of
snows just once in a while a chink opens, a curtain is
left a little aside* One learns the reasons why a will was
made, why a divorce -action was entered, why a crime
was committed* Then the chink closes again and the
curtain slips back into its place* But one has seen* I saw
in Walther Blum a man scourged by life and his station
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OLIVER ONIONS
in it, dwelling in solitude of soul up there, saturating his
eyes with anguishing and untranslatable beauty, and with
curses casting his wretched images into the stove* I saw
a young girl, shy with the shyness of young girls, modest
with a peasant's flinching modesty, shrivelling Semele-like
under the fierce heat of a passion elemental and beyond
her comprehension, forced to yield up her very superficies
as her sole remaining value* Comprehend it? Because
she did not comprehend it, it was the last violation* The
little he had left her of her own, to do as she pleased with,
he used up in order that the eyes of strangers might know
as much of her as he* I had seen* Anybody might see*
And she no longer cared*
" But all this, Karen it might explain why you weep*
It does not explain why you smile/' I said after a long
silence*
" Does it not ? " she taunted me* ' To you, no, per-
haps ; but he knows ! Listen ! It is not all* I now
give way to him in everything* From here to here "
she put out one foot and, with a gesture terrible in its very
slightness, lightly touched her chin " that is his* He
may look at it, embrace it, burn it, cut it with knives*
I now run to let him do as he wishes with it* 4 Yes, Walther,
assuredly, Walther/ I say for we speak now* But he
pays* There is still something in me he cannot touch*
And the smile, with all its hideous meanings for him, stole
over the young rose of a mouth* " Is it not so, gnadiger
Herr? And when he groans and weeps and prays for
that something for the gnadiger Herr is right when he
says it has no name, but it is that he wants is not that
alone enough to make the smile come? For I cannot
give that something now if I would* It is me, but it is
not mine* He has all the rest instead* And so it is
even wifely to smile/'
4 If it drives him mad, Karen ? " I asked gravely*
For I had remembered Nicolo's absence from the American
bar* " If it drives him or you to something desperate ? "
197
THE SMILE OF KAREN
She now spoke quite lightly, with a little stretch of
herself. " At least it would be an end* . . * Please would
the gnadiger Herr like me to send the valet as I go down ?"
44 No, Karen."
14 Or any service ? "
' There is nothing, thank you. But I should like to
see you again/'
With the smile still about her mouth, the steady
scornful look in her clear eyes, and her hands upon her
hips again, she said a" mocking and a bitter thing : 44 The
gnadiger Herr has only to ring/'
4 Karen ! * . . Why do you not go fc r to your home over
the Huldhorn for a short time ? "
14 I come here instead," she answered ;* and the next
moment she was gone, leaving me gating at the 44 Flight
into Egypt " carved in high relief in brown wood on the
wall opposite my bed.
How much better for Walther Blum (I thought) could
he have contented himself with work of that kind, carving
what every peasant in the district carved, the edelweiss
paper-knives, the clock-faces, and the other objects of the
stationers' shopb ! But what was the good of thoughts
like that? He was what he was, and who shall justify
the ways of man to woman, of woman to man ? It was
much more to the point that apparently his wife was
carrying on this intrigue with the Neapolitan. Or was it
not an intrigue at all ? Was it, so to speak, part of the
smile ? Was it designed to show him that all that he had
destroyed in her might still revive at the beck of somebody
else?
Our conversation, which I have abbreviated, had
taken some time. If she had had an assignation with
Nicolo at half-past eight she had certainly not kept it.
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She might or might not be with him now. It was truly
no affair of mine. And yet I felt restless and anxious.
My indisposition was a short one. After two days
I was up and about again. I received the congratulations
of such of the guests as had any interest in me, and was
told that I had missed little during my lying-up. The
weather had broken. A strong thaw had set in. The
eisbahn was a deserted waste, and there were trunks at the
door of the hotel for those who were not departing
immediately were preparing to do so, and within a few
days the clientele would probably be diminished by half.
The signs of the winter's end were not confined to the
guests. There was a stir in the natural life of the district,
too. Down the lower slopes one saw more cattle, and
multitudinous sounds of deliquescence and break-up were
everywhere. Upstairs in the hotel they were already
closing unneeded rooms. And downstairs Nicolo, check-
ing his stock and poring over his book in four languages,
had the American bar to himself.
The incident to which I am coming happened at
five o'clock one afternoon upstairs in the already half-
empty hotel. They were stripping beds and rolling up
the bolsters and mattresses, and as a portion of the staff
had already been discharged the rest of the remaining
personnel was bearing a hand. Among them was Nicolo,
in his shirt-sleeves, a plump cock among the print-skirted
hens, smiling, showing his white teeth, and within an hour
of his second daily shave. His jests, as he dragged out
the mattresses and carried the stacks of sheets, caused an
incessant tittering among the maids, and I suppose it is
because I have no such success with women as he that
I liked him less than ever.
Something had taken me to my room, which was, of
course, untouched, and I had seen all this in passing.
I did whatever it was that had brought me up, and came
out again. A few yards along the corridor stood an addition
to the group. Walther Blum had joined it.
199
THE SMILE OF KAREN
He was standing by the half-open door of a linen-room,
watching his wife and Nicolo as they folded a blanket
between them. For two reasons I did not pass on : I was
interested in the situation, and I had a fancy to pass the
time of day with Blum* Thus, as I lingered, I heard what
passed between Nicolo and Karen Blum, in French*
44 When one folds blankets you know what happens ? "
the Neapolitan was saying*
Karen shook the plaited head*
4 It cannot happen this time, for a reason* The reason
stands there watching us* But one folds, so and so "
the blanket was halved and quartered as the two holders
of it approached 44 and the one who takes the blanket
takes something else also*"
'What?']
44 Ah, so little when one thinks of the rest ! (Comme
il fait les yeux feroces !) "
44 II fait toujours les yeux feroces*"
44 Mais les tiens " his own black bull's-eyes rolled
to her clear rounds, and the look itself was the kiss of
which he spoke* She made way for me to pass, and
I sought Blum*
The man from Naples was certainly taking risks*
I myself should hesitate before I provoked on a man's
face the sort of look that was on Blum's* When I greeted
him he did not at first speak* When he did speak it was
not in answer to my greeting*
44 The Herr Doktor speaks languages* What was that
he was saying ? " he said under his breath*
4 I heard nothing* What brings you here, Blum ? "
44 Those things that the Herr Doktor does not hear
bring me here," he replied grimly* 44 There is no longer
any reason why she should remain* Half of them have
left already* It is time she left*"
' It is only a matter of a few days*"
44 I have come to fetch Tier to-day," he answered curtly*
At that moment there was a further interesting passage
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OLIVER ONIONS
between the pair who folded the blankets* She had loaded
him with a pile of them for carrying away, and the
pile bulged and tottered. He looked back over his
shoulder*
44 Give a hand or they will be down and all to fold again/'
he panted, for he was of a sedentary habit, and the blankets
had lodged stiffly against some small projection of the
walL She tripped after him*
But she did not reach him* Blum's voice was
raised*
44 Karen ! "
She turned* One would have thought she had not
known of his presence*
<Yes,Walther?"
44 You are to come home* You are to come now*
Go and make yourself ready *"
It was peremptory, perhaps a little unreasonable ; but
she ignored that* The look she turned on him was not
mere yielding ; it was the deliberate strangling of a will
of any kind to set against his* Already she was close on
him, hastening to whatever room she occupied* At me
she did not glance* The look was all for him as also
was the smile that accompanied it*
4 Yes, Walther*"
14 Go and pack your box* I will carry it up the
mountain*"
4 Yes, Walther*"
" At once* Get your wages and wait for me*"
4 Yes, Walther*" The next moment she was gone*
I thought for a moment that Walther Blum was going
to seek out Nicolo there and then, for he stood irresolute,
watching him with wrathful, smouldering eyes* But all
at once he turned away* I thought he was going to take
some domestics' staircase or other, but he didn't* In his
black jacket and spacious corduroys, though carrying his
broad hat in his hand, he marched down the main staircase
as if he had been staying in the hotel* I followed him,
THE SMILE OF KAREN
and on the broad outer verandah called his name* He
turned*
"HerrDoktor?"
u Could I have a word with you ? '
He bowed* for he had the peasant's courtesy*
" Properly speaking* what I want to say is none of
my business* unless I can be of use* But you yourself
spoke of it one night* and since then an accident has
brought about a talk with your wife also*"
14 She shall come away to-day/' he muttered*
" But you speak as if she had left your roof* She
has returned late perhaps* but she has worked late* There
has been much to do* You will remember that you asked
me the question*"
He made no reply* and again I wondered what had
passed between them on the night when he had overheard
her words to Nicolo and been a witness of their kiss*
The next moment he had told me*
' I have warned her ! " he cried* " That man* any-
body can see what he is ! Would I had the shaving of
him ; I would make the blade keen for that I * * * What
was he saying in that language ? " he demanded once more*
' I scarcely heard* It was harmless*"
' It was not harmless ! Those eyes do not go with
harmless things ! "
I was much of the same opinion* but* " He is going
away in a week/' I said* " Do not think of him*"
But the empty verandah boomed with Walther Blum's
outbreak*
* In a week ! And what does that mean ? He has
not possessed her* I made her tell me that night* and
it would have given her pleasure to say Yes* but she does
not lie* He has not possessed her* But there is still
time ! All these months he has planned it* and he has
one week left ! I do not wish to kill* It is better to take
her away* But if* within a week* I find him one yard
above that plantation's edge " He stopped*
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OLIVER ONIONS
This was a dangerous turn for things to take* Not
only was he capable of doing it ; he was capable of finding,
out of that chaotic tormented mind of his, overwhelming
reason why it should be done* If the lore of the Herr
Pastor over the mountain was ignorance and confusion
to him, he would make as little of a Commandment*
Neither was it safe that he should boom out menaces
of this kind under the verandah of the Haarheim Palast
Hotel*
4 Your wife will not come out this way/' I said*
4 Will you take a little walk ? " And to make sure of his
doing so I took his arm* We turned by the path that
led round the hotel, under the plantation beyond which
if Nicolo went a single yard it would be at his own risk*
A little way up the plantation was an old wooden cattle-
trough, with the bent and rusty remains of the pipe that
had fed it* It was half full of snow, but we should see
from there when Karen came out, and its thick worn edge
made a seat* We sat down side by side*
We might have been waiting for Karen and nothing
else, for we were as silent as if our minds had been un-
occupied* It would have been like him not to speak at
all* It was therefore I who took the word*
4 Walther," I said, using the name for the first time,
" to what kind of a life do you take Karen when she goes
up there ? "
* To mine/' he said* " To the only one I have*
But she gets the whole of it* / want no light-o'-love ! M
he added contemptuously*
" But is it necessary to give her the whole of it ? May
not the whole be too much ? She is very young*"
His eyes were past the hotel, over the valley furrowed
with white, thinned and mottled into dark unsightly
patches* Soon the gentian and anemone would smile there
and the sweet cold freshets thread themselves downward
under the grass, and the tonk of the bells be borne on the
wind* And he seemed to be thinking of gentler things
203
THE SMILE OF KAREN
than murder, too, for he began to speak in a voice from
which the anger had died away.
' It may be so, Herr Doktor," he said. ' It should
not be so, for what is to love if it is not to give ? But
sometimes I ask myself whether only I am right, and I
cannot answer. It is here " he placed a clenched hand
on his breast " and if I feel it there, how can I lie to
myself and say I do not feel it ? We cannot all be right,
I and they. Then come times when I tell myself that
it is easy for them to say * I give all/ when their all perhaps
is so little. And yet again there are times when I rage,
and say they are wrong, were they as countless as the
pines, and only / understand. Is that too much, Herr
Doktor?' 1
44 Much too much."
'When I love her?"
4 Love her a little less, Walther."
The brown hand gripped the remains of the rusty
trough-pipe, and I could see its fierce tension. Then his
head sank suddenly to his breast. He spoke in a shaky
voice.
44 Herr Doktor, I have no words of my own. The
words I have are carved and filed smooth by others.
They are a great number, the others, and I am only one,
and ignorant at that. Therefore I do not say I loved her,
Herr Doktor. She happened to me. I say she happened
to me. She happened to me as rain happens, or sun,
or the fall of the tree, or the avalanche. She happened
as sickness happens, or healing, or thirst, or hunger.
Sometimes, when she looked beautiful, I could even love
myself a little, that I should be the cause of her looking
beautiful. She lived in the valley over the Huldhorn.
What was the Huldhorn ? I have crossed it in all weathers.
They do not love, these young men who will not take the
trouble if the one they love lives a couple of pastures away !
Herr Doktor, if I have no words to speak of these things,
was it not word enough to cross the Huldhorn for her?
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OLIVER ONIONS
I could have carried her, too, as I shall carry her box
to-day. So she happened to me, in that valley*
" And I said to myself, ' Have a care, Walther Blum !
You are rude and unlettered. They have been to school
with the Herr Pastor ! Therefore contradict nobody. If
they seem to you to talk foolish and vain things, things
that will not bear examination, say nothing. Look at
Karen instead. Look at her as she takes down the platters,
as she serves the cheese, as she kisses her father before
going to bed. Look at her as if she was the mountain
air you breathed, the mountain pool in which you swam/
All the way back over the Huldhorn it remained with me.
Beauty is agony to me, Herr Doktor. She cannot move
a hand but I feel that no woman's hand has ever moved
so before. And even these are words, that other people
use. Let them pass. They are nothing . . . ah ! "
What else he would have said I cannot tell, for at
that moment there was a little bustle at the back of the
hotel. Nicolo appeared, bearing in front of him a small
trunk of metal, corded. Karen followed, in a queer stiff
little round hat. Nicolo set the trunk on the ground,
with a gesture that seemed to say, Ach, but that was heavy !
Blum had risen. I continued to sit where I was. He
dropped down through the plantation and joined the pair
at the door. As far as I could see he did not look at
Nicolo. He threw the box up to his shoulder and made
a gesture of his head to his wife. A few minutes later
they had passed me, she a few paces in front, he with the
corded box on his shoulder, on their way to their home
among the melting snows.
VI
It chanced that I had an acquaintance at the hotel
who was among the last to leave, and I might well have
left with him ; but for reasons I need not go into it was
205
THE SMILE OF KAREN
not to be so, and I went to see him off instead. The
station is twelve miles away, and whereas we had come
in sleighs, we went back in Swiss carts* I said good-bye
to my friend, and the heads of the horses were turned
homeward again. Half-way back I saw Walther Blum.
He was sitting on a timber-cart. The vehicles passed
without incident. I think he saw me, but was not sure.
He gave no sign of recognition.
" Has Josef Speck fallen ill again ? '" I asked of the
driver. Josef Speck was the man whose leg Blum had
set, driving his cart for him until his recovery.
" No, gnadiger Herr. Josef Speck is well and on his
journey/'
' Then what does Walther Blum going to the town ? t:
The man laughed. " Oh, Walther Blum is unac-
countable, gnadiger Herr. Nobody asks himself why
Walther Blum does anything.
We drove on.
As I look back on this incident I find it difficult to
justify the apprehension I felt. Walther Blum was on a
timber-cart, going to the town ; why should he not be
on a timber-cart, going to the town ? He was not even
driving, but sitting by the driver's side ; why, if he had
business that way, should he not take the chance of a
lift? For all I knew he was going to dispose of his
paper-knives and blotters and fretwork clock-faces. If
he was away for a couple of days it would be lonely for
his wife, but they do not mind loneliness up there, and
possibly he had sent her to her people. It was as natural
that Walther Blum should be taking a journey on a
cart as that I myself should be saying good-bye to my
friend.
None the less, I could not get rid of it like that. " No-
body asks why Walther Blum does anything/' my driver
had just said ; but I asked. Say he was not going away
at all. Say he merely wished it to be supposed he had
gone away. Say, in short, that he was setting a trap
206
OLIVER ONIONS
for Nicolo* Had it been possible, I would have bidden
my driver turn and follow Walther Blum wherever he
went. That was not possible* But something else was*
I couldn't follow Walther Blum, but I could keep an
eye on Nicolo* He would not know he was being
watched, and watched, moreover, for his own health
and safety*
It was the first thing I did on my return to the hotel to
walk into the American bar* He happened to be there*
Disliking him as I did, I nevertheless made myself talk
to him*
" So another has left, Nicolo," I said, with an assump-
tion of cheerfulness* " It is drawing near the end*"
" Monsieur will be the last," he said, busily polishing*
44 When do you go to London ? "
44 In four days, Monsieur*"
44 Well, this country is beautiful in the winter, and
beautiful in the summer, but it is not much in between*"
He showed his close white teeth in a smile* " It is
Monsieur who sees the country," he said* " We of the
staff work too long hours to see much of it*"
44 But you go up the mountain sometimes for a walk
and to breathe the air ? "
" Not I, Monsieur* I do not like the cold* I like
Capri and Sorrento and the sun on Naples Bay*"
And, having ascertained that he was in the hotel, I
left him, but did not go too far away*
I well believed that he was not fond of mountain
climbing* He might even have to run the gauntlet of
jests if he, the smooth lazy one, were seen toiling up past
the plantation during the day* For many reasons he would
prefer the night* And I had no evidence that he intended
to go at all* But I was persuaded by something more
subtly strong than evidence* There were vast gaps in
my information* I only knew in outline what had passed
between Blum and his wife on that first night of all*
That she and Nicolo exchanged kisses I did know, but
207
THE SMILE OF KAREN
not every kiss is an adultery, and it would be an unfeeling
heart that found no forgiveness for her* But while I
did not know the details, I did know the sum and result
of them. Blum himself was satisfied that no guilty act
had been committed. At the same time he was equally
satisfied that the attempt would be made, and had cun-
ningly and deliberately provided the opportunity. If
Nicolo did not climb the mountain it was even possible
that he might prevail on her to make a pretext to come to
the hotel. Or nothing at all might happen.
But as the day wore on and I wandered aimlessly
about the precincts of the hotel, I thought so less and less.
I come now to the moment when Nicolo did leave the
hotel, setting his face up the mountain. With the passing
of time I can survey the events of that evening almost
calmly ; but time has had to pass. I have ceased to call
myself a young man. I apprehend, too constantly, the
meaning of such words as causation and fatality and ab-
sence of design. I have learned how events themselves
take charge and fall into inhuman and unpremeditated
patterns. I think it was so with Walther and Karen
Blum. As she had " happened " to him, so the world
had happened to him and he to the world, and there was
no escape from the dreadful logic of the upshot. It had
to be so, and it was so, and I had to be a witness of
it.
Nicolo did not steal out of the hotel like a man on a
guilty errand* He strolled out, apparently with no other
purpose than to take the air. He wore his waiter's black
trousers, but had changed his white jacket for one of
purplish cloth, and on his head was a green velours hat
with feathers in it. To English eyes his appearance was
incongruous yet somehow dandified, and he himself was
evidently well content with it. All this I saw from where
I stood at the verandah's end. He sauntered round to
the back of the hotel, and I ascended quickly to my room.
Not that there was any hurry. I had to let him get ahead.
208
OLIVER ONIONS
I do not carry firearms, but if I had had a pistol I should
certainly have slipped it into my pocket. For moral effect,
naturally*
He was not quite out of sight when I descended ; he
was well up the plantation, giving a backward glance, as
if he wondered how much longer it was necessary to keep
up appearances. I stepped out of his line of vision.
There was one chance and one only that I should lose
him, and even that did not matter for if he took the
longer and less steep of the two paths that met again
farther on, I could take the other one and be there before
him. That might be the best. At least I should escape
the hateful appearance of watching another man unob-
served. As he was of a corpulent build he probably
would take the easier path. In fact he did so, and I the
other.
I made haste. If Blum should appear he would
hardly resent it that one such as I should be found alone
with his wife, and if he did not appear Nicolo would be
likely to find an empty house at the end of his journey.
It may seem odd, but it seemed somehow part of what I
have called the pattern that I made no attempt to divert
Nicolo himself. He was a contemptible fellow, and must
take his chance. He was away to the right, somewhere
over the shoulder of the hill, and as I passed the point
that he, too, would presently have to pass, I quickened
my pace to something like a run, that he might not see
me ahead.
More snow than in the valleys still lay on the ground,
and as I reached the beginning of the dark clearing the
ghostly mass of the Huldhorn rose miles ahead, just
discernible. Not a quarter of a mile away Blum's light
showed, almost as watery as on my first visit for I
discovered that the icicles had not been broken away,
but still formed a screen, though a perforated and atten-
uated one only. This time I did not look in. I walked
up to the door and knocked. Only when I had done so
B.C. 309 o
THE SMILE OF KAREN
did it occur to me that my knock might be taken for the
knock of somebody else*
There was no reply, and I knocked more loudly*
Still I had no answer, though I heard a muffled sound
within* There was nothing for it but the window* I
advanced and looked through a ribbed and ragged
hole*
Karen sat there, alone* She sat where her husband
had sat, under the powerful incandescent, and her round
eyes appeared to be staring straight into mine* But I
don't think they saw* She was rigid, as if the sound of
my knock had frozen both the sight and speech of her*
The table at which she sat was empty* On the little shelf
stood the row of wooden cattle and carved knives, but I
did not see the statuette* I called ; I gave my name ; and
as if my name had been a magic word, she broke into life*
She sprang up and disappeared for an instant from my
view* I heard the shooting of a bolt* By this time I
was at the door* She flung it open, dragged me in, and
shot the bolt again almost in one movement* Then she
clasped both her hands on one of my shoulders, and I had
to save her from falling*
p< Oh, the dear God has sent you ! " she moaned on
my breast* " Do not go* Keep me so* Keep me so
till morning, for God knows what is going to happen this
night ! "
' I know what is going to happen this night if you
will, Karen* You cannot stay here alone* Put your
things on and come with me back to the hotel*
She shook convulsively* ' I cannot ! I dare not !
I was told I must stay here ! Stay here with me ! "
44 Certainly I will stay with you ; but who told you
you must stay here ? "
" He told me Walther "
44 But he has gone to the town ? "
44 He has not gone to the town* I do not know where
he is* But he is not far away* He was here an hour
210
OLIVER ONIONS
ago. He has kept me here all day, that I might neither
go nor send word to the hotel/'
* Why should you wish to send word to the hotel,
Karen ? Word to whom, and about what ? '
But she only said, " Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! " and crushed
herself harder against me*
4 When I knocked, Karen, did you think it might be
somebody else, that you did not answer ? " I asked.
I felt her nod.
44 Walther ? " (The door had been bolted, and the
visitor might have been he.)
' 4 No."
' The somebody else has he ever been here ? t!
44 Never never never ! " she said, with a passion
that utterly convinced me.
44 You know what I mean ? " I whispered.
4 Yes."
4 Then shall I go and turn him back ? '
She bounded from my arms in fright. * What !
Then he is coming ? "
4 There may be time to warn him."
She sank to the floor. ' If he is on the mountain
Walther can run like a hare and leap like the chamois "
And I remembered Blum's words : " If he steps a
yard beyond the plantation "
It had been plain enough before ; it was bright as a
sunburst now. My first unworthy idea, that Blum had
turned his house into a mousetrap and baited it with a
piece of cheese, was utterly wrong. Nobody was luring
Nicolo. He was free to stay away. But he was free only
as long as he stayed away. Once he set foot on those
mountain wastes he entered a cage of which the door
closed behind him. What chance had he, the keeper of
an American bar, against a man who could run like a hare
and leap like a chamois ? . . . And yet a panic took me,
too. I must have caught it from her, sunk to a huddle on
the floor. I could not see a human being walk into an
211
THE SMILE OF KAREN
open trap like that. I must warn him* I sprang to the
bolt of the door.
But I was too late. I heard the faint sound of a
distant scream. I flung open the door with such force
that the wall shook.
" Eee-eee-eee I ' It was the tight-drawn, inarticulate
scream of pure terror, and it came from somewhere in
the wood. He had sought safety in the wood and from
a pursuing woodsman !
44 Eee-eee-eee I " Again came the squeal. My shadow
streamed from the doorway, and the beginning of the
wood beyond was illuminated as if by the headlights of a
car. Karen had stopped her ears.
44 Eee-eee-eee I "
And then, a little way within the wood, I saw him,
if that shadow was he. The sounds of the last scream
had died away, as if he had merely continued to scream
as a child screams, having once begun. He seemed to
be listening. Blum I did not see. This made matters
no better. Better to see Blum than to know all the time
that he was near, stealing noiselessly from tree to tree,
ushering, shepherding, getting his man where he wanted
him.
44 Eeee-eeee-eeee / . . . Eeee-eeee-eeee ! "
Such an added extreme of terror would have seemed
inexpressible, but he did it. The next moment he was
flying straight for the hut, as a moth makes for a lamp.
His arms were above his head, and Blum was after
him.
Do not tell me how feeble was my effort to bang the
door between the two. I cannot leap like a chamois
nor cover the mountains like a hare. Loudly the door
swung to and back again. As it did so something fell
to the floor with a little snap. I do not know on what
ledge or shelf it had been standing, but it was Blum's
statuette, and the violent jar of the door had brought it
down. Breathing easily, Blum slowly bolted the door.
OLIVER ONIONS
44 Walther ! " I cried sharply, " open that door ! No
harm is done ! Let the fellow go ! "
He did not appear to hear me. His bright eyes were
on the other's white and sweating face*
' Then I will open it " and I took a step forward.
But I seemed merely to precipitate the thing I wished
to forestall* Even in a light-built man I should not have
thought so swift a movement possible* I fell back with
a ringing head and one useless elbow* and Blum was not
calm now* He was trembling and his face was advanced
towards the Neapolitan's*
44 So you thought you would come ? The coast was
clear ? Just one little peep past the plantation before you
left?"
Nicolo was licking his lips* His purple jacket was
fouled and burred* and his green velours hat had gone*
44 You said to yourself* ' Walther Blum is away* and his
wife must be lonely* and it would be neighbourly to sit
with her an hour' ? "
I saw Nicolo's fleeting look at the window* I read
his thoughts : a sudden leap to the table and a header*
through icicles and all Blum could have done it it was
all there was to do* It was as a matter of fact Nicolo
who struck first* a desperate and futile blow* He did
not even succeed in getting on to the table* He was
caught and tripped* and in a moment both men were on
the floor*
Karen had fallen back behind the stove* with eyes
that peeped dreadfully between her fingers* And there
was no more screaming now* Blum had his left forearm
under the Neapolitan's nape, and his right palm was
pressed on his forehead* He was looking at him earnestly*
attentively* And he had ceased to speak* Why should
he speak ? Words were things used up and outworn by
others* To creep in midwinter round the cornice of the
Huldhorn had been one of his words* And this was its
companion word* that he was doing now*
213
THE SMILE OF KAREN
Then my heart stood still as I saw the slow grope
of his powerful hand along the floor* In a flash I knew
beforehand what he intended to do* I tried to kick at
the hand* but once more I was too late* I looked wildly
round* Karen had sunk to the floor by the stove* but
I saw her raise her head* * * *
And that at least her seeing what I foresaw I could
stop* Those blue, already overburdened eyes were not
made for that. I do not know whether or not I was in
time* I sprang to the middle of the room and with my
unhurt hand dashed out the incandescent*
I dash out the light from this page, too* As the
player rises from the board without making the final
move, as the pattern is all there without the addition of
the last piece of all, so let it be with the tale* Say I do
not know that the whole thing took ten minutes, half
an hour, an hour, before the silence came* It was in the
dead silence that I heard Blum get up from the floor* I
heard his feet pass me, heard his groping in some cupboard
behind me* There were sounds as he did something in
the middle of the room*
Then suddenly the hut was flooded with the light of
the new bulb he had fitted*
My eyes rested on Karen first* She lay on her back,
wide-eyed and still* I had heard no sound from her
believe me, if you had been there you would have had ears
for one set of sounds only but deep in her breast was
Walther's slenderest carving-chisel* He was standing
there, but he had not yet seen her ; he was looking down
at his other piece of work* I think, when I remember
the cleared table at which Karen had sat, that he had
intended to make a man-to-man business of it* He had
cleared away all other weapons, intending to finish him
with his hands, and Karen had probably hidden the thin
chisel somewhere about her* But what I saw I seemed
already to have known* Only the arm of the statuette
214
OLIVER ONIONS
was to be seen, the one that had broken off when it had
fallen from behind the door* All else of that thing of
loveliness was indistinguishable from the rest of the red
on the floor* Blum had broken it to splinters in cramming
it where he conceived it to belong where he conceived
the smile itself to belong in between Nicole's white
teeth and down his throat*
215
THE LOVELY LADY
BY D. EL LAWRENCE
AT seventy-two, Pauline Attenborough could still some-
times be mistaken, in the half-light, for thirty. She really
was a wonderfully-preserved woman, of perfect chic. Of
course it helps a great deal to have the right frame* She
would be an exquisite skeleton, and her skull would be
an exquisite skull, like that of some Etruscan woman with
feminine charm still in the swerve of the bone and the
pretty, naive teeth.
Mrs* Attenborough's face was of the perfect oval and
slightly flat type that wears best. There is no flesh to
sag. Her nose rode serenely, in its finely-bridged curve.
Only the big grey eyes were a tiny bit prominent, on the
surface of her face, and they gave her away most. The
bluish lids were heavy, as if they ached sometimes with
the strain of keeping the eyes beneath them arch and
bright ; and at the corners of the eyes were fine little
wrinkles which would slacken into haggardness, then be
pulled up tense again to that bright, gay look like a
Leonardo woman who really could laugh outright.
Her niece Cecilia was perhaps the only person in the
world who was aware of the invisible little wire which
connected Pauline's eye-wrinkles with Pauline's will-
power. Only Cecilia consciously watched the eyes go
haggard and old and tired, and remain so, for hours ;
until Robert came home. Then ping ! the mysterious
little wire that worked between Pauline's will and her face
went taut, the weary, haggard, prominent eyes suddenly
316
D* H* LAWRENCE
began to gleam, the eyelids arched, the queer, curved
eyebrows which floated in such frail arches on Pauline's
forehead began to gather a mocking significance, and you
had the real lovely lady, in all her charm*
She really had the secret of everlasting youth ; that
is to say, she could don her youth again like an eagle*
But she was sparing of it* She was wise enough not to
try being young for top many people* Her son Robert,
in the evenings, and Sir Wilfrid Knipe sometimes in the
afternoon to tea ; then occasional visitors on Sunday,
when Robert was home for these she was her lovely
and changeless self, that age could not wither, nor custom
stale ; so bright and kindly and yet subtly mocking,
like Mona Lisa, who knew a thing or two* But Pauline
knew more, so she needn't be smug at all* She could
laugh that lovely, mocking Bacchante laugh of hers, which
was at the same time never malicious, always good-
naturedly tolerant, both of virtues and vices the former,
of course, taking much more tolerating* So she suggested,
roguishly*
Only with her niece Cecilia she did not trouble to
keep up the glamour* Ciss was not very observant,
anyhow; and, more than that, she was plain; more
still, she was in love with Robert ; and most of all, she was
thirty, and dependent on her aunt Pauline* Oh, Cecilia
why make music for her ?
Cecilia, called by her aunt and by her cousin Robert
just Ciss, like a cat spitting, was a big, dark-complexioned,
pug-faced young woman who very rarely spoke, and when
she did couldn't get it out* She was the daughter of a
poor Congregational clergyman who had been, while he
lived, brother to Ronald, Aunt Pauline's husband* Ronald
and the Congregational minister were both well dead,
and Aunt Pauline had had charge of Ciss for the last
five years*
They lived all together in a quite exquisite though
rather small Queen Anne house some twenty-five miles
217
THE LOVELY LADY
out of town, secluded in a little dale, and surrounded by
small but very quaint and pleasant grounds* It was an
ideal place and an ideal life for Aunt Pauline, at the age of
seventy-two* When the kingfishers flashed up the little
stream in her garden, going under the alders, something
still flashed in her heart* She was that kind of woman*
Robert, who was two years older than Ciss, went
every day to town, to his chambers in one of the Inns* He
was a barrister, and, to his secret but very deep mortifica-
tion, he earned about a hundred pounds a year* He
simply couldn't get above that figure, though it was rather
easy to get below it* Of course, it didn't matter* Pauline
had money* But then, what was Pauline's was Pauline's,
and though she could give almost lavishly, still, one was
always aware of having a lovely and undeserved present
made to one* Presents are so much nicer when they're
undeserved, Aunt Pauline would say*
Robert, too, was plain, and almost speechless* He
was medium sised, rather broad and stout, though not
fat* Only his creamy, clean-shaven face was rather fat,
and sometimes suggestive of an Italian priest, in its
silence and its secrecy* But he had grey eyes like his
mother, but very shy and uneasy, not bold like hers*
Perhaps Ciss was the only person who fathomed his awful
shyness and malaise, his habitual feeling that he was in
the wrong place : almost like a soul that has got into a
wrong body* But he never did anything about it* He
went up to Chambers, and read law* It was, however,
all the weird old processes that interested him* He had,
unknown to everybody but his mother, a quite extra-
ordinary collection of old Mexican legal documents
reports of processes and trials, pleas, accusations : the
weird and awful mixture of ecclesiastical law and common
law in seventeenth- century Mexico* He had started a
study in this direction through coming across the report
of a trial of two English sailors, for murder, in Mexico,
in 1620, and he had gone on, when the next document
218
IX H* LAWRENCE
was an accusation against a Don Miguel Estrada for
seducing one of the nuns of the Sacred Heart Convent
in Qaxaca in 1680*
Pauline and her son Robert had wonderful evenings
with these old papers* The lovely lady knew a little
Spanish. She even looked a trifle Spanish herself, with
a high comb and a marvellous dark-brown shawl em-
broidered in thick silvery silk embroidery* So she would
sit at the perfect old table, soft as velvet in its deep brown
surface, a high comb in her hair, ear-rings with dropping
pendants in her ears, her arms bare and still beautiful, a
few strings of pearls round her throat, a puce velvet
dress on and this or another beautiful shawl, and by
candlelight she looked, yes, a Spanish high-bred beauty
of thirty-two or three* She set the candles to give her
face just the chiaroscuro she knew suited her ; her high
chair that rose behind her face was done in old green
brocade, against which her face emerged like a Christmas
rose*
They were always three at table, and they always
drank a bottle of champagne : Pauline two glasses, Ciss
two glasses, Robert the rest* The lovely lady sparkled
and was radiant* Ciss, her black hair bobbed, her broad
shoulders in a very nice and becoming dress that Aunt
Pauline had helped her to make, stared from her aunt to
her cousin and back again, with rather confused, mute
ha^el eyes, and played the part of an audience suitably
impressed* She was impressed, somewhere, all the time*
And even rendered speechless by Pauline's brilliancy,
even after five years* But at the bottom of her con-
sciousness was the data of as weird a document as Robert
ever studied : all the things she knew about her aunt and
her cousin*
Robert was always a gentleman, with an old-fashioned,
punctilious courtesy that covered his shyness quite com-
pletely* He was, and Ciss knew it, more confused than
shy* He was worse than she was* Cecilia's own con-
219
THE LOVELY LADY
fusion dated from only five years back. Robert's must
have started before he was born. In the lovely lady's
womb he must have felt very confused*
He paid all his attention to his mother, drawn to her
as a humble flower to the sun* And yet, priest-like, he
was all the time aware, with the tail of his consciousness,
that Ciss was there, and that she was a bit shut out of it,
and that something wasn't right* He was aware of the
third consciousness in the room* Whereas to Pauline,
her niece Cecilia was an appropriate part of her own setting,
rather than a distinct consciousness*
Robert took coffee with his mother and Ciss in the
warm drawing-room, where all the furniture was so lovely,
all collectors' pieces Mrs* Attenborough had made her
own money, dealing privately in pictures and furniture
and rare things from barbaric countries and the three
talked desultorily till about eight or half-past* It was
very pleasant, very cosy, very homely even ; Pauline
made a real home cosiness out of so much elegant material*
The chat was simple, and nearly always bright* Pauline
was her real self, emanating a friendly mockery and an
odd, ironic gaiety till there came a little pause*
At which Ciss always rose and said good-night, and
carried out the coffee-tray, to prevent Burnett from in-
truding any more*
And then ! ah, then, the lovely, glowing intimacy of
the evening, between mother and son, when they de-
ciphered manuscripts and discussed points, Pauline with
that eagerness of a girl for which she was famous* And
it was quite genuine* In some mysterious way she had
saved up her power for being thrilled, in connection with
a man* Robert, solid, rather quiet and subdued, seemed
like the elder of the two almost like a priest with a young
girl pupil* And that was rather how he felt*
Ciss had a flat for herself just across the courtyard,
over the old coach-house and stables* There were no
horses* Robert kept his car in the coach-house* Ciss
230
D* H* LAWRENCE
had three very nice rooms up there, stretching along in
a row one after the other, and she had got used to the
ticking of the stable clock*
But sometimes she did not go to her rooms* In the
summer she would sit on the lawn, and from the open win-
dow of the drawing-room upstairs she would hear Pauline's
wonderful, heart-searching laugh. And in winter the
young woman would put on a thick coat and walk slowly
to the little balustraded bridge over the stream, and then
look back at the three lighted windows of that drawing-
room where mother and son were so happy together*
Ciss loved Robert, and she believed that Pauline in-
tended the two of them to marry when she was dead*
But poor Robert, he was so convulsed with shyness
already, with man or woman* What would he be when
his mother was dead ? in a dozen more years* He
would be just a shell, the shell of a man who had never
lived*
The strange, unspoken sympathy of the young with
one another, when they are overshadowed by the old,
was one of the bonds between Robert and Ciss* But another
bond, which Ciss did not know how to draw tight, was
the bond of passion* Poor Robert was by nature a
passionate man* His silence and his agonised, though
hidden, shyness were both the result of a secret physical
passionateness* And how Pauline could play on this !
Ah, Ciss was not blind to the eyes which he fixed on his
mother eyes fascinated yet humiliated, full of shame*
He was ashamed that he was not a man* And he did not
love his mother* He was fascinated by her* Completely
fascinated* And for the rest, paralysed in a life-long
confusion*
Ciss stayed in the garden till the lights leapt up in
Pauline's bedroom about ten o'clock* The lovely lady
had retired* Robert would now stay another hour or so,
alone* Then he, too, would retire* Ciss, in the dark
outside, sometimes wished she could creep up to him and
2,2,1
THE LOVELY LADY
say : " Oh, Robert ! It's all wrong ! " But Aunt
Pauline would hear. And, anyhow, Ciss couldn't do
it. She went off to her own rooms, once more, once more,
and so for ever.
In the morning coffee was brought up on a tray to
each of the rooms of the three relatives* Ciss had to be
at Sir Wilfrid Knipe's at nine o'clock, to give two hours'
lessons to his little grand-daughter. It was her sole
serious occupation, except that she played the piano for
the love of it. Robert set off to town about nine. And
as a rule, Aunt Pauline appeared to lunch, though some-
times not till tea-time. When she appeared, she looked
fresh and young. But she was inclined to fade rather
rapidly, like a flower without water, in the daytime.
Her hour was the candle hour.
So she always rested in the afternoon. When the
sun shone, if possible she took a sun-bath. This was one
of her secrets. Her lunch was very light ; she could
take her sun-and-air-bath before noon or after, as it
pleased her. Often it was in the afternoon, when the
sun shone very warmly into a queer little yew-walled
square just behind the stables. Here Ciss stretched out
the lying-chair and rugs, and put the light parasol handy
in the silent little enclosure of thick dark yew-hedges
beyond the old red walls of the unused stables. And
hither came the lovely lady with her book. Ciss then had
to be on guard in one of her own rooms, should her aunt,
who was very keen-eared, hear a footstep.
One afternoon it occurred to Cecilia that she herself
might while away this rather long afternoon hour by taking a
sun-bath. She was growing restive. The thought of the
flat roof of the stable buildings, to which she could climb
from a loft at the end, started her on a new adventure.
She often went on to the roof ; she had to, to wind up
the stable clock, which was a job she had assumed to her-
self. Now she took a rug, climbed out under the heavens,
looked at the sky and the great elm-tops, looked at the
222
D* H. LAWRENCE
sun, then took off her things and lay down perfectly
securely, in a corner of the roof under the parapet, full
in the sun*
It was rather lovely, to bask all one's length like this
in warm sun and air* Yes, it was very lovely ! It even
seemed to melt some of the hard bitterness of her heart,
some of that core of unspoken resentment which never
dissolved* Luxuriously, she spread herself, so that the
sun should touch her limbs fully, fully* If she had no
other lover, she should have the sun ! She rolled over
voluptuously*
And suddenly her heart stood still in her body, and her
hair almost rose on end as a voice said very softly, musingly,
in her ear :
" No, Henry dear ! It was not my fault you died
instead of marrying that Claudia* No, darling* I was
quite, quite willing for you to marry her, unsuitable
though she was*
Cecilia sank down on her rug, powerless and perspiring
with dread* That awful voice, so soft, so musing, yet
so unnatural* Not a human voice at all* Yet there must,
there must be someone on the roof ! Oh, how unspeak-
ably awful !
She lifted her weak head and peeped across the sloping
leads* Nobody ! The chimneys were too narrow to
shelter anybody* There was nobody on the roof* Then
it must be someone in the trees, in the elms* Either
that, or terror unspeakable a bodiless voice ! She
reared her head a little higher*
And as she did so, came the voice again :
" No, darling ! I told you you would tire of her in
six months* And you see it was true, dear* It was
true, true, true ! I wanted to spare you that* So it
wasn't I who made you feel weak and disabled, wanting
that very silly Claudia poor thing, she looked so woe-
begone afterwards ! wanting her and not wanting her*
You got yourself into that perplexity, my dear* I only
223
THE LOVELY LADY
warned you* What else could I do ? And you lost your
spirit and died without ever knowing me again. It was
bitter, bitter "
The voice faded away* Cecilia subsided weakly on
to her rug, after the anguished tension of listening* Oh,
it was awful* The sun shone, the sky was blue, all seemed
so lovely and afternoony and summery* And yet, oh,
horror ! she was going to be forced to believe in the
supernatural ! And she loathed the supernatural, ghosts
and voices and rappings and all the rest*
But that awful, creepy, bodiless voice, with its rusty
sort of whispers of an overtone ! It had something so
fearfully familiar in it, too ! And yet was so utterly un-
canny* Poor Cecilia could only lie there unclothed, and
so all the more agonisingly helpless, inert, collapsed in
sheer dread*
And then she heard the thing sigh ! a deep sigh that
seemed weirdly familiar, yet was not human* " Ah well,
ah well ! the heart must bleed. Better it should bleed
than break* It is grief, grief ! But it wasn't my fault,
dear* And Robert could marry our poor, dull Ciss to-
morrow, if he wanted her* But he doesn't care about it,
so why force him into anything ? " The sounds were
very uneven, sometimes only a husky sort of whisper*
Listen ! Listen !
Cecilia was about to give vent to loud and piercing
screams of hysteria, when the last two sentences arrested
her* All her caution and her cunning sprang alert* It
was Aunt Pauline ! It must be Aunt Pauline, practising
ventriloquism, or something like that* What a devil she
was !
Where was she ? She must be lying down there, right
below where Cecilia herself was lying* And it was either
some fiend's trick of ventriloquism, or else thought-
transference* The sounds were very uneven ; sometimes
quite inaudible, sometimes only a brushing sort of noise*
listened intently* No, it could not be ventriloquism*
224
D* H* LAWRENCE
It was worse : some form of thought-transference that
conveyed itself like sound* Some horror of that sort !
Cecilia still lay weak and inert, too terrified to move ; but
she was growing calmer with suspicion* It was some
diabolic trick of that unnatural woman*
But what a devil of a woman ! She even knew that
she, Cecilia, had mentally accused her of killing her son
Henry* Poor Henry was Robert's elder brother, twelve
years older than Robert* He had died suddenly when he
was twenty-two, after an awful struggle with himself,
because he was passionately in love with a young and very
good-looking actress, and his mother had humorously
despised him for the attachment* So he had caught some
sudden ordinary disease, but the poison had gone to his
brain and killed him before he ever regained consciousness*
Ciss knew the few facts from her own father* And lately
she had been thinking that Pauline was going to kill Robert
as she had killed Henry* It was clear murder : a mother
murdering her sensitive sons, who were fascinated by
her : the Circe !
' I suppose I may as well get up/' murmured the dim,
unbreathing voice* " * Too much sun is as bad as too
little* Enough sun, enough love-thrill, enough proper
food, and not too much of any of them, and a woman might
live for ever* I verily believe, for ever* If she absorbs
as much vitality as she expends* Or perhaps a trifle
more ! "
It was certainly Aunt Pauline ! How how terrible !
She, Ciss, was hearing Aunt Pauline's thoughts* Oh,
how ghastly ! Aunt Pauline was sending out her thoughts
in a sort of radio, and she, Ciss, had to hear what her aunt
was thinking* How ghastly ! How insufferable ! One
of them would surely have to die*
She twisted and lay inert and crumpled, staring vacantly
in front of her* Vacantly ! Vacantly ! And her eyes
were staring almost into a hole* She was staring in it
unseeing, a hole going down in the corner, from the lead
B.C. 335 P
THE LOVELY LADY
gutter* It meant nothing to her. Only it frightened her
a little more.
When suddenly, out of the hole came a sigh and a last
whisper : " Ah well ! Pauline ! Get up, it's enough for
to-day/' Good God ! Out of the hole of the rain-pipe !
The rain-pipe was acting as a speaking-tube 1 Impossible !
No, quite possible. She had read of it even in some book*
And Aunt Pauline, like the old and guilty woman she was,
talked aloud to herself. That was it !
A sullen exultance sprang in Ciss's breast. That was
why she would never have anybody, not even Robert, in
her bedroom. That was why she never dosed in a chair,
never sat absent-minded anywhere, but went to her room,
and kept to her room, except when she roused herself to be
alert. When she slackened off she talked to herself!
She talked in a soft little crary voice to herself. But she
was not crazy. It was only her thoughts murmuring
themselves aloud.
So she had qualms about poor Henry! Well she
might have ! Ciss believed that Aunt Pauline had loved
her big, handsome, brilliant first-born much more than
she loved Robert, and that his death had been a terrible
blow and a chagrin to her. Poor Robert had been only
ten years old when Henry died. Since then he had been
the substitute.
Ah, how awful !
But Aunt Pauline was a strange woman. She had
left her husband when Henry was a small child, some
years even before Robert was born. There was no quarrel.
Sometimes she saw her husband again, quite amiably, but
a little mockingly. And she even gave him money.
For Pauline earned all her own. Her father had been
a Consul in the East and in Naples, and a devoted collector
of beautiful exotic things. When he died, soon after his
grandson Henry was born, he left his collection of treasures
to his daughter. And Pauline, who had really a passion
and a genius for loveliness, whether in texture or form
326
D* H* LAWRENCE
or colour, had laid the basis of her fortune on her father's
collection* She had gone on collecting, buying where she
could, and selling to collectors or to museums* She was
one of the first to sell old, weird African figures to the
museums, and ivory carvings from New Guinea* She
bought Renoir as soon as she saw his pictures* But not
Rousseau* And all by herself she made a fortune*
After her husband died she had not married again*
She was not even known to have had lovers* If she did
have lovers, it was not among the men who admired her
most and paid her devout and open attendance* To these
she was a " friend*"
Cecilia slipped on her clothes and caught up her rug,
hastening carefully down the ladder to the loft* As she
descended she heard the ringing, musical call : " All right,
Ciss " which meant that the lovely lady was finished, and
returning to the house* Even her voice was wonderfully
young and sonorous, beautifully balanced and self-
possessed* So different from the little voice in which she
talked to herself* That was much more the voice of an
old woman*
Ciss hastened round to the yew enclosure, where lay
the comfortable chaise longue with the various delicate
rugs* Everything Pauline had was choice, to the fine
straw mat on the floor* The great yew walls were
beginning to cast long shadows* Only in the corner
where the rugs tumbled their delicate colours was there
hot, still sunshine*
The rugs folded up, the chair lifted away, Cecilia
stooped to look at the mouth of the rain-pipe* There it
was, in the corner, under a little hood of masonry and just
projecting from the thick leaves of the creeper on the wall*
If Pauline, lying there, turned her face towards the wall,
she would speak into the very mouth of the tube* Cecilia
was reassured* She had heard her aunt's thoughts
indeed, but by no uncanny agency*
That evening, as if aware of something, Pauline was a
227
THE LOVELY LADY
little quieter than usual, though she looked her own serene,
rather mysterious self* And after coffee she said to Robert
and Ciss :
44 I'm so sleepy. The sun has made me so sleepy*
I feel full of sunshine like a bee* I shall go to bed* if
you don't mind* You two sit and have a talk*"
Cecilia looked quickly at her cousin*
" Perhaps you'd rather be alone ? " she said to him*
" No no/' he replied* u Do keep me company for
a while* if it doesn't bore you*"
The windows were open* the scent of honeysuckle
wafted in* with the sound of an owl* Robert smoked in
silence* There was a sort of despair in his motionless* rather
squat body* He looked like a caryatid bearing a weight*
44 Do you remember Cousin Henry ? " Cecilia asked
him suddenly*
He looked up in surprise*
4 Yes* Very well/' he said*
44 What did he look like ? " she said, glancing into her
cousin's big* secret-troubled eyes, in which there was
so much frustration*
44 Oh, he was handsome : tall, and fresh-coloured,
with mother's soft brown hair*" As a matter of fact,
Pauline's hair was grey* " The ladies admired him very
much; he was at all the dances*"
" And what kind of character had he ? "
" Oh, very good-natured and jolly* He liked to be
amused* He was rather quick and clever, like mother,
and very good company*"
" And did he love your mother ? '
44 Very much* She loved him too better than she
does me, as a matter of fact* He was so much more nearly
her idea of a man*"
4 Why was he more her idea of a man ? "
44 Tall handsome attractive, and very good company
and would, I believe, have been very successful at law*
I'm afraid I am merely negative in all those respects*"
228
D* H* LAWRENCE
Ciss looked at him attentively, with her slow-thinking
hazel eyes* Under his impassive mask she knew he
suffered*
'* Do you think you are so much more negative than
he ? " she said*
He did not lift his face* But after a few moments he
replied :
" My life* certainly* is a negative affair*"
She hesitated before she dared ask him :
" And do you mind ? '
He did not answer her at all* Her heart sank*
4 You see* Fm afraid my life is as negative as yours is,"
she said* " And I'm beginning to mind bitterly* Fm
thirty*"
She saw his creamy, well-bred hand tremble*
44 I suppose," he said, without looking at her, 44 one
will rebel when it is too late*"
That was queer, from him*
" Robert ! " she said* " Do you like me at all ? '
She saw his dusky-creamy face, so changeless in its
folds, go pale*
' 4 I am very fond of you," he murmured*
4 Won't you kiss me ? Nobody ever kisses me," she
said pathetically*
He looked at her, his eyes strange with fear and a
certain haughtiness* Then he rose, and came softly over
to her, and kissed her gently on the cheek*
' It's an awful shame, Ciss ! " he said softly*
She caught his hand and pressed it to her breast*
" And sit with me sometimes in the garden," she said*
murmuring with difficulty* 44 Won't you ? "
He looked at her anxiously and searchingly*
4 What about mother ? "
Ciss smiled a funny little smile, and looked into his
eyes* He suddenly flushed crimson, turning aside his face*
It was a painful sight*
' I know," he said* " I am no lover of women*"
329
THE LOVELY LADY
He spoke with sarcastic stoicism, against himself, but
even she did not know the shame it was to him,
4 You never try to be/' she said.
Again his eyes changed uncannily*
44 Does one have to try ? " he said*
44 Why, yes* One never does anything if one doesn't
try/'
He went pale again*
" Perhaps you are right/' he said*
In a few minutes she left him, and went to her rooms*
At least she had tried to take off the everlasting lid from
things*
The weather continued sunny, Pauline continued her
sun-baths, and Ciss lay on the roof eavesdropping, in the
literal sense of the word* But Pauline was not to be heard*
No sound came up the pipe* She must be lying with her
face away into the open* Ciss listened with all her might*
She could just detect the faintest, faintest murmur away
below, but no audible syllable*
And at night, under the stars, Cecilia sat and waited
in silence, on the seat which kept in view the drawing-
room windows and the side door into the garden* She
saw the light go up in her aunt's room* She saw the
lights at last go out in the drawing-room* And she waited*
But he did not come* She stayed on in the darkness half
the night, while the owl hooted* But she stayed alone*
Two days she heard nothing ; her aunt's thoughts
were not revealed ; and at evening nothing happened*
Then, the second night, as she sat with heavy, helpless
persistence in the garden, suddenly she started* He had
come out* She rose and went softly over the grass to him*
44 Don't speak ! " he murmured*
And in silence, in the dark, they walked down the
garden and over the little bridge to the paddock, where the
hay, cut very late, was in cock* There they stood dis-
consolate under the stars*
4 You see," he said, " how can I ask for love, if I don't
230
D* H* LAWRENCE
feel any love in myself? You know I have a real regard
for you "
44 How can you feel any love, when you never feel
anything ? " she said*
' That is true/' he replied.
And she waited for what next*
44 And how can I marry ? " he said* '' 4 I am a failure
even at making money* I can't ask my mother for
money *"
She sighed deeply*
44 Then don't bother yet about marrying/' she said*
44 Only love me a little* Won't you ? '
He gave a short laugh*
' It sounds so atrocious, to say it is hard to begin/'
he said*
She sighed again* He was so stiff to move*
44 Shall we sit down a minute ? " she said* And then,
as they sat on the hay, she added : " May I touch you ?
Do you mind ? "
44 Yes, I mind* But do as you wish," he replied, with
that mixture of shyness and queer candour which made
him a little ridiculous, as he knew quite well* But in his
heart there was almost murder*
She touched his black, always tidy, hair with her
fingers*
' I suppose I shall rebel one day," he said again
suddenly*
They sat some time, till it grew chilly* And he held
her hand fast, but he never put his arms round her* At
last she rose, and went indoors, saying good-night*
The next day, as Cecilia lay stunned and angry on the
roof, taking her sun-bath, and becoming hot and fierce
with sunshine, suddenly she started* A terror seized her
in spite of herself* It was the voice*
" Caro, caro, tu non 1'hai yisto ! " it was murmuring
away, in a language Cecilia did not understand* She lay
and writhed her limbs in the sun, listening intently to
231
THE LOVELY LADY
words she could not follow* Softly, whisperingly, with
infinite caressiveness and yet with that subtle, insidious
arrogance under its velvet, came the voice, murmuring
in Italian : " Bravo, si, molto bravo, poverino, ma uomo
come te non sara mai, mai, mai ! " Oh, especially in
Italian Cecilia heard the poisonous charm of the voice,
so caressive, so soft and flexible, yet so utterly egoistic*
She hated it with intensity as it sighed and whispered out
of nowhere* Why, why should it be so delicate, so subtle
and flexible and beautifully controlled, when she herself
was so clumsy? Oh, poor Cecilia, she writhed in the
afternoon sun, knowing her own clownish clumsiness and
lack of suavity, in comparison*
" No, Robert dear, you will never be the man your
father was, though you have some of his looks* He was
a marvellous lover, soft as a flower yet piercing as a
humming-bird* Cara, cara mia bellissima, ti hoaspettato
come Tagonissante aspetta la morte, morte deli^iosa, quasi
quasi troppo deliziosa per una mera anima humana* He
gave himself to a woman as he gave himself to God*
Mauro ! Mauro ! How you loved me ! How you loved
me!"
The voice ceased in reverie, and Cecilia knew what
she had guessed before that Robert was not the son of
her Uncle Ronald, but of some Italian*
44 I am disappointed in you, Robert* There is no
poignancy in you* Your father was a Jesuit, but he was
the most perfect and poignant lover in the world* You
are a Jesuit like a fish in a tank* And that Ciss of yours is
the cat fishing for you* It is less edifying even than poor
Henry//
Cecilia suddenly bent her mouth down to the tube,
and said in a deep voice :
" Leave Robert alone ! Don't kill him as well*"
There was dead silence in the hot July afternoon that
was lowering for thunder* Cecilia lay prostrate, her heart
beating in great thumps* She was listening as if her
D. H. LAWRENCE
whole soul were an ear. At last she caught the whisper :
" Did someone speak ? '
She leaned again to the mouth of the tube :
" Don't kill Robert as you killed me," she said, with
slow enunciation, and a deep but small voice*
44 Ah ! " came the sharp little cry. 4 Who is that
speaking ? "
14 Henry," said the deep voice.
There was dead silence. Poor Cecilia lay with all the
use gone out of her. And there was dead silence. Till
at last came the whisper :
44 I didn't kill Henry. No, no ! No, no ! Henry,
surely you can't blame me ! I loved you, dearest ; I only
wanted to help you."
44 You killed me ! " came the deep, artificial, accusing
voice. " Now let Robert live. Let him go ! Let him
marry ! "
There was a pause.
44 How very, very awful ! " mused the whispering
voice. " Is it possible, Henry, you are a spirit, and you
condemn me ? "
44 Yes, I condemn you ! tj
Cecilia felt all the pent-up rage going down that
rain-pipe. At the same time, she almost laughed. It
was awful.
She lay and listened and listened. No sound ! As if
time had ceased, she lay inert in the weakening sun, till
she heard a far-off rumble of thunder. She sat up. The
sky was yellowing. Quickly she dressed herself, went
down, and out to the corner of the stables.
" Aunt Pauline ! " she called discreetly. 44 Did you
hear thunder ? "
4 Yes. I am going in. Don't wait," came a feeble
voice.
Cecilia retired, and from the loft watched, spying, as
the figure of the lovely lady, wrapped in a lovely wrap of
old blue silk, went rather totteringly to the house.
233
THE LOVELY LADY
The sky gradually darkened. Cecilia hastened in
with the rugs. Then the storm broke. Aunt Pauline
did not appear to tea. She found the thunder trying.
Robert also did not arrive till after tea, in the pouring rain.
Cecilia went down the covered passage to her own house,
and dressed carefully for dinner, putting some white
columbines at her breast.
The drawing-room was lit with a softly-shaded lamp.
Robert, dressed, was waiting, listening to the rain. He
too seemed strangely crackling and on edge. Cecilia
came in, with the white flowers nodding at her dusky
breast. Robert was watching her curiously, a new look
on his face. Cecilia went to the bookshelves near the
door, and was peering for something, listening acutely.
She heard a rustle, then the door softly opening. And
as it opened, Ciss suddenly switched on the strong electric
light by the door.
Her aunt, in a dress of black lace over ivory colour,
stood in the doorway. Her face was made up, but
haggard with a look of unspeakable irritability, as
if years of suppressed exasperation and dislike of her
fellow-men had suddenly crumpled her into an old
witch.
" Oh, aunt ! " cried Cecilia.
44 Why, mother, you're a little old lady ! " came the
astounded voice of Robert like an astonished boy, as if
it were a joke.
" Have you only just found it out ? " snapped the old
woman venomously.
4 Yes ! Why, I thought " his voice tailed out in
misgiving.
The haggard, old Pauline, in a frenzy of exasperation,
said :
" Aren't we going down ? '
She had not even noticed the excess of light, a
thing she shunned. And she went downstairs almost
tottering.
234
D* H* LAWRENCE
At table she sat with her face like a crumpled mask of
unspeakable irritability* She looked old, very old, and
like a witch* Robert and Cecilia fetched furtive glances
at hen And Ciss, watching Robert, saw that he was so
astonished and repelled by his mother's looks that he
was another man*
44 What kind of a drive home did you have ? " snapped
Pauline, with an almost gibbering irritability*
' It rained, of course/' he said*
44 How clever of you to have found that out ! " said his
mother, with the grisly grin of malice that had succeeded
her arch smile*
' I don't understand," he said, with quiet suavity*
44 It's apparent," said his mother, rapidly and sloppily
eating her food*
She rushed through the meal like a crazy dog, to the
utter consternation of the servant* And the moment it
was over she darted in a queer, crab-like way upstairs*
Robert and Cecilia followed her, thunderstruck, like two
conspirators*
".You pour the coffee* I loathe it ! I'm going*
Good-night ! " said the old woman, in a succession of
sharp shots* And she scrambled out of the room*
There was a dead silence* At last he said :
" I'm afraid mother isn't well* I must persuade her
to see a doctor*"
4 Yes," said Cecilia*
The evening passed in silence* Robert and Ciss
stayed on in the drawing-room, having lit a fire* Outside
was cold rain* Each pretended to read* They did not
want to separate* The evening passed with ominous
mysteriousness, yet quickly*
At about ten o'clock the door suddenly opened, and
Pauline appeared, in a blue wrap* She shut the door
behind her, and came to the fire* Then she looked at the
two young people in hate, real hate*
* You two had better get married quickly," she said,
235
THE LOVELY LADY
in an ugly voice. " It would look more decent ; such a
passionate pair of lovers ! "
Robert looked up at her quietly.
44 I thought you believed that cousins should not
marry, mother/' he said.
44 I do. But you're not cousins. Your father was an
Italian priest/' Pauline held her daintily-slippered foot
to the fire, in an old coquettish gesture. Her body tried
to repeat all the old graceful gestures. But the nerve
had snapped, so it was a rather dreadful caricature.
4 Is that really true, mother ? " he asked.
44 True ! What do you think ? He was a distin-
guished man, or he wouldn't have been my lover. He was
far too distinguished a man to have had you for a son.
But that joy fell to me."
" How unfortunate all round," he said slowly.
4 Unfortunate for you ? You were lucky. It was my
misfortune," she said acidly to him.
She was really a dreadful sight, like a piece of lovely
Venetian glass that has been dropped and gathered up
again in horrible, sharp-edged fragments.
Suddenly she left the room again.
For a week it went on. She did not recover. It was
as if every nerve in her body had suddenly started
screaming in an insanity of discordance. The doctor came,
and gave her sedatives, for she never slept. Without
drugs she never slept at all, only paced back and forth in
her room, looking hideous and evil, reeking with malevo-
lence. She could not bear to see either her son or her
niece. Only when either of them came she asked, in
pure malice :
44 Well ! When's the wedding ? Have you celebrated
the nuptials yet ? "
At first Cecilia was stunned by what she had done.
She realised vaguely that her aunt, once a definite thrust of
condemnation had penetrated her beautiful armour, had
just collapsed, squirming, inside her shell. It was too
236
D* H* LAWRENCE
terrible* Ciss was almost terrified into repentance. Then
she thought : " This is what she always was* Now let
her live the rest of her days in her true colours/'
But Pauline would not live long* She was literally
shrivelling away* She kept her room* and saw no one*
She had her mirrors taken away*
Robert and Cecilia sat a good deal together* The
jeering of the mad Pauline had not driven them apart, as
she had hoped* But Cecilia dared not confess to him
what she had done*
" Do you think your mother ever loved anybody ? t:
Ciss asked him tentatively* rather wistfully, one evening*
He looked at her fixedly*
" Herself ! " he said at last*
" She didn't even love herself/' said Ciss* " It was
something else* What was it ? " She lifted a troubled,
utterly puzzled face to him*
u Power," he said curtly*
" But what power ? " she asked* " I don't under-
stand*"
" Power to feed on other lives," he said bitterly.
" She was beautiful, and she fed on life* She has fed on
me as she fed on Henry* She put a sucker into one's
soul, and sucked up one's essential life*"
" And don't you forgive her ? "
44 No*"
' Poor Aunt Pauline ! "
But even Ciss did not mean it* She was only
aghast*
14 I know I've got a heart," he said, passionately striking
his breast* " But it's almost sucked dry* I know I've
got a soul, somewhere* But it's gnawed bare* I hate
people who want power over others*"
Ciss was silent* What was there to say ?
And two days later Pauline was found dead in her
bed, having taken too much veronal, for her heart was
weakened*
237
THE LOVELY LADY
From the grave even she hit back at her son and her
niece* She left Robert the noble sum of one thousand
pounds, and Ciss one hundred. All the rest, with the
nucleus of her valuable antiques, went to form the
44 Pauline Attenborough Museum/'
THE HOSPITAL NURSE
A STUDY IN MURDER
BY SHANE LESLIE
Miss TURBERAH BOOLE was the middle-aged, hard-worked,
uninteresting and unenterprising nurse and slavey em-
ployed by Hosanna Smith to tend Mrs* Smith's father,
old Sir Athelstone Penguin, the master-plumber, who, by
an ingenious series of inventions, had collected half the
Royal Blasonry of Christendom on his Appointments*
In his senility he had added Arms of his own to the
venerable collection of Burke* His fortune was large and
his family was small* There was a disinherited son in
Australia, Edward, who had speculated so considerably
on his father's death that his father had cut him off in his
own lifetime* His dull but inexpensive daughter and the
good-or-bad-for-nothing husband she had bought for
herself on an excursion to Switzerland, lived like a pair of
caretakers or sentries in his gaunt Palladian House a couple
of miles outside Reading* As far as the baronet's health
was concerned they were caretakers, but of his fortune
they were sentries* They watched against the return of
the prodigal son* They had watched for ten years, day
and night, post after post* One of them had always been
within reach of the telephone, and telegrams were humanely
opened before they could give the old man any ki n d of
shock* r
It was very unlikely that the son would return a ter
a career which had been continued in the Antipodes long
239
THE HOSPITAL NURSE
after his enforced trip from the old country and the old
folks at home. His mother had since died of her son's
and husband's behaviour in equal parts, and her death had
extinguished the last flicker of daughterly love on the part
of Mrs* Smith for her father. Edward had never ac-
knowledged the notification of his mother's death, but
continued to sully the old name in the Australian dust.
No longer able to pledge and pawn Sir Athelstone's
credit, he had danced, drunk, devilled and disappeared*
Hosanna's husband, Jordan, developed an unsuspected
interest in keeping the family annals, and all that could be
recorded to Edward's discredit by letter or by news-
cutting was kept in a black copy-book to refresh the
baronet's memory if need arose.
Nurse Doole was seldom disturbed of a morning by
the family, who left her about her duties. She was
surprised when Mr. Smith interrupted her once before noon
and asked for The Times, which she generally read to her
patient in the course of the day. He brought it back with
a paragraph cut out by scissors. Three days later The
Times was brought to her with an excision previously
committed.
She was a harmless old soul with one ambition and
one vice. Her ambition was the cottage she intended
buying with her savings at the end of this case, and her
vice was curiosity. It was her curiosity to know what
had been cut from The Times, which was to change her
whole life. As she went only to Reading on Sundays,
she saw no way of securing that cutting except by letting
Sir Athelstone notice the gap. She read several para-
graphs to him through the missing square. Wh en he
noticed, he was very angry and stopped her reading. He
examined the sheet and ordered the butler to be sent into
Reading for a clean copy. Her curiosity was gratified an
hour later by reading aloud a few sentences reporting the
sudden rise into political fame of the young Australian,
who had been selected to join the Imperial Tramway
340
SHANE LESLIE
Visiting Committee and had left the Antipodes with the
other members the previous day. They would reach
England in six weeks* An interesting rather than a
pleasant programme appeared to have been arranged for
them. The name of the young politician was Edward
Penguin.
All this caused the greatest panic and distress
among the Smiths, but as neither they nor the old man
mentioned the news, the old life proceeded. Only the
nurse's position changed perceptibly. The Smiths no
longer treated her as a hireling. They began consulting
her. They were particularly anxious to know how the
news had affected Sir Athelstone. The nurse reported
that he had not turned a hair. The next six weeks
became a nightmare for the Smiths, who slept considerably
worse than the invalid. The nurse alone slept with a
careless content. In a few months she would be able to
purchase her cottage. For thirty years she had slaved in
ward and hospital and on private cases. Freedom and
Respectability, a Cottage and the Crematorium beyond
lay comfortably before her. Money she had never had
and never would. She could enjoy the sleep denied to
the Smiths, whose agonies increased as the possible spoiler
of their long-awaited treasure approached.
The return of Edward carried nightmarish possi-
bilities. They knew they were the inheritors in Sir Athel-
stone's Will, but they knew his pride in his name. They
had once offered to assume it after his death by Royal
Licence, and he had scorned the idea. The old name must
be carried on by son of his but by nobody else. The Smiths
knew well his attitude to the idea of sonship and inheritance
apart from the filial curse, with which Heaven had visited
him. They knew that he was immensely rich. They
knew they would be so at his death. They knew they
had waited for twenty years. They wjre ready to wait
ten more, but in six weeks this wretched son would have
risen from the dead. They could not forbear asking the
B.C. 341 Q
THE HOSPITAL NURSE
nurse once if she thought the old man would live through
the summer. They hoped so, they said, because he was so
fond of roses. Nurse answered that he would see the last
rose of several summers yet. He was not ill, only old.
It was an injudicious question, for it enabled the nurse
to read what was in their minds and it gave her a sense
of power. She was enjoying the nervous alarm which the
Australian Special Correspondent of The Times was
causing in the household. She had nothing to win or
lose herself. She was not in the Will. Whoever inherited
the money would pay her her wage and she would buy her
cottage. When she thought of the years she had slaved
and salved and served for others, she felt a slight anger
against the wealthy people who could hire her services
for so little. The nervous anxiety of the Smiths, amounting
to despair, offered her a form of slight revenge.
Four weeks passed and there was a long paragraph in
The Times about the coming Committee from Australia.
This time the Smiths threw away all reserve and Hosanna
Smith asked nurse as a favour not to read it to the old
man. She could easily skip it. Nurse said nothing,
biding her counsel, but an envelope was brought to her
at lunch. It contained a five-pound note. For the first
time for many months Turberah Doole smiled. The
winning game seemed to have been placed in her lap.
She would have a garden as well as a cottage in the country
by the time this case was over.
She skipped reading the passage about Edward Penguin
to his father and reassured the Smiths. A week later she
noticed a tiny news item containing the dreaded name,
and pointed it out to the Smiths with the malicious query
whether she ought to read it aloud or not. That evening
her bank account received another five-pound note. The
condition of the Smiths was pitiable. They seemed
unable to act or think for themselves. They looked to
the nurse for initiative. What was the patient thinking
or wanting ? Did he ever mention his son or his lawyers,
242
SHANE LESLIE
and what could be his feelings? Perhaps he had for-
gotten * Nurse was never very reassuring, but she went
on reading and skipping paragraphs until the very day
when the Australian visitors were expected to arrive* An
unfortunate sceke occurred that day* The aged baronet
questioned her* He had been apparently counting the
days, and when she hesitated he demanded the paper,
which he read for himself* He found all he had looked for*
The names of the Australian* Committee filled a corner*
His son was due to reach Southampton that day* His
wrath was considerable and expressed itself in wriggling
convulsions* But his wrath was not directed against his
son or his nurse, although both had failed him, but against
the Smiths*
He sat up and ordered Miss Doole to telephone for
his lawyers*
Nurse rushed below* It was half an hour before she
could find the Smiths and to both she broke the news*
Hosanna burst into hysterical tears and Mr* Smith
' blinked his blee " or, in other words, changed colour*
There was a general collapse* Nurse alone stood rock-
like* What was she to do ? The Smiths weakly bade her
get busy on the telephone* Nearly an hour had passed,
and before she called for a trunk call she ran upstairs to
look at her patient* When she entered Sir Athelstone's
bedroom she received her second shock* The baronet
lay stretched upon his bed* He lay dead of sheer wrath*
The arteries or plumbing of his heart had given way under
the stress* Miss Doole did everything that professional
humanity or science could suggest* Then she telephoned
to the doctor*
As she hung up the telephone, the Smiths came to
her in the passage* ' Is the lawyer coming ? " they asked*
Their faces were disconsolate to the lowest state of anguish*
She drew them into her own bedroom and her brain worked
with fierce rapidity*
4 No, I have sent for a doctor instead/'
243
THE HOSPITAL NURSE
44 Why, is he really ill?"
"Dead! dead! dead 1"
44 Thank God/' muttered the injudicious Mr* Smith*
Mrs* Smith almost struck him* " Oh* my dear* dear
father ! Nurse* you must have killed him," and she
burst into sobs*
Miss Doole staggered with fear and fury* Her
emotions gave her the only brain-wave of her life and
she answered : * Well* you both told me to*" It was
possible that the Smiths attributed the miracle to foul play*
Miss Doole suddenly saw her Cottage become a Boarding-
House* and a Conservatory added to her Garden* Where
there is fear* money becomes fluidic* If the Smiths really
thought she was a murderess* she could make them pay
for their mistake* 44 It will be all right* but you must
give me a thousand pounds before the funeral* I will go* and
trouble you no more," was her ultimatum* The Smiths
turned haggardly to face the first peck that was made at the
fortune before their own hands could close upon it* They
consented and were taken to view the corpse* When the
doctor arrived, Sir Athelstone's daughter was kneeling
at the foot of the bed in prolonged prayer*
The excitement of waiting for the Will precluded
any anxiety the Smiths might have felt over the doctor's
investigation* He rapidly pronounced death due to
heart failure, and departed after signing his certificate*
By the time the Will had been brought by the lawyers
from London, a third most interested party had arrived
in time to hear the reading of the clauses and codicils*
Edward Athelstone arrived in England that morning,
and the evening papers were full of the tragic coincidence*
Headlines described the race across the ocean of the
long-lost son to receive forgiveness at his dying father's
bedside*
The deceased baronet had placed a short Will in legal
hands* His entire fortune was left to the Smiths, and
there was no mention of his son or of his nurse* A large
244
SHANE LESLIE
legacy was set aside to endow the hospital in the Midlands
in which he had always been interested. His creed had
been strictly utilitarian and, to mark the practice of his
lifetime, he bequeathed his body to the same Institution
for purposes of dissection, after which all remains were
to be interred on the premises if any remains there were
from the laboratory. The codicil affecting his body was a
surprise, and Mrs. Smith burst into tears, insisting that
her dear father must receive Christian burial. All present
were much edified, with the exception of Edward the
disinherited. He had preserved a grim silence during
the reading of the will, which he realised was final. It
was only when the proviso for dissecting his father was
opposed by the Smiths that he raised his yoice to insist
that this wish of his father's should be carried out to the
letter. Had some fearful suspicion crossed his mind?
Was he hopeful that some damning grains of poison would
be found in the body? It was the only chance of in-
validating the Will, and he watched filially over his father's
body until it was despatched under medical conduct.
That evening Edward's lawyer arrived and advised
him to interview the nurse very carefully and friendly-like
pending a possible doctor's report from the Middle Mid-
lands Hospital. The lawyer himself left to give a hint to the
dissecting doctors. In view of the baronet's bounty they
could not be too careful or minute in investigating his
atoms. Nearly a quarter of a million had been left to
their Institution.
Edward could not have interviewed the nurse at
a more fruitful moment than that evening, for she
had just been refused the immediate payment of her
thousand pounds bonus by the Smiths, who had plucked
courage after the doctor's harmless pronouncement. If the
nurse had surreptitiously done the baronet out of his
few remaining weeks of life, she had employed agencies
which left no trace. The Smiths continued to whine
for a Christian funeral, ordering the nurse to leave the
245
THE HOSPITAL NURSE
following day. A cheque for eighty pounds was handed
to her* The amount placed a bare cottage in sight, and
she decided to stay until she was pushed out. When
Edward interviewed her, she promptly let him know that
the old man had been aware of his coming and had sent
for his lawyers on the very day that his arrival was
scheduled in The Times. Edward's foulest suspicions
were instantly confirmed. The alarmed and sullen
behaviour of the Smiths the next day almost tempted him
to send for the police. He waited feverishly for the
hospital report, telegraphing to his lawyer to bring back
the remains. He had a theory that the sight of the
dissected corpse would terrify the Smiths into confession.
He had no doubt, no possible doubt now, and, when the
nurse allowed the Smiths to know how much she had
confessed to Edward, their behaviour passed from distress
to distraction. They became as pyschologically convinced
as Edward himself that the old man had met with an
unnatural end. And that damnable nurse refused to go.
She was waiting for her thousand pounds of hush money.
They realised that, even if they inherited the fortune,
she would blackmail them all their lives. Gradually she
would bleed their pockets until the whole fortune was
transferred into her lap. They would be lucky if they
escaped with their necks ! They writhed with mental
gangrene.
There was the ghastly atmosphere of a morgue about
that noble old Palladian house crowning the heights above
Reading. It was three days before the remains of Sir
Athelstone were brought back. The dissector had left
no flesh upon the bones, and the lawyers were discussing
whether the Will would be invalidated unless they were
buried as well as the flesh under the walls of the great
hospital, which would always bear the baronet's name.
The doctors had not found one suspicious atom, though
their researches had been conducted under the eyes of
Edward's lawyer. There was nothing to be done but to
246
SHANE LESLIE
accept the medical opinion concerning his death and to
return or bury the fragments, which were recognisable
neither to eye nor nostril, so exhaustively had scalpel and
spirit done their work. Mrs. Smith's prayers and tears
prevailed and the undertakers were ordered to bring a
rich satinwood coffin that night. Before they arrived,
Edward left in pursuit of his Australian Committee, which
was being entertained at the Mansion House that night.
How he became the worse for drink later in the evening
and how he met his host, the Lord Mayor, on the Bench
the following morning, forms another story, often told in
Australian political circles.
The Smiths, Hosanna and Jordan, watched the bones
of Sir Athelstone being slowly nailed into the coffin.
It was very simple, and the undertakers left the coffin under
a pall in the front hall, promising an early return. As
the last nail sounded, a heavy gloom seemed to lift from
the Smiths, and Hosanna wore a beatific expression
worthier to deck a Queen of the May than a mourning
daughter. It remained now to deal with Turberah Doole,
and in their temporary exultation they decided to pay
her her thousand pounds and be done with her on con-
dition that she left before the funeral and signed a paper
that she would present no further claims.
Miss Doole was awaiting their offer and quietly
doubled it. Two thousand pounds down and the first
train to-morrow! The Smiths blanched, but not with
fear. Avarice and anger overwhelmed them. They
refused point-blank. . . . Miss Doole must have insisted and
threatened and bluffed, and Smith must have threatened
in reply. Miss Doole must have been determined that
if she could not live in comfort for the rest of her life
they should swing, all three. She might have been
prepared to confess that she had choked the old man at
their suggestion soon after he had threatened to send for
his lawyers, and presumably to alter his Will. They would
become accessories before the fact. Nobody will ever
247
THE HOSPITAL NURSE
know* .> i * * * It was late before the lights were ex-
tinguished that night and only a faint whiff of deodorised
disinfectants bespoke the morrow's funeral.
The funeral took place with a certain amount of grim
grandeur, but there was an absence of friends and
neighbours* Some ugly rumours had already circulated*
Comment was roused by the absence of Edward, the only
son of deceased* The absence of the nurse was not
noticed* She had been under notice to leave by the
first train* The Smiths, looking very sheepish and sulky,
officiated as principal mourners* A large crowd had
gathered outside the local churchyard and waited* The
Governors of the Middle Midlands Hospital attended in
their robes* As the Smiths emerged, a slow perceptible
hiss broke through the huddled spectators, followed by
silence* Edward's hot tongue had loosed the local gossip*
In the few years which followed they were never
able to rid themselves of the scent of foul play* The late
Sir Athelstone was often alluded to in the neighbourhood
as the " murdered baronet*" Two matters of proof
were often adduced* One was the disappearance of the
nurse with, presumably, enough hush money to keep her
in some distant part of the world, and secondly, the fact
that the Smiths would never erect a monument or even
visit the grave of the man whose vast fortune they enjoyed*
As the Smiths distinctly treated themselves as in the
light of a guilty couple, the public feeling was not blamable
for their resentment* They lived wealthily and unhappily
ever afterwards within the gloomy walls of the Palladian
super-villa which they had inherited* In due time they
died, childless and intestate* They had been forgotten
long before their deaths and would have been totally for-
gotten afterwards, had it not been for the celebrated
legislation which arose over Sir Athelstone's fortune*
By his Will it reverted to the Middle Midlands Hospital,
provided that all his wishes were fulfilled* When it was
recalled that one of his requests had been that his dissected
248
SHANE LESLIE
body should be interred on the premises of the Institution
he had endowed, the representatives of Edward Penguin
brought an action on the grounds that the remains, or
some of them, had been buried in the churchyard near
his house*
The Governors of the Hospital were seriously alarmed,
and after taking legal advice applied to the Home Office
for permission to disinter and recover the remains of
their founder, according to his last Will and Testament.
In this way they felt that they could make themselves
legally secure* Permission was granted, and a shrine
was prepared in the very walls of the Hospital as an
adequate resting-place* Arrangements for a form of
ceremony of deposition had been made, when the
Governors of the hospital and their legal advisers were
considerably disconcerted by one of those utterly un-
expected surprises which thrill and mystify the English
Eublic* The coffin of Sir Athelstone Penguin was
rought to the surface in the presence of legal, medical,
and police authorities* It contained the mummified and
scarcely decayed body of a middle-aged woman* After
so short a lapse of time there could be no doubt that it
was the right grave* Although no monument had been
erected, the vault had preserved a number of immortelles
in their glass cases* On one the printed card of inscription
was still legible* It read :
SIR ATHELSTONE PENGUIN, BART*
FROM HIS DEVOTED NURSE*
249
TELLING
BY ELIZABETH BOWEN
TERRY looked up ; Josephine lay still* He felt shy, em-
barrassed all at once at the idea of anyone coming here*
His brain was ticking like a watch : he looked up warily.
But there was nobody* Outside the high cold walls,
beyond the ragged arch of the chapel, delphiniums
crowded in sunshine straining with brightness, burning
each other up bars of colour that, while one watched
them, seemed to turn round slowly* But there was
nobody there*
The chapel was a ruin, roofed by daylight, floored with
lawn* In a corner the gardener had tipped out a heap of
cut grass from the lawn-mower* The daisy-heads wilted,
the cut grass smelt stuffy and sweet* Everywhere,
cigarette ends, scattered last night by the couples who'd
come here to kiss* First the dance, thought Terry, then
this : the servants will never get straight* The cigarette
ends would lie here for days, till after the rain, and go
brown and rotten*
Then he noticed a charred cigarette stump in
Josephine's hair* The short wavy ends of her hair fell
back still in lines of perfection from temples and ears ;
by her left ear the charred stump showed through* For
that, he thought, she would never forgive him ; fastidious-
ness was her sensibility, always tormented* (" If you
must know/' she had said, " well, you've got dirty nails,
haven't you? Look*") He bent down and picked the
cigarette end out of her hair ; the fine ends fluttered under
350
ELIZABETH BOWER
his breath* As he threw it away, he noticed his nails
were still dirty* His hands were stained now naturally
but his nails must have been dirty before* Had she
noticed again ?
But had she, perhaps, for a moment been proud of
him ? Had she had just a glimpse of the something he'd
told her about ? He wanted to ask her : 44 What do you
feel now ? Do you believe in me ? " He felt sure of
himself, certain, justified* For nobody else would have
done this to Josephine*
Himself they had all always deprecated* He felt
a shrug in this attitude, a thinly disguised kind of hope-
lessness* " Oh, Terry, * * *" they'd say, and break off*
He was no good : he couldn't even put up a tennis-net*
He never could see properly (whisky helped that at first,
then it didn't), his hands wouldn't serve him, things he
wanted them to hold slipped away from them* He was
no good ; the younger ones laughed at him till they, like
their brothers and sisters, grew up and were schooled
into bitter kindliness* Again and again he'd been sent
back to them all (and repetition never blunted the bleak
edge of these home-comings) from school, from Cambridge,
now a month ago from Ceylon* ' The bad penny ! "
he would remark, very jocular* ''* If I could just think
things out," he had tried to explain to his father, " I
know I could do something" And once he had said to
Josephine : "I know there is Something I could do*"
" And they will know now," he said, looking round
(for the strange new pleasure of clearly and sharply seeing)
from Josephine's face to her stained breast (her heavy
blue beads slipped sideways over her shoulder and coiled
on the grass touched, surrounded now by the unhesitant
trickle ) ; from her breast up the walls to their top, the top
crumbling, the tufts of valerian trembling against the sky*
It was as though the dark-paned window through which
he had so long looked out had swung open suddenly*
He saw (clear as the walls and the sky) Right and Wrong,
251
TELLING
the old childish fixities. I have done right, he thought
(but his brain was still ticking). She ought not to live
with this flaw in her* Josephine ought not to live, had
to die*
All night he had thought this out, walking alone in the
shrubberies, helped by the dance-music, dodging the
others. His mind had been kindled, like a dull coal
suddenly blazing. He was not angry ; he kept saying :
44 I must not be angry, I must be just." He was in a
blaze (it seemed to himself) of justice. The couples who
came face to face with him down the paths started away.
Someone spoke of a minor prophet, someone breathed
14 Caliban." ... He kept saying : ' That flaw right
through her. She damages truth. She kills souls ; she's
killed mine." So he had come to see, before morning,
his purpose as God's purpose.
She had laughed, you see. She had been pretending.
There was a tender and lovely thing he kept hidden, a
spark in him ; she had touched it and made it the whole
of him, made him a man. She had said : 4 Yes, 7 believe,
Terry. I understand." That had been everything. He
had thrown off the old dull armour. . . . Then she had
laughed.
Then he had understood what other men meant when
they spoke of her. He had seen at once what he was
meant to do. 44 This is for me," he said. 44 No one but
I can do it."
All night he walked alone in the garden. Then he
watched the french windows and when they were open
again stepped in quickly and took down the African knife
from the dining-room wall. He had always wanted that
African knife. Then he had gone upstairs (remembering,
on the way, all those meetings with Josephine, shaving,
tying of ties), shaved, changed into flannels, put the knife
into his blazer pocket (it was too long, more than an inch
of the blade came out through the inside lining) and sat
on his window-sill, watching sunlight brighten and broaden
253
ELIZABETH BOWEN
from a yellow agitation behind the trees into swathes of
colour across the lawn. He did not think ; his mind was
like somebody singing, somebody able to sing.
And, later, it had all been arranged for him* He fell
into, had his part in, some kind of design. Josephine
had come down in her pleated white dress (when she turned
the pleats whirled). He had said, " Come out ! " and she
gave that light distant look, still with a laugh at the back
of it, and said, " Oh right-o, little Terry/' And she
had walked down the garden ahead of him, past the
delphiniums into the chapel. Here, to make justice
perfect, he had asked once more : " Do you believe in
me ? " She had laughed again.
She lay now with her feet and body in sunshine (the
sun was just high enough), her arms flung out wide at
him, desperately, generously : her head rolling sideways
in shadow on the enclosed, oilky grass. On her face was
a dazzled look (eyes half closed, lips drawn back), an
expression almost of diffidence. Her blood quietly soaked
through the grass, sinking through to the roots of it.
He crouched a moment and, touching her eyelids
still warm tried to shut her eyes. But he didn't know
how. Then he got up and wiped the blade of the African
knife with a handful of grass, then scattered the handful
away. All the time he was listening ; he felt shy, em-
barrassed at the thought of anyone finding him here.
And his brain, like a watch, was still ticking.
On his way to the house he stooped down and dipped
his hands in the garden tank. Someone might scream ;
he felt embarrassed at the thought of somebody screaming.
The red curled away through the water and melted.
He stepped in at the morning-room window. The
blinds were half down he stooped his head to avoid them
and the room was in dark-yellow shadow. (He had
waited here for them all to come in, that afternoon he
arrived back from Ceylon.) The smell of pinks came in,
253
TELLING
and two or three blue-bottles bumbled and bounced on
the ceiling. His sister Catherine sat with her back to him,
playing the piano* (He had heard her as he came up
the path,) He looked at her pink pointed elbows she
was playing a waits; and the music ran through them in
jerky ripples.
44 Hullo, Catherine/' he said, and listened in admira-
tion. So his new voice sounded like this !
44 Hullo, Terry/' She went on playing, worrying at
the waltz* She had an anxious, methodical mind, but
loved gossip. He thought : Here is a bit of gossip for
you Josephine's down in the chapel, covered with blood.
Her dress is spoilt, but I think her blue beads are all right.
I should go and see.
" I say, Catherine "
u Oh, Terry, they're putting the furniture back in the
drawing-room. I wish you'd go and help. It's getting
those big sofas through the door . . . and the cabinets."
She laughed : ' I'm just putting the music away," and
went on playing.
He thought : I don't suppose she'll be able to marry
now. No one will marry her. He said : " Do you know
where Josephine is ? "
" No, I haven't" rum-turn- turn, rum- turn- turn 4i the
slightest idea. Go on, Terry."
He thought : She never liked Josephine. He went
away.
He stood in the door of the drawing-room. His
brothers and Beatrice were punting the big arm-chairs,
chintz-skirted, over the waxy floor. They all felt him
there : for as long as possible didn't notice him. Charles
fifteen, with his pink scrubbed ears considered a
moment, shoving against the cabinet, thought it was rather
a shame, turned with an honest, kindly look of distaste,
said, 44 Come on, Terry." He can't go back to school now,
thought Terry, can't go anywhere, really : wonder what
they'll do with him send him out to the Colonies?
354
ELIZABETH BOWER
Charles had perfect manners : square, bluff, perfect.
He never thought about anybody, never felt anybody
just classified them. Josephine was " a girl staying in
the house/' " a friend of my sisters/' He would think at
once (in a moment when Terry had told him), " A girl
staying in the house * . * it's * * * well, I mean, if it
hadn't been a girl staying in the house * * /'
Terry went over to him ; they pushed the cabinet*
But Terry pushed too hard, crooked ; the further corner
grated against the wall* " Oh, I say, we've scratched the
paint," said Charles* And indeed they had ; on the wall
was a grey scar* Charles went scarlet : he hated things
to be done badly* It was nice of him to say : " We've
scratched the paint/' Would he say later : " We've killed
Josephine " ?
4 I think perhaps you'd better help with the sofas,"
said Charles civilly*
44 You should have seen the blood on my hands just
now," said Terry*
" Bad luck ! " Charles said quickly and went away*
Beatrice, Josephine's friend, stood with her elbows
on the mantelpiece looking at herself in the glass above*
Last night a man had kissed her down in the chapel
(Terry had watched them)* This must seem to Beatrice
to be written all over her face what else could she be
looking at? Her eyes in the looking-glass were dark,
beseeching* As she saw Terry come up behind her she
frowned angrily and turned away*
' I say, Beatrice, do you know what happened down
in the chapel ? '
" Does it interest you ? ' She stooped quickly and
pulled down the sofa loose- cover where it had 44 runkled "
up, as though the sofa legs were indecent*
4 Beatrice, what would you do if I'd killed somebody? "
" Laugh," said she, wearily*
4 If I'd killed a woman?"'
u Laugh harder* Do you know any women ? "
255
TELLING
She was a lovely thing, really : he'd ruined her, he
supposed* He was all in a panic. " Beatrice, swear you
won't go down to the chapel/' Because she might, well
of course she'd go down : as soon as she was alone and
they didn't notice she'd go creeping down to the chapel.
It had been that kind of kiss.
14 Oh, be quiet about that old chapel ! " Already he'd
spoilt last night for her. How she hated him ! He looked
round for John. John had gone away.
On the hall table were two letters, come by the second
post, waiting for Josephine. No one, he thought, ought
to read them he must protect Josephine; he took them
up and slipped them into his pocket.
44 I say," called John from the stairs, 44 what are you
doing with those letters ? " John didn't mean to be sharp
but they had taken each other unawares. They none of
them wanted Terry to feel how his movements were
sneaking movements ; when they met him creeping about
by himself they would either ignore him or say : 44 Where
are you off to ? " jocosely and loudly, to hide the fact of
their knowing he didn't know. John was Terry's elder
brother, but hated to sound like one. But he couldn't
help knowing those letters were for Josephine, and
Josephine was 44 staying in the house."
44 I'm taking them for Josephine. "
44 Know where she is ? "
44 Yes, in the chapel. ... I killed her there."
But John hating this business with Terry had turned
away. Terry followed him upstairs, repeating : 44 I killed
her there, John. . . . John, I've killed Josephine in the
chapel." John hurried ahead, not listening, not turning
round. 4i Oh yes," he called over his shoulder. " Right
you are, take them along." He disappeared into the
smoking-room, banging the door. It had been John's
idea that, from the day after Terry's return from Ceylon,
the sideboard cupboard in the dining-room should be kept
locked up. But he'd never said anything ; oh no.
ELIZABETH BOWER
What interest could the sideboard cupboard have for a
brother of his ? he pretended to think.
Oh yes, thought Terry, you're a fine man with a
muscular back, but you couldn't have done what I've
done. There had, after all, been Something in Terry.
He was abler than John (they'd soon know). John had
never kissed Josephine.
Terry sat down on the stairs saying : ' 4 Josephine,
Josephine ! " He sat there gripping a baluster, shaking
with exaltation.
The study door-panels had always looked solemn ;
they bulged with solemnity. Terry had to get past to his
father ; he chose the top left-hand panel to tap on. The
patient voice said : " Come in ! "
Here and now, thought Terry. He had a great
audience ; he looked at the books round the dark walls
and thought of all those thinkers. His father jerked up
a contracted, strained look at him. Terry felt that
hacking with his news into this silence was like hacking
into a great, grave chest. The desk was a havoc of
papers.
4 What exactly do you want ? " said his father, rubbing
the edge of the desk.
Terry stood there silently : everything ebbed. '* I
want," he said at last, " to talk about my future."
His father sighed and slid a hand forward, rumpling
the papers. 4 I suppose, Terry," he said as gently as
possible, " you really have got a future ? " Then he
reproached himself. " Well, sit down a minute. . . .
I'll just . . ."
Terry sat down. The clock on the mantelpiece
echoed the ticking in his brain. He waited.
4 Yes ? " said his father.
4 Well, there must be some kind of future for me,
mustn't there ? "
" Oh, certainly. . . ."
B.C. 257 R
TELLING
44 Look here, father, I have something to show you*
That African knife "
4 What about it? "
44 That African knife* It's here* I've got it to show
you/'
4 What about it?"
44 Wait just a minute/' He put a hand into either
pocket : his father waited*
44 It was here I did have it* I brought it to show
you* I must have it somewhere that African knife*"
But it wasn't there, he hadn't got it ; he had lost it ;
left it, dropped it on the grass, by the tank, anywhere*
He remembered wiping it* * * * Then ?
Now his support was all gone ; he was terrified now ;
he wept*
4 I've lost it," he quavered, " I've lost it*"
44 What do you mean ? " said his father, sitting blankly
there like a tombstone, with his white, square face*
44 What are you trying to tell me ? t:
44 Nothing," said Terry, weeping and shaking*
" Nothing, nothing, nothing*"
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
BY W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM*
THERE is no place in Malaya that has more charm than
Tanah Merah* It lies on the sea, and the sandy shore
is fringed with casuarinas* The Government offices are
still in the old red Raad Huis that the Dutch built when
they owned the land, and on the hill stand the grey ruins
of the fort by means of which the Portuguese maintained
their hold over the unruly natives* Tanah Merah has
a history and in the vast labyrinthine houses of the Chinese
merchants, backing on the sea so that in the cool of the
evening they may sit in their open loggias and enjoy the
salt breeze, families dwell that have been settled in the
country for three centuries* Many have forgotten their
native language and hold intercourse with one another in
Malay and pidgin-English* The imagination lingers here
gratefully, for in the Federated Malay States the only past
is within the memory for the most part of the fathers
of living men*
Tanah Merah was for long the busiest mart of the
Middle East, and its harbour was crowded with shipping
when the clipper and the junk still sailed the China seas*
But now it is dead* It has the sad and romantic charm of
all places that have once been of importance and live now
on the recollection of a vanished grandeur* It is a sleepy
little town, and strangers that come to it, losing the energy
brought with them, insensibly drop into its easy and
lethargic ways* Successive rubber booms bring it no
prosperity, and the ensuing slumps hasten its decay*
259
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
The European quarter is strangely silent* It is trim
and neat and clean* The houses of the white men
Government servants and agents of companies stand
round an immense padang, agreeable little bungalows
shaded by great cassias, and the padang is vast and green
and well-cared-for, like the lawns of a cathedral close ; and
indeed there is in the aspect of this corner of Tanah Merah
something quiet and delicately secluded that reminds you
of the precincts of Canterbury*
The club faces the sea ; it is a spacious but shabby
building ; it has an air of neglect, and when you enter you
feel that you intrude* It gives you the impression that
it is closed, really* for alterations and repairs* and that
you have taken indiscreet advantage of an open door to
to where you are not wanted* In the morning you may
nd there a couple of planters who have come in from
their estates on business and are drinking a gin-sling
before starting back again ; and latish in the afternoon a
lady or two may perhaps be seen looking with a furtive air
through old numbers of the Illustrated London News. At
nightfall a few men saunter along and sit about the billiard-
room watching the play and drinking sukus, and perhaps
four may be found to make up a rubber of bridge* It is only
on Wednesdays that a shadow of gaiety may be seen* for
then the gramophone is set going in the large room upstairs
and people come in from the surrounding country to dance*
There are sometimes no less than a dozen- couples then*
and it is even possible to make up two tables of bridge*
It was on one of these occasions that I met the Cart-
wrights* I was staying with a man called Gaze* who was
head of the police* and he came into the billiard-room*
where I was sitting* and asked me if I would make up a
four* The Cartwrights were planters and they came in
to Tanah Merah on Wednesdays because it gave their girl
a chance of getting a few dances* They were very nice
people, said Gaze, quiet and unobtrusive, and played a
very pleasant game of bridge* I followed Gaze into the
260
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
card-room and was introduced to the Cartwrights* They
were already seated at a table and Mrs* Cartwright was
shuffling the cards* It inspired me with confidence to
see the competent way in which she did it* She took half
the pack in each hand and her hands were large and
strong deftly inserted the corners of one half under the
corners of the other, and with a click and a neat bold
gesture cascaded them together.
It had all the effect of a conjuring trick. The card-
player knows that it can be done perfectly only after
incessant practice. He can be fairly sure that anyone who
can so shuffle a pack of cards loves cards for their own
sake*
44 Do you mind if my husband and I play together ? "
asked Mrs* Cartwright* " It's no fun for us to win one
another's money*
14 Of course not*"
We cut for deal and Gaze and I sat down*
Mrs* Cartwright drew an ace, and while she dealt,
quickly and neatly, she chatted with Gaze of local affairs,
but I was aware that she appraised me* She had shrewd
eyes and they observed you with keenness, but also with
good-humour*
She was a woman somewhere in the fifties (though in
the East, where people age quickly, it is difficult to tell
their ages), with white hair very untidily arranged, and
a constant gesture with her was an impatient movement
of the hand to push back a long wisp of hair that kept
falling over her forehead* You wondered why she did
not, by the use of a hairpin or two, save herself so much
trouble* Her blue eyes were large, but pale and a little
tired ; her face was lined and sallow ; I think it was her
mouth that gave it the expression which I felt was
characteristic of caustic but tolerant irony* You saw that
here was a woman who knew her mind and was never
afraid to speak it* She was a chatty player (which some
people object to strongly, but which does not disconcert
261
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
me, for I do not see why you should behave at the card-
table as though you were at a memorial service) and it
was soon apparent that she had an agreeable knack of
badinage. It was pleasantly acid, but it was amusing
enough to be offensive only to a fooL If now and then
she uttered a remark so sarcastic that you wanted all your
sense of humour to see the fun in it, you could not but
quickly see that she was willing to take as much as she
gave* Her large, thin mouth broke into a dry smile and
her eyes shone brightly when by a lucky chance you
brought off a repartee that turned the laugh against
her*
I thought her a very pleasant person* I liked her
frankness* I liked her quick wit* I liked her plain face*
I never met a woman who obviously cared so little how
she looked* It was not only her head that was untidy,
everything about her was slovenly : she wore a high-necked
silk blouse, but for coolness she had unbuttoned the top
buttons and showed a gaunt and withered neck ; the blouse
was crumpled and none too clean, for she smoked in-
numerable cigarettes and covered herself with ash* When
she got up for a moment to speak to somebody I saw that
her blue skirt was rather ragged at the hem and badly
needed a brush, and she wore heavy, low-heeled boots*
But none of this mattered* Everything she wore was
perfectly in character*
And it was a pleasure to play bridge with her* She
played very quickly, without hesitation, and she had not
only knowledge but flair* Of course she knew Gaze's
game, but I was a stranger and she soon took my measure*
The teamwork between her husband and herself was
admirable ; he was sound and cautious, but, knowing his
game exactly, she was able to be bold with assurance and
brilliant with safety* Gaze was a player who founded a
foolish optimism on the hope that his opponents would
not have the sense to take advantage of his errors, and the
pair of us were no match for the Cartwrights* We lost one
W, SOMERSET MAUGHAM
rubber after another, and there was nothing to do but smile
and look as if we liked it*
44 I don't know what's the matter with the cards/'
said Gaze at last, plaintively. " Even when we have every
card in the pack we go down/'
44 It can't be anything to do with your play/' answered
Mrs* Cartwright, looking him full in the face with those
pale blue eyes of hers; 44 it must be bad luck, pure and
simple* Now if you hadn't had your hearts mixed up
with your diamonds in that last hand you'd have saved
the game/'
Gaze began to explain at length how the misfortune*
which had cost us dear* occurred* but Mrs* Cartwright,
with a deft flick of the hand* spread out the cards in a
great circle so that we should cut for deal, Cartwright
looked at his watch*
' This will have to be the last, my dear/' he said,
" Oh, will it ? " She glanced at her watch and then
called to a young man who was passing through the room*
' 4 Oh* Mr* Bullen, if you're going upstairs tell Olive that
we shall be going in a few minutes*" She turned to me*
* It takes us the best part of an hour to get back to the
estate, and poor Theo has to be up at an unearthly hour
in the morning*"
"Oh, well* we only come in once a week/' said
Cartwright* 44 and it's the one chance Olive gets of being
gay and abandoned*"
I thought Cartwright looked tired and old* He was a
man of middle height, with a bald, shiny head, a stubbly
grey moustache, and gold-rimmed spectacles* He wore
white ducks and a black and white tie* He was rather neat
and you could see he took much more pains with his
clothes than his untidy wife* He talked little, but it was
plain that he enjoyed his wife's caustic humour and some-
times he made quite a neat retort* They were evidently
very good friends* On his side there was admiration of
her oddness and eccentric personality, and on hers
263
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
gratitude for his appreciation and confidence* It was
pleasing to see so solid and tolerant an affection between
two people who were almost elderly and must have lived
together for so many years*
It took but two hands to finish the rubber and we
had just ordered a final gin and bitters when Olive came
down*
u Do you really want to go already, mumsey ? " she
asked*
Mrs* Cartwright looked at her daughter with fond eyes*
4 Yes* darling* It's nearly half-past eight* It'll be
ten before we get our dinner*"
" Damn our dinner/' said Olive gaily*
" Let her have one more dance before we go/'
suggested Cartwright*
14 Not one* You must have a good night's rest*"
Cartwright looked at Olive with a smile*
' If your mother has made up her mind* my dear* we
may just as well give in without any fuss*"
44 She's a determined woman/' said Olive, lovingly
stroking her mother's wrinkled cheek*
Mrs* Cartwright patted her daughter's hand* and
kissed it*
Olive was not very pretty, but she looked extremely
nice* She was nineteen or twenty, I suppose, and she
had still the plumpness of her age ; she would be more
attractive when she had fined down a little* She had none
of the determination that gave her mother's face so much
character, but resembled her father ; she had his dark eyes
and slightly aquiline nose, and his look of rather weak
good-nature* It was plain that she was strong and healthy,
her cheeks were red and her eyes were bright, she had a
vitality that he had long lost* She seemed to be the
perfectly normal English girl with high spirits, a great
desire to enjoy herself, and an excellent temper*
When we separated, Gaze and I set out to walk to his
house*
264
W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
44 What did you think of the Cartwrights ? " he asked
me*
44 I liked them. They seemed to me very nice people.
They must be a great asset in a place like this/'
" I wish they came oftener. They live a very quiet
life."
44 It must be dull for the girl. The father and mother
seem very well satisfied with one another's company."
44 Yes, it's been a great success."
44 Olive is the image of her father, isn't she ? t:
Gaze gave me a sidelong glance.
44 Cartwright isn't her father. Mrs. Cartwright was
a widow when he married her, and Olive was born five
months after her husband's death."
44 Oh ! "
I drew out the sound in order to put in it all I could
of surprise, interest, curiosity, and eagerness to know more.
But Gaze said nothing and we walked the rest of the way
in silence. The boy was waiting at the door as we
entered the house, and after a last gin pahit we sat down
to dinner.
At first Gaze was inclined to be talkative. Owing to
the restriction of the output of rubber there had sprung
up a considerable activity among the smugglers, and it was
part of his duty to circumvent their knavishness. Two
junks had been captured that day and he was rubbing
his hands over his success. The go-downs were full of
confiscated rubber, and in a little while it was going to be
solemnly burnt. But presently he fell into silence and
we finished without a word. The boys brought in coffee
and brandy and we lit our cheroots. Gaze leaned back
in his chair. He looked at me reflectively and then
looked at his brandy. The boys had left the room and
we were alone.
' I've known Mrs. Cartwright for over twenty years,"
he said slowly. " She wasn't a bad-looking woman in
those days. Always untidy, but when she was young it
265
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
didn't seem to matter so much* It was rather attractive*
She was married to a man called Bronson Reggie
Bronson* He was a planter* He was manager of an
estate up in Selantan and I was stationed at Alor Lipis*
It was a much smaller place than it is now, I don't suppose
there were more than twenty people in the whole com-
munity* but they had a jolly little club and we used to
have a very good time* I remember the first time I met
Mrs* Bronson as though it was yesterday*
44 There were no cars in those days and she and
Bronson had ridden in on their bicycles* Of course
then she didn't look so determined as she looks now*
She was much thinner* she had a nice colour and her eyes
seemed larger* They were very pretty blue eyes* you
know* and she had a lot of dark hair* If she'd only taken
more trouble with herself she'd have been rather stunning*
As it was she was the best-looking woman there*"
I tried to construct in my mind a picture of what
Mrs* Cartwright Mrs* Bronson as she was then looked
like from what she was now* and from Gaze's not very
descriptive remarks* In the solid woman* with her well-
covered bones* who sat rather heavily at the bridge table,
I tried to see a slight young thing with buoyant movements
and graceful, easy gestures* Her chin now was very
square and her nose decided, but the roundness of youth
must have hidden this : her unlined skin was pink and
white, and I could well imagine that the careless way in
which she dressed her brown abundant hair gave her a
peculiar charm* At that period she must have worn a
long skirt, a tight waist and a picture hat* Or did women
in Malaya still wear the topees that you see in old numbers
of the illustrated papers ?
44 I hadn't seen her for oh, nearly twenty years,"
Gaze went on* 44 I knew she was living somewhere in
the F*M*S*, but it was a surprise, when I took this job and
came here to run across her in the club just as I had up
in Selantan so many years before* Of course she's an
266
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
elderly woman now and she's changed out of all recog-
nition* It was rather a shock to see her with a grown-up
daughter ; it made me realise how the time had passed ;
I was a young fellow when I met her last, and now, by
jingo ! Fm due to retire on the age-limit in two or three
years. Bit thick, isn't it? '
Gaze, a rueful grin on his ugly face, looked at me with
faint indignation, as though I could help the hurrying
march of the years as they trod upon one another's
heels.
' I'm no chicken myself," I replied*
44 You haven't lived out in the East all your life* It
ages one before one's time* One's an elderly man at
fifty, and at fifty-five one's good for nothing but the
scrap-heap*"
But I did not want Gaze to wander off into a dis-
quisition on old age*
" Did you recognise Mrs* Cartwright when you saw
her again ? " I asked*
'Well, I did and I didn't* At the first glance I
thought she reminded me of someone I knew* It didn't
occur to me that I hadn't seen her for twenty years, and
she'd changed* I thought it was someone I'd met on
board ship when I was going on leave and had known
only by sight* But the moment she spoke to me I re-
membered at once* I remembered the dry twinkle in
her eyes and the crisp sound of her voice* There was
something in her voice that seemed to mean : You're a
bit of a damned fool, my lad, but you're not a bad sort,
and upon my soul I rather like you*"
' That's a good deal to read into the sound of a
voice," I smiled*
" She came up to me in the club and shook hands
with me* 4 How do you do, Major Gaze ? Do you
remember me ? ' she said*
4 Of course I do*'
4 A lot of water has passed under the bridge since
267
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
we met last* We're none of us as young as we were*
Have you seen Theo ? '
44 For a moment I couldn't think who she meant* I
suppose I looked rather stupid, because she gave a little
smile* that ironical* quisling smile that now I recalled
so well* and explained*
4 I married Theo* you know* It seemed the best
thing to do* I was lonely and he wanted it*'
'' 4 4 I heard you married him/ I said* 4 I hope you've
been very happy*'
4 Oh* very* Theo's a perfect duck* He'll be here
in a minute* He'll be so glad to see you*'
' I wondered* I should have thought I was the last
person Theo would wish to see* I shouldn't have thought
she would wish it very much either* But women are
funny*"
4 Why shouldn't she wish to see you ? " I asked*
' I'm coming to that later/' said Gase* ' Then Theo
turned up* I don't know why I called him Theo ; I
never called him anything but Cartwright ; I never
thought of him as anything but Cartwright* Theo was a
shock* You know what he looks like now ; I remembered
him as a curly-headed youngster, very fresh and clean-
looking ; he was always neat and dapper* He had a
good figure* and he held himself easily* like a man who's
used to taking a lot of exercise* Now I come to think
of it, he wasn't bad looking not in a big* massive way,
but graceful, you know, and lithe* When I saw this bowed,
cadaverous, bald-headed old fellow with spectacles I
could hardly believe my eyes* I shouldn't have known
him from Adam* He seemed pleased to see me ; at least,
interested ; he wasn't effusive, but he'd always been on
the quiet side, and I didn't expect him to be*
44 4 Are you surprised to find us here ? ' he asked me*
44 4 Well, I hadn't the faintest notion where you were*'
44 4 We've kept track of your movements more or less*
We've seen your name in the paper every now and then*
368
W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
You must come out one day and have a look at our place*
We've been settled there a good many years, and I suppose
we shall stay there till we go home for good. Have you
ever been back to Alor Lipis ? '
4 No, I haven't/ I said.
4 It was a nice little place* I am told it's grown.
I've never been back/
4 It hasn't got the pleasantest recollections for us/
said Mrs. Cartwright*
44 I asked them if they would have a drink, and we
called the boy. I daresay you noticed that Mrs. Cart-
wright likes her liquor ; I don't mean that she gets tight
or anything like that, but she drinks her stingah like a
man. I couldn't help looking at them with a certain
amount of curiosity. They seemed perfectly happy. I
gathered that they hadn't done at all badly, and I found
out later that they were quite well off. They had a very
nice car, and when they went on leave they denied them-
selves nothing. They were on the best of terms with
one another. You know how jolly it is to see two people
who've been married a great many years obviously better
pleased with their own company than anyone else's.
Their marriage had evidently been a great success. And
they were both of them devoted to Olive and very proud of
her, Theo especially."
" Although she was only his step-daughter ? " I said.
" Although she was only his step-daughter," answered
Gase. 4 You'd think that she would have taken his name,
but she hadn't. She called him daddy, of course he
was the only father she had ever known but she signed
her letters Olive Bronson."
4 What was Bronson like, by the way ? "
" Bronson ? He was a great big fellow, very hearty,
with a loud voice and a bellowing laugh ; beefy, you know,
and a fine athlete. There was not very much to him,
but he was as straight as a die. He had a red face and
red hair. Now I come to think of it, I remember that I
269
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
never saw a man sweat as much as he did* Water just
poured off him, and when he played tennis he always
used to take a towel on the court with him/'
' It doesn't sound very attractive/'
44 He was a handsome chap. He was always fit. He
was keen on that. He hadn't much to talk about but
rubber and games, tennis, you know, and golf and shooting ;
and I don't suppose he read a book from year's end to
year's end. He was the typical public-school boy. He
was about thirty-five when I first knew him, but he had
the mind of a boy of eighteen. You know how many
fellows when they come out East seem to stop growing."
I did indeed. One of the most disconcerting things
to the traveller is to see stout, middle-aged gentlemen,
with bald heads, speaking and acting as though they were
school-boys. It is as though from the time they first pass
through the Suez Canal no idea had ever entered their
heads, and they continue, though married and the fathers
of children, and though they may be at the head of large
businesses, to look upon life from the standpoint of the
sixth form.
u But he was no fool," Gaze went on. " He knew
his work from A to Z* His estate was one of the best
managed in the country, and he knew how to handle his
labour. He was a damned good sort, and if he did get
on your nerves a little, you couldn't help liking him. He
was generous with his money, and always ready to do
anybody a good turn. That's how Cartwright happened
to turn up in the first instance."
44 Did the Bronsons get on well together ? '
44 Oh yes, I think so. I'm sure they did. He was
very good-natured, and she was very jolly and gay in
those days. She was very outspoken, you know. She
can be very funny when she likes even now, but there's
generally a sting lurking in the joke ;i when she was
a young woman and married to Bronson it was just pure
fun. She had high spirits and liked having a good time.
270
W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
She never cared a damn what she said, but it went with
her type, if you understand what I mean ; there was
something so open and frank and careless about her that
you didn't care what she said to you. They seemed very
happy.
' Their estate was about five miles from Alor Lipis,
and they used to ride in most evenings about five. Of
course it was a very small community, and men were in
the majority. There were only about six women. The
Bronsons were a godsend. They bucked things up the
moment they arrived. We used to have very jolly times
in that little club. I've often thought of them since,
and I don't know that on the whole I've ever enjoyed
myself more than I did when I was stationed there. Be-
tween six and eight-thirty the club at Alor Lipis twenty
years ago was about as lively a place as you could find
between Aden and Yokohama.
" One day Mrs. Bronson told us that they were ex-
pecting a friend to stay with them, and a few days later
they brought Cartwright along. It appeared that he was
an old friend of Bronson's. They'd been at school
together Marlborough, or some place like that and
they'd first come out East on the same ship. Rubber was
not very good at that time, and a lot of fellows had lost
their jobs. Cartwright was one of them. He'd been out
of work for the greater part of a year, and he hadn't
anything to fall back on. In those days planters were
even worse paid than they are now, and a man has to be very
lucky to put by something for a rainy day. Cartwright
had gone to Singapore. They all go there when there's
a slump, you know. It's awful then. I've seen it. I've
known of planters sleeping in the street because they
hadn't the price of a night's lodging. I've known them
stop strangers outside the * Europe ' and ask for a dollar
to get a meal ; and I think Cartwright had had a pretty
rotten time.
" At last he wrote to Bronson and asked him if he
271
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
couldn't do something for him. Bronson asked him to
come and stay till things got better* At least it would
be free board and lodging, and Cartwright jumped at
the chance, but Bronson had to send him the money to
Eay his railway fare. When Cartwright arrived at Alor
ipis he hadn't ten cents in his pocket. Bronson had a
little money of his own two or three hundred a year, I
think and though his salary had been cut, he had kept
his job, so that he was better off than most planters.
When Cartwright came, Mrs. Bronson told him that he
was to look upon the place as his home, and stay as long
as he liked/'
44 It was very nice of her, wasn't it ? " I remarked.
44 Very."
Gase lit himself another cheroot and filled his glass.
It was very still, and but for the occasional croak of the
chik-chak the silence was intense. We seemed to be alone
in the tropical night, and heaven only knows how far
from the habitations of men. Ga^e did not speak for
so long that at last I was forced to say something.
44 What sort of a man was Cartwright at that time ? "
I asked. 4 Younger, of course, and you told me rather
nice-looking; but in himself? "
44 Well, to tell you the truth, I never paid much
attention to him. He was pleasant and unassuming.
He's very quiet now, as I daresay you noticed. Well,
he wasn't exactly lively then, but he was perfectly in-
offensive. He was fond of reading, and he played the
piano rather nicely.
4 You never minded having him about. He was never
in the way, but you never bothered very much about him.
He danced well, and the women rather liked that, but he
also played billiards quite decently, and he wasn't bad
at tennis.
44 He fell into our little groove very naturally. I
wouldn't say that he ever became wildly popular, but
everybody liked him. Of course, we were sorry for him,
272
W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
as one is for a man who's down and out, but there was
nothing we could do, and well, we just accepted him,
and then forgot that he hadn't always been there. He
used to come in with the Bronsons every evening and
pay for his drinks like every one else. I suppose Bronson
had lent a bit of money for current expenses, and he was
always very civiL I'm rather vague about him, because
really he didn't make any particular impression on me.
In the East one meets such a lot of people, and he seemed
very much like anybody else*
" He did everything he could to get something to
do, but he had no luck. The fact is, there were no jobs
going, and sometimes he seemed rather depressed about
it. He was with the Bronsons for over a year. I remem-
ber his saying to me once :
' After all, I can't live with them for ever. They've
been most awfully good to me, but there are limits.'
44 4 I should think the Bronsons would be very glad to
have you,' I said. * It's not very gay on a rubber estate,
and as far as your food and drink go, it must make very
little difference if you're there or not.' '
Gaze stopped once more and looked at me with a
sort of hesitation.
4 What's the matter? " I asked.
' I'm afraid I'm telling you this story very badly,"
he said. * I seem to be just rambling on. I'm not a damned
novelist, I'm a policeman, and I'm just telling you the
facts as I saw them at the time ; and from my point of
view all the circumstances are important. It's important,
I mean, to realise what sort of people they were."
" Of course. Fire away."
" I remember someone a woman, I think it was the
doctor's wife asking Mrs. Bronson if she didn't get tired
sometimes of having a stranger in the house. You know,
in places like Alor Lipis there isn't very much to talk
about, and if you didn't talk about your neighbours there'd
be nothing to talk about at all.
B.C. 373 s
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
4 Oh no/ she said, * Thep's no trouble/ She turned
to her husband, who was sitting there mopping his face*
* We like having him, don't we ? '
4 He's all right/ said Bronson*
4 What does he do with himself all day long ? '
4 Oh, I don't know/ said Mrs* Bronson* 4 He walks
round the estate with Reggie sometimes, and he shoots
a little* He talks to me*'
44 4 He's always glad to make himself useful/ said
Bronson* 4 The other day when I had a go of fever, he
took over my work, and I just lay in bed and had a good
time*' "
" Hadn't the Bronsons any children ? " I asked*
" No," Gaze answered* " I don't know why ; they
could well have afforded it*"
Gaze leant back in his chair* He took off his glasses
and wiped them* They were very strong, and hideously
distorted his eyes* Without them he wasn't so homely*
The chik-chak on the ceiling gave its strangely human cry*
It was like the cackle of an idiot child*
44 Bronson was killed," said Gaze suddenly*
" Killed?"
44 Yes, murdered* I shall never forget that night*
We'd been playing tennis Mrs* Bronson and the doctor's
wife, Theo Cartwright, and I ; and then we played bridge*
Cartwright had been off his game, and when we sat down
at the bridge table Mrs* Bronson said to him : 4 Well,
Theo, if you play bridge as rottenly as you played tennis,
we shall lose our shirts*'
4 We'd just had a drink, but she called the boy and
ordered another round*
44 4 Put that down your throat/ she said to him, 4 and
don't call without top honours and an outside trick*'
44 Bronson hadn't turned up* He'd gone in to
Kabulong to get the money to pay his coolies their wages,
and was to come along to the club when he got back*
The Bronsons' estate was nearer Alor Lipis than it was
274
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
to Kabulpng, but Kabulong was a more important place
commercially, and Bronson banked there*
4 Reggie can cut in when he turns up/ said Mrs*
Bronson*
4 He's late, isn't he ? ' said the doctor's wife*
44 4 Very* He said he wouldn't get back in time for
tennis, but would be here for a rubber* I have a sus-
picion that he went to the club at Kabulong instead of
coming straight home, and is having drinks, the ruffian*'
44 4 Oh, well, he can put away a good many without
their having much effect on him,' I laughed*
4 He's getting fat, you know* He'll have to be
careful*'
44 We sat by ourselves in the card-room, and we could
hear the crowd in the billiard-room talking and laughing*
They were all on the merry side* It was getting on to
Christmas Day, and we were all letting ourselves go a
little* There was going to be a dance on Christmas Eve*
14 I remembered afterwards that when we sat down
the doctor's wife asked Mrs* Bronson if she wasn't tired*
4 Not a bit,' she said* ' Why should I be ? '
4 I didn't know why she flushed*
4 I was afraid the tennis might have been too much
for you,' said the doctor's wife*
44 4 Oh no,' answered Mrs* Bronson, a trifle abruptly,
I thought, as though she didn't want to discuss the matter*
4 I did not know what they meant, and indeed it was
not till later that I remembered the incident*
4 We played three or four rubbers, and still Bronson
did not turn up*
4 I wonder what's happened to him ' said his wife*
4 I can't think why he should be so late*'
" Cartwright was always silent, but this evening he
had hardly opened his mouth* I thought he was tired,
and asked him what he'd been doing*
' Nothing very much,' he said* 4 I went out after
tiffin to shoot pigeon*'
275
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
4 Did you have any luck ? ' I asked*
4 Oh, I got half a dozen* They were very shy/
" But now he said : 4 If Reggie got back late, I daresay
he thought it wasn't worth while to come here* I expect
he's had a bath, and when we get in we shall find him asleep
in his chair*'
4 It's a good long ride from Kabulong/ said the
doctor's wife*
' ' He doesn't take the road, you know,' Mrs* Bronson
explained* 4 He takes the short cut through the
jungle*'
4 Can he get along on his bicycle ? ' I asked*
" * Oh yes ; it's a very good track* It saves about
a couple of miles*'
44 We had just started another rubber when the bar-
boy came in and said that there was a police-sergeant
outside who wanted to speak to me*
4 What does he want ? ' I asked*
44 The boy said he didn't know, but he had two coolies
with him*
44 4 Curse him,' I said* 4 I'll give that sergeant hell
if I find he's disturbed me for nothing*'
:4 I told the boy I'd come, and I finished playing the
hand* Then I got up*
4 I won't be a minute,' I said* 4 Deal for me,
will you ? ' I added to Cartwright*
44 I went out and found the sergeant with two Malays
waiting for me on the steps* I asked him what the devil
he wanted* You can imagine my consternation when he
told me that the Malays had come to the police-station
and said there was a white man lying dead on the path
that led through the jungle to Kabulong* I immediately
thought of Bronson*
4 Dead ? ' I cried*
44 4 Yes, shot* Shot through the head* A white man
with red hair*'
44 Then I knew it could only be Reggie Bronson,
276
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
And indeed, one of them, naming his estate, said he had
recognised him as the tuam It was an awful shock*
and there was Mrs* Bronson in the card-room waiting
impatiently for me to sort my cards and make a bid* For
a moment I really didn't know what to do* I was fright-
fully upset* It was dreadful to give her such a terrible
and unexpected blow without a word of preparation, but
I found myself quite unable to think of any way to soften
it* I told the sergeant and the coolies to wait, and went
back into the club* I tried to pull myself together* As
I entered the card-room Mrs* Bronson said : 4 You've
been an awful long time*' Then she caught sight of
my face* 4 Is anything the matter ? ' I saw her clench
her fists and go white* You'd have thought she had a
presentiment of evil*
44 4 Something dreadful has happened/ I said, and my
throat was all closed up so that my voice sounded even
to me hoarse and uncanny* 4 There's been an accident*
Your husband's been wounded*'
" She gave a long gasp* It was not exactly a scream ;
it reminded me oddly of a piece of silk torn in two*
4 Wounded?' '
" She leapt to her feet with her eyes starting from
her head, and stared at Cartwright* The effect on him was
ghastly* He fell back in his chair and went as white
as death*
4 Very, very badly, I'm afraid,' I added*
14 I knew that I must tell her the truth, and tell it
then, but I couldn't bring myself to tell it all at once*
4 Is he ' her lips trembled so that she could hardly
form the words ' is he conscious ? '
'* I looked at her for a moment without answering*
I'd have given a thousand pounds not to have to*
No, I'm afraid he isn't*'
" Mrs* Bronson stared at me as though she were
trying to see right into my brain*
444 Is he dead?'
277
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
" I thought the only thing was to get it out and have
done with it*
4 Yes, he was dead when they found him/
44 Mrs* Bronson collapsed into her chair and burst
into tears*
4 Oh, my God ! ' she muttered* 4 Oh, my God ! '
44 The doctor's wife went to her and put her arms
round her* Mrs* Bronson, with her face in her hands,
swayed to and fro, weeping hysterically* Cartwright,
with that livid face, sat quite still, his mouth open, and
stared at her* You might have thought he was turned to
stone*
44 4 Oh, my dear, my dear/ said the doctor's wife,
4 you must try and pull yourself together*' Then, turning
to me : 4 Get her a glass of water and fetch Harry*'
44 Harry was her husband, and he was playing billiards*
I went in and told him what had happened*
44 4 A glass of water be damned,' he said* * What she
wants is a good long peg of brandy*'
44 We took it in to her and forced her to drink it,
and gradually the violence of her emotion exhausted
itself* In a few minutes the doctor's wife was able to
take her into the ladies' lavatory so that she might wash
her face* I had made up my mind now what had better
be done* I could see that Cartwright wasn't good for
much ; he was all to pieces* I could understand that it
was a fearful shock to him, for, after all, Bronson was
his greatest friend, and had done everything in the world
for him*
44 4 You look as though you'd be all the better for a
drop of brandy yourself, old man,' I said to him*
" He made an effort*
44 4 It's shaken me, you know/ he said* 4 I * * * I
didn't * * * ' He stopped as though his mind was wan-
dering ; he was still fearfully pale* He took out a
packet of cigarettes and struck a match, but his hand was
shaking so that he could hardly manage it*
278
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
44 4 Yes, I'll have a brandy/
44 4 Boy/ I shouted, and then to Cartwright : 4 Now,
are you fit to take Mrs* Bronson home ? '
4 Oh yes/ he answered*
44 4 That's good* The doctor and I will go along
with the coolies and some police to where the body is*'
44 4 Will you bring him back to the bungalow ? * asked
Cartwright*
4 I think he'd better be taken straight to the mortuary/
said the doctor before I could answer* 4 I shall have to
do a P*M/
44 When Mrs* Bronson, now so much calmer that I
was amazed, came back, I told her what I suggested* The
doctor's wife, kind woman, offered to go with her and
spend the night at the bungalow, but Mrs* Bronson
would not hear of it* She said she would be perfectly
all right, and when the doctor's wife insisted you know
how bent some people are on forcing their kindness on
those in trouble she turned on her almost fiercely*
4 No, no ; I must be alone/ she said* 4 I really
must* And Theo will be there*'
44 They got into the trap* Theo took the reins and
they drove off* We started after them, the doctor and
I, while the sergeant and the coolies followed* I had sent
my sets to the police-station with instructions to send two
men to the place where the body was lying* We soon
passed Mrs* Bronson and Cartwright*
4 All right?' I called*
4 Yes/ he answered*
4 We had to drive along the road that passed Bronson's
estate and two miles further before we came to the short
cut to Kabulong, along which poor Bronson had been
killed* The Malays had been coming back from Kabulong
when they found him* Fortunately the moon was full,
and it was almost as light as day* For some time the
doctor and I drove without saying a word ; we were
both of us deeply shocked* I was worried as well*
279
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
how or other I'd got to find the murderers, and I
foresaw that it would be no easy matter.
4 Do you suppose it was gang robbery ? ' said the
doctor at last.
" He might have been reading my thoughts.
44 4 I don't think there's a doubt of it/ I answered*
4 They knew he'd gone into Kabulong to get the wages,
and lay in wait for him on the way back. Of course he
should never have come alone through the jungle when
everyone knew he had a large sum with him/
44 4 He'd done it for years/ said the doctor. 4 And
he's not the only one.'
44 4 I know. The question is, how we're going to
get hold of the fellows that did it.'
44 4 You don't think the two coolies who say they
found him could have had anything to do with it ? '
44 4 No. They wouldn't have the nerve. I think a
pair of Chinks might think out a trick like that, but I don't
believe Malays would. They'd be much too frightened.
Of course we'll keep an eye on them. We shall soon
see if they seem to have any money to fling about/
44 4 It's awful for Mrs. Bronson/ said the doctor. 4 It
would have been bad enough at any time, but now she's
going to have a baby ..."
; 4 1 didn't know that/ I said, interrupting him.
44 4 No, for some reason she wanted to keep it dark.
She was rather funny about it, I thought/
44 I recollected then that little passage between Mrs.
Bronson and the doctor's wife. I understood why that
good woman had been so anxious that Mrs. Bronson
should not overtire herself.
" 4 It's strange her having a baby after being married
so many years/
44 4 It happens, you know. But it was a surprise to
her. When first she came to see me and I told her what
was the matter, she fainted, and then she began to cry.
I should have thought she'd be as pleased as Punch.
280
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
She told me that Bronson didn't like children, and he'd
be awfully bored at the idea, and she made me promise
to say nothing about it till she had and a chance of breaking
it to him gradually/
' I reflected for a moment*
44 He was the kind of breezy, hearty cove whom you'd
expect to be as keen as mustard on having kids*
44 * You never can telL Some people are very selfish,
and just don't want the bother/
44 4 Well, how did he take it when she did tell him ?
Wasn't he rather bucked ? '
44 4 I don't know that she ever told him* Though
she could not have waited much longer ; unless I'm very
much mistaken she ought to be confined in about five
months*'
* Poor devil,' I said, 4 You know, I've got a notion
that he'd have been most awfully pleased to know*'
44 We drove in silence for the rest of the way, and at
last came to the point at which Bronson, riding along the
path, should have found the road* Here we stopped,
and in a minute or two my trap in which were the police -
sergeant and the two Malays came up* We took the head-
lamps to light us on our way* I left the doctor's seis to
look after the ponies, and told him that when the police-
men came they were to follow the path till they found us*
The two coolies, carrying the lamps, walked ahead, and
we followed them* It was a fairly broad track, wide
enough for a small cart to pass, and before the road was
built it had been the highway between Kabulong and
Alor Lipis* It was firm to the foot and good walking*
The surface here and there was sandy, and in places
you could see quite plainly the trace of Bronson's bicycle
that he had left on his way into Kabulong early in the
day*
4 We walked twenty minutes, I should think, in single
file, and on a sudden the coolies, with a cry, stopped
sharply* The sight had come upon them so abruptly
281
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
that, notwithstanding they were expecting it, they were
startled* There, in the middle of the pathway, lit fitfully
by the lamps the coolies carried, lay Bronson* He had
fallen over his bicycle, and lay across it in an ungainly
heap. I was too shocked to speak, and I think the doctor
was, too* But in our silence the din of the jungle was
deafening ; those damned cicadas and the bull-frogs were
making enough row to wake the dead* Even under
ordinary circumstances the noise of the jungle at night
always seems to me uncanny ; because you feel that at
that hour there should be an utter silence, it has an odd
effect on you, that ceaseless and invisible uproar that beats
upon your nerves* It surrounds you and hems you in*
But just then, believe me, it was terrifying* That poor
fellow lay dead, and all round him the restless life of
the jungle pursued its indifferent and ferocious course*
" He was lying face downwards* The sergeant and
the coolies looked at me as though awaiting an order*
I was a young fellow then, and I'm afraid I felt a little
frightened* Though I could not see the face, I had no
doubt that it was Bronson, but I felt that I ought to turn
the body over to make sure* I suppose we all have our
little squeamishnesses ; you know I've always had a
horrible distaste for touching dead bodies* I've had to
do it fairly often now, but it still makes me feel slightly
sick*
4 It's Bronson all right/ I said*
44 The doctor by George, it was lucky for me he was
there the doctor bent down and turned the head* The
sergeant directed the lamp on the dead face*
44 4 My God, half his head's been shot away/ I cried*
44 4 Yes/
44 The doctor stood up straight and wiped his hands
on the leaves of a tree that grew beside the path*
* Is he quite dead ? * I asked*
'' 4 4 Oh yes* Death must have been instantaneous*
Whoever shot him must have fired at pretty close range*'
282
W, SOMERSET MAUGHAM
44 4 How long has he been dead, d'you think ? '
4 Oh, I don't know several hours/
44 4 He would have passed here about five o'clock, I
suppose, if he was expecting to get to the club for a
rubber at six/
' There's no sign of any struggle/ said the doctor,
44 4 No, there wouldn't be* He was shot as he was
riding along/
44 I looked at the body for a little while, I couldn't
help thinking how short a time ago it was since Bronson,
noisy and loud-voiced, had been so full of hearty life,
44 4 You haven't forgotten that he had the coolies'
wages on him,' said the doctor,
4 No ; we had better search him/
4 Shall we turn him over ? '
44 4 Wait a minute. Let us just have a look at the
ground first/
44 I took the lamp and as carefully as I could looked
all about me. Just where he had fallen the sandy pathway
was trodden and confused ; there were our footprints
and the footprints of the coolies who had just found him,
I walked back two or three paces, and then saw quite
clearly the mark of his bicycle wheels ; he had been
riding straight and steadily, I followed it to the spot
where he had fallen, to just before that, rather, and there
saw very distinctly the prints, on each side of the wheels,
of his heavy boots. He had evidently stopped there and
put his feet to the ground. Then he'd started off again,
there was a great wobble of the wheel, and he'd crashed,
4 Now let's search him,' I said,
( The doctor and the sergeant turned the body over,
and one of the coolies dragged the bicycle away. They
laid Bronson on his back, I supposed he would have had
the money partly in notes and partly in silver. The
silver would have been in a bag attached to the bicycle,
and a hasty glance told me that it was not there. The
notes he would have put in a wallet. It would have been
283
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
a good thick bundle. I felt him all over, but there was
nothing* Then I turned out the pockets. They were all
empty except the right trousers pocket, in which there was
a little small change*
4 Didn't he always wear a watch ? ' asked the doctor.
4 Yes, of course he did/
44 I remembered that he wore the chain through the
buttonhole in the lapel of his coat, and the watch and some
seals and things in his handkerchief pocket* But watch
and chain were gone.
44 4 Well, there's not much doubt now, is there ? ' I
said. It was clear that he had been attacked by gang
robbers who knew he had a good sum of money on him,
and after killing him they had stripped him of everything.
I suddenly remembered the footprints that proved that
for a moment he had stood still. I saw exactly how it had
been done. One of them had stopped him on some
pretext, and then, just as he started off again, another,
slipping out of the jungle behind him, had emptied the
two barrels of a gun into his head.
44 4 Well/ I said to the doctor, 4 it's up to me to catch
them, and I'll tell you what it'll be a real pleasure to
me to see them hanged/
44 Of course, there was an inquest. Mrs. Bronson
gave evidence, but she had nothing to say that we did not
know already. Bronson had left the bungalow about
eleven. He was to have tiffin at Kabulong, and was to
be back between five and six. He asked her not to wait
for him. He said he would just put the money into the safe
and come straight to the club. Cartwright confirmed this.
He had lunched alone with Mrs. Bronson, and after a
smoke he had gone out with a gun to shoot pigeon. He
had got in about five a little before, perhaps had a
bath, and changed to play tennis. He was shooting not
far from the place where Bronson was killed, but never
heard a shot. That, of course, meant nothing ; what with
the cicadas and frogs and the other sounds of the jungle,
284
W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
he would have had to be very near to hear anything ;
and besides, Cartwright was probably back in the bungalow
before Bronson was killed* We traced Bronson's move-
ments. He had lunched at the club, he had got money
at the bank just before it closed, had gone back to the
club, and had one more drink, and then started off on
his bicycle. He had crossed the river by the ferry. The
ferryman remembered distinctly seeing him, but was
positive that no one else with a bicycle had crossed. That
looked as though the murderers were not following, but
lying in wait for him. He rode along the main road
for a couple of miles, and then took the path which was
a short cut to his bungalow.
44 It looked as though he had been killed by men who
knew his habits, and suspicion, of course, fell immediately
on the coolies of his estate. We examined them all
pretty carefully but there was not a scrap of evidence to
connect any of them with the crime. In fact, most of
them were able satisfactorily to account for their actions,
and those who couldn't seemed to me for one reason and
another out of the running. There were a few bad
characters among the Chinese at Alor Lipis, and I had
them looked up. But somehow I didn't think it was
the work of the Chinese ; I had a feeling that Chinese
would have used revolvers and not a shot-gun. Anyhow,
I could find out nothing there. So then we offered a
reward of a thousand dollars to anyone who could put
us in the way of discovering the murderers. I thought
there were a good many people to whom it would appeal
to do a public service and at the same time earn a tidy
sum. But I knew that an informer would take no risks ;
he wouldn't want to tell what he knew till he knew he
could tell it safely, and I armed myself with patience.
The reward had brightened the interest of my police,
and I knew they would use every means they had to bring
the criminals to trial. In a case like this they could do
more than I.
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
" But it was strange, nothing happened ; the reward
seemed to tempt no one* I cast my net a little wider*
There were two or three kampongs along the road* and I
wondered if the murderers were there ; I saw the head-
men* but got no help from them* It was not that they
would tell me nothing ; I was sure that they had nothing
to tell* I talked to the bad hats* but there was absolutely
nothing to connect them with the murder* There was
not the shadow of a clue*
44 4 Very well* my lads/ I said to myself* as I drove
back to Alor Lipis* 4 there's no hurry ; the rope won't
spoil by keeping*'
44 The scoundrels had got away with a considerable
sum* but money is no good unless you spend it* I felt
I knew the native temperament enough to be sure that
the possession of it was a constant temptation* The
Malays are an extravagant race* and a race of gamblers*
and the Chinese are gamblers* too* Sooner or later
someone would start flinging his money about* and then
I should want to know where it came from* With a few
well-directed questions I thought I could put the fear of
God into the fellow* and then* if I knew my business* it
should not be hard to get a full confession*
44 The only thing now was to sit down and wait till
the hue and cry and died down and the murderers thought
the affair was forgotten* The itch to spend those ill-
gotten dollars would grow more and more intolerable*
till at last it could be resisted no longer* I would go
about my business* but I meant never to relax my watch*
and one day* sooner or later* my time must come*
44 Cartwright took Mrs* Bronson down to Singapore*
The company Bronson had worked for asked him if he
would care to take Bronson's place* but he said* very
naturally* that he didn't like the idea of it ; so they put
another man in* and told Cartwright that he could have
the job that Bronson's successor had vacated* It was the
management of the estate that Cartwright lives on now*
286
W, SOMERSET MAUGHAM
He moved in at once* Four months after this Olive
was born at Singapore, and a few months later, when
Bronson had been dead just over a year, Cartwright and
Mrs. Bronson were married* I was surprised ; but on
thinking it over I couldn't help confessing that it was very
natural. After the trouble, Mrs* Bronson had leant much
on Cartwright, and he had arranged everything for her.
She must have been lonely and rather lost, and I daresay
she was grateful for his kindness. He did behave like a
brick ; and so far as he was concerned I imagined he was
sorry for her. It was a dreadful position for a woman ;
she had nowhere to go, and all they'd gone through must
have been a tie between them. There was every reason
for them to marry, and it was probably the best thing for
them both,
44 It looked as though Bronson's murderers would
never be caught, for that plan of mine did not work.
There was no one in the district who spent more money
than he could account for, and if anyone had that hoard
buried away under his floor, he was showing a self-control
that was superhuman, A year had passed, and to all
intents and purposes the thing was forgotten. Could
anyone be so prudent as after so long not to let a little
money dribble out ? It was incredible, I began to think
that Bronson had been killed by a couple of wandering
Chinese who had got away, to Singapore, perhaps, where
there would be small chance of catching them. At last
I gave it up. If you come to think of it, as a rule, it is
just those crimes crimes of robbery in which there is
least chance of getting the culprit, for there is nothing
to attach suspicion to him, and if he is caught it
can only be by his own carelessness. It is different
with crimes of passion or vengeance ; then you can find
out who had a motive to put the victim out of the
way,
' It's no use grilling over one's failures ; and bringing
my common sense to bear, I did my best to put the matter
387
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
out of my mind* No one likes to be beaten, but beaten
I was, and I had to put as good a face on it as I could.
And then a Chinaman was caught trying to pawn poor
Bronson's watch*
''* I told you that Bronson's watch and chain had been
taken, and of course Mrs* Bronson was able to give us a
fairly accurate description of it* It was a half-hunter*
by Benson ; there was a gold chain, three or four seals,
and a sovereign purse* The pawnbroker was an astute
fellow, and when the Chinaman brought the watch in
he recognised it at once* On some pretext he kept the
man waiting and sent for a policeman* The man was
arrested and immediately brought to me* I greeted him
like a long-lost brother* I was never so pleased to see
anyone in my life* I have no feeling about criminals,
you know* I'm rather sorry for them, because they're
playing a game in which their opponents hold all the aces
and kings ; but when I catch one it gives me a little
thrill of satisfaction, like bringing off a neat finesse at
bridge* At last the mystery was going to be cleared up,
for if the Chinaman had not committed the murder him-
self, we were pretty sure through him to trace the
murderers* I beamed on him*
4 4 1 asked him to account for his possession of the
watch* He said he had bought it from a man he did not
know* That was very thin* I explained the circum-
stances briefly, and told him he would be charged with
murder* I meant to frighten him, and I did* He said
then that he'd found the watch*
4 Found it ? ' I said* 4 Fancy that ! Where ? '
44 His answer staggered me* He said he'd found it
in the jungle* I laughed at him* I asked him if he
thought watches were likely to be left lying about in the
jungle* Then he said he'd been coming along the path-
way that led from Kabulong to Alor Lipis, and had gone
into the jungle, and had caught sight of something gleam-
ing, and there was the watch* That was odd* Why
288
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
should he have said he'd found the watch just there?
It was either true or excessively astute* I asked him where
the chain and the seals were, and he produced them
immediately. Fd got him scared, and he was pale and
shaking* He was a knock-kneed little fellow, and I should
have been a fool not to see that I hadn't got hold of the
murderer there* But his terror suggested that he knew
something*
44 I asked him when he'd found the watch*
4 Yesterday/ he said*
44 I asked him what he was doing on the short cut
from Kabulong to Alor Lipis* He said that he'd been
working in Singapore and had gone to Kabulong because
his father was ill, and now was come to Alor Lipis to
work* A friend of his father, a carpenter by trade, had
given him a job* He gave me the name of the man with
whom he had worked in Singapore and the name of the
man who had engaged him at Alor Lipis* All he said
seemed plausible, and could so easily be verified that it
was hardly likely to be false* Of course it occurred to
me that if he had found the watch as he said it must have
been lying in the jungle for more than a year* It could
hardly be in very good condition* I tried to open it,
but could not* The pawnbroker had come to the police-
station, and was waiting in the next room* Luckily he
was also something of a watchmaker* I sent for him,
and asked him to look at the watch* When he opened it
he gave a little whistle the works were thick with
rust*
' This watch no good,' he said, shaking his head*
' Him never go now*'
4 I asked him what had put it in such a state, and
without a word from he me said that it had been long
exposed to wet* For the moral effect I had the prisoner
put in a cell, and I sent for his employer* I also sent a
wire to Kabulong and to Singapore* While I waited
I did my best to put two and two together* I was
B.C. 289 T
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
inclined to believe the man's story true ; his fear might be
ascribed to no more guilt than consisted in his having
found something and tried to sell it* Even quite innocent
persons are apt to be nervous and lose their heads when they
are in the hands of the police. I don't know what there
is about a policeman ; people are never very much at
their ease in his company. But if he really had found the
watch where he said, someone had thrown it there. Now
that was a funny thing to do. Even if the murderers had
thought the watch a dangerous thing to possess, one
would have expected them to melt down the gold case.
That would be a very simple thing for any native to do ;
and the chain was of so ordinary a pattern they could
hardly have thought it possible to trace that. There
were chains like it in every jeweller's shop in the country.
Of course, there was the possibility that they had plunged
into the jungle and, having dropped the watch in their
hurry, had been afraid to go back and look for it. I
did not think that very likely; the Malays are used to
keeping things tucked away in their sarongs, and the
Chinese have pockets in their coats. Besides, the moment
they got into the jungle they knew there was no hurry.
They probably waited and divided the swag then and there.
44 In a few minutes the man I had sent for came to
the police-station and confirmed what the prisoner had
said, and in an hour I got an answer from Kabulong. The
police had seen his father, who told them that the boy
had gone to Alor Lipis to get a job with a carpenter.
So far everything he had said seemed to be true. I had
him brought in again, and told him I was going to take him
to the place where he said he had found the watch, and he
must show me the exact spot. I handcuffed him to a
policeman though it was hardly necessary, for the poor
devil was shaking with fright and took a couple of men
besides. We drove out to where the track joined the
road and walked along it. Within five yards of the place
where Bronson was killed the Chinaman stopped.
ago
W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
" ' Here/ he said.
44 He pointed to the jungle, and we followed him in.
We went in about ten yards, and he pointed to a chink
between two large boulders, and said that he found the
watch there. It could only have been by the merest
chance that he had noticed it, and if he really had found
it there, it looked very much as though someone had put
it there to hide it"
Gaze stopped and gave me a reflective look.
44 What would you have thought then ? " he asked.
44 I don't know/' I answered.
44 Well, I'll tell you what I thought. I thought that
if the watch was there the money might be there too. It
seemed worth while having a look. Of course, to look
for something in the jungle makes looking for a needle
in a bundle of hay a drawing-room pastime. I couldn't
help that. I released the Chinaman I wanted all the
help I could get and set him to work. I set my three
men to work, and I started in myself. We made a line
there were five of us and we searched from the road.
For fifty yards on each side of the place at which Bronson
was murdered and for a hundred yards in we went over
the ground foot by foot. We routed among dead leaves
and peered in bushes ; we looked inside boulders and in
the hollows of trees. I knew it was a foolish thing to do,
for the chances against us were a thousand to one. My
only hope was that anyone who had just committed a
murder would be rattled, and if he wanted to hide any-
thing would hide it quickly ; he would choose the first
obvious hiding-place that offered itself. That is what
he had done when he hid the watch. My only reason
for looking in so circumscribed an area was that, as the
watch had been found so near the road, the person who
wanted to get rid of the things must have wanted to get
rid of them quickly.
4 We worked on. I began to grow tired and cross.
We were sweating like pigs. I had a maddening thirst
291
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
and nothing in the world to drink. At last I came to the
conclusion that we must give it up as a bad job, for that
day at least, when suddenly the Chinaman he must have
had sharp eyes, that young man uttered a guttural cry*
He stooped down and from under the winding root of
a tree drew out a messy, mouldering, stinking thing* It
was a pocket-book that had been out in the rain for a year,
that had been eaten by ants and beetles and God knows
what, that was sodden and foul, but it was a pocket-book
all right, Bronson's, and inside were the shapeless, mushed-
up, fetid remains of the Singapore notes he had got from
the bank at Kabulong* There was still the silver, and I was
convinced that it was hidden somewhere about, but I
was not going to bother about that* I had found out
something very important : whoever had murdered
Bronson had made no money out of it*
44 Do you remember my telling you that I had noticed
the print of Bronson's feet on each side of the broad line
of the pneumatic tyre, where he had stopped, and pre-
sumably spoken to someone ? He was a heavy man and
the prints were well marked* He hadn't just put his feet
on the soft sand and taken them off, but must have stopped
at least for a minute or two* My explanation was that he
had stopped to chat with a Malay or a Chinaman, but the
more I thought of it the less I liked it* Why the devil
should he ? Bronson wanted to get home, and though a
jovial chap, he certainly was not hail-fellow-well-met with
the natives* His relations towards them were those of
master and servants* Those footprints had always puzzled
me* And now the truth flashed across me* Whoever
had murdered Bronson hadn't murdered him to rob, and
if he'd stopped to talk with someone it could only be with
a friend* I knew at last who the murderer was*
I have always thought the detective story a most
diverting and ingenious variety of fiction, and have
regretted that I never had the skill to write one, but I have
read a good many, and I flatter myself it is rarely that
292
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
I have not solved the mystery before it was disclosed to
me ; and now for some time I had foreseen what Gaze
was going to say, but when at last he said it I confess
that it gave me, notwithstanding, somewhat of a shock*
44 The man he met was Cartwright* Cartwright was
pigeon-shooting* He stopped and asked him what sport
he had had, and as he rode on Cartwright raised his gun
and discharged both barrels into his head* Cartwright
took the money and the watch in order to make it look like
the work of gang robbers and hurriedly hid them in the
jungle, then made his way along the edge till he got to the
road, went back to the bungalow, changed into his tennis
things and drove with Mrs* Bronson to the club*
44 I remembered how badly he'd played tennis, and
how he'd collapsed when, in order to break the news more
gently to Mrs* Bronson, I said Bronson was wounded and
not dead* If he was only wounded he might have been
able to speak* By George ! I bet that was a bad moment*
The child was Cartwright's* Look at Olive : why, you
saw the likeness yourself* The doctor said that Mrs*
Bronson was upset when he told her she was going to
have a baby, and made him promise not to tell Bronson*
Why? Because Bronson knew that he couldn't be the
father of the child*"
" Do you think that Mrs* Bronson knew what Cart-
wright had done ? " I asked*
' Fm sure of it* When I look back on her behaviour
that evening at the club I am convinced of it* She was
upset, but not because Bronson was killed ; she was
upset because I told her he was wounded* When I con-
fessed that he was dead when they found him she burst
out crying, but from relief* I know that woman* Look
at that square chin of hers and tell me that she hasn't got
the courage of the devil* She has a will of iron* She
made Cartwright do it* She planned every detail and
every move* He was completely under her influence ;
he is now*"
293
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
44 But do you mean to tell me that neither you nor
anyone else ever suspected that there was anything
between them ? "
14 Never. Never/*
44 If they were in love with one another and knew that
she was going to have a baby, why didn't they just
bolt ? "
44 How could they ? It was Bronson who had the
money ; she hadn't a bean and neither had Cartwright.
He was out of a job* Do you think he would have got
another with that story round his neck? Bronson had
taken him in when he was starving and he'd stolen his
wife from him. They wouldn't have had a dog's chance.
They couldn't afford to let the truth come out ; their only
chance was to get Bronson out of the way, and they got
him out of the way/'
' They might have thrown themselves on his mercy/'
4 Yes, but I think they were too ashamed* He'd been
so good to them, he was such a decent chap, I don't think
they had the heart to tell him the truth* They preferred
to kill him/'
There was a moment's silence while I reflected over
what Case said.
4 Well, what did you do about it ? " I asked.
" Nothing. What was there to do ? What was the
evidence ? That the watch and notes had been found ?
They might easily have been hidden by someone who was
afterwards afraid to come and get them. The murderer
might have been quite content to get away with the silver.
The footprints ? Bronson might have stopped to light a
cigarette or there might have been a tree-trunk across the
path and he waited while the coolies he met there by chance
moved it away. Who could prove that the child that a
perfectly decent, respectable woman had had four months
after her husband's death was not his child? No jury
would have convicted Cartwright. I held my tongue and
the Bronson murder was forgotten."
294
W* SOMERSET MAUGHAM
44 I don't suppose the Cartwrights have forgotten/'
I suggested.
' I shouldn't be surprised* Human memory is
astonishingly short, and if you want my professional
opinion I don't mind telling you that I don't believe
remorse for a crime ever sits very heavily on a man when
he's absolutely sure he'll never be found out."
I thought once more of the pair I had met that after-
noon : the thin, elderly, bald man with gold-rimmed
spectacles, and that white-haired, untidy woman with her
frank speech and kindly, caustic smile* It was almost
impossible to imagine that in the distant past they
had been swayed by so turbulent a passion, for that
alone had made their behaviour explicable, that it had
brought them in the end to such a pass that they
could see no other issue than a cruel and cold-blooded
murder*
" Doesn't it make you feel a little uncomfortable to
be with them ? " I asked Gaze. " For without wishing
to be censorious I'm bound to say that I don't think they
can be very nice people*"
* That's where you're wrong* They are very nice
people ; they're about the pleasantest people here*
Mrs* Cartwright is a thoroughly good sort and a very
amusing woman* It's my business to prevent crime and
to catch the culprit when crime is committed, but I've
known far too many criminals to think that on the whole
they're worse than anybody else* A perfectly decent
fellow may be driven by circumstances to commit a crime,
and if he's found out he's punished ; but he may very
well remain a perfectly decent fellow* Of course, society
punishes him if he breaks its laws, and it's quite right,
but it's not always his actions that indicate the essential
man* If you'd been a policeman as long as I have,
you'd know it's not what people do that really matters,
it's what they are* Luckily a policeman has nothing
to do with their thoughts, only with their deeds ; if he
295
FOOTPRINTS IN THE JUNGLE
had, it would be a very different, a much more difficult
matter/'
Gaze flicked the ash from his cheroot and gave me
his wry, sardonic, but agreeable smile*
' I'll tell you what, there's one job I shouldn't like/'
he said*
4 What is that?" I asked.
God's, at the Judgment Day," said Gaze. " No,
sir/'
296
THE LOVELY VOICE
BY LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
I WONDER why it is that in my old age I should feel
prompted to set down this experience of a far-off girl-
hood* Partly, perhaps, because of our last night's con-
versation concerning murder*
We argued so long as to whether there was neces-
sarily anything exceptional about the character of a
murderer ; my grandson maintaining that murder, like
other actions, was in most cases merely the result of
circumstances, and no indication of the essential man*
44 The act of murder/' he asserted, 44 is far more of a
fluke than many deeds not punishable by law* If you
tell me that a man is habitually rude to his servant, you
give me some insight into his personality and character,
but by merely informing me of the fact that he has com-
mitted murder, you leave me in complete ignorance as
to his nature*"
I wonder*
Long, long ago, when I was thirteen years old,
for the sake of acquiring French and health I passed
a whole summer in a hotel in France* There is no object
in giving the name of the town* Let it suffice that it
was large and on the edge of a magnificent forest* My
governess and I shared a double room, one in which we
did lessons as well as slept* An admirable woman,
Mademoiselle Plage but by no means an enthralling
companion* By sheer force of will she succeeded in
holding my attention during lesson hours, but for the
297
THE LOVELY VOICE
remainder of the day she did nothing whatever to occupy
my mind. Her conversation offered neither instruction
nor amusement. But I was very far from being bored*
At that age the mere fact of staying in a large hotel was
sufficient entertainment. The glamour of " pricky "
water (plain was considered unsafe) never palled. The
waiters were friendly, and it was lovely to be asked which
sweet I would have. Above all, there was my unfailing
interest in the varied visitors who perpetually came and
went. Unlike us, these were mostly birds of swift
passage, and, nearly every time I entered the table d'hote
there would be some new-comer to stare at.
I wonder how often Mademoiselle told me that it
was " rude to stare/' She wasted her breath. She might
just as well have asked me to stop breathing, so enthralled
was I by this succession of human beings by their faces,
their voices, their clothes, and their manners.
Towards the end of July the stream of visitors thinned,
and during that peculiarly sultry August the hotel was
far too empty to please me.
I mention this and the fact of Mademoiselle's dullness
to show that my mind was unoccupied and therefore all
the more liable to receive vivid impressions.
If I was not consciously hungry for distraction, I was
at least especially susceptible to it.
One day towards the end of the month the heat was
so intense that we were obliged to leave the door as well
as the window of our room wide open. I always found
lessons particularly difficult in hot weather, and just then
was staring in sticky despair at the sum confronting me.
Any distraction would have been most welcome, and at
the sound of approaching footsteps and the chatter of
voices I pricked up my ears. Through the open door
I saw the concierge, bowing and smiling, followed by two
vividly- dressed, rustling ladies. It was only a fleeting
glimpse that I caught, but it was enough to give an im-
pression of almost startlingly brilliant smartness, and even
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
now I can still smell the strong whiff of sweet, exotic
Eerfume that came with the new arrivals* Most children
ave a dislike of artificial scent, and I remember wrinkling
my nose with repugnance*
44 Par ici," said the concierge, and I heard the silken
dresses of the ladies rustle into the room next to ours,
A peculiarly pleasant, fluting voice complained of
the 44 grand chaleur," and their door was left wide open*
Thus, for the remaining half- hour of my lessons, I could
plainly hear the two foreign voices* I understood French
as easily as English and, to the destruction of my
arithmetic, I listened to their ceaseless conversation* It
was real chatter, a bright babble of words punctuated
by gay laughter*
The voice I had first distinguished an enchanting
voice appeared to do practically all the talking* Cer-
tainly it initiated every topic* In strong contrast to its
rippling vivacity, the other voice was markedly toneless ;
a sort of flat lifelessness conveying the impression of a
rather dull personality* Yet her animated friend seemed
sufficiently satisfied with her company*
They talked of their journey, their clothes, their plans
for the morrow* Scattered through the conversation I
frequently heard " Ma cherie," occasionally " Mon ange*"
The chambermaid, who brought in our hot water,
announced that two 44 Parisiennes d'une grande elegance "
had arrived* Anxious to be in time to see the entry of
the new arrivals, I hurried downstairs to the dining-room*
They were late, but when they did appear my ex-
pectations were far from disappointed* A lovely slender
young woman sailed there is no other word for such
motion into the room, followed by her equally well-
dressed but otherwise unprepossessing companion* To
my delight they sat down at the nearest table to ours,
and the lovely one began to speak in the voice that I
had already thought so enchanting upstairs*
I was riveted by the beauty of this young Parisian*
299
THE LOVELY VOICE
Not only was she utterly lovely with a peculiarly dewy
loveliness, but there was about her a flowing grace such
as I have never seen equalled. She seemed to bask in
her own beauty, of which she was inevitably and simply
aware*
44 What fun it all is ! How lucky we are to be alive ! "
her glittering glance seemed to say even when it fell on
the jaded, slatternly waiter from whom she might have
been ordering so much nectar and ambrosia instead of
gigot and mineral water*
Even Mademoiselle, who was not addicted to personal
remarks, actually sighed out the word 44 Ravissante," as she
blinked at the lovely being* The flower-like skin of the
radiant young woman struck me as being of a fairness
amazingly in contrast to her extremely dark hair, eye-
brows, and lashes* I have never seen such startling
whiteness crowned by black hair*
She shimmered*
Her companion was indeed an admirable foil, the one
being as opaque as the other was translucent* Probably
she was still nearly as young as she had ever seemed,
but in her slow, unventilated face and her flat, springless
voice, there was something definitely dreary*
I wondered why two such utterly different women
should be together, and concluded that they must be
related* Not that there were any signs of strain* The
lovely woman's talk never flagged* Her voice was like
running water from which a delicious spray of laughter
was frequently shaken* If her companion contributed
but little, she was at least a rapt and most appreciative
listener* Evidently she doted on her brilliant friend*
So spoke the humble, adoring eyes and the delighted,
unmusical chuckles with which she greeted her sallies*
After all these obliterating years, I can still hear
the quality of the voice to which she listened* Not
only so lovely and liquid in tone, but of such flexibility
that its intonations seemed, as it were, to thread the
300
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
intricate mazes of a minuet and to curtsey with wincing
appreciation of what it told.
Her conversation was of people, of books, of plays,
of clothes, and to a child inured in schoolroom routine,
redolent of varied interest and amusement.
After luncheon we moved into what would now be
called the lounge, where my governess pounced on a
dreary newspaper*
To my delight, the two ladies soon came in. Catching
sight of me, the lovely one's eyes lit up. " Hurrah 1
A child ! Perhaps she'll be fun/' they seemed to say.
Tall, undulating, smiling as she swayed across the
room, in a moment she had joined me, and in charming
broken English began to talk, not condescendingly as a
grown-up person to a child, but rationally as to an
equal.
I don't know how to convey to what extent I was
fascinated. Suffice it to say that I became a complete
convert to the use of scent. She drew me towards her
friend, saying she must let me hear her repeating watch,
which " loffly chimes played." The other woman oblig-
ingly showed me her pretty toy, and beneath her drab
exterior and commonplace manners, child as I was, I
could see the floor of her nature's steady kindliness
shining like metal through muddy waters.
Reluctantly I was dragged away for my afternoon's
walk, and, to my great disappointment, the ladies did not
appear in the lounge for tea. I was never allowed to
come down to the evening meal, and at seven I was
sent to bed. I went upstairs the victim of a raging cult.
I was obsessed by the lovely stranger.
The night was stifling the hottest of all that grilling
year and it was considered necessary to leave our door
wide open. Even so, there seemed no air to breathe. I
lay and panted in my bed, and when Mademoiselle joined
me at about ten o'clock I was still wide awake. Her
complaints of the heat soon subsided into noisy slumber,
301
THE LOVELY VOICE
but I had now determined to stay awake until the ladies
in the next room came upstairs.
I pined to hear that enchanting voice again, for, lovely
as was her face, it was her voice that had so completely
captivated me*
It must have been long past eleven when at last the
sultry silence was broken by the sound of fashionable
high heels clicking along the parquet floor, and the notes
of the voice for which I so eagerly listened. They passed
by. In French I heard the lovely voice say that the
door must be kept open on account of the heat. I was
delighted. Hurrah ! I should be able to hear their
talk. This night there would be no slipping off to sleep
from a dreary, lonely silence.
4 It is so lovely to be here with you, mon ange, said
the dull voice. She spoke, of course, in French, but I
have forgotten her exact words. " With you one cannot
have one dull moment, she went on, and I heard the
sound of repeated kisses. I was struck by such demon-
strative devotion. i < '
44 You are looking so lovely, she continued, " but,
oh, how I miss your glorious red-gold hair ! How could
you have spoilt it just for the sake of this one ball ? "
" Oh, well, answered the voice, " Medea cannot
possibly have anything but black hair, can she? And
wigs always look so unnatural. You can't get them
right ! Besides, the man who dyed it swears it will be
quite itself again in three months.
' I admire your seal," said her friend, " but I deplore
the sacrifice.
It did, indeed, seem extraordinary seal to dye your
hair for a fancy-dress ball. With the natural Puritanism
of childhood, only the day before such an idea would
have disgusted me, but in my present state of infatuation it
seemed yet another symptom of her adorable sest for
life. Excessive vitality mocks at a sense of proportion.
Besides, I rejoiced to hear that my lovely lady's hair
302
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
was naturally auburn my favourite colour* Against the
darling fairness of her complexion, the intense darkness
of her hair had seemed almost hard* Yes, a red-gold
aureole would be far more becoming and immensely
enhance her fairy-tale loveliness* I longed to see her
as Nature had designed her*
For several minutes the conversation ran on about
the fancy-dress ball as to who was going* as which
character* how much this and that lady had paid for their
costumes* and so on*
44 What an extraordinary whim of Madame de B /'
said the dull voice* 44 that she must needs give a big
charity ball now* when no one is naturally in Paris*
But she never did do anything like anyone else*"
44 No ; and can you wonder ? " said the voice* and here
it dropped to inaudible whispering* which was followed
by such loud laughter from both friends that* to my annoy-
ance* Mademoiselle woke up*
14 I cannot stand such chatter ! " she exclaimed
angrily* 44 Even heat is preferable* Let us cook in
silence and peace*"
She banged the door* and my evening's entertainment
was at an end*
It had been such a treat listening to their conversation*
and now* alas ! I could no longer distinguish their words*
though* as the wall was thin* I could still hear the sound
of ceaseless talk and laughter* On and on it went* The
first streaks of dawn were thinning the darkness before
I fell asleep* but even then the ladies had not yet finished
what my daughters before they shingled would have
called their 44 hair-combing*"
They did not come down to breakfast whilst I was
in the dining-room* and you may be sure that I lingered
as long as possible* Probably they had trays upstairs*
but they must have gone out fairly early* for no
sound came from their room during my dreary lesson
hours*
303
THE LOVELY VOICE
The day was distinctly cooler, and at half-past eleven
we were able to start out for a walk.
During this long summer, my main hope of excite-
ment lay in desperate attempts to get lost in the huge
forest on whose borders our hotel stood. This craving
for adventure was never gratified. Mademoiselle's bump
of locality was inconveniently well developed. Uner-
ringly she could find the shortest way home. However,
she was blessedly passive as to the direction in which we
took our walks. In fact, she was completely indifferent
as to where we went. Provided that I followed her home
directly she pronounced it time, I was allowed to ramble
at will through the more out-of-the-way and unfrequented
paths of that lovely forest.
That morning, after three-quarters of an hour's walk,
when we came to a sudden turning which disclosed a
new long vista, to my great delight I saw at some distance
I suppose about fifty yards off two figures that I im-
mediately recognised as the two Parisian ladies, one of
whom had occupied most of my thoughts during the
walk. Surrounded by the paraphernalia of a picnic, they
were both leaning against the broad trunk of an oak tree
whose spreading branches overshadowed the little foot-
path leading past it. Their sun-flecked dresses made gay
splashes of colour against the heavy green of late summer.
My yesterday's interview with the lady of the lovely
voice made me feel quite confident of a delightful wel-
come, and, with all the impetus of a bored child in sight
of diversion, I ran towards them. I was disappointed.
Not in the lady's beauty she was dressed in dryad green
and her complexion glowed in the strong sunshine but
in the expression of her face.
Though she smiled quite civilly, her eyes showed no
pleasure, and yesterday they had literally shone with
welcome.
I felt dashed. I had so looked forward to the tonic
of her gay responsiveness.
304
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
Oddly enough, it was her sallow friend who appeared
most pleased to see me, A placid good-humour irradiated
her plain face. She offered me chocolates, and her
accomplished watch was again put through its tricks. By
this time Mademoiselle had reached us* Characteristic-
ally she announced that it was time to go back for dejeuner
" tout de suite/'
44 It is to-day so luffly," said the plain lady, 44 that
we are going to how you say ? peek-neek* I wish that
you might join vith us, but unhappily ve have not enough
of proveesions*"
The lovely lady, on whose face I had seen a fleeting
frown, now beamed, agreeing that it was a " big peety*"
Reluctantly I followed Mademoiselle's remorseless
back.
To eat in one's fingers under that glorious tree and
in such enchanting company would indeed have been a
romantic break in the monotonous routine of my tete-a-
tete with Mademoiselle*
In spite of her disappointing greeting, which had
greatly disconcerted me, the attraction of the lady with
the lovely voice was still so strong that, when we set
out for our afternoon walk, I felt irresistibly drawn back
to the site of the picnic in the hope that the two friends
might still be lingering in so pleasant a spot*
I had no difficulty in finding the way back* I hurried,
outstripping Mademoiselle, and when I turned the corner
which brought the great oak into sight, to my delight
I saw that the two ladies were still there* The tall
figure in green had risen to her feet, and, with her back
towards me, stood stooping down over the other, who
still leant against the tree*
I was so delighted to see them that, waving my
hand, I shouted a joyous 44 Hullo ! " The tall green
figure, dappled by sunshine, turned round suddenly and
signalled to me to stop* At that distance I could, of
course, not see the expression of her face, but there was
B.C. 305 u
THE LOVELY VOICE
no mistaking her almost violent gesture* She was waving
me back, checking my approach, as might a nurse in
charge of a sleeping child* Surprised, I stood still and
stared*
The graceful green figure stooped low* Obviously she
was kissing her friend* Again I was struck by such
demonstrative affection* At least three kisses must have
been given before she turned round and began to walk
towards me* Half-way between me and the tree she
looked back, and, waving her hand, called out, " Au
revoir, cherie ! " To my surprise there was no response
from her friend, not even a nod of the head or a wave
of the hand as she reclined, rather stiffly, propped up
against the tree-trunk, her smart winged hat slightly
tilted to one side, one hand holding up her somewhat
garish parasol, the other lying in her lap beside a few
wild flowers and one half of an orange* I remember
noticing how almost exactly the orange matched the
parasol, the top of which rested against the tree* Ob-
viously she must have closed her eyes, else I could not
imagine her failing to return her friend's wave of the hand*
Asleep she could not be, the elbow of the arm holding up
the parasol was bent in too acute an angle* In fact, in her
whole attitude there was nothing to suggest sleep*
But I had scarcely had time to know that I had noticed
any of these details before the lady with the lovely voice
reached me, and Mademoiselle, who had just joined me*
She looked flushed, and spoke quickly*
" My friend is feeling the heat/' she said* " So she
stays here to repose herself* I go back to the hotel to
pay ze bill and fetch our baggage, and vill pick her up*
Ze road comes not so very far off, I know, for we drove
out zis morning, and only valked perhaps a quarter of
an hour* I did not vant you to come close just now, because
my poor friend is so nervous when she has the migraine.
Absolute quiet is to her then necessary* It will no doubt
be yesterday's sun that has her made ill*"
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
I paid little heed to her account of her friend's in-
disposition. The mention of luggage and paying the bill
had quenched my spirits. So they were going away
to-day ! Somehow I had assumed that they were to
make a long stay, and I felt ridiculously dejected. Prob-
ably I should never see her again.
Tears of disappointment came into my eyes, but they
were not observed. Mademoiselle's corns were worrying
her, and the lady seemed agitated about her friend's
migraine.
" Now, little one/' she said, still speaking very quickly,
and in a voice not quite the one I loved, " please show me
the quickest way back to the hotel. The sooner I get
the tabloids my friend always takes, the better."
Glad to be of any use, I took her at her word and
started off at a rapid pace. Our short cut involved
pursuing paths scarcely worthy of the name.
She was as fleet of foot as myself, and poor Made-
moiselle followed in our wake as best she could.
About half-way home I received a shock which
greatly troubled me. As I have said, I chose some very
unorthodox paths, and, as I was threading my way along
one across which the over-spreading boughs were scarcely
cleared, forgetting how closely I was followed, I care-
lessly allowed a branch I had pushed away from my face
to swing back. I heard a sharp cry of annoyance. The
released branch had caught the lady's hat, almost knocking
it off her head. In a flash she adroitly righted it, but not
before I had seen the jet-black hair, beneath the dis-
placed hat, surprisingly shift to one side, as it did so
revealing some two inches of glowing red hair !
I'm not sure whether she saw that I had seen, but she
looked flushed and disconcerted, and it was in complete
silence that we finished our helter-skelter walk to the
hotel.
I don't quite know why I was so disquieted by my
chance discovery, but somehow I felt a sudden sagging
307
THE LOVELY VOICE
of my natural trustfulness* Whether straightforward or
not themselves, I think that most children attach great
importance to truthfulness in those they love* It may
seem absurd to use the word " love " in connection with a
stranger, but no other word describes the emotion this
lady had inspired in me*
Why, oh, why, in that conversation to which I had
so eagerly listened last night, had she taken the trouble
to tell her friend that she had had her hair dyed ? '" Wigs
always look so unnatural* You can't get them right*"
I remembered her very words*
I expostulated with myself* How she achieved a
desired disguise was surely a trivial matter, and no doubt
there was some quite simple explanation* Perhaps she
was going to surprise her friend by appearing in her
natural colouring that very evening ? A sort of practical
joke ? Nevertheless, I could not quite banish the distress
from my mind* Her annoyance, too, over the mishap
of the branch, seemed out of all proportion to the calamity
of a displaced hat*
One way and another I felt disillusioned*
On our arrival I heard her ask for her luggage to be
brought down and a carriage ordered*
Dejectedly I went up to my room* Not very long
afterwards, hearing the clatter of horses' hoofs, I leant
out of the window* A carriage driven by a fat man with
a black patch over one eye had drawn up* Some luggage
was piled on to the back seat, and the lady, now dressed
in a plain beige cloak and a small blue hat, stepped into
the carriage* As the fat man with the black patch cracked
his whip, she glanced upwards, and, seeing me, kissed
her hand and smiled with all the radiance that had enslaved
me the day before* My discouraged devotion flared up*
Let her wear as many wigs as she chose and make any
sort of a fool of her dull friend, what cared I ? I would
remain her devoted slave* But, alas ! should I ever see
her again ?
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
The rattling carriage had now disappeared* She was
gone. * * *
Lessons had never seemed so pointless, nor Made-
moiselle so dreary* At tea-time she discovered that a
hole in her pocket had led to the loss of her purse* In
high agitation she announced that we must retrace our
footsteps in the hope of finding the lost property*
Indifferent* I acquiesced* All ways in that vast and
senselessly beautiful forest were now equally uninteresting
to me* It was already quite four hours since the lady's
departure* No doubt she was already long since in
Paris, the centre of the brilliance and gaiety her personality
suggested*
I tried to concentrate on the diligent search for the
lost purse* Mademoiselle promised me a half-holiday as
a reward if I should find it, but I had no particular use
for a half-holiday* With bent heads, progressing at a
snail's pace, the walk seemed endless, and it was not
until we were within ten yards of the corner leading to
the ladies' picnicking place that, with a cry of joy, Made-
moiselle descried her purse lying, as it had fallen, right
in the middle of the path* Her anxiety thus relieved,
she became excruciatingly conscious of the corns to which
she was, as she constantly complained, an <u absolute
martyr*"
44 Ah ! " she exclaimed* 44 My feet burn ! I will take
my boots off and give them a few moments' rest*"
" All right," I answered* 4 I'll stroll on and turn
back in two minutes*" In my dejected state, movement
was at least preferable to standing still* A few listless
strides brought me to the turning* The familiar oak
tree came in sight, and I stopped dead, and stared in
amazement* I literally rubbed my eyes, for the scene
was not the empty one I had expected* There, in full view,
her back propped against the broad oak, her bent arm
supporting the garish parasol, still reclined the figure of
her whom I had come to think of as 44 the other lady*"
309
THE LOVELY VOICE
The flowers and the half of an orange still lay in her lap,
the disengaged hand beside them. She was in exactly
the same position as when I had last seen her. How
extraordinary ! I remembered the lovely lady's obvious
anxiety to catch the next train* Had she, then, failed
to find her friend ? Was she perhaps still vainly searching
through the forest ? She might be quite close. Possibly
I should see her again! But fancy her friend having
slept on through all these hours ! Slept she must have,
else why was she still in the same position? It was
precisely the same position. I remembered noticing the
acute angle at which the elbow of the arm holding up the
parasol was bent.
Surely it was a peculiarly stiff position for a sleeper.
And what a long sleep ! Why, it must be quite six hours
since I last saw her. Mademoiselle and I had walked
so slowly whilst searching for the purse.
I now noticed with surprise that she was bare-headed ;
and where was the small, smart, winged hat ? Nowhere
in sight.
As I stared at the still figure, I felt a strange drumming
in my ears, and my breath came fast and rather painfully
because of the queer way in which my heart was thumping.
My thoughts scarcely shaped the misgiving which
assailed me. All I knew then was that not for anything
in the world would I have approached one step nearer
to that stiff, propped figure, flecked by the slanting shafts
of the evening sun.
An undefined dread of my own half- formed threatening
thoughts seized me. Horror hovered but no ! no ! no !
I shut it out.
My one imperative instinct was that on no account
must Mademoiselle see what I had seen.
As quickly as possible I wanted to get back to the
hotel. Yes, that was the thing to do get back. Probably
at the hotel I should find some quite simple explanation.
Things would turn out to be all right, wouldn't they?
310
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
Surely, surely! Anyhow, I wanted to move as quickly
as possible and to be walking away and away from that
sickeningly still figure* Somehow I couldn't bear to let
Mademoiselle see my face* Muttering that I was fear-
fully thirsty, I passed her just as she had rebuttoned her
boots* Feebly expostulating at my headlong pace, she
followed*
Silently I plunged on, and, in spite of her corns, the
devoted woman managed for some time to keep close behind*
My thoughts were whirring, and for the last quarter
of a mile I ran, reaching the hotel quite five minutes before
Mademoiselle*
Just as I entered the courtyard, I heard the clop, clop,
of horse's hoofs, and a fly, driven by a fat man with a
patch across one eye, rattled over the cobble-stones*
Except for some luggage on the back seat, the fly was
empty*
Flinging the reins onto his horse's back, the driver
jumped down from the box and clattered into the hotel*
I followed him to the office, where, in his illiterate French
and with much shrugging and gesticulating, he delivered
himself of his strange story*
' The dark lady from here," with the luggage, had
told him to drive to a certain crossways in the forest*
There she had got out, saying she went to fetch a friend
whom she had left not far from the carriage drive, that
she would return in at most ten minutes, and then they
would proceed to the station*
He told how he had waited and waited, at first with,
and then without, patience* For five hours he had been
without food or drink, but the lady had never returned*
He had not dared leave his horse and go and search the
footpaths* He had shouted and shouted, but no answer
had come*
What was he to do now? he asked himself, and" how
about his fare and his wasted day ? He did not care for
such customers ! " No, thank you ! "
311
THE LOVELY VOICE
The hotel staff volubly expressed their astonishment,
but I did not stay to hear anything further. I rushed up-
stairs, and, to gain time, locked myself into the bathroom*
I could not face Mademoiselle, and yet I could not
bear to be with my own thoughts. Could the lady with
the lovely voice have failed to find the way to her friend ?
It was possible. But then surely she could have managed
to get back to her carriage. It was scarcely conceivable
that anyone could miss the broad carriage drive. Perhaps
she was ill, as well as her friend, ill or
Perhaps they had both been poisoned? I pleaded a
headache and went early to bed. Mademoiselle ordered
her evening meal on a tray, and did not go down again,
so she heard no hotel gossip. The maid who brought up
the dinner might have said something, but seeing me lying
with closed eyelids she did not speak. By keeping my
eyes tightly shut, I avoided all conversation with Made-
moiselle, merely giving an inaudible grunt when she said :
* Thank goodness that at least we have peace to-night,
now those two ladies with their ceaseless chatter are
happily gone."
Peace to-night ? My ears could still hear their
44 chatter," just as clearly as last night. Their chatter ?
Yes, their chatter and their kisses. . . .
It is impossible to describe the following days and how
my crumbling confidence was gradually soaked through
by an infiltering flood of horror. It is difficult to distin-
guish what I thought at the time from what I now think
that I must have thought. A genuine headache and a
sub -conscious shrinking from further news kept me long
in bed the next morning. When at last I was stealing
apprehensively down the stairs, I saw two gendarmes in
the hall. They were surrounded by the entire staff of
the hotel. Many voices were talking in shrill excitement,
and there was a general impression of flustered emotion*
When I had nearly reached the bottom stair, Mademoiselle,
her face white and strained, detached herself from the
312
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
gesticulating group, and n .shed towards me* Saying that
I looked dreadfully ill, she Scuffled me back to my bedroom
and kept me there all day
Early the next mornirg we left the hoteL I was given
no explanation of our hurried departure, and was con-
sistently treated like a very young child* To what extent
this conspiracy of silence augmented my sufferings it is
impossible to convey* If anyone had frankly talked to
me of the mystery which obsessed me, I am sure my
nightmare sufferings would have been less agonising and
less enduring*
But all my questionings of Mademoiselle in fact, any
mention of the two Parisian ladies were only answered
by: "Tais-toi*"
I began to feel as though I had committed a crime,
so haunted was I both when awake and when dreaming*
In my dreams everyone had red hair and a kiss was death*
And always before my eyes was that stiff propped-up
figure so gaily dressed so shockingly still*
By bribing housemaids to procure me newspapers,
and cross -questioning everyone I saw as often as I managed
to evade Mademoiselle's vigilance, I gradually pieced
together the melodrama that for some time caused the
hotel to be the most talked of in Europe* I will repeat
the story, not in the sequence in which it filtered through
to my own knowledge, but as the events succeeded one
another*
On the evening of the angry coachman's return to our
hotel, a woodcutter walking home from his work in the
forest noticed a smartly-dressed but hatless lady leaning
against a tree* It was after sunset, and he thought it a
little odd that she should be holding up a parasol* The
next morning, as he set out to work by the same path,
he was amazed to see the same figure in precisely the same
position* His suspicions aroused, he approached, and
discovered that the woman was dead* He immediately
informed the police* The coachman's story of his missing
313
THE LOVELY VOICE
fare told them which hotel to apply to, and before noon
the sensation had spread like wildfire, and every servant in
the hotel was basking in the gla^e of publicity*
The inquest revealed that the murdered woman had
been drugged by means of an orange half of which lay
uneaten on her lap and then pierced through the temple,
probably by a hatpin.
The initials on the dead lady's handkerchief and under-
clothes did not correspond with either of the names under
which the two Parisians were registered in the hotel book*
It was remembered that the other lady had entered
both their names*
The luggage left behind bore no name, and was merely
labelled to one of the chief Paris stations, and its contents
held no clue as to identity* No trace could be found at
the station of this large provincial town of a dark-haired
lady in a beige cloak and blue hat*
Months afterwards, by the merest chance, a black
wig, a small blue hat, and a beige cloak were found flung
away in a very thick, pathless part of the forest*
Even though seven hundred people had taken travelling
tickets on the day of the murder, the man who issued them
might have remembered a surprisingly beautiful red-
haired woman, probably attired in plain black, with a
small winged hat, but for such a woman no enquiries
were ever made* Under cross-examination he claimed
to recall about twenty beautiful ladies with black hair
and eyebrows*
Neither had the porters noticed any dark woman
travelling without luggage*
Whatever my dreams, no mention of " red hair "
escaped my lips* For years afterwards I could scarcely
hear those two words without a start* It became a real
" complex,"
When she left the carriage, no doubt the lovely lady
walked straight to the crowded station and left by the first
train* No, not straight* She must first have taken the
314
THE LOVELY VOICE
hat from her dead friend's head* She could not travel
in that in which she had been seen leaving the hotel*
A photograph of the dead woman was circu-
lated. This and her initials shortly led to her identifica-
tion*
To me this identification was a second shock* the effects
of which I can scarcely describe*
At that " schwarmerish " age my imagination had
been entirely captured by a young poet, of remarkable
personal beauty* whose precocious and peculiar genius
had newly taken the reading world by storm* I will give
him the pseudonym of Leon le Roi* His moonlit muse
was not destined to survive the daylight of posterity*
He is now long forgotten* But at that time he had
subjugated both critic and schoolgirl* and his romantic
features were as familiar to an adoring public as are now
those of the most popular of film stars* I myself cherished
no less than three photographs of him* and my memory
was packed with his sonnets* laboriously committed to
memory* It had never occurred to me to speculate as
to his personal life* To me he was a radiant emanation
rather than a fellow- creature a " pard-like spirit* beautiful
and swift/' not a Frenchman who ate luncheon* wore hats,
and must be either a married man or a bachelor* Imagine
my feelings when it was established beyond doubt that
the poor murdered woman in the forest had been his
wife 1 That sallow* commonplace creature the chosen
of Leon le Roi ! And he* my imagination's idol* now in the
blinding limelight of this hideous melodrama !
No sort of an explanation was ever advanced* no shadow
of a motive discovered* The poet was away from his
house in Paris on a distant visit to his mother* When he
returned* his servants told him that his wife had gone
away for a day or two* leaving a letter for him* In giving
his evidence* he said this letter informed him that -she
had gone away for a change of air* and would be back at
latest on the day of his return* She gave the name of her
315
THE LOVELY VOICE
destination, but not the hotel, on which she said she would
decide on arrival. He denied any knowledge as to whom
her companion might have been, and insisted that she
had made no mention of going with anyone*
When asked to produce this letter, telling of his wife's
plans, he expressed his great regret at having destroyed
it before he heard the terrible news* He professed him-
self quite unable to recall any friend of his wife answering
to the description given by the witnesses from the hoteL
None of her very few intimate associates happened to be
dark. She had left her home and driven to the station
alone*
Needless to say, V Affair du Foret, as it was called,
became one of the most sensational of undetected crimes*
Detectives were perhaps less redoubtable than they
have since become* In any case, the mystery remained
unsolved* No arrest was ever made* Another murderer
went unpunished by man*
Gradually the feverish interest subsided, and V Affair
da Fdret became a thing of the past*
Needless to say, every aspect of the tragedy remained
vividly impressed on my mind* I was still haunted by
the recollection of the vanished lady* I could
hear her radiant voice, see her shimmering beauty,
remember her brilliant, sweet gaiety*
I could also see that sickeningly still figure stiffly
propped against the tree* Gradually perhaps my im-
pressions might have faded, but this was not to be*
My haunting experience had a sequel* The effect on
me of that sequel I leave to the reader's imagination*
One summer's day, about two years after these events,
I was strolling through the Bois de Boulogne* Passing a
bench on which a woman was seated reading aloud, I
was violently struck by the quality of her voice* Could
there possibly be two such voices? My heart wildly
beating, I turned and stared at the reader* I saw a
lovely young woman of extreme and darling fairness of
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
complexion* Her discarded hat lay on her lap, and the
sun, stealing through the network of leaves, lit up the
red-gold glory of her hair* Of her radiant loveliness
there could be no question* If she had a fault, her
eyebrows and lashes were perhaps too pale, but even
this added something to the ethereal quality of her
fairy-tale looks*
At her feet, his hands clasped round his knees, sat a
young man, his dark head thrown back as he gazed up
at her*
His beautiful face was as familiar to me as my own*
It was the famous poet Leon le Roi*
Almost startled out of my reason, I could scarcely
suppress a cry, but I hurried past* In my first con-
fusion I was only conscious of one impulse : to get out
of sight, in case she should cease reading and look up and
see me and the expression on my face*
She might recognise me*
I do not know what other girls might have done*
I only know that to take any steps in this bewildering
matter never for one second crossed my mind* God
knows I was sufficiently troubled, but not by any ques-
tioning as to my own responsibility* That never occurred
to me*
As one gets older, one often asks : " Is it all worth
while? Is life and its potential happiness worth such
suffering as is inevitable? Does Humanity ever get in
bliss a tithe of what it pays in pain? Apart from a man's
opportunity, is his capacity for joy equal to his capacity
for suffering? One or two recollections make me
answer : ' Yes, it is worth while *" Amongst these
evidences of human bliss, the most eloquent is the ex-
pression I can still see in that poet's eyes as he gazed on
the face of that woman*
Come what might, to him life must be accounted worth
r hile* For him the game was worth the candle* Never
shall I forget that look on his face* Rapture and peace
seldom meet*
317
LADY CYNTHIA ASQUITH
There is only one more thing to tell* Shortly after
I saw these two in the Bois de Boulogne, my mother and
I were visiting some friends in Paris*
The blood rushed to my face as I heard the lady who
was pouring out my tea say to my mother, " Fancy,
yesterday I met poor Leon le Roi's new wife. She's
the most lovely creature/'
4 Yes/' said my hostess's sister* ' I remember seeing
her once before. She made a great sensation at Madame
de B 's Fancy Dress Ball, where she appeared as
Medea* I remember people said it was incorrect for Medea
to have red hair, but I thought her so right not to sacrifice
her own lovely colouring*"
The next day in my doctor's waiting-room I came
across some very far back numbers of a Society paper*
One of them contained an account of Madame de
B 's Fancy Dress Ball two years before* I looked at
the date* The ball had taken place on August 3ist, the
evening of the day after that on which Leon le Roi's
first wife had been murdered*
o
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