In the Library
Page 1
Produced by David Widger
THE LADY OF THE BARGE
AND OTHER STORIES
By W. W. Jacobs
IN THE LIBRARY
The fire had burnt low in the library, for the night was wet and warm.It was now little more than a grey shell, and looked desolate. TraytonBurleigh, still hot, rose from his armchair, and turning out one of thegas-jets, took a cigar from a box on a side-table and resumed his seatagain.
The apartment, which was on the third floor at the back of the house, wasa combination of library, study, and smoke-room, and was the dailydespair of the old housekeeper who, with the assistance of one servant,managed the house. It was a bachelor establishment, and had been left toTrayton Burleigh and James Fletcher by a distant connection of both mensome ten years before.
Trayton Burleigh sat back in his chair watching the smoke of his cigarthrough half-closed eyes. Occasionally he opened them a little wider andglanced round the comfortable, well-furnished room, or stared with a coldgleam of hatred at Fletcher as he sat sucking stolidly at his brier pipe.It was a comfortable room and a valuable house, half of which belonged toTrayton Burleigh; and yet he was to leave it in the morning and become arogue and a wanderer over the face of the earth. James Fletcher had saidso. James Fletcher, with the pipe still between his teeth and speakingfrom one corner of his mouth only, had pronounced his sentence.
"It hasn't occurred to you, I suppose," said Burleigh, speaking suddenly,"that I might refuse your terms."
"No," said Fletcher, simply.
Burleigh took a great mouthful of smoke and let it roll slowly out.
"I am to go out and leave you in possession?" he continued. "You willstay here sole proprietor of the house; you will stay at the office soleowner and representative of the firm? You are a good hand at a deal,James Fletcher."
"I am an honest man," said Fletcher, "and to raise sufficient money tomake your defalcations good will not by any means leave me the gainer, asyou very well know."
"There is no necessity to borrow," began Burleigh, eagerly. "We can paythe interest easily, and in course of time make the principal goodwithout a soul being the wiser."
"That you suggested before," said Fletcher, "and my answer is the same.I will be no man's confederate in dishonesty; I will raise every penny atall costs, and save the name of the firm--and yours with it--but I willnever have you darken the office again, or sit in this house afterto-night."
"You won't," cried Burleigh, starting up in a frenzy of rage.
"I won't," said Fletcher. "You can choose the alternative: disgrace andpenal servitude. Don't stand over me; you won't frighten me, I canassure you. Sit down."
"You have arranged so many things in your kindness," said Burleigh,slowly, resuming his seat again, "have you arranged how I am to live?"
"You have two strong hands, and health," replied Fletcher. "I will giveyou the two hundred pounds I mentioned, and after that you must look outfor yourself. You can take it now."
He took a leather case from his breast pocket, and drew out a roll ofnotes. Burleigh, watching him calmly, stretched out his hand and tookthem from the table. Then he gave way to a sudden access of rage, andcrumpling them in his hand, threw them into a corner of the room.Fletcher smoked on.
"Mrs. Marl is out?" said Burleigh, suddenly.
Fletcher nodded.
"She will be away the night," he said, slowly; "and Jane too; they havegone together somewhere, but they will be back at half-past eight in themorning."
"You are going to let me have one more breakfast in the old place, then,"said Burleigh. "Half-past eight, half-past----"
He rose from his chair again. This time Fletcher took his pipe from hismouth and watched him closely. Burleigh stooped, and picking up thenotes, placed them in his pocket.
"If I am to be turned adrift, it shall not be to leave you here," hesaid, in a thick voice.
He crossed over and shut the door; as he turned back Fletcher rose fromhis chair and stood confronting him. Burleigh put his hand to the wall,and drawing a small Japanese sword from its sheath of carved ivory,stepped slowly toward him.
"I give you one chance, Fletcher," he said, grimly. "You are a man ofyour word. Hush this up and let things be as they were before, and youare safe."
"Put that down," said Fletcher, sharply.
"By ---, I mean what I say!" cried the other.
"I mean what I said!" answered Fletcher.
He looked round at the last moment for a weapon, then he turned suddenlyat a sharp sudden pain, and saw Burleigh's clenched fist nearly touchinghis breast-bone. The hand came away from his breast again, and somethingwith it. It went a long way off. Trayton Burleigh suddenly went to agreat distance and the room darkened. It got quite dark, and Fletcher,with an attempt to raise his hands, let them fall to his side instead,and fell in a heap to the floor.
He was so still that Burleigh could hardly realize that it was all over,and stood stupidly waiting for him to rise again. Then he took out hishandkerchief as though to wipe the sword, and thinking better of it, putit back into his pocket again, and threw the weapon on to the floor.
The body of Fletcher lay where it had fallen, the white face turned up tothe gas. In life he had been a commonplace-looking man, not to sayvulgar; now Burleigh, with a feeling of nausea, drew back toward thedoor, until the body was hidden by the table, and relieved from thesight, he could think more clearly. He looked down carefully andexamined his clothes and his boots. Then he crossed the room again, andwith his face averted, turned out the gas. Something seemed to stir inthe darkness, and with a faint cry he blundered toward the door before hehad realized that it was the clock. It struck twelve.
BURLEIGH, WITH A FEELING OF NAUSEA, DREW BACK TOWARD THEDOOOR.]
He stood at the head of the stairs trying to recover himself; trying tothink. The gas on the landing below, the stairs and the furniture, alllooked so prosaic and familiar that he could not realize what hadoccurred. He walked slowly down and turned the light out. The darknessof the upper part of the house was now almost appalling, and in a suddenpanic he ran down stairs into the lighted hall, and snatching a hat fromthe stand, went to the door and walked down to the gate.
Except for one window the neighbouring houses were in darkness, and thelamps shone tip a silent street. There was a little rain in the air, andthe muddy road was full of pebbles. He stood at the gate trying to screwup his courage to enter the house again. Then he noticed a figure comingslowly up the road and keeping close to the palings.
The full realization of what he had done broke in upon him when he foundhimself turning to fly from the approach of the constable. The wet capeglistening in the lamplight, the slow, heavy step, made him tremble.Suppose the thing upstairs was not quite dead and should cry out?Suppose the constable should think it strange for him to be standingthere and follow him in? He assumed a careless attitude, which did notfeel careless, and as the man passed bade him good-night, and made aremark as to the weather.
Ere the sound of the other's footsteps had gone quite out of hearing,he turned and entered the house again before the sense of companionshipshould have quite departed. The first flight of stairs was lighted bythe gas in the hall, and he went up slowly. Then he struck a match andwent up steadily, past the library door, and with firm fingers turned onthe gas in his bedroom and lit it. He opened the window a little way,and sitting down on his bed, tried to think.
He had got eight hours. Eight hours and two hundred pounds in smallnotes. He opened his safe and took out all the loose cash it contained,and walking about the room, gathered up and placed in his pockets sucharticles of jewellery as he possessed.
The first horror had now to some extent passed, and was succeeded b
y thefear of death.
With this fear on him he sat down again and tried to think out the firstmoves in that game of skill of which his life was the stake. He hadoften read of people of hasty temper, evading the police for a time, andeventually falling into their hands for lack of the most elementarycommon sense. He had heard it said that they always made some stupidblunder, left behind them some damning clue. He took his revolver from adrawer and saw that it was loaded. If the worst came to the worst, hewould die quickly.
Eight hours' start; two hundred odd pounds. He would take lodgings atfirst in some populous district, and let the hair on his face grow. Whenthe hue-and-cry had ceased, he would go abroad and start life again. Hewould go out of a night and post letters to himself, or better still,postcards, which his landlady would read. Postcards from cheery friends,from a sister, from a