Buried Alive | Page 6

from the bed.
"So it is, my boy!" said the doctor under his breath as he tumbled
downstairs in the wake of Priam Farll. "Unless I get something hot into
you!"
Master and Servant
"Will there have to be an inquest?" Priam Farll asked at 6 a.m.
He had collapsed in the hard chair on the ground-floor. The
indispensable Henry Leek was lost to him for ever. He could not
imagine what would happen to his existence in the future. He could not
conceive himself without Leek. And, still worse, the immediate

prospect of unknown horrors of publicity in connection with the death
of Leek overwhelmed him.
"No!" said the doctor, cheerfully. "Oh no! I was present. Acute double
pneumonia! Sometimes happens like that! I can give a certificate. But
of course you will have to go to the registrar's and register the death."
Even without an inquest, he saw that the affair would be unthinkably
distressing. He felt that it would kill him, and he put his hand to his
face.
"Where are Mr. Farll's relatives to be found?" the doctor asked.
"Mr. Farll's relatives?" Priam Farll repeated without comprehending.
Then he understood. Dr. Cashmore thought that Henry Leek's name
was Farll! And all the sensitive timidity in Priam Farll's character
seized swiftly at the mad chance of escape from any kind of public
appearance as Priam Farll. Why should he not let it be supposed that he,
and not Henry Leek, had expired suddenly in Selwood Terrace at 5 a.m.
He would be free, utterly free!
"Yes," said the doctor. "They must be informed, naturally."
Priam's mind ran rapidly over the catalogue of his family. He could
think of no one nearer than a certain Duncan Farll, a second cousin.
"I don't think he had any," he replied in a voice that trembled with
excitement at the capricious rashness of what he was doing. "Perhaps
there were distant cousins. But Mr. Farll never talked of them."
Which was true.
He could scarcely articulate the words 'Mr Farll.' But when they were
out of his mouth he felt that the deed was somehow definitely done.
The doctor gazed at Priam's hands, the rough, coarsened hands of a
painter who is always messing in oils and dust.

"Pardon me," said the doctor. "I presume you are his valet--or--"
"Yes," said Priam Farll.
That set the seal.
"What was your master's full name?" the doctor demanded.
And Priam Farll shivered.
"Priam Farll," said he weakly.
"Not _the_--?" loudly exclaimed the doctor, whom the hazards of life
in London had at last staggered.
Priam nodded.
"Well, well!" The doctor gave vent to his feelings. The truth was that
this particular hazard of life in London pleased him, flattered him,
made him feel important in the world, and caused him to forget his
fatigue and his wrongs.
He saw that the puce dressing-gown contained a man who was at the
end of his tether, and with that good nature of his which no hardships
had been able to destroy, he offered to attend to the preliminary
formalities. Then he went.
_A Month's Wages_
Priam Farll had no intention of falling asleep; his desire was to consider
the position which he had so rashly created for himself; but he did fall
asleep--and in the hard chair! He was awakened by a tremendous clatter,
as if the house was being bombarded and there were bricks falling
about his ears. When he regained all his senses this bombardment
resolved itself into nothing but a loud and continued assault on the front
door. He rose, and saw a frowsy, dishevelled, puce-coloured figure in
the dirty mirror over the fireplace. And then, with stiff limbs, he
directed his sleepy feet towards the door.

Dr. Cashmore was at the door, and still another man of fifty, a stern-set,
blue-chinned, stoutish person in deep and perfect mourning, including
black gloves.
This person gazed coldly at Priam Farll.
"Ah!" ejaculated the mourner.
And stepped in, followed by Dr. Cashmore.
In achieving the inner mat the mourner perceived a white square on the
floor. He picked it up and carefully examined it, and then handed it to
Priam Farll.
"I suppose this is for you," said he.
Priam, accepting the envelope, saw that it was addressed to "Henry
Leek, Esq., 91 Selwood Terrace, S.W.," in a woman's hand.
"It is for you, isn't it?" pursued the mourner in an inflexible voice.
"Yes," said Priam.
"I am Mr. Duncan Farll, a solicitor, a cousin of your late employer," the
metallic voice continued, coming through a set of large, fine, white
teeth. "What arrangements have you made during the day?"
Priam stammered: "None. I've been asleep."
"You aren't very respectful," said Duncan Farll.
So this was his second cousin, whom he had met, once only, as a