man of property-第48章

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ribed　by　the　greatest　of　all　doctors；　our　natural　taste。

It　was　nearly　seven　when　he　heard　her　come　in。

The　incident　of　the　night　before　had　long　lost　its　importance　under　stress　of　anxiety　at　her　strange　sortie　into　the　fog。　　But　now　that　Irene　was　home；　the　memory　of　her　broken…hearted　sobbing　came　back　to　him；　and　he　felt　nervous　at　the　thought　of　facing　her。

She　was　already　on　the　stairs；　her　grey　fur　coat　hung　to　her　knees；　its　high　collar　almost　hid　her　face；　she　wore　a　thick　veil。

She　neither　turned　to　look　at　him　nor　spoke。　　No　ghost　or　stranger　could　have　passed　more　silently。

Bilson　came　to　lay　dinner；　and　told　him　that　Mrs。　Forsyte　was　not　coming　down；　she　was　having　the　soup　in　her　room。

For　once　Soames　did　not　'change'；　it　was；　perhaps；　the　first　time　in　his　life　that　he　had　sat　down　to　dinner　with　soiled　cuffs；　and；　not　even　noticing　them；　he　brooded　long　over　his　wine。　　He　sent　Bilson　to　light　a　fire　in　his　picture…room；　and　presently　went　up　there　himself。

Turning　on　the　gas；　he　heaved　a　deep　sigh；　as　though　amongst　these　treasures；　the　backs　of　which　confronted　him　in　stacks；　around　the　little　room；　he　had　found　at　length　his　peace　of　mind。　He　went　straight　up　to　the　greatest　treasure　of　them　all；　an　undoubted　Turner；　and；　carrying　it　to　the　easel；　turned　its　face　to　the　light。　　There　had　been　a　movement　in　Turners；　but　he　had　not　been　able　to　make　up　his　mind　to　part　with　it。　　He　stood　for　a　long　time；　his　pale；　clean…shaven　face　poked　forward　above　his　stand…up　collar；　looking　at　the　picture　as　though　he　were　adding　it　up；　a　wistful　expression　came　into　his　eyes；　he　found；　perhaps；　that　it　came　to　too　little。　　He　took　it　down　from　the　easel　to　put　it　back　against　the　wall；　but；　in　crossing　the　room；　stopped；　for　he　seemed　to　hear　sobbing。

It　was　nothingonly　the　sort　of　thing　that　had　been　bothering　him　in　the　morning。　　And　soon　after；　putting　the　high　guard　before　the　blazing　fire；　he　stole　downstairs。

Fresh　for　the　morrow！　　was　his　thought。　　It　was　long　before　he　went　to　sleep。。。。

It　is　now　to　George　Forsyte　that　the　mind　must　turn　for　light　on　the　events　of　that　fog…engulfed　afternoon。

The　wittiest　and　most　sportsmanlike　of　the　Forsytes　had　passed　the　day　reading　a　novel　in　the　paternal　mansion　at　Princes'　Gardens。　　Since　a　recent　crisis　in　his　financial　affairs　he　had　been　kept　on　parole　by　Roger；　and　compelled　to　reside　'at　home。'

Towards　five　o'clock　he　went　out；　and　took　train　at　South　Kensington　Station　（for　everyone　to…day　went　Underground）。　　His　intention　was　to　dine；　and　pass　the　evening　playing　billiards　at　the　Red　Pottlethat　unique　hostel；　neither　club；　hotel；　nor　good　gilt　restaurant。

He　got　out　at　Charing　Cross；　choosing　it　in　preference　to　his　more　usual　St。　　James's　Park；　that　he　might　reach　Jermyn　Street　by　better　lighted　ways。

On　the　platform　his　eyesfor　in　combination　with　a　composed　and　fashionable　appearance；　George　had　sharp　eyes；　and　was　always　on　the　look…out　for　fillips　to　his　sardonic　humourhis　eyes　were　attracted　by　a　man；　who；　leaping　from　a　first…class　compartment；　staggered　rather　than　walked　towards　the　exit。

'So　ho；　my　bird！'　said　George　to　himself；　'why；　it's　〃the　Buccaneer！〃'　and　he　put　his　big　figure　on　the　trail。　　Nothing　afforded　him　greater　amusement　than　a　drunken　man。

Bosinney；　who　wore　a　slouch　hat；　stopped　in　front　of　him；　spun　around；　and　rushed　back　towards　the　carriage　he　had　just　left。　He　was　too　late。　　A　porter　caught　him　by　the　coat；　the　train　was　already　moving　on。

George's　practised　glance　caught　sight　of　the　face　of　a　lady　clad　in　a　grey　fur　coat　at　the　carriage　window。　　It　was　Mrs。　Soames　and　George　felt　that　this　was　interesting！

And　now　he　followed　Bosinney　more　closely　than　everup　the　stairs；　past　the　ticket　collector　into　the　street。　　In　that　progress；　however；　his　feelings　underwent　a　change；　no　longer　merely　curious　and　amused；　he　felt　sorry　for　the　poor　fellow　he　was　shadowing。　　'The　Buccaneer'　was　not　drunk；　but　seemed　to　be　acting　under　the　stress　of　violent　emotion；　he　was　talking　to　himself；　and　all　that　George　could　catch　were　the　words　〃Oh；　God！〃　　Nor　did　he　appear　to　know　what　he　was　doing；　or　where　going；　but　stared；　hesitated；　moved　like　a　man　out　of　his　mind；　and　from　being　merely　a　joker　in　search　of　amusement；　George　felt　that　he　must　see　the　poor　chap　through。

He　had　'taken　the　knock''taken　the　knock！'　　And　he　wondered　what　on　earth　Mrs。　Soames　had　been　saying；　what　on　earth　she　had　been　telling　him　in　the　railway　carriage。　　She　had　looked　bad　enough　herself！　　It　made　George　sorry　to　think　of　her　travelling　on　with　her　trouble　all　alone。

He　followed　close　behind　Bosinney's　elbowtall；　burly　figure；　saying　nothing；　dodging　warilyand　shadowed　him　out　into　the　fog。

There　was　something　here　beyond　a　jest！　　He　kept　his　head　admirably；　in　spite　of　some　excitement；　for　in　addition　to　compassion；　the　instincts　of　the　chase　were　roused　within　him。

Bosinney　walked　right　out　into　the　thoroughfarea　vast　muffled　blackness；　where　a　man　could　not　see　six　paces　before　him；　where；　all　around；　voices　or　whistles　mocked　the　sense　of　direction；　and　sudden　shapes　came　rolling　slow　upon　them；　and　now　and　then　a　light　showed　like　a　dim　island　in　an　infinite　dark　sea。

And　fast　into　this　perilous　gulf　of　night　walked　Bosinney；　and　fast　after　him　walked　George。　　If　the　fellow　meant　to　put　his　'twopenny'　under　a　'bus；　he　would　stop　it　if　he　could！　　Across　the　street　and　back　the　hunted　creature　strode；　not　groping　as　other　men　were　groping　in　that　gloom；　but　driven　forward　as　though　the　faithful　George　behind　wielded　a　knout；　and　this　chase　after　a　haunted　man　began　to　have　for　George　the　strangest　fascination。

But　it　was　now　that　the　affair　developed　in　a　way　which　ever　afterwards　caused　it　to　remain　green　in　his　mind。　　Brought　to　a　stand…still　in　the　fog；　he　heard　words　which　threw　a　sudden　light　on　these　proceedings。　　What　Mrs。　Soames　had　said　to　Bosinney　in　the　train　was　now　no　longer　dark。　　George　understood　from　those　mutterings　that　Soames　had　exercised　his　rights　over　an　estranged　and　unwilling　wife　in　the　greatestthe　supreme　act　of　property。

His　fancy　wandered　in　the　fields　of　this　situation；　it　impressed　him；　he　guessed　something　of　the　anguish；　the　sexual　confusion　and　horror　in　Bosinney's　heart。　　And　he　thought：　'Yes；　it's　a　bit　thick！　　I　don't　wonder　the　poor　fellow　is　halfcracked！'

He　had　run　his　quarry　to　earth　on　a　bench　under　one　of　the　lions　in　Trafalgar　Square；　a　monster　sphynx　astray　like　themselves　in　that　gulf　of　darkness。　　Here；　rigid　and　silent；　sat　Bosinney；　and　George；　in　whose　patience　was　a　touch　of　strange　brotherliness；　took　his　stand　behind。　　He　was　not　lacking　in　a　certain　delicacy…　…a　sense　of　formthat　did　not　permit　him　to　intrude　upon　this　tragedy；　and　he　waited；　quiet　as　the　lion　above；　his　fur　collar　hitched　above　his　ears　concealing　the　fleshy　redness　of　his　cheeks；　concealing　all　but　his　eyes　with　their　sardonic；　compassionate　stare。　　And　men　kept　passing　back　from　business　on　the　way　to　their　clubsmen　whose　figures　shrouded　in　cocoons　of　fog　came　into　view　like　spectres；　and　like　spectres　vanished。　Then　even　in　his　compassion　George's　Quilpish　humour　broke　forth　in　a　sudden　longing　to　pluck　these　spectres　by　the　sleeve；　and　say：

〃Hi；　you　Johnnies！　　You　don't　often　see　a　show　like　this！　　Here's　a　poor　devil　whose　mistress　has　just　been　telling　him　a　pretty　little　story　of　her　husband；　walk　up；　walk　up！　　He's　taken　the　knock；　you　see。〃

In　fancy　he　saw　them　gaping　round　the　tortured　lover；　and　grinned　as　he　thought　of　some　respectable；　newly…married　spectre　enabled　by　the　state　of　his　own　affections　to　catch　an　inkling　of　what　was　going　on　within　Bosinney；　he　fancied　he　could　see　his　mouth　getting　wider　and　wider；　and　the　fog　going　down　and　down。　　For　in　George　was　all　that　contempt　of　the　of　the　married　middle…class　peculiar　to　the　wild　and　sportsmanlike　spirits　in　its　ranks。

But　he　began　to　be　bored。　　Waiting　was　not　what　he　had　bargained　for。

'After　all；'　he　thought；　'the　poor　chap　will　get　over　it；　not　the　first　time　such　a　thing　has　happened　in　this　little　city！'　But　now　his　quarry　again　began　muttering　words　of　violent　hate　and　anger。　　And　following　a　sudden　impulse　George　touched　him　on　the　shoulder。

Bosinney　spun　round。

〃Who　are　you？　　What　do　you　want？〃

George　could　have　stood　it　well　enough　in　the　light　of　the　gas　lamps；　in　the　light　of　that　everyday　world　of　which　he　was　so　hardy　a　connoisseur；　but　in　this　fog；　where　all　was　gloomy　and

unreal；　where　nothing　had　that　matter…of…fact　value　associated　by　Forsytes　with　earth；　he　was　a　victim　to　strange　qualms；　and　as　he　tried　to　stare　back　into　the　eyes　of　this　maniac；　he　thought：

'If　I　see　a　bobby；　I'll　hand　him　over；　he's　not　fit　to　be　at　large。'

But　waiting　for　no　answer；　Bosinney　strode　off　into　the　fog；　and　George　followed；　keeping　perhaps　a　little　further　off；　yet　more　than　ever　set　on　tracking　him　down。

'He　can't　go　on　long　like　this；'　he　thought。　　'It's　God's　own　miracle　he's　not　been　run　over　already。'　He　brooded　no　more　on　policemen；　a　sportsman's　sacred　fire　alive　again　within　him。

Into　a　denser　gloom　than　ever　Bosinney　held　on　at　a　furious　pace；　but　his　pursuer　perceived　more　method　in　his　madnesshe　was　clearly　making　his　way　westwards。

'He's　really　going　for　Soames！'　thought　George。　　The　idea　was　attractive。　　It　would　be　a　sporting　end　to　such　a　chase。　　He　had　always　disliked　his　cousin。

The　shaft　of　a　passing　cab　brushed　against　his　shoulder　and　made　him　leap　aside。　　He　did　not　intend　to　be　killed　for　the　Buccaneer；　or　anyone。　　Yet；　with　hereditary　tenacity；　he　stuck　to　the　trail　through　vapour　that　blotted　out　everything　but　the　shadow　of　the　hunted　man　and　the　dim　moon　of　the　nearest　lamp。

Then　suddenly；　with　the　instinct　of　a　town…stroller；　George　knew　himself　to　be　in　Piccadilly。　　Here　he　could　find　his　way　blindfold；　and　freed　from　the　strain　of　geographical　uncertainty；　his　mind　returned　to　Bosinney's　trouble。

Down　the　long　avenue　of　his　man…about…town　experience；　bursting；　as　it　were；　through　a　smirch　of　doubtful　amours；　there　stalked　to　him　a　memory　of　his　youth。　　A　memory；　poignant　still；　that　brought　the　scent　of　hay；　the　gleam　of　moonlight；　a　summer　magic；　into　the　reek　and　blackness　of　this　London　fogthe　memory　of　a　night　when　in　the　darkest　shadow　of　a　lawn　he　had　overheard　from　a　woman's　lips　that　he　was　not　her　sole　possessor。　　And　for　a　moment　George　walked　no　longer　in　black　Piccadilly；　but　lay　again；　with　hell　in　his　heart；　and　his　face　to　the　sweet…smelling；　dewy　grass；　in　the　long　shadow　of　poplars　that　hid　the　moon。

A　longing　seized　him　to　throw　his　arm　round　the　Buccaneer；　and　say；　〃Come；　old　boy。　　Time　cures　all。　　Let's　go　and　drink　it　off！〃

But　a　voice　yelled　at　him；　and　he　started　back。　　A　cab　rolled　out　of　blackness；　and　into　blackness　disappeared。　　And　suddenly　George　perceived　that　he　had　lost　Bosinney。　　He　ran　forward　and　back；　felt　his　heart　clutched　by　a　sickening　fear；　the　dark　fear　which　lives　in　the　wings　of　the　fog。　　Perspiration　started　out　on　his　brow。　　He　stood　quite　still；　listening　with　all　his　might。

〃And　then；〃　as　he　confided　to　Dartie　the　same　evening　in　the　course　of　a　game　of　billiards　at　the　Red　Pottle