The House by the River

mself for a weak fool; he reviled his fate, and Emily a

Stephen himself on the doorstep-a pale and haggard Stephen

he said. "It's urgent!" Bu

tried to look implacable; he tried to feel as angry as he had felt a moment before. But that weary and anxious

ke the vital, confident Stephen Byrne loo

g tumbler of whisky and water, Stephen told his story,

n for his descent, gazing moodily through a thin drizzle at the grey rising river, had seen unmistakably fifty yards from the bank a sem

al in sacks. And because he had always known it would happen. He had always known the rope would wor

t into the boat at once," Stephen said, "and catching the thing-bu

rse," s

ning. I'm expecting him now." Then with sudden energy, "I wish to God he'd come..

in a moment." He leaned forward now, and began to speak wi

nd ... thought I'd catch it easily, but the engine wouldn't start-of COURSE! Took me half an hour ... starved

t now?... for God's sake, go ... take the boat and just patrol about ... slack water now ... tide turns in about ten minutes ... the damned thing must come down ... unless it's stuck somewhere ... you must go, John. We must get hold of

but ..."

s it is.... Say you'll go, John-here's the key of the boat ... she'll start at once now.... It

ement. But when John still hesitated, his slow mouth framing the

g note. "I'm about done, old man ... what with Marge

ections to the preposterous proposal unspoken. He p

manage it somehow ... don't you

.. I'll come down when I hear y

ound himself suddenly alone at the end of his gar

mosaic of small splashes. The lights of Barnes showed mistily across the river, like lamps in a photograph. The

ll what exactly he was going to do to discharge his fantastic undertaking. The engine started miraculously. John cast o

ically astern. The rain splashed and pattered on the engine and on the thwarts, and rolled with a luxurious swishing sound in the bottom. The fly-wheel of the engine revolved like a Catherine-wheel

ump, to regulate the oil-feed and the water-supply, and do all those little attentions without which the engine usually stopped; and at the same time to steer the boat, and look in the river for the floating body of a dead woman in a sack. It wa

times he saw a log or a basket or a broken bottle scurrying dimly past and chased it with a wild hope downstream. Once he made sure that he had found what he had sought-a light object floating high out of the water; this he followed half-way down the Island. And when he found it it was a dead cat-a light-coloured cat. "The yellow cat," he thought. Once, as he headed obliquely across the river, boathook in hand, a black invisible police

to be careful then, and creep upstream along the bank while their long lines of barges swung ponderously round the co

eves; his trousers hung about his ankles, heavy with rain. He wanted to go home; he wanted to get out of the horrible wet boat; he was ti

ory would have to be told. Not a good story, either, whatever his motives had been. What had

no anchor now-nothing. Put her ashore on the Island? But somebody would find her. Take her out of the sack-the incriminating sack? If she was found by herself, a mere body, in a night-dress.... In a night-dress? The night-dress wouldn't do. She mustn't be found in a night-dress. He would have to get rid of that too-that and the sack. Then any

a big sack drifting in the evening. It was full of kindlewood, little penny packets of kindlewood, tied up with string. He remembered the weight of it, impossible to lift into the bo

ain fell upon it and sizzled. He turned vaguely a number of taps, fingered the electric wires; all was apparently well. He heaved at the starting-handle, patiently at firs

ked her laboriously across the tide. He had

Stephen's drawing-room. And against the light he saw a head, motionless above t

sper came ov

ohn-any

" John's voice was curious

kind of hysterical cackle, and Step

boat and began, "Cong

r cackle, and th