The House by the River

g in a sweat by the dead body of a housemaid, had covered a vast field of circumstance and performed two or three distinct logical processes. His first

bably the person-whoever it was-could see nothing that was on the floor, nothing that was below the level of his or her interfering eye. If Stephen stayed still as he was, the person

the front door. With his right hand he was stealthily scratching his left armpit. It was itching int

urely a very familiar thing to do. He could think of a few people who would do it-the Whittakers-but they were away; his w

usybody, if he had heard. But they would have clattered up to the door, run up or stopped importantly on the

ght in Jerusalem. Just one knock. Then the whole world was silent. Stephen's heart thumped like a st

uffled its fe

d Stephen aga

scratching again. He was thinking of his wife now, of Margery. He loved Margery-he loved her

he go away, and leave a man alone? It must be some kind of visitor-not a policeman, or a panicky neighbour. They

had only been on the doorstep for thirty se

It must be a long time, because Stephen's knees were so sore. And he did want to get on

or it was a favourite tune of John Egerton's, bowled often by both of them at casual gatherings of the Hammerton Choir in Mrs. Bryne's drawing-room. It must be

hat he could not bear this burden alo

orstep. The back of the person was turned towards him, but it was clear to him that the person was John Egerton, though he could only see part of the back and nothing of the head. No two persons in Hammerton Chase, or probably in the world, wore

door, very grudgingly, an

" said

Come in," and then, with

slowly in and stoo

e matter?"

in a hole," and t

ght. She lay on her back by the hat-stand, with her dark hair tumbled on the floor, her face mottled and blue, her eyes gaping disgustingly, her throat marked and inflamed with the fingers of her employer. The coat of Cook was crumpled beneath her, and she had torn great rents in

ive man and easily shocked. He had not been, like Stephen, to the war-being a Civil Servant and imperfect in the chest-and in an age

a real chastity of thought which few men ever achieve. John Egerton was no prig. Only he had this natural purity of

his best friend with the dead and disgusting body o

or, his mouth opened suddenly, but he said no word;

lowly over his rather sallow face. He looked up t

e devil-

ohn Egerton speak like that and look like that, but he knew quite clearly what it meant. John should have been kept out of this. Or he should have had it broken to him. Of

m door. "Come in here,"

rows. His face was pale from too much office-work, and he had the habit of a forward stoop, from peering nervously at new people. These things gave him, somehow, a false air of primness, and a little detracted from the kindliness, the humanity, which was the secret of his character and his charm. Fo

mean?" John s

e's dead ... it's

Egerton

... got frightened ... then something ... I don't know what happened exactly ... she bumped her head.... Oh, damn

John; "but the poli

at a man like Stephen should even "pretend" that he was going to kiss a servant. That kind of thing was not done in The Chase, and Stephen was not that kind of man, he thought. No doubt he had had a little too much wine, flung out some stupid co

er name had suddenly reminded him of that. There would be policemen, fusses, inquests, and things. She would

ency, leaning back his black head. Some of the wine spilled out as he drank, and flowed stickily do

e should have told him the whole truth. But somehow he couldn't-even now-though every moment was precious. Even now he could not look at John and

. His grey eyes were wide and horrified. When Stephen saw that, he hurried on, "I may be wrong ... but anyhow Margery mustn't know anything about it ... you must see that ... it would probably kil

d table, his hands gripping the edge

ean ..." Suddenly the word "murder" had flashed into his thoughts, and that word seemed to light up the whole ghastly business

im. There was a strange kind of fierce resolution a

ck. "Are you going to help me or not? If not, clear out ... if you a

ent moment, the necessity of helping Stephen to "get her away." For Margery Byrne's sake. Just how he felt towards Stephen at that moment, what he would have done if Stephen had be

u going to d

unches, busily tidying Emily's

hortly. "It's high tid

at the wide spaces of pink flesh showing through the rents. He could no

cy which governs even a murderer in the presence of death. Emily Gaunt must not be "got away" like that! Besides, it wo

. The sack, fortunately, had been only half full. All its contents he had tumbled recklessly on the scullery floor. But as he came up the stairs he was curiously disturbed by the thought of th

"This will do," and he la

were already cold. John Egerton stood stiffly under the light, in a kind of paralysis o

now. It was strangely diffic

ns about the sack. "There'll be an awful row," he said ... "the hell of a mess down there ... what shal

about the sack. He would be helpful here, surely. But no thought came. His mind was a confused muddle of night-dresses and inquests and

said feebly-"I don't know ..

he would have to help, when one of them would have to lift Emily and one of them manipulate the sack. Already Stephen was cursing

end a hand, John-lift her a bit," and then as John still h

ix inches. Then it caught again in those maddening toes. With a guttural exclamation of rage he turned back towards the feet and tugged furiously at the sack. When it was free John Egerton had relaxed his hold.

in. "Lift, damn yo

en the arm. It lay flung out away from the body, half hidden under an overcoat. Stephen seized it savagely and tried to bend it in under the

he said. "Pull dow

was spent and panting, and his composure was all gone. Wit

w who seized the recalcitrant arm and thrust it into the sack; it was he who fiercely pulled the sack over Emily's head, and hid at last that puffy

he way of knots was required-a bowline-a reef knot or something-not a "granny," anyhow. How was it you tied a

dazedly watching his mobile

natched at the pair of them. Feverishly John finished his knot and tugged at the ends. It was

, very shaky and afraid. There was no sound in the street now. The steps must have passed the door. From the rear there was the melancholy hooting of a tug, calling for its waiting barges at Ginger Wharf. They could hear the slow, methodical panting of her engines and the furtive swish of the water at her bows. In the garden a cat was wailing-horribly like a child i

ry far away, in the voice of Stephe

and another staggering stage was

red through the opaque roof and the crowded vine-leaves on to the long bun

Stephen's "lawn" was drenched and glistening with dew. There was the heavy scent of something in the next-door garden, and over all a hot, intolerable stillness. Stephen be

ver the far houses there was a flicker like summer lightning from an electric train. A huddle of driftwood and odd refuse floated motionless in mid-stream, very black and visible, waiting for the tide to turn; but along the edges the stream already crept stealthily down, lapping softly against the moored ranks of boats, agai

al habit, and was at once relieved and disappointed. Too many people prowling in their gardens might be dangerous

aping at the moon. Close to Stephen was an unobtrusive munching in the wired space where Joan's rabbits were kept. A buck rabbit lay hunched in the moonlight masticating contentedly the

de the moment was propitious. Stephen walked back more bo

through the dew, he, too, thought fantastically of other burdens he had smuggled down to the river on many a breathless night, pailfuls of potato-peelings and old tins and ashes. In his mind he gave a mute hysterical chuckle at the thought. What other residents, he wondered, had taken this kind of contraband through their gardens i

r wall-only the rabbits panicking into corners at the silent coming

s smoothly moving, oily and swift. John felt happier. It would soon be over now. An easy thing, to slip her over

g the river failed, flung her against the mooring-chain of one of those boats, jammed her with the tide under the sloping bows of Mr. Adamson's decrepit hulk, left her there till the tide went down.... He saw with a frightening clearness Emily Gaunt be

ke her out in the boat ... we can't just drop her.

was not all over, then. There must be more liftings and

I can't...." His face was pale a

ugh ... we must get on, and I can't do it without you.... I'm awfully sorry.... It's got to

he recognized the practical wisdom of using the b

to her and unfasten the moorings. Then she had to be paddled close up under the wall and fastened lightly to the steps. While Stephen was doing this a tug swished by, with a black string of barges clinging clumsily astern. The red eye of her port-light glared banefully ac

oat and tossed her up and banged her against the wall and the rickety steps. John

er, John flinging down assertions and reasonings in a forced whisper which broke now and then into a harsh undertone. Stephen thought it should be carted down the steps. John, wit

in a muddle of oil-cans and tools a length of stout cord. Together they made a rough

errace; another echoed him along The Chase. The two men cro

of passages in detective stories, where dead bodies were constantly being transported with facility and dispatch in any

urn; she must be back soon, she would certainly

y heard a tug puffing rhythmically towards them-somewhere beyond the Island. It was not yet in sight, but a resistless unreasoning panic immediately invaded them. Stephen, with one free hand, clawed recklessly at an edge of sacking; John, in a furious effort to quicken the descent of Emily, lost altogether his control of the rope. The rope slipped swiftly through his moist and impotent palms. Emily, with an intimidating bump and a wooden clatter of sculls, fell ponderously into the boat and lay sprawled across the gunwale. A sibilant "Damned fool!" slid up the wall from Stephen, almost overbalanced by the sudden descent of the body. The two men waited with an elaborate assumption

n!" They were working slowly against the tide between the Island and the mainland of The Chase. Stephen's plan was to round

paddling the boat, heavy with the engine, was slow work and strenuou

last, "Hell! get

ding of the second became in his mind a task of inconceivable importance and difficulty. Vast issues depended on it-Stephen ... Margery ... babies ... Emily Gaunt ... and somehow or other Mrs. Bantam. Thunderous mutterings rolled down distantly from the bows. John groaned helplessly.

this strange watery adventure, Stephen was the readily ackn

at the mouth of the sack, breathing audibly through his nose. John sculled obliquely across the river, struggling against the tide, steadily losing g

n, "a police-boat." John thought, "Will it never end?" It was appalling, this accumulation of obstacle

lights. Caped figures chattered easily in the stern and took no evident notice of the small white motor-boat under t

gain, tugging at a knot; his tone was final.

ite the house again now, moving smoothly towards Ham

ver now, we never shall ... stand by.... No,

he river. Stephen saw the flash of its belly, and took his hand away with a start. Then with a great heave under Emily's middle, a violent pushing and lifting with feet and body and arms, that set the sculls clattering and the boat precariously rocking he got the body half over the gunwale, John perched anxiously on the other side, striving to correct the already dangerous list

ell?" he sa

chor end over first"-and for the first time made himself a petulant comment, "Why the devil didn't you?" It was too much-this sort of thing. Then the shaggy end of the

ly expanding circle on the black water And th

lute exhaustion, his shoulders hunche

the faintly luminous hands. Then he looked round; the boat seemed to be drifting very fast. On his right were the

hem. A bus rumbled ominously above. Two persons were standing on the footpath against the parapet,

nto the dark un

hispered-"Stephen." There was no ans

lifted slowly.

e watching on the

d with a prof

be helped,

rain. He looked as the men used to look after a long spell

oat moved stiffly, with a steady gurgle at the bows; the nois

..." mutt

head. "The tide's going