nine. When the dog heard us on the steps, it started to go mad. Then we saw that the door was slightly ajar, and the dog was snarling and prancing in the opening. And then we both guessed.’
The Commander said, sincerely: ‘I’m so sorry, Greg.’
‘She was lying just inside, as she must have fallen. It was the same as before. Through the forehead, but this time point-blank.’
‘Frightful,’ breathed the Commander. ‘Oh, foul.’
‘Harry was so grim, and silent. I hardly recognized him. Until he picked up the dog, to quieten it, and then he cried a bit. That was when I felt the dread.’
‘If Harry,’ said the Commander, ‘were to find this person before the police, he would do something terrible.’
‘So would I,’ said the young man. ‘I would be—atrocious.’
The Commander, whose political discussions, or tantrums, often turned on the point of law and order, thought to insert a word there, but put away the idea because the boy was not really with him, but back in the two violated rooms. So instead he reached forward with the poker, and made a bigger blaze for the lad to gaze at.
‘We’re doing,’ Greg said, ‘what must be being done in nearly every other place in these streets where two or more people are together. Rummaging. Getting together rags to clothe the shadow. That’s what they’ll be doing. Like in that Wells story: bandaging the Invisible Man. In somebody’s life there are the rags that will make the shadow take shape when it is dressed with them.’
‘Not someone we know,’ objected the Commander. ‘Oh no, dear chap. Some stranger, some prowler from outside, that is quite obvious. With a motive or without one—if you insist—but a stranger. Don’t you agree?’
The young man shrugged, and sank back into his chair away from the fire’s new blaze. ‘Funny enough, as Harry would say, I don’t think very much about it. One doesn’t. One thinks of the one who’s gone. I keep thinking of Paul and all he did for me, and wondering if he thought I took too much for granted. I did at one time, I know. I had rather the feeling in those days that he was too old to have a life of his own.’
The Commander leaned his head back and looked at the painted face of his wife with its reserved smile. ‘
Tu n’as rien à te reprocher
,’ he said. ‘My wife used to quote that. She had a poor sad French woman-friend with a bedridden old mother, and that was her guiding principle: that the most important thing in life was to have nothing to reproach oneself for, with respect to the dead.’
‘Are there such people?’ Greg asked. ‘If so, they’re thick, I’d guess.’
The Commander said nothing, but went on staring at the portrait, in a rapt lethargy, just as his visitor stared at the fire.
Harry was showing Dave Stutton his new quarters, in the room at the top of Harry’s tall thin house. ‘Thass a bit Spartan, like,’ said Harry, ‘but thass got what you need, I s’ppoose. Bed, cupboard, drawers. There’s a foo bits of gear of mine stowed away up here, but I shan’t be botherin you, I never come up this far.’
Dave, at the window, peering down, remarked: ‘Thass a bit like a lighthouse here,’ and then looked awkward.
But Harry seemed not to have heard, and only said, after a moment: ‘Well, you get yourself settled, boy, and I’ll give you a drink when you come down. No supper, though; I didn’t buy no food today, what with the coppers and that. I thought I’d goo to the Galley, myself. You?’
‘Yeh,’ Dave said, ‘sure. Fanks for everyfing, Harry.’
‘You’re welcome, boy,’ said Harry, at the door, with a genial smile, which faded, however, even before he turned.
When Dave, later, followed him down two flights of stairs he found him sitting in his chair with the little dog in his lap. From the corner of the fireplace the cat was looking on balefully. ‘Problems,’ Harry said to Dave. ‘I got problems. Oh you bad boy, you greeneyed monster,
The Commander said, sincerely: ‘I’m so sorry, Greg.’
‘She was lying just inside, as she must have fallen. It was the same as before. Through the forehead, but this time point-blank.’
‘Frightful,’ breathed the Commander. ‘Oh, foul.’
‘Harry was so grim, and silent. I hardly recognized him. Until he picked up the dog, to quieten it, and then he cried a bit. That was when I felt the dread.’
‘If Harry,’ said the Commander, ‘were to find this person before the police, he would do something terrible.’
‘So would I,’ said the young man. ‘I would be—atrocious.’
The Commander, whose political discussions, or tantrums, often turned on the point of law and order, thought to insert a word there, but put away the idea because the boy was not really with him, but back in the two violated rooms. So instead he reached forward with the poker, and made a bigger blaze for the lad to gaze at.
‘We’re doing,’ Greg said, ‘what must be being done in nearly every other place in these streets where two or more people are together. Rummaging. Getting together rags to clothe the shadow. That’s what they’ll be doing. Like in that Wells story: bandaging the Invisible Man. In somebody’s life there are the rags that will make the shadow take shape when it is dressed with them.’
‘Not someone we know,’ objected the Commander. ‘Oh no, dear chap. Some stranger, some prowler from outside, that is quite obvious. With a motive or without one—if you insist—but a stranger. Don’t you agree?’
The young man shrugged, and sank back into his chair away from the fire’s new blaze. ‘Funny enough, as Harry would say, I don’t think very much about it. One doesn’t. One thinks of the one who’s gone. I keep thinking of Paul and all he did for me, and wondering if he thought I took too much for granted. I did at one time, I know. I had rather the feeling in those days that he was too old to have a life of his own.’
The Commander leaned his head back and looked at the painted face of his wife with its reserved smile. ‘
Tu n’as rien à te reprocher
,’ he said. ‘My wife used to quote that. She had a poor sad French woman-friend with a bedridden old mother, and that was her guiding principle: that the most important thing in life was to have nothing to reproach oneself for, with respect to the dead.’
‘Are there such people?’ Greg asked. ‘If so, they’re thick, I’d guess.’
The Commander said nothing, but went on staring at the portrait, in a rapt lethargy, just as his visitor stared at the fire.
Harry was showing Dave Stutton his new quarters, in the room at the top of Harry’s tall thin house. ‘Thass a bit Spartan, like,’ said Harry, ‘but thass got what you need, I s’ppoose. Bed, cupboard, drawers. There’s a foo bits of gear of mine stowed away up here, but I shan’t be botherin you, I never come up this far.’
Dave, at the window, peering down, remarked: ‘Thass a bit like a lighthouse here,’ and then looked awkward.
But Harry seemed not to have heard, and only said, after a moment: ‘Well, you get yourself settled, boy, and I’ll give you a drink when you come down. No supper, though; I didn’t buy no food today, what with the coppers and that. I thought I’d goo to the Galley, myself. You?’
‘Yeh,’ Dave said, ‘sure. Fanks for everyfing, Harry.’
‘You’re welcome, boy,’ said Harry, at the door, with a genial smile, which faded, however, even before he turned.
When Dave, later, followed him down two flights of stairs he found him sitting in his chair with the little dog in his lap. From the corner of the fireplace the cat was looking on balefully. ‘Problems,’ Harry said to Dave. ‘I got problems. Oh you bad boy, you greeneyed monster,
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