Merry Go Round (30 page)

At last – it seemed hours since he left Barnes – Basil found himself in Harley Street, and staggered up the steps. He rang the night-bell and waited. No answer came, and with anguish it crossed his mind that Frank might have been called out. Where could he go, for he was exhausted and faint, so that he could not walk another step? Since midnight he had trudged a good sixteen miles. He rang again, and presently heard a sound. The electric light was put on in the hall, and the door opened.

'Frank, Frank, for God's sake, take me in! I feel as if I were dying.'

With amazement Frank saw his friend, dishevelled, without a great-coat, wet, splashed with mud; his face was ghastly pale, drawn and affrighted, and his eyes stared with the unnatural fixedness of a maniac. He asked no questions, but took
Basil's arm and led him into the room. Then the remains of his strength gave way, and sinking into a chair, he fainted.

'Idiot!' muttered Frank.

He seized him by the scruff of the neck and bent his head firmly till he forced it between the knees; and presently Basil regained consciousness.

'Keep your head down till I get you some brandy.'

Frank was not a man to be disconcerted by an unexpected occurrence, and methodically poured out a sufficient quantity of neat spirit, which he made Basil drink. He told him to sit still for a moment and hold his tongue; then took his own pipe, filled and lit it, sat down quietly, wrapping himself up as best he could, and began to smoke. The nonchalance of his movements had a marvellous effect on Basil, for it was impossible to remain in that strained atmosphere of unearthliness when Frank, apparently not in the least surprised by his strange irruption, went about things in so stolid and unemotional a way. This unconcern exerted a kind of hypnotic influence, so that he felt oddly relieved. At last the doctor turned to him.

'I think you'd better take those things off. I can let you have some pyjamas.'

The sound of his voice suddenly called Basil back to the horrible events of his life, and with staring eyes and hoarse voice, cut by little gasps of anguish, he poured out incoherently the whole dreadful story. And then, breaking down again, he hid his face and sobbed.

'Oh, I can't bear it – I can't bear it!'

Frank looked at him thoughtfully, wondering what he had better do.

'I tried to kill myself in the night.'

'D'you think that would have done anyone much good?'

'I despise myself. I feel I haven't the right to live; but I hadn't the pluck to do it. People say it's cowardly to destroy one's self: they don't know what courage it wants. I couldn't face the pain. And yet she did it so easily – she just walked along the tow-path and threw herself in. And then, I don't know what's on the other side. After all, it may be true that
there's a cruel avenging God who will punish us to all eternity if we break His laws.'

'I wouldn't high-falute if I were you, Basil. Supposing you came into the next room and went to bed. You'd be all the better for a few hours' sleep.'

'D'you think I could sleep?' cried Basil.

'Come on,' said Frank, taking his arm.

He led him into the bedroom, and, Basil unresisting, took off his clothes and made him lie down. Then he got his hypodermic syringe.

'Now give me your arm and stop still. I'm only going to prick you – it won't hurt.'

He injected a little morphia, and after a while had the satisfaction of seeing Basil fall comfortably asleep.

Frank put away his syringe with a meditative smile.

'It's rather funny,' he muttered, 'that the most tempestuous and tragic of human emotions are no match against a full dose of
morphinœ hydrochlor'

That tiny instrument could allay the troubled mind; grief and remorse lost their vehemence under its action, the pangs of conscience were stilled, and pain, the great enemy of man, was effectually vanquished. It emphasized the fact that the finest-strung emotions of the human race depended on the matter which fools have stigmatized as gross. Frank, in one wide-embracing curse, expressed his whole-hearted abhorrence of dualists, spiritualists, Christian Scientists, quacks, and popularizes of science; then, enveloped in a rug, settled down comfortably in an arm-chair to await the tardy dawn.

Two hours later he found himself at Barnes, gathering at the police-station more precise details of Jenny's tragic death than Basil had been able to give him. Frank told the inspector that Kent was in a condition of absolute collapse and able personally to attend to nothing, then gave his own address, and placed himself for all needful business at the disposal of the authorities. He discovered that the inquest would probably be held two days later, and guaranteed that Basil would then be well enough to attend. After this he went to the house and found the servant amazed because neither master nor mistress
had slept in bed, told her what had happened, and then wrote to James Bush some account of the facts. He promised the maid to return next morning, and went back to Harley Street.

Basil was up, but terribly depressed. All day he would not speak, and Frank could only divine the frightful agony he suffered. He went over in his mind eternally that scene with Hilda and his bitter words to his wife; and always he saw her in two ways: appealing for one last chance, and then – dead. Sometimes he felt he could scream with anguish when he recalled those passionate words of his to Hilda, for it seemed that final surrender was the cause of the whole catastrophe.

Next day, when Frank was about to go out, he turned to Basil, who was looking moodily into the fire.

'I'm going to Barnes, old chap. Is there anything you want?'

Basil began to tremble violently, and his pallor grew still more ghastly.

'What about the inquest? Have I got to go through that?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'And the whole story will come out. They'll know it was my fault, and I shall never be able to hold up my head again. Oh, Frank, is there no way out of it?'

Frank shook his head, and Basil's mouth was drawn to an expression of hopeless despair. He said nothing more till the other was on the point of leaving the room; then he jumped up.

'Frank, there's one thing you must do for me. I suppose you think me a cad and a brute. Heaven knows I despise myself as much as anyone else can do – but because we've been friends for such ages do one thing more for me. I don't know what Jenny said to her people, and they'll welcome a chance of hitting me now I'm down – Mrs Murray's name must be kept out of it at any cost.'

Frank stopped and meditated for a moment.

'I'll see what I can do,' he replied.

On his way to Waterloo the doctor went round to Old Queen Street and found Miss Ley breakfasting.

'How is Basil this morning?' she asked.

'Poor devil! he's in rather a bad way. I scarcely know what
to do with him. I think as soon as the inquest is over he'd better go abroad.'

'Why don't you let him stay here till then? I'll feed him up.'

'You'd only fuss. He's much better by himself. He'll just brood over it till his mind is exhausted, and then things will get better.'

Miss Ley smiled at the scorn with which he refused her suggestion, and waited for him to go on.

'Look here, I want you to lend me some money. Will you pay two hundred and fifty pounds into my bank this morning?'

'Of course I will,' she answered, delighted to be asked.

She went to her desk to get a cheque-book, while Frank looked at her with a little smile.

'Don't you want to know what it's for?'

'Not unless you wish to tell me.'

'You brick!'

He shook her hand warmly, and glancing at his watch, bolted off to Waterloo. When he arrived at River Gardens, Fanny, the servant, who opened the door, told him that James Bush was waiting to see him. She said he had been telling her all he meant to do to ruin Basil, and had been through the house to find papers and letters. Frank congratulated himself on the caution with which he had locked up everything. He walked upstairs softly, and opening the door, found James trying various keys on the writing-table. He started away when Frank entered, but quickly recovered his coolness.

'Why are all these drawers locked up?' he asked impudently.

'Presumably so that curious persons should not examine their contents,' answered Frank, with great amiability.

'Where's that man? He's murdered my sister. He's a blackguard and a murderer, and I'll tell him so to his face.'

'I was hoping to find you here, Mr Bush. I wanted to have a talk with you. Won't you sit down?'

'No, I won't sit down,' he answered aggressively. 'This ain't the 'ouse that a gentleman would sit down in. I'll be even with 'im yet. I'll tell the jury a pretty story. He deserves to be strung up, he does.'

Frank looked sharply at the auctioneer's clerk, noting the keen suspicious eyes, the thin lips, and the expression of low cunning. Wishing to prevent a scandalous scene at the inquest, for Basil was ill enough and wretched enough without having to submit to cross-examination on his domestic affairs, Frank thought it would not be difficult to bring James Bush to the frame of mind he desired; but the distaste with which this person inspired him led the doctor to use a very brutal frankness. He felt with such a man it was better not to mince matters, and unnecessary to clothe his meaning with flattering euphemisms.

'What d'you think you'll get out of making a row at the inquiry?' he said, looking fixedly into the other's eyes.

'Oh, you've thought of that, 'ave you? Did Master Basil send you to get round me? It won't work, young feller. I mean to make it as 'ot for Basil as I can. I've 'ad something to put up with, I 'ave. He's simply treated me like dirt. I wasn't good enough for 'im, if you please.'

He hissed the words with the utmost malevolence, and it was possible to imagine that he cared little for his sister's death, except that it gave opportunity for paying off the score which had so long rankled with him.

'Supposing you sat down quietly and listened to me without interruption for five minutes.'

'You're trying to bamboozle me, but you won't. I can see through you as if you was a pane of glass. You people in the West End – you think you know everything!'

Frank waited calmly till James Bush held his offensive tongue.

'What d'you think the furniture of this house is worth?' he asked deliberately.

The question surprised James, but in a moment he replied.

'It's a very different thing what a thing's worth and what it'll fetch. If it was sold by a man as knew his business, it might fetch – a hundred pounds.'

'Basil thought of giving it to your mother and sister – on the condition, of course, that nothing is said at the inquest.'

James burst into a shout of ironical laughter.

'You make me laugh. D'you think you can gag me by giving a houseful of furniture to my mother and sister? '

'I had no such exalted opinion of your disinterestedness,' smiled Frank icily. 'I come to you now. It appears that you owe Basil a good deal of money. Can you pay it?'

'No.'

'Also it appears there was some difficulty with your accounts in your last place.'

'That's a lie,' James interrupted hotly.

'Possibly,' retorted Frank, with the utmost calm. 'I merely mention it to suggest to your acute intelligence that we could make it uncommonly nasty for you if you made a fuss. If dirty linen is going to be washed in public, there's generally a good deal to be said on both sides.'

'I don't care,' cried the other vindictively; 'I mean to get my own back. If I can get my knife into that man, I'll take the consequences.'

'I understand it is your intention to unfold to a delighted jury the whole story of Basil's married life.' Frank paused and looked at the other. 'I'll give you fifty pounds to hold your tongue.'

The offer was made cynically, and James actually coloured. He jumped up indignantly, and went over to Frank, who remained seated, watching with somewhat amused indifference.

'Are you trying to bribe me? I would 'ave you know that I'm a gentleman; and, what's more, I'm an Englishman, and I'm proud of it. I've never had anyone try and bribe me before.'

'Otherwise you would doubtless have accepted,' murmured Frank gently.

The doctor's coolness greatly disconcerted the little clerk. He felt vaguely that high-flown protestations were absurd, for Frank had somehow taken his measure so accurately that it was no use to make any false pretences.

'Come, come, Mr Bush, don't be ridiculous. The money will doubtless be very useful to you, and you're far too clever to allow private considerations to have any effect on you where business is concerned.'

'What d'you think fifty pounds is to me?' cried James, a little uncertainly.

'You must have mistaken me,' said Frank, after a quick look. 'The sum I mentioned was a hundred and fifty.'

'Oh!' He coloured again, and a curious look came over his face. 'That's a very different pair of shoes.'

'Well?'

Frank observed the struggle in the man's mind, and it interested him to see some glimmering of shame. James hesitated, and then forced himself to speak; but it was not with his usual self-assurance – it was almost in a whisper.

'Look 'ere, make it two hundred and I'll say done.'

'No,' answered Frank firmly. 'You can take one fifty or go to the devil.'

James made no reply, but seeing that he agreed, Frank took a cheque from his pocket, wrote it out at the desk, and handed it.

'I'll give you fifty now, and the rest after the inquest.'

James nodded, but did not answer. He was curiously humbled. He looked at the door, and then glanced at Frank, who understood.

'There's nothing you need stay for. If you're wanted for anything, I'll let you know.'

'Well, so long.'

James Bush walked out with somewhat the air of a whipped cur. In a moment the servant passed through the room.

'Has Mr Bush gone?' asked Frank.

'Yes. And good riddance to bad rubbish.'

Frank looked at her reflectively.

'Ah, Fanny, if there were no rogues in the world, life would really be too difficult for honest men.'