“Look, sir,” he said—“them cushions where she sat!”
“‘LOOK, SIR,’ HE SAID—‘THEM CUSHIONS WHERE SHE SAT!’”
They were soft, silken, well-rounded things; and they showed no least impression of anybody having recently rested on them.
“I’m off, sir,” said the man. He went scrambling for the boat, white to the lips. Once secure in his seat he looked up. “I understand now,” he said, “what he was a’trying to escape from. There’s more somewhere here than meets the eye. Come along, sir, in God’s name!”
“No,” said Gilead. “Go you, while I wait, and fetch assistance. Supposing that we both went, and somebody not knowing were to board here and look in?”
Merciful and considerate for others as always, he set himself resolutely to endure his vigil.
* * * *
There was a strange scene at the inquest, which led to its postponement sine die. The body was identified, as many people will remember, and the fact reaffirmed, for all that it is worth, that a first-rate actor may be a tenth-rate man. This man had led the double, the quadruple life—a brutal, worthless creature, whose crowning grace had been his ending it voluntarily. He was married and had children. Fortunately for them he had played, and he died, under a nom-de-théâtre.
But the odd thing at the inquest was the conflict of evidence as to his latest victim. Even local witnesses, when questioned as to her local existence, faltered and contradicted themselves. They fancied that they had seen some one with him, on this day or the other, but, when confronted with the oath, they would not swear. It would have been comical if not so tragical.