CHAPTER X.
THE HONOUR OF THE CLUB.
I had not a notion that it would be Louise, that evening at theclub--not the very faintest! How could I have? I did not know that thelot would fall to me. I was the first to draw. When I saw that the cardwhich I had drawn was black, and that on it were inscribed, in gleamingcrimson letters, the words, "The Honour of the Club," it gave me quitea start. Of course I knew that the odds were equal. But, somehow orother, I had never expected to draw the thing. I held it up in front ofme.
"Gentlemen, the Honour of the Club is mine."
Pendarvon, in the chair, stood up. The others all rose with him.
"Gentlemen of the Murder Club, charge your glasses to the brim." Theyfilled them with neat brandy. Pendarvon turned to me, holding histumbler above his head.
"Mr. Townsend, we offer you our most sincere congratulations."
The others all chimed in--
"We do!"
They emptied their glasses, with inclinations of their heads towardsme. I don't fancy that, ordinarily, they would all of them have beenquite equal to drinking half a pint of brandy at one swallow, neat.Some of them did not like it even then. As young Rasper-Stenning, whowas in front of me, put down his glass, he pulled a face, and caught atthe table. I thought he was going to be ill.
Pendarvon went on--
"The Honour of the Club, Mr. Townsend, rests with you. We do not doubtthat, this day month, you will return it to us, as untarnished as whenit came into your keeping." They sat down. I rose.
"Gentlemen, I thank you. I give you my word that, with me, the Honourof the Club is safe. I will wear it next my heart. At our next meetingI will return it to you with its crimson of a still more vivid hue. Iwill show you that it is possible to paint even scarlet red."
I put the Honour of the Club into my pocket-book. I went away withArchie Beaupre. He wanted to know if I had any one in my mind's eye.
"Not any one--unless it's you."
He was lighting a cigarette. He laughed.
"It's against the rules to kill each other. Have a light?"
I had one.
"I'll kill some one, never you fear. What is likely to afflict me isnot a poverty of choice, but an embarrassment of riches. The difficultywill be to know, not whom to kill, but whom to leave alive. Think ofone's creditors. How they cry out for slaughter."
But Louise O'Donnel never occurred to me. I was too fond of her. Thelittle witch had twined herself about my heart. When I thought of her,I thought of nothing else but kisses. I don't know how many women Ihave loved in my time--I hope that, as becomes a gentleman, I haveloved them all! I never loved one better than, at that period of mycareer, I loved Louise.
True enough, later on my love grew fainter. The fault was hers. Myexperience, a tolerably wide one, teaches me that, when a man's lovedoes grow less, almost invariably the woman is at fault. The days wentby. The Honour of the Club remained in my pocket. I could not make upmy mind whom to choose. When it came to the scratch, I found the taskharder than I supposed. I thought of my scamp of a brother. Goodnessknows he would be all the better for killing. I might have pitched uponhim had not another choice been positively thrust upon me. None ofone's other relatives seemed worthy serious attention. The Depehurstpeople are a nuisance. But one scarcely felt justified in killing oneof them, just by way of a joke, except it was Harold, who, what withhis temperance fad, and his anti-gambling fad, and his social purityfad, and all the rest of his fads, is one of the most obnoxious prigs Iknow. On the other hand, if one commenced killing men simply becausethey were prigs, slaughter would know no ending.
Then Louise began to worry me. The usual story--her character at stake.As though it mattered! But, try as I would, I could not induce her totake my point of view. Never was a girl more unreasonable. I had alwaysforeseen that she was the sort with whom one might have trouble. Butthen I had always supposed that she loved me. I made at least a dozensuggestions--delicately, and almost inferentially, as it were, becauseshe was in a state of mind in which a slip on my part might have madeher dangerous. Nothing would do for her except that I should marry her,which, of course, was absurd.
Then it happened. Up to the very last moment I was undecided. The faultwas hers all through.
She was staying in lodgings at Brighton--really at my expense. I hadenough expenses of that kind upon my hands just then! Her tenancy wasup on the Monday. I told her to leave instead on the Sunday. She was tomeet me at East Grinstead. She might have been under the impressionthat, having met me, she was to stay with me--if so, again the faultwas hers. Leaving town early, I met her at East Grinstead Station. Welunched at a tavern near the station. After lunch we walked over toTurner's Hill. At the inn we had a hybrid sort of meal. Afterwards westarted, as she supposed, to walk back to East Grinstead Station.
In so supposing, she was wrong.
She had been affectionate all day--too affectionate--with a sort ofaffection which suggested what a good wife she would be to her husband.When we left the inn, instead of going in the direction she supposed, Iturned towards Paddockhurst, intending to walk through Tilgate Forestto Three Bridges Station, distant some four or five miles. She was astranger in that country. I knew every inch of it--a lonely one it isat night. I made up my mind to put the issue plainly to her on theroad. And that then, if she did not promise to be reasonable, I woulddo something for the Honour of the Club. The month allowed by the ruleswas up on the Thursday following. At the meeting I should be called toaccount.
Louise continued to be as unreasonable as ever--if anything, she wasmore so. She talked about my promises--as if they were anything! Shecried, making quite a scene--or rather, a succession of scenes. Shekept stopping, as we were going down Whitely Hill, accusing me of allsorts of things. I fancy she was rather taken aback when I turned intoTilgate Forest. It was pitch dark, and the walking was not too smooth.The game seemed wide awake. We could hear the rustling of unseen feet,the hurtling of unseen wings. Once we flushed a pheasant right frombeneath our feet. A startled cock-pheasant is not the quietest ofbirds, but I don't think I ever heard one make such a noise as thatbird did then. It startled even me. Louise was frightened out of herwits. I felt her trembling as she clung to my arm.
All the way along I kept saying to myself, "Now! now!" And I shouldhave done it in the forest, only just as I was bringing myself to thesticking point, my eyes were saluted by a crimson glare. I thought fora moment we had gone further than I supposed, and had reached Wrench'sfarm. Then I thought of the charcoal-burners. You will find themsomewhere in Tilgate Forest all the year round. Sure enough it wasthem. Their furnace was glowing blood-red--they had built it close tothe path. They had raised a barricade of faggots to screen it from thewind. Louise wanted to stop and look at it, I believe, because shewanted the encouragement of its companionship. But I would not agree; Ihurried her on. I had no desire to be seen just then, even by acharcoal-burner. As I was congratulating myself that we should get pastunnoticed, a short, stunted figure, starting out from behind thebarricade, glared at us through the gloom.
Little was said by either of us, as, leaving the forest, we went acrossthe fields. Reaching the railway, we passed under the arch. I helpedLouise over the stile. We paused by the gate. About half a mile offwere the village and the station. I resolved I would give her anotherchance; then if she was obstinate, I would do it.
She was obstinate, even, as it seemed to me, in a positively ascendingscale.
"You promised to marry me. I have your letter. I trusted you. If youare going to leave me to face my shame alone, there is nothing for mebut death."
That saying of hers finished it; there was nothing for her but death.Only it came a little sooner than she quite bargained for. Just at thatmoment a train went thundering over the bridge towards town. As it wenta cloud must have parted, because, suddenly, the moon came out. Itshone upon us two. Louise looked up at me through the moonbeams.Although she had been crying--and
I never knew a woman's face which wasimproved by tears--her prettiness, revealed, all at once, by themoonlight, particularly struck me. She looked prettier even than when Ifirst saw her at the Coliseum. Her beauty went to my heart. She put herhand upon my arm--a tiny hand it was.
"Reggie, has your love for me all gone? Don't you love me still?"
"Oh, yes," I said; "I love you still."
Then, putting my hands round her neck, I began to choke her. Hers was aslender neck, so that I was able to put my hands right round and get agood, firm grip. I don't think that at first she realised what I was upto. She was thinking more of love than of death. At any rate she didnot attempt to scream. She looked to me as if she was startled. Shelooked more startled as I increased the pressure. Appetite came witheating. I had not altogether relished the business until I tackled it.But, as I got a tighter and tighter hold, and felt her convulsivewrithings and her life slipping through my fingers, I began to feel thejoy of killing, for the killing's sake. I began to be filled with asort of ecstasy of passion--the sort of sensation which I had been insearch of when I joined the club. After all, it was worth feeling.Lifting her up, I bent her backwards over the gate. She took longer todie than I should have supposed. When she had ceased to move, and wentall limp in my grasp, I dropped her. My fingers were rigid with cramp.For some seconds I could not move them. When I could, the pain wasexcruciating. I found, too, that I was not only breathless, I was dampwith perspiration.
She lay in an ugly heap on the ground. I arranged her draperies andstraightened her. In her pocket was a purse--one which I had given her,so I was only regaining my own--some letters in an envelope, which, Iguessed, were also mine, and a handkerchief. I knew that she was in thehabit of wearing a portrait of mine, which I had been ass enough togive her, in a locket round her neck. Opening her dress at thebosom--which I had a job in doing--I found the locket tied to a pieceof ribbon. Tearing it off, I put it, with the other things, into theinside pocket of my overcoat. Not wishing to leave the body lying therefor the first passer-by to find in the morning, picking it up I carriedit a few feet along the hedge which bordered the railway embankment. Onthe other side of this hedge shrubs were growing on the sloping banks.Raising the body above my head, I threw it, as far as I could, amongthese shrubs. I distinctly heard it fall. Then, immediately after, Iheard a sort of rustling--exactly the sort of rustling which the bodymight have made had it been alive and was rising to its feet. I knewwell enough that it was not alive; I had taken care of that. But thesound was, in one sense, so apposite, and, in another sense, so verymuch the other way, that it filled me with an unreasoning panic terror.I started off running across the open meadow as if I had been runningfor my life.
I had meant to keep along the Brighton line to Three Bridges Station.It was only when I struck the stile which leads to the footpath acrossthe Horsham line that I realised what an idiot I was. Then I pulled up,and only then. I was in a muck of sweat. Sitting on the stile, I beganto mop myself with my pocket-handkerchief. I was exhausted--all of aquiver. Something of my absurd attack of terror was with me still. Iactually thought that I had seen a face rise up from among the bushesand stare at me--white in the moonlight. As I recalled my folly--eventhough I was conscious it was folly--I shut my eyes and shivered.
As soon as I felt myself presentable and in a condition to move, I wentalong the Horsham line into the station. I gained the platformunobserved. I made at once for a refreshment-room. I was aware that itwas not the part of wisdom to expose myself too much, but I felt that Imust have a drink, even though directly after I was hanged. There beingtwo refreshment-rooms on the up platform, I had two drinks at each ofthem.
The return half of my East Grinstead ticket was available to town fromthere; so I had no concern on that account. As I came out of the secondrefreshment-room, feeling that the stuff which they had sold me forbrandy had done me good, I tackled a porter about a train. The next,and last, to London was at 10.20. Glancing at my watch, I found that itwas just past the hour.
A woman, coming up to me as I moved from the porter, asked me thequestion which I had just been asking him. I noticed what a pleasantvoice she had--few things in a woman appeal to me so much as that.Something in her bearing suggested that she might not resent a desireon my part for sociability. I gave her the information she required,with additions of my own, thrown out by way of feeler. She responded;we began to talk. The long and short of it was that I travelled withher in the same compartment to town.
Possibly I had at the moment an unconscious craving for congenialsociety--I am a gregarious animal. Certainly, she did appeal to what Itake to be my instincts in an unusual degree. She was not in her firstyouth, but she was still good-looking, and she was not made up. I hatea woman who paints and powders; after all my experience I have nevergot over a feeling that a woman who does that sort of thing can't beclean. She was good style; if she was not exactly a woman of our world,then she was either very clever or very near it. She had seen theworld, and it had not spoilt her. She was well dressed, and by theright people. I would not have minded doing a turn in the Park with herany day of the week.
She was frankness itself--it was that which made me shy a little. Withstrangers our women are not so frank, though that I have a sympathetic,not to say fascinating, way about me, I make no doubt. It is not aquestion of conceit; I know it. I ought to, considering it is theleading article of my stock-in-trade.
She said she was a widow. We got so thick that she gave me hercard--Mrs. Daniel J. Carruth, with an address at West Kensington. Sheherself was English, her husband was American, which explained thename. She had been out of England several years; had returned to findherself alone. She felt her loneliness she said. I had no reason tosuppose she lied.
"Have you no children?"
"No. I have scarcely known whether to be glad or sorry. There issomething to be said on either side of the question." Looking down shebegan pulling at the pile of her sealskin coat. "You must know that myhusband was many years my senior." I nodded. "It would have made adifference if he had been young."
Though I did not quite see the sequence, I nodded again. She had givenme permission to light a cigarette. I was at my ease. I was consciousof feeling a really curious interest in Mrs. Carruth.
She glanced up at me. Hers were fine eyes, though about them there weretwo peculiarities--they seemed to be looking, not at me, but atsomething far away, and they always smiled.
"It seems so odd. When I left England, though I was poor, I had troopsof friends. Now I have come back I am rich, but all my friends seem tohave vanished into air. I have not one."
"That is a state of things which is not likely to continue long."
"Perhaps not; I hope not--one does not like to be friendless. But it isall so different to what I had looked forward to. When one has beenabsent a long time from home, and is able to return at last, one dreamsdreams. Only those who have experienced it can know how"--shehesitated, as if for a word--"strange it feels when one is forced torecognise that those dreams have been but dreams." She glanced down;then up again. "I have many acquaintances; they are not friends."
I agreed with her, asking myself at the same time what she might happento mean. Was she dropping a hint to me? If so, I might be more thanhalf disposed to take it. Mrs. Carruth appealed to me strangely, everymoment more and more. The minutes sped; before I knew it we were intown.
I saw her into a hansom at Victoria. She asked me to call on her; torenew and improve the acquaintance made in the train. I said that Iwould. What is more, when she was gone, I told myself that I would keepmy promise.
Her voice lingered in my ears.