manalive-第23章

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The　instant　he　had　spoken　all　the　rest　knew　they　had　been
in　an　almost　religious　state　of　submission　and　assent。
Something　had　bound　them　together；　something　in　the　sacred　tradition
of　the　last　two　words　of　the　letter；　something　also　in　the　touching
and　boyish　embarrassment　with　which　Inglewood　had　read　them
for　he　had　all　the　thin…skinned　reverence　of　the　agnostic。
Moses　Gould　was　as　good　a　fellow　in　his　way　as　ever　lived；
far　kinder　to　his　family　than　more　refined　men　of　pleasure；
simple　and　steadfast　in　his　admiration；　a　thoroughly　wholesome
animal　and　a　thoroughly　genuine　character。　　But　wherever　there
is　conflict；　crises　come　in　which　any　soul；　personal　or　racial；
unconsciously　turns　on　the　world　the　most　hateful　of　its　hundred　faces。
English　reverence；　Irish　mysticism；　American　idealism；
looked　up　and　saw　on　the　face　of　Moses　a　certain　smile。
It　was　that　smile　of　the　Cynic　Triumphant；　which　has　been　the　tocsin
for　many　a　cruel　riot　in　Russian　villages　or　mediaeval　towns。

〃Oh；　'oly；　'oly；　'oly！〃　said　Moses　Gould。

Finding　that　this　was　not　well　received；　he　explained　further；
exuberance　deepening　on　his　dark　exuberant　features。

〃Always　fun　to　see　a　bloke　swallow　a　wasp　when　'e's　corfin'　up　a　fly；〃
he　said　pleasantly。　　〃Don't　you　see　you've　bunged　up　old　Smith　anyhow。
If　this　parson's　tale's　O。K。why；　Smith　is　'ot。　　'E's　pretty　'ot。
We　find　him　elopin'　with　Miss　Gray　（best　respects！）　in　a　cab。
Well；　what　abart　this　Mrs。　Smith　the　curate　talks　of；　with　her
blarsted　shynesstransmigogrified　into　a　blighted　sharpness？
Miss　Gray　ain't　been　very　sharp；　but　I　reckon　she'll　be　pretty　shy。〃

〃Don't　be　a　brute；〃　growled　Michael　Moon。

None　could　lift　their　eyes　to　look　at　Mary；　but　Inglewood　sent　a　glance
along　the　table　at　Innocent　Smith。　　He　was　still　bowed　above　his　paper　toys；
and　a　wrinkle　was　on　his　forehead　that　might　have　been　worry　or　shame。
He　carefully　plucked　out　one　corner　of　a　complicated　paper　and　tucked　it
in　elsewhere；　then　the　wrinkle　vanished　and　he　looked　relieved。





　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Chapter　III

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The　Round　Road；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　or；　the　Desertion　Charge


Pym　rose　with　sincere　embarrassment；　for　he　was　an　American；
and　his　respect　for　ladies　was　real；　and　not　at　all　scientific。

〃Ignoring；〃　he　said；　〃the　delicate　and　considerable　knightly　protests
that　have　been　called　forth　by　my　colleague's　native　sense　of　oration；
and　apologizing　to　all　for　whom　our　wild　search　for　truth　seems　unsuitable
to　the　grand　ruins　of　a　feudal　land；　I　still　think　my　colleague's　question
by　no　means　devoid　of　rel'vancy。　The　last　charge　against　the　accused　was
one　of　burglary；　the　next　charge　on　the　paper　is　of　bigamy　and　desertion。
It　does　without　question　appear　that　the　defence；　in　aspiring　to　rebut
this　last　charge；　have　really　admitted　the　next。　　Either　Innocent　Smith
is　still　under　a　charge　of　attempted　burglary；　or　else　that　is　exploded；
but　he　is　pretty　well　fixed　for　attempted　bigamy。　　It　all　depends　on
what　view　we　take　of　the　alleged　letter　from　Curate　Percy。　　Under　these
conditions　I　feel　justified　in　claiming　my　right　to　questions。
May　I　ask　how　the　defence　got　hold　of　the　letter　from　Curate　Percy？　　Did　it
come　direct　from　the　prisoner？〃

〃We　have　had　nothing　direct　from　the　prisoner；〃　said　Moon　quietly。
〃The　few　documents　which　the　defence　guarantees　came　to　us
from　another　quarter。〃

〃From　what　quarter？〃　asked　Dr。　Pym。

〃If　you　insist；〃　answered　Moon；　〃we　had　them　from　Miss　Gray。

〃Dr。　Cyrus　Pym　quite　forgot　to　close　his　eyes；　and；　instead；
opened　them　very　wide。

〃Do　you　really　mean　to　say；〃　he　said；　〃that　Miss　Gray　was　in　possession
of　this　document　testifying　to　a　previous　Mrs。　Smith？〃

〃Quite　so；〃　said　Inglewood；　and　sat　down。

The　doctor　said　something　about　infatuation　in　a　low　and　painful　voice；
and　then　with　visible　difficulty　continued　his　opening　remarks。

〃Unfortunately　the　tragic　truth　revealed　by　Curate　Percy's　narrative
is　only　too　crushingly　confirmed　by　other　and　shocking　documents
in　our　own　possession。　　Of　these　the　principal　and　most　certain　is
the　testimony　of　Innocent　Smith's　gardener；　who　was　present　at　the　most
dramatic　and　eye…opening　of　his　many　acts　of　marital　infidelity。
Mr。　Gould；　the　gardener；　please。〃

Mr。　Gould；　with　his　tireless　cheerfulness；　arose　to　present　the　gardener。
That　functionary　explained　that　he　had　served　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Innocent　Smith　when
they　had　a　little　house　on　the　edge　of　Croydon。　　From　the　gardener's　tale；
with　its　many　small　allusions；　Inglewood　grew　certain　he　had　seen　the　place。
It　was　one　of　those　corners　of　town　or　country　that　one　does　not　forget；
for　it　looked　like　a　frontier。　　The　garden　hung　very　high　above
the　lane；　and　its　end　was　steep　and　sharp；　like　a　fortress。
Beyond　was　a　roll　of　real　country；　with　a　white　path　sprawling　across　it；
and　the　roots；　boles；　and　branches　of　great　gray　trees　writhing　and　twisting
against　the　sky。　　But　as　if　to　assert　that　the　lane　itself　was　suburban；
were　sharply　relieved　against　that　gray　and　tossing　upland　a　lamp…post
that　stood　exactly　at　the　corner。　　Inglewood　was　sure　of　the　place；
he　had　passed　it　twenty　times　in　his　constitutionals　on　the　bicycle；
he　had　always　dimly　felt　it　was　a　place　where　something　might　occur。
But　it　gave　him　quite　a　shiver　to　feel　that　the　face　of　his　frightful　friend
or　enemy　Smith　might　at　any　time　have　appeared　over　the　garden　bushes　above。
The　gardener's　account；　unlike　like　the　curate's；　was　quite　free
from　decorative　adjectives；　however　many　he　may　have　uttered　privately
when　writing　it。　　He　simply　said　that　on　a　particular　morning　Mr。　Smith
came　out　and　began　to　play　about　with　a　rake；　as　he　often　did。
Sometimes　he　would　tickle　the　nose　of　his　eldest　child　（he　had　two　children）；
sometimes　he　would　hook　the　rake　on　to　the　branch　of　a　tree；
and　hoist　himself　up　with　horrible　gymnastic　jerks；　like　those　of
a　giant　frog　in　its　final　agony。　　Never；　apparently；　did　he　think
of　putting　the　rake　to　any　of　its　proper　uses；　and　the　gardener；
in　consequence；　treated　his　actions　with　coldness　and　brevity。
But　the　gardener　was　certain　that　on　one　particular　morning　in　October　he
（the　gardener）　had　come　round　the　corner　of　the　house　carrying　the　hose；
had　seen　Mr。　Smith　standing　on　the　lawn　in　a　striped　red　and　white　jacket
（which　might　have　been　his　smoking…jacket；　but　was　quite　as　like　a　part
of　his　pyjamas）；　and　had　heard　him　then　and　there　call　out　to　his　wife；
who　was　looking　out　of　the　bedroom　window　on　to　the　garden；　these　decisive
and　very　loud　expressions

〃I　won't　stay　here　any　longer。　　I've　got　another　wife　and　much
better　children　a　long　way　from　here。　　My　other　wife's　got　redder
hair　than　yours；　and　my　other　garden's　got　a　much　finer　situation；
and　I'm　going　off　to　them。〃

With　these　words；　apparently；　he　sent　the　rake　flying　far　up　into　the　sky；
higher　than　many　could　have　shot　an　arrow；　and　caught　it　again。
Then　he　cleared　the　hedge　at　a　leap　and　alighted　on　his　feet　down
in　the　lane　below；　and　set　off　up　the　road　without　even　a　hat。
Much　of　the　picture　was　doubtless　supplied　by　Inglewood's　accidental
memory　of　the　place。　　He　could　see　with　his　mind's　eye　that　big
bare…headed　figure　with　the　ragged　rake　swaggering　up　the　crooked
woodland　road；　and　leaving　lamp…post　and　pillar…box　behind。
But　the　gardener；　on　his　own　account；　was　quite　prepared　to　swear
to　the　public　confession　of　bigamy；　to　the　temporary　disappearance
of　the　rake　in　the　sky；　and　the　final　disappearance　of　the　man　up
the　road。　　Moreover；　being　a　local　man；　he　could　swear　that；　beyond　some
local　rumours　that　Smith　had　embarked　on　the　south…eastern　coast；
nothing　was　known　of　him　again。

This　impression　was　somewhat　curiously　clinched　by　Michael　Moon　in　the　few
but　clear　phrases　in　which　he　opened　the　defence　upon　the　third　charge。
So　far　from　denying　that　Smith　had　fled　from　Croydon　and　disappeared　on
the　Continent；　he　seemed　prepared　to　prove　all　this　on　his　own　account。
〃I　hope　you　are　not　so　insular；〃　he　said；　〃that　you　will　not　respect
the　word　of　a　French　innkeeper　as　much　as　that　of　an　English　gardener。
By　Mr。　Inglewood's　favour　we　will　hear　the　French　innkeeper。〃

Before　the　company　had　decided　the　delicate　point　Inglewood　was　already
reading　the　account　in　question。　　It　was　in　French。　　It　seemed　to　them
to　run　something　like　this：


〃Sir；Yes；　I　am　Durobin　of　Durobin's　Cafe　on　the　sea…front　at　Gras；
rather　north　of　Dunquerque。　　I　am　willing　to　write　all　I　know
of　the　stranger　out　of　the　sea。

〃I　have　no　sympathy　with　eccentrics　or　poets。　　A　man　of　sense
looks　for　beauty　in　things　deliberately　intended　to　be　beautiful；
such　as　a　trim　flower…bed　or　an　ivory　statuette。　　One　does　not　permit
beauty　to　pervade　one's　whole　life；　just　as　one　does　not　pave
all　the　roads　with　ivory　or　cover　all　the　fields　with　geraniums。
My　faith；　but　we　should　miss　the　onions！

〃But　whether　I　read　things　backwards　through　my　memory；　or　whether　there
are　indeed　atmospheres　of　psychology　which　the　eye　of　science　cannot
as　yet　pierce；　it　is　the　humiliating　fact　that　on　that　particular　evening
I　felt　like　a　poetlike　any　little　rascal　of　a　poet　who　drinks　absinthe
in　the　mad　Montmartre。

〃Positively　the　sea　itself　looked　like　absinthe；　green　and　bitter
and　poisonous。　　I　had　never　known　it　look　so　unfamiliar　before。
In　the　sky　was　that　early　and　stormy　darkness　that　is　so　depressing　to
the　mind；　and　the　wind　blew　shrilly　round　the　little　lonely　coloured　kiosk
where　they　sell　the　newspapers；　and　along　the　sand…hills　by　the　shore。
There　I　saw　a　fishing…boat　with　a　brown　sail　standing　in　silently　from
the　sea。　　It　was　already　quite　close；　and　out　of　it　clambered　a　man
of　monstrous　stature；　who　came　wading　to　shore　with　the　water　not　up
to　his　knees；　though　it　would　have　reached　the　hips　of　many　men。
He　leaned　on　a　long　rake　or　pole；　which　looked　like　a　trident；　and　made　him
look　like　a　Triton。　　Wet　as　he　was；　and　with　strips　of　seaweed　clinging
to　him；　he　walked　across　to　my　cafe；　and；　sitting　down　at　a　table　outside；
asked　for　cherry　brandy；　a　liqueur　which　I　keep；　but　is　seldom　demanded。
Then　the　monster；　with　great　politeness；　invited　me　to　partake
of　a　vermouth　before　my　dinner；　and　we　fell　into　conversation。
He　had　apparently　crossed　from　Kent　by　a　small　boat　got　at　a　private
bargain　because　of　some　odd　fancy　he　had　for　passing　promptly　in　an
easterly　direction；　and　not　waiting　for　any　of　the　official　boats。
He　was；　he　somewhat　vaguely　explained；　looking　for　a　house。　　When　I
naturally　asked　him　where　the　house　was；　he　answered　that　he　did　not　know；
it　was　on　an　island；　it　was　somewhere　to　the　east；　or；　as　he　expressed
it　with　a　hazy　and　yet　impatient　gesture；　‘over　there。'

〃I　asked　him　how；　if　he　did　not　know　the　place；　he　would　know　it　when　he
saw　it。　　Here　he　suddenly　ceased　to　be　hazy；　and　became　alarmingly　minute。
He　gave　a　description　of　the　house　detailed　enough　for　an　auctioneer。
I　have　forgotten　nearly　all　the　details　except　the　last　two；　which　were
that　the　lamp…post　was　painted　green；　and　that　there　was　a　red　pillar…box
at　the　corner。

〃‘A　red　pillar…box！'　I　cried　in　astonishment。　　‘Why；　the　place　must
be　in　England！'