Five Tales | Page 7

coherent thought would come.
And he began again:
"Was it his first reappearance with her?"
"Yes."
"She told you so?"
"Yes."
"How did he find out where she was?"
"I don't know."
"How drunk were you?"
"I was not drunk."
"How much had you drunk?"
"About two bottles of claret--nothing."
"You say you didn't mean to kill him?"
"No-God knows!"
"That's something."
What made you choose the arch?"
"It was the first dark place."
"Did his face look as if he had been strangled?"
"Don't!"
"Did it?"
"Yes."
"Very disfigured?"
"Yes."
"Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?"
"No."
"Why not?"

"Why not? My God! If you had done it!"
"You say he was disfigured. Would he be recognisable?"
"I don't know."
"When she lived with him last--where was that?"
"I don't know for certain. Pimlico, I think."
"Not Soho?"
"No."
"How long has she been at the Soho place?"
"Nearly a year."
"Always the same rooms?"
"Yes."
"Is there anyone living in that house or street who would be likely to
know her as his wife?"
"I don't think so."
"What was he?"
"I should think he was a professional 'bully.'"
"I see. Spending most of his time abroad, then?"
"Yes."
"Do you know if he was known to the police?"
"I haven't heard of it."
"Now, listen, Larry. When you leave here go straight home, and don't
go out till I come to you, to-morrow morning. Promise that!"
"I promise."
"I've got a dinner engagement. I'll think this out. Don't drink. Don't talk!
Pull yourself together."
"Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith!"
That white face, those eyes, that shaking hand! With a twinge of pity in
the midst of all the turbulence of his revolt, and fear, and disgust Keith
put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said:
"Courage!"
And suddenly he thought: 'My God! Courage! I shall want it all
myself!'

II
Laurence Darrant, leaving his brother's house in the Adelphi, walked
northwards, rapidly, slowly, rapidly again. For, if there are men who by
force of will do one thing only at a time, there are men who from lack

of will do now one thing, now another; with equal intensity. To such
natures, to be gripped by the Nemesis which attends the lack of
self-control is no reason for being more self- controlled. Rather does it
foster their pet feeling: "What matter? To-morrow we die!" The effort
of will required to go to Keith had relieved, exhausted and exasperated
him. In accordance with those three feelings was the progress of his
walk. He started from the door with the fixed resolve to go home and
stay there quietly till Keith came. He was in Keith's hands, Keith would
know what was to be done. But he had not gone three hundred yards
before he felt so utterly weary, body and soul, that if he had but had a
pistol in his pocket he would have shot himself in the street. Not even
the thought of the girl--this young unfortunate with her strange
devotion, who had kept him straight these last five months, who had
roused in him a depth of feeling he had never known before--would
have availed against that sudden black defection. Why go on--a waif at
the mercy of his own nature, a straw blown here and there by every
gust which rose in him? Why not have done with it for ever, and take it
out in sleep?
He was approaching the fatal street, where he and the girl, that early
morning, had spent the hours clutched together, trying in the refuge of
love to forget for a moment their horror and fear. Should he go in? He
had promised Keith not to. Why had he promised? He caught sight of
himself in a chemist's lighted window. Miserable, shadowy brute! And
he remembered suddenly a dog he had picked up once in the streets of
Pera, a black-and-white creature--different from the other dogs, not one
of their breed, a pariah of pariahs, who had strayed there somehow. He
had taken it home to the house where he was staying, contrary to all
custom of the country; had got fond of it; had shot it himself, sooner
than leave it behind again to the mercies of its own kind in the streets.
Twelve years ago! And those sleevelinks made of little Turkish coins
he had brought back for the girl at the hairdresser's in Chancery Lane
where he used to get shaved--pretty creature, like a wild rose. He had
asked of her a kiss for payment. What queer emotion when she put her
face forward to his lips--a sort of passionate tenderness and shame, at
the softness and warmth of that flushed cheek, at her beauty and trustful