five tales-第3章

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〃Well；　brother；〃　he　said；　〃you　don't　look　too　prosperous！〃

The　smile　which　gleamed　out　on　the　man's　face　seemed　as　unlikely　as　a　smile　on　a　scarecrow。

〃Prosperity　doesn't　come　my　way；〃　he　said　in　a　rusty　voice。　　〃I'm　a　failurealways　been　a　failure。　　And　yet　you　wouldn't　think　it；　would　you？I　was　a　minister　of　religion　once。〃

Laurence　held　out　a　shilling。　　But　the　man　shook　his　head。

〃Keep　your　money；〃　he　said。　　〃I've　got　more　than　you　to…day；　I　daresay。　　But　thank　you　for　taking　a　little　interest。　　That's　worth　more　than　money　to　a　man　that's　down。〃

〃You're　right。〃

〃Yes；〃　the　rusty　voice　went　on；　〃I'd　as　soon　die　as　go　on　living　as　I　do。　　And　now　I've　lost　my　self…respect。　　Often　wondered　how　long　a　starving　man　could　go　without　losing　his　self…respect。　　Not　so　very　long。　　You　take　my　word　for　that。〃　　And　without　the　slightest　change　in　the　monotony　of　that　creaking　voice　he　added：

〃Did　you　read　of　the　murder？　　Just　here。　　I've　been　looking　at　the　place。〃

The　words：　'So　have　I！'　leaped　up　to　Laurence's　lips；　he　choked　them　down　with　a　sort　of　terror。

〃I　wish　you　better　luck；〃　he　said。　　〃Goodnight！〃　and　hurried　away。　　A　sort　of　ghastly　laughter　was　forcing　its　way　up　in　his　throat。　　Was　everyone　talking　of　the　murder　he　had　committed？　　Even　the　very　scarecrows？




III

There　are　some　natures　so　constituted　that；　due　to　be　hung　at　ten　o'clock；　they　will　play　chess　at　eight。　　Such　men　invariably　rise。　They　make　especially　good　bishops；　editors；　judges；　impresarios；　Prime　ministers；　money…lenders；　and　generals；　in　fact；　fill　with　exceptional　credit　any　position　of　power　over　their　fellow…men。　　They　have　spiritual　cold　storage；　in　which　are　preserved　their　nervous　systems。　　In　such　men　there　is　little　or　none　of　that　fluid　sense　and　continuity　of　feeling　known　under　those　vague　terms；　speculation；　poetry；　philosophy。　　Men　of　facts　and　of　decision　switching　imagination　on　and　off　at　will；　subordinating　sentiment　to　reason。。。　one　does　not　think　of　them　when　watching　wind　ripple　over　cornfields；　or　swallows　flying。

Keith　Darrant　had　need　for　being　of　that　breed　during　his　dinner　at　the　Tellassons。　　It　was　just　eleven　when　he　issued　from　the　big　house　in　Portland　Place　and　refrained　from　taking　a　cab。　　He　wanted　to　walk　that　he　might　better　think。　　What　crude　and　wanton　irony　there　was　in　his　situation！　　To　have　been　made　father…confessor　to　a　murderer；　he…　…well　on　towards　a　judgeship！　　With　his　contempt　for　the　kind　of　weakness　which　landed　men　in　such　abysses；　he　felt　it　all　so　sordid；　so　〃impossible；〃　that　he　could　hardly　bring　his　mind　to　bear　on　it　at　all。　　And　yet　he　must；　because　of　two　powerful　instinctsself…　preservation　and　blood…loyalty。

The　wind　had　still　the　sapping　softness　of　the　afternoon；　but　rain　had　held　off　so　far。　　It　was　warm；　and　he　unbuttoned　his　fur　overcoat。　　The　nature　of　his　thoughts　deepened　the　dark　austerity　of　his　face；　whose　thin；　well…cut　lips　were　always　pressing　together；　as　if；　by　meeting；　to　dispose　of　each　thought　as　it　came　up。　　He　moved　along　the　crowded　pavements　glumly。　　That　air　of　festive　conspiracy　which　drops　with　the　darkness　on　to　lighted　streets；　galled　him。　　He　turned　off　on　a　darker　route。

This　ghastly　business！　　Convinced　of　its　reality；　he　yet　could　not　see　it。　　The　thing　existed　in　his　mind；　not　as　a　picture；　but　as　a　piece　of　irrefutable　evidence。　　Larry　had　not　meant　to　do　it；　of　course。　　But　it　was　murder；　all　the　same。　　Men　like　Larryweak；　impulsive；　sentimental；　introspective　creaturesdid　they　ever　mean　what　they　did？　　This　man；　this　Walenn；　was；　by　all　accounts；　better　dead　than　alive；　no　need　to　waste　a　thought　on　him！　　But；　crimethe　uglinessJustice　unsatisfied！　　Crime　concealedand　his　own　share　in　the　concealment！　　And　yetbrother　to　brother！　　Surely　no　one　could　demand　action　from　him！　　It　was　only　a　question　of　what　he　was　going　to　advise　Larry　to　do。　　To　keep　silent；　and　disappear？　　Had　that　a　chance　of　success？　　Perhaps　if　the　answers　to　his　questions　had　been　correct。　　But　this　girl！　　Suppose　the　dead　man's　relationship　to　her　were　ferreted　out；　could　she　be　relied　on　not　to　endanger　Larry？　These　women　were　all　the　same；　unstable　as　water；　emotional；　shiftless　pests　of　society。　　Then；　too；　a　crime　untracked；　dogging　all　his　brother's　after　life；　a　secret　following　him　wherever　he　might　vanish　to；　hanging　over　him；　watching　for　some　drunken　moment；　to　slip　out　of　his　lips。　　It　was　bad　to　think　of。　　A　clean　breast　of　it？　　But　his　heart　twitched　within　him。　　〃Brother　of　Mr。　Keith　Darrant；　the　wellknown　King's　Counsel〃visiting　a　woman　of　the　town；　strangling　with　his　bare　hands　the　woman's　husband！　　No　intention　to　murder；　buta　dead　man！　　A　dead　man　carried　out　of　the　house；　laid　under　a　dark　archway！　　Provocation！　　Recommended　to　mercypenal　servitude　for　life！　　Was　that　the　advice　he　was　going　to　give　Larry　to…morrow　morning？

And　he　had　a　sudden　vision　of　shaven　men　with　clay…coloured　features；　run；　as　it　were；　to　seed；　as　he　had　seen　them　once　in　Pentonville；　when　he　had　gone　there　to　visit　a　prisoner。　　Larry！　　Whom；　as　a　baby　creature；　he　had　watched　straddling；　whom；　as　a　little　fellow；　he　had　fagged；　whom　he　had　seen　through　scrapes　at　college；　to　whom　he　had　lent　money　time　and　again；　and　time　and　again　admonished　in　his　courses。　　Larry！　　Five　years　younger　than　himself；　and　committed　to　his　charge　by　their　mother　when　she　died。　　To　become　for　life　one　of　those　men　with　faces　like　diseased　plants；　with　no　hair　but　a　bushy　stubble；　with　arrows　marked　on　their　yellow　clothes！　　Larry！　　One　of　those　men　herded　like　sheep；　at　the　beck　and　call　of　common　men！　　A　gentleman；　his　own　brother；　to　live　that　slave's　life；　to　be　ordered　here　and　there；　year　after　year；　day　in；　day　out。　　Something　snapped　within　him。　　He　could　not　give　that　advice。　　Impossible！　　But　if　not；　he　must　make　sure　of　his　ground；　must　verify；　must　know。　　This　Glove　Lanethis　arch　way？　　It　would　not　be　far　from　where　he　was　that　very　moment。　　He　looked　for　someone　of　whom　to　make　enquiry。　　A　policeman　was　standing　at　the　corner；　his　stolid　face　illumined　by　a　lamp；　capable　and　watchfulan　excellent　officer；　no　doubt；　but；　turning　his　head　away；　Keith　passed　him　without　a　word。　　Strange　to　feel　that　cold；　uneasy　feeling　in　presence　of　the　law！　　A　grim　little　driving　home　of　what　it　all　meant！　　Then；　suddenly；　he　saw　that　the　turning　to　his　left　was　Borrow　Street　itself。　　He　walked　up　one　side；　crossed　over；　and　returned。　　He　passed　Number　Forty…two；　a　small　house　with　business　names　printed　on　the　lifeless　windows　of　the　first　and　second　floors；　with　dark　curtained　windows　on　the　ground　floor；　or　was　there　just　a　slink　of　light　in　one　corner？　　Which　way　had　Larry　turned？　　Which　way　under　that　grisly　burden？　　Fifty　paces　of　this　squalid　street…narrow；　and　dark；　and　empty；　thank　heaven！　　Glove　Lane！　　Here　it　was！　　A　tiny　runlet　of　a　street。　　And　here！　　He　had　run　right　on　to　the　arch；　a　brick　bridge　connecting　two　portions　of　a　warehouse；　and　dark　indeed。

〃That's　right；　gov'nor！　　That's　the　place！〃　　He　needed　all　his　self…　control　to　turn　leisurely　to　the　speaker。　　〃'Ere's　where　they　found　the　bodyvery　spot　leanin'　up　'ere。　　They　ain't　got　'im　yet。　Lytestme　lord！〃

It　was　a　ragged　boy　holding　out　a　tattered　yellowish　journal。　　His　lynx　eyes　peered　up　from　under　lanky　wisps　of　hair；　and　his　voice　had　the　proprietary　note　of　one　making　〃a　corner〃　in　his　news。　　Keith　took　the　paper　and　gave　him　twopence。　　He　even　found　a　sort　of　comfort　in　the　young　ghoul's　hanging　about　there；　it　meant　that　others　besides　himself　had　come　morbidly　to　look。　　By　the　dim　lamplight　he　read：　〃Glove　Lane　garrotting　mystery。　　Nothing　has　yet　been　discovered　of　the　murdered　man's　identity；　from　the　cut　of　his　clothes　he　is　supposed　to　be　a　foreigner。〃　　The　boy　had　vanished；　and　Keith　saw　the　figure　of　a　policeman　coming　slowly　down　this　gutter　of　a　street。　　A　second's　hesitation；　and　he　stood　firm。　　Nothing　obviously　could　have　brought　him　here　save　this　〃mystery；〃　and　he　stayed　quietly　staring　at　the　arch。　　The　policeman　moved　up　abreast。　Keith　saw　that　he　was　the　one　whom　he　had　passed　just　now。　　He　noted　the　cold　offensive　question　die　out　of　the　man's　eyes　when　they　caught　the　gleam　of　white　shirt…front　under　the　opened　fur　collar。　And　holding　up　the　paper；　he　said：

〃Is　this　where　the　man　was　found？〃

〃Yes；　sir。〃

〃Still　a　mystery；　I　see？〃

〃Well；　we　can't　always　go　by　the　papers。　　But　I　don't　fancy　they　do　know　much　about　it；　yet。〃

〃Dark　spot。　　Do　fellows　sleep　under　here？〃

The　policeman　nodded。　　〃There's　not　an　arch　in　London　where　we　don't　get　'em　sometimes。〃

〃Nothing　found　on　himI　think　I　read？〃

〃Not　a　copper。　　Pockets　inside　out。　　There's　some　funny　characters　about　this　quarter。　　Greeks；　Hitaliansall　sorts。〃

Queer　sensation　this；　of　being　glad　of　a　policeman's　confidential　tone！

〃Well；　good…night！〃

〃Good…night；　sir。　　Good…night！〃

He　looked　back　from　Borrow　Street。　　The　policeman　was　still　standing　there　holding　up　his　lantern；　so　that　its　light　fell　into　the　archway；　as　if　trying　to　read　its　secret。

Now　that　he　had　seen　this　dark；　deserted　spot；　the　chances　seemed　to　him　much　better。　　〃Pockets　inside　out！〃　　Either　Larry　had　had　presence　of　mind　to　do　a　very　clever　thing；　or　someone　had　been　at　the　body　before　the　police　found　it。　　That　was　the　more　likely。　　A　dead　backwater　of　a　place。　　At　three　o'clockloneliest　of　all　hours…　…Larry's　five　minutes'　grim　excursion　to　and　fro　might　well　have　passed　unseen！　　Now；　it　all　depended　on　the　girl；　on　whether　Laurence　had　been　seen　coming　to　her　or　going　away；　on　whether；　if　the　man's　relationship　to　her　were　discovered；　she　could　be　relied　on　to　say　nothing。　　There　was　not　a　soul　in　Borrow　Street　now；　hardly　even　a　lighted　window；　and　he　took　one　of　those　rather　desperate　decisions　only　possible　to　men　daily　accustomed　to　the　instant　taking　of　responsibility。　　He　would　go　to　her；　and　see　for　himself。　　He　came　to　the　door　of　Forty…two；　obviously　one　of　those　which　are　only　shut　at　night；　and　tried　the　larger　key。　　It　fitted；　and　he　was　in　a　gas…　lighted　passage；　with　an　oil…clothed　floor；　and　a　single　door　to　his　left。　　He　stood　there　undecided。　　She　must　be　made　to　understand　that　he　knew　everything。　　She　must　not　be　told　more　than　that　he　was　a　friend　of　Larry's。　　She　must　not　be　frightened；　yet　must　be　forced　to　give　her　very　soul　away。　　A　hostile　witnessnot　to　be　treated　as　hostilea　matter　for　delicate　handling！　　But　his　knock　was　not　answered。

Should　he　give　up　this　nerve…racking；　bizarre　effort　to　come　at　a　basis　of　judgment；　go　away；　and　just　tell　Laurence　that　he　could　not　advise　him？　　And　thenwhat？　　Something　must　be　done。　　He　knocked　again。　　Still　no　answer。　　And　with　that　impatience　of　being　thwarted；　natural　to　him；　and　fostered　to　the　full　by　the　conditions　of　his　life；　he　tried　the　other　key。　　It　worked；　and　he　opened　the　door。　Inside　all　was　dark；　but　a　voice　from　some　way　off；　with　a　sort　of　breathless　relief　in　its　foreign　tones；　said：

〃Oh！　　then　it's　you；　Larry！　　Why　did　you　knock？　　I　was　so　frightened。　Turn　up　the　light；　dear。　　Come　in！〃

Feeling　by　the　door　for　a　switch　in　the　pitch　blackness　he　was　conscious　of　arms　round　his　neck；　a　warm　thinly　clad　body　pressed　to　his　own；　then　withdrawn