Five Tales | Page 6

dark, gruesome, fantastic nightmare on to
actuality.
"When did it happen?"
"Last night."
In Larry's face there was--there had always been--something childishly
truthful. He would never stand a chance in court! And Keith said:
"How? Where? You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning. Drink
this coffee; it'll clear your head."
Laurence took the little blue cup and drained it.
"Yes," he said. "It's like this, Keith. There's a girl I've known for some
months now--"
Women! And Keith said between his teeth: "Well?"
"Her father was a Pole who died over here when she was sixteen, and
left her all alone. A man called Walenn, a mongrel American, living in
the same house, married her, or pretended to--she's very pretty,
Keith--he left her with a baby six months old, and another coming. That
one died, and she did nearly. Then she starved till another fellow took
her on. She lived with him two years; then Walenn turned up again, and
made her go back to him. The brute used to beat her black and blue, all
for nothing. Then he left her again. When I met her she'd lost her elder
child, too, and was taking anybody who came along."
He suddenly looked up into Keith's face.
"But I've never met a sweeter woman, nor a truer, that I swear. Woman!
She's only twenty now! When I went to her last night, that brute--that
Walenn--had found her out again; and when he came for me,
swaggering and bullying--Look!"--he touched a dark mark on his
forehead--"I took his throat in my hands, and when I let go--"
"Yes?"
"Dead. I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him
behind."
Again he made that gesture-wringing his hands.
In a hard voice Keith said:
"What did you do then?"

"We sat by it a long time. Then I carried it on my back down the street,
round a corner to an archway."
"How far?"
"About fifty yards."
"Was anyone--did anyone see?"
"No."
"What time?"
"Three."
"And then?"
"Went back to her."
"Why--in Heaven's name?"
"She was lonely and afraid; so was I, Keith."
"Where is this place?"
"Forty-two, Borrow Street, Soho."
"And the archway?"
"Corner of Glove Lane."
"Good God! Why--I saw it in the paper!"
And seizing the journal that lay on his bureau, Keith read again that
paragraph: "The body of a man was found this morning under an
archway in Glove Lane, Soho. From marks about the throat grave
suspicions of foul play are entertained. The body had apparently been
robbed, and nothing was discovered leading to identification."
It was real earnest, then. Murder! His own brother! He faced round and
said:
"You saw this in the paper, and dreamed it. Understand--you dreamed
it!"
The wistful answer came:
"If only I had, Keith--if only I had!"
In his turn, Keith very nearly wrung his hands.
"Did you take anything from the--body?"
"This dropped while we were struggling.",
It was an empty envelope with a South American post-mark addressed:
"Patrick Walenn, Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London." Again with
that twitching in his heart, Keith said:
"Put it in the fire."
Then suddenly he stooped to pluck it out. By that command--he had--
identified himself with this--this--But he did not pluck it out. It

blackened, writhed, and vanished. And once more he said:
"What in God's name made you come here and tell me?"
"You know about these things. I didn't mean to kill him. I love the girl.
What shall I do, Keith?
"Simple! How simple! To ask what he was to do! It was like Larry!
And he said:
"You were not seen, you think?" "It's a dark street. There was no one
about."
"When did you leave this girl the second time?"
"About seven o'clock."
"Where did you go?"
"To my rooms."
"In Fitzroy Street?"
"Yes."
"Did anyone see you come in?"
"No."
"What have you done since?"
"Sat there."
"Not been out?"
"No."
"Not seen the girl?"
"No."
"You don't know, then, what she's done since?"
"No."
"Would she give you away?"
"Never."
"Would she give herself away--hysteria?"
"No."
"Who knows of your relations with her?"
"No one."
"No one?"
"I don't know who should, Keith."
"Did anyone see you going in last night, when you first went to her?"
"No. She lives on the ground floor. I've got keys."
"Give them to me. What else have you that connects you with her?"
"Nothing."
"In your rooms?"

"No."
"No photographs. No letters?"
"No."
"Be careful."
"Nothing."
"No one saw you going back to her the second time?"
"No."
"No one saw you leave her in the morning?"
"No."
"You were fortunate. Sit down again, man. I must think."
Think! Think out this accursed thing--so beyond all thought, and all
belief. But he could not think. Not a