five tales-第7章

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ht　on　him。　　No　repulse　possible！　　Not　even　a　wriggling　from　under！　　Brother　of　a　murderer　hung　or　sent　to　penal　servitude！　　His　daughter　niece　to　a　murderer！　　His　dead　mother…a　murderer's　mother！　　And　to　wait　day　after　day；　week　after　week；　not　knowing　whether　the　blow　would　fall；　was　an　extraordinarily　atrocious　penance；　the　injustice　of　which；　to　a　man　of　rectitude；　seemed　daily　the　more　monstrous。

The　remand　had　produced　evidence　that　the　murdered　man　had　been　drinking　heavily　on　the　night　of　his　death；　and　further　evidence　of　the　accused's　professional　vagabondage　and　destitution；　it　was　shown；　too；　that　for　some　time　the　archway　in　Glove　Lane　had　been　his　favourite　night　haunt。　　He　had　been　committed　for　trial　in　January。　This　time；　despite　misgivings；　Keith　had　attended　the　police　court。　To　his　great　relief　Larry　was　not　there。　　But　the　policeman　who　had　come　up　while　he　was　looking　at　the　archway；　and　given　him　afterwards　that　scare　in　the　girl's　rooms；　was　chief　witness　to　the　way　the　accused　man　haunted　Glove　Lane。　　Though　Keith　held　his　silk　hat　high；　he　still　had　the　uncomfortable　feeling　that　the　man　had　recognised　him。

His　conscience　suffered　few；　if　any；　twinges　for　letting　this　man　rest　under　the　shadow　of　the　murder。　　He　genuinely　believed　that　there　was　not　evidence　enough　to　convict；　nor　was　it　in　him　to　appreciate　the　tortures　of　a　vagabond　shut　up。　　The　scamp　deserved　what　he　had　got；　for　robbing　a　dead　body；　and　in　any　case　such　a　scarecrow　was　better　off　in　prison　than　sleeping　out　under　archways　in　December。　　Sentiment　was　foreign　to　Keith's　character；　and　his　justice　that　of　those　who　subordinate　the　fates　of　the　weak　and　shiftless　to　the　needful　paramountcy　of　the　strong　and　well　established。

His　daughter　came　back　from　school　for　the　Christmas　holidays。　　It　was　hard　to　look　up　from　her　bright　eyes　and　rosy　cheeks　and　see　this　shadow　hanging　above　his　calm　and　ordered　life；　as　in　a　glowing　room　one's　eye　may　catch　an　impending　patch　of　darkness　drawn　like　a　spider's　web　across　a　corner　of　the　ceiling。

On　the　afternoon　of　Christmas　Eve　they　went；　by　her　desire；　to　a　church　in　Soho；　where　the　Christmas　Oratorio　was　being　given；　and　coming　away　passed；　by　chance　of　a　wrong　turning；　down　Borrow　Street。　Ugh！　　How　that　startled　moment；　when　the　girl　had　pressed　herself　against　him　in　the　dark；　and　her　terror…stricken　whisper：　〃Oh！　　Who　is　it？〃　　leaped　out　before　him！　　Always　that　businessthat　ghastly　business！　　After　the　trial　he　would　have　another　try　to　get　them　both　away。　　And　he　thrust　his　arm　within　his　young　daughter's；　hurrying　her　on；　out　of　this　street　where　shadows　filled　all　the　winter　air。

But　that　evening　when　she　had　gone　to　bed　he　felt　uncontrollably　restless。　　He　had　not　seen　Larry　for　weeks。　　What　was　he　about？　　What　desperations　were　hatching　in　his　disorderly　brain？　　Was　he　very　miserable；　had　he　perhaps　sunk　into　a　stupor　of　debauchery？　　And　the　old　feeling　of　protectiveness　rose　up　in　him；　a　warmth　born　of　long　ago　Christmas　Eves；　when　they　had　stockings　hung　out　in　the　night　stuffed　by　a　Santa　Claus；　whose　hand　never　failed　to　tuck　them　up；　whose　kiss　was　their　nightly　waft　into　sleep。

Stars　were　sparkling　out　there　over　the　river；　the　sky　frosty…clear；　and　black。　　Bells　had　not　begun　to　ring　as　yet。　　And　obeying　an　obscure；　deep　impulse；　Keith　wrapped　himself　once　more　into　his　fur　coat；　pulled　a　motoring　cap　over　his　eyes；　and　sallied　forth。　In　the　Strand　he　took　a　cab　to　Fitzroy　Street。　　There　was　no　light　in　Larry's　windows；　and　on　a　card　he　saw　the　words　〃To　Let。〃　　Gone！　　Had　he　after　all　cleared　out　for　good？　　But　how…without　money？　　And　the　girl？　　Bells　were　ringing　now　in　the　silent　frostiness。　　Christmas　Eve！　　And　Keith　thought：　'If　only　this　wretched　business　were　off　my　mind！　　Monstrous　that　one　should　suffer　for　the　faults　of　others！'　He　took　a　route　which　led　him　past　Borrow　Street。　　Solitude　brooded　there；　and　he　walked　resolutely　down　on　the　far　side；　looking　hard　at　the　girl's　window。　　There　was　a　light。　　The　curtains　just　failed　to　meet；　so　that　a　thin　gleam　shone　through。　　He　crossed；　and　after　glancing　swiftly　up　and　down；　deliberately　peered　in。

He　only　stood　there　perhaps　twenty　seconds；　but　visual　records　gleaned　in　a　moment　sometimes　outlast　the　visions　of　hours　and　days。　The　electric　light　was　not　burning；　but；　in　the　centre　of　the　room　the　girl　was　kneeling　in　her　nightgown　before　a　little　table　on　which　were　four　lighted　candles。　　Her　arms　were　crossed　on　her　breast；　the　candle…light　shone　on　her　fair　cropped　hair；　on　the　profile　of　cheek　and　chin；　on　her　bowed　white　neck。　　For　a　moment　he　thought　her　alone；　then　behind　her　saw　his　brother　in　a　sleeping　suit；　leaning　against　the　wall；　with　arms　crossed；　watching。　　It　was　the　expression　on　his　face　which　burned　the　whole　thing　in；　so　that　always　afterwards　he　was　able　to　see　that　little　scenesuch　an　expression　as　could　never　have　been　on　the　face　of　one　even　faintly　conscious　that　he　was　watched　by　any　living　thing　on　earth。　The　whole　of　Larry's　heart　and　feeling　seemed　to　have　come　up　out　of　him。　Yearning；　mockery；　love；　despair！　　The　depth　of　his　feeling　for　this　girl；　his　stress　of　mind；　fears；　hopes；　the　flotsam　good　and　evil　of　his　soul；　all　transfigured　there；　exposed　and　unforgettable。　　The　candle…light　shone　upward　on　to　his　face；　twisted　by　the　strangest　smile；　his　eyes；　darker　and　more　wistful　than　mortal　eyes　should　be；　seemed　to　beseech　and　mock　the　white…clad　girl；　who；　all　unconscious；　knelt　without　movement；　like　a　carved　figure　of　devotion。　　The　words　seemed　coming　from　his　lips：　〃Pray　for　us！　　Bravo！　　Yes！　　Pray　for　us！〃　　And　suddenly　Keith　saw　her　stretch　out　her　arms；　and　lift　her　face　with　a　look　of　ecstasy；　and　Laurence　starting　forward。　　What　had　she　seen　beyond　the　candle　flames？　　It　is　the　unexpected　which　invests　visions　with　poignancy。　　Nothing　more　strange　could　Keith　have　seen　in　this　nest　of　the　murky　and　illicit。　　But　in　sheer　panic　lest　he　might　be　caught　thus　spying　he　drew　back　and　hurried　on。　So　Larry　was　living　there　with　her！　　When　the　moment　came　he　could　still　find　him。

Before　going　in；　he　stood　full　five　minutes　leaning　on　the　terrace　parapet　before　his　house；　gazing　at　the　star…frosted　sky；　and　the　river　cut　by　the　trees　into　black　pools；　oiled　over　by　gleams　from　the　Embankment　lamps。　　And；　deep　down；　behind　his　mere　thoughts；　he　ached…somehow；　somewhere　ached。　　Beyond　the　cage　of　all　that　he　saw　and　heard　and　thought；　he　had　perceived　something　he　could　not　reach。　But　the　night　was　cold；　the　bells　silent；　for　it　had　struck　twelve。　Entering　his　house；　he　stole　upstairs。




VII

If　for　Keith　those　six　weeks　before　the　Glove　Lane　murder　trial　came　on　were　fraught　with　uneasiness　and　gloom；　they　were　for　Laurence　almost　the　happiest　since　his　youth。　　From　the　moment　when　he　left　his　rooms　and　went　to　the　girl's　to　live；　a　kind　of　peace　and　exaltation　took　possession　of　him。　　Not　by　any　effort　of　will　did　he　throw　off　the　nightmare　hanging　over　him。　　Nor　was　he　drugged　by　love。　　He　was　in　a　sort　of　spiritual　catalepsy。　　In　face　of　fate　too　powerful　for　his　will；　his　turmoil；　anxiety；　and　even　restlessness　had　ceased；　his　life　floated　in　the　ether　of　〃what　must　come；　will。〃　Out　of　this　catalepsy；　his　spirit　sometimes　fell　headlong　into　black　waters。　　In　one　such　whirlpool　he　was　struggling　on　the　night　of　Christmas　Eve。　　When　the　girl　rose　from　her　knees　he　asked　her：

〃What　did　you　see？〃

Pressing　close　to　him；　she　drew　him　down　on　to　the　floor　before　the　fire；　and　they　sat；　knees　drawn　up；　hands　clasped；　like　two　children　trying　to　see　over　the　edge　of　the　world。

〃It　was　the　Virgin　I　saw。　　She　stood　against　the　wall　and　smiled。　　We　shall　be　happy　soon。〃

〃When　we　die；　Wanda；〃　he　said；　suddenly；　〃let　it　be　together。　　We　shall　keep　each　other　warm；　out　there。〃

Huddling　to　him　she　whispered：　〃Yes；　oh；　yes！　　If　you　die；　I　could　not　go　on　living。〃

It　was　this　utter　dependence　on　him；　the　feeling　that　he　had　rescued　something；　which　gave　him　sense　of　anchorage。　　That；　and　his　buried　life　in　the　retreat　of　these　two　rooms。　　Just　for　an　hour　in　the　morning；　from　nine　to　ten；　the　charwoman　would　come；　but　not　another　soul　all　day。　　They　never　went　out　together。　　He　would　stay　in　bed　late；　while　Wanda　bought　what　they　needed　for　the　day's　meals；　lying　on　his　back；　hands　clasped　behind　his　head；　recalling　her　face；　the　movements　of　her　slim；　rounded；　supple　figure；　robing　itself　before　his　gaze；　feeling　again　the　kiss　she　had　left　on　his　lips；　the　gleam　of　her　soft　eyes；　so　strangely　dark　in　so　fair　a　face。　　In　a　sort　of　trance　he　would　lie　till　she　came　back。　　Then　get　up　to　breakfast　about　noon　off　things　which　she　had　cooked；　drinking　coffee。　　In　the　afternoon　he　would　go　out　alone　and　walk　for　hours；　any　where；　so　long　as　it　was　East。　　To　the　East　there　was　always　suffering　to　be　seen；　always　that　which　soothed　him　with　the　feeling　that　he　and　his　troubles　were　only　a　tiny　part　of　trouble；　that　while　so　many　other　sorrowing　and　shadowy　creatures　lived　he　was　not　cut　off。　　To　go　West　was　to　encourage　dejection。　　In　the　West　all　was　like　Keith；　successful；　immaculate；　ordered；　resolute。　　He　would　come　back　tired　out；　and　sit　watching　her　cook　their　little　dinner。　　The　evenings　were　given　up　to　love。　　Queer　trance　of　an　existence；　which　both　were　afraid　to　break。　　No　sign　from　her　of　wanting　those　excitements　which　girls　who　have　lived　her　life；　even　for　a　few　months；　are　supposed　to　need。　　She　never　asked　him　to　take　her　anywhere；　never；　in　word；　deed；　look；　seemed　anything　but　almost　rapturously　content。　　And　yet　he　knew；　and　she　knew；　that　they　were　only　waiting　to　see　whether　Fate　would　turn　her　thumb　down　on　them。　　In　these　days　he　did　not　drink。　　Out　of　his　quarter's　money；　when　it　came　in；　he　had　paid　his　debtstheir　expenses　were　very　small。　　He　never　went　to　see　Keith；　never　wrote　to　him；　hardly　thought　of　him。　　And　from　those　dread　apparitionsWalenn　lying　with　the　breath　choked　out　of　him；　and　the　little　grey；　driven　animal　in　the　dockhe　hid；　as　only　a　man　can　who　must　hide　or　be　destroyed。　　But　daily　he　bought　a　newspaper；　and　feverishly；　furtively　scanned　its　columns。




VIII

Coming　out　of　the　Law　Courts　on　the　afternoon　of　January　28th；　at　the　triumphant　end　of　a　desperately　fought　will　case；　Keith　saw　on　a　poster　the　words：　〃Glove　Lane　Murder：　Trial　and　Verdict〃；　and　with　a　rush　of　dismay　he　thought：　'Good　God！　　I　never　looked　at　the　paper　this　morning！'　　The　elation　which　had　filled　him　a　second　before；　the　absorption　he　had　felt　for　two　days　now　in　the　case　so　hardly　won；　seemed　suddenly　quite　sickeningly　trivial。　　What　on　earth　had　he　been　doing　to　forget　that　horrible　business　even　for　an　instant？　　He　stood　quite　still　on　the　crowded　pavement；　unable；　really　unable；　to　buy　a　paper。　　But　his　face　was　like　a　piece　of　iron　when　he　did　step　forward　and　hold　his　penny　out。　　There　it　was　in　the　Stop　Press！　〃Glove　Lane　Murder。　　The　jury　returned　a　verdict　of　Guilty。　　Sentence　of　death　was　passed。〃

His　first　sensation　was　simple　irritation。　　How　had　they　come　to　commit　such　an　imbecility？　　Monstrous！　　The　evidence！　　Then　the　futility　of　even　reading　the　report；　of　even　considering　how　they　had　come　to　record　such　a　verdict　struck　him　wit