Fancies and Goodnights, стр. 48
A couple of hours later the old man arrived by plane at Le Bourget, and shortly thereafter, he was standing beside the card table, rubbing his hands, smiling, affable, the light glinting merrily upon his horn-rimmed spectacles. He shook hands with the Americans and noted their prosperous appearances. «Now what have we here?» said he, sliding into his son's seat and fishing out his money.
«The bet,» said one of the opponents, «stands at fifty thousand dollars. Seen by me. It's for you to see or raise.»
«Or run,» said the other.
«I trust my son's judgment,» said the old man. «I shall raise fifty thousand dollars before I even glance at these cards in my hand.» With that he pushed forward a hundred thousand dollars of his own money.
«I'll raise that hundred thousand dollars,» said the first of his opponents.
«Ill stay and see,» said the other.
The old man looked at his cards. His race turned several colours in rapid succession. A low and quavering groan burst from his lips and he was seen to hesitate for a long time, showing all the signs of an appalling inward struggle. At last he summoned up his courage and, pushing out his last hundred thousand (which represented all the cigars, champagne, and other little pleasures he had to look forward to), he licked his lips several times and said, «I'll see you.»
«Four kings,» said the first opponent, laying down his hand.
«Hell!» said the second. «Four queens.»
«And I,» moaned the old man, «have four knaves.» With that he turned about and seized his son by the lapels of his jacket, shaking him as a terrier does a rat. «Curse the day,» said he, «that I ever became the father of a damned fool!»
«I swear I thought they were kings,» cried the young man.
«Don't you know that the V is for valets?» said his father.
«Good God!» the son said. «I thought the V was something to do with French kings. You know, Charles, Louis, V one, V two, V three. Oh, what a pity I was never at the university!»
«Go,» said the old man. «Go there, or go to Hell or wherever you wish. Never let me see or hear from you again.» And he stamped out of the room before his son or anyone else could say a word, even to tell him it was high-low stud they were playing and that the four knaves had won half the pot.
The young man, pocketing his share, mused that ignorance of every sort is deplorable, and, bidding his companions farewell, left Paris without further delay, and very soon he was entered at the university.
BACK FOR CHRISTMAS
«Doctor,» said Major Sinclair, «we certainly must have you with us for Christmas». Tea was being poured, and the Carpenters' living-room was filled with friends who had come to say last-minute farewells to the Doctor and his wife. «He shall be back,» said Mrs. Carpenter. «I promise you.»
«It's hardly certain,» said Dr. Carpenter. «I'd like nothing better, of course.»
«After all,» said Mr. Hewitt, «you've contracted to lecture only for three months.»
«Anything may happen,» said Doctor Carpenter. «Whatever happens,» said Mrs. Carpenter, beaming at them, «he shall be back in England for Christmas. You may all believe me.»
They all believed her. The Doctor himself almost believed her. For ten years she had been promising him for dinner parties, garden parties, committees, heaven knows what, and the promises had always been kept.
The farewells began. There was a fluting of compliments on dear Hermione's marvellous arrangements. She and her husband would drive to Southampton that evening. They would embark the following day. No trains, no bustle, no last-minute worries. Certain the Doctor was marvellously looked after. He would be a great success in America. Especially with Hermione to see to everything. She would have a wonderful time, too. She would see the skyscrapers. Nothing like that in Little Godwearing. But she must be very sure to bring him back. «Yes, I will bring him back. You may rely upon it.» He mustn't be persuaded. No extensions. No wonderful post at some super-American hospital. Our infirmary needs him. And he must be back by Christmas. «Yes,» Mrs. Carpenter called to the last departing guest, «I shall see to it. He shall be back by Christmas.»
The final arrangements for closing the house were very well managed. The maids soon had the tea things washed up; they came in, said goodbye, and were in time to catch the afternoon bus to Devizes.
Nothing remained but odds and ends, locking doors, seeing that everything was tidy. «Go upstairs,» said Hermione, «and change into your brown tweeds. Empty the pockets of that suit before you put it in your bag. I'11 see to everything else. All you have to do is not to get in the way.»
The Doctor went upstairs and took off the suit he was wearing, but instead of the brown tweeds, he put on an old dirty bath gown, which he took from the back of his wardrobe. Then, after making one or two little arrangements, he leaned over the head of the stairs and called to his wife, «Hermione! Have you a moment to spare?»
«Of course, dear. I'm just finished.»
«Just come up here for a moment. There's something rather extraordinary up here.»
Hermione immediately came up. «Good heavens, my dear man!» she said when she saw her husband. «What are you lounging about in that filthy old thing for? I told you to have it burned long ago.»
«Who in the world,» said the Doctor, «has dropped a gold chain down the bathtub drain?»
«Nobody has, of course,» said Hermione. «Nobody wears such a thing.»
«Then what is it doing there?» said the Doctor. «Take this flashlight. If you lean right over, you can see it shining, deep down.»
«Some Woolworth's bangle off one of the maids,» said Hermione. «It can be nothing else.» However, she took the flashlight and leaned over, squinting into the drain. The Doctor, raising a short length of lead pipe, struck two or three times with great force and precision, and tilting the body by the knees, tumbled it into the tub.
He then slipped off the bathrobe and, standing completely naked, unwrapped a towel full of implements and put them into the washbasin. He spread several sheets of newspaper on the floor and turned once more to his victim.
She was dead, of course — horribly doubled up, like a somersaulter, at one end of the tub. He stood looking at her for a very long time, thinking of absolutely nothing at all. Then he saw how much blood there was and his mind began to move again.
First he pushed and pulled until she lay straight in the bath, then he removed her clothing. In a narrow bathtub this was an extremely clumsy business, but he managed it at last and then turned on the taps. The water rushed into the tub, then dwindled, then died away, and the last of it gurgled down the drain.
«Good God!» he said. «She turned it off at the main.»
There was only one thing to do: the Doctor hastily wiped his hands on a towel, opened the bathroom door with a clean corner of the towel, threw it back onto the bath stool, and ran downstairs, barefoot, light as a cat. The cellar door was in a corner of the entrance hall, under the stairs. He knew just where the cut-off was. He had reason to: he had been pottering about down there for some time past — trying to scrape out a bin for wine, he had told Hermione. He pushed open the cellar door, went down the steep steps, and just before the closing door plunged the cellar into pitch darkness, he put his hands on the tap and turned it on. Then he felt his way back along the grimy wall till he came to the steps. He was about to ascend them when the bell rang.
The Doctor was scarcely aware of the ringing as a sound. It was like a spike of iron pushed slowly up through his stomach. It went on until it reached his brain. Then something broke. He threw himself down in the coal dust on the floor and said, «I'm through. I'm through!»