Studies in Wives

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

In the moment that elapsed before the constable spoke, Mr. Tapster's mind had had time to formulate a new theory. How strange he had never heard that the police have means of access to every house on their beat! The fact surprised but did not alarm him, for our hero was one of the great army of law-abiding citizens in whose eyes a policeman is no human being, subject to the same laws, the same temptations and passions which afflict ordinary humanity. No, no; in Mr. Tapster's eyes a constable could do no wrong, although he might occasionally stretch a point to oblige such a man as was Mr. Tapster himself.

But what was the constable saying—speaking, as constables always do to the Mr. Tapsters of this world, in respectful and subdued tones?

"Can I just come in and speak to you, sir? There's been a sad accident—your lady fallen in the water; we found these keys in her pocket, and then someone said she was Mrs. Tapster,"—and the policeman held out the two keys which had played a not unimportant part in Mr. Tapster's interview with Flossy.

"A man on the bridge saw her go in," went on the policeman, "so she wasn't in the water long—something like a quarter of an hour—for we soon found her. I suppose you would like her taken upstairs, sir?"

"No, no," stammered Mr. Tapster, "not upstairs. The children are upstairs."

Mr. Tapster's round, prominent eyes were shadowed with a great horror and an even greater surprise. He stood staring at the man before him, his hands clasped in a wholly unconscious gesture of supplication.

The constable gradually edged himself backwards into the dining-room. Realising that he must take on himself the onus of decision, he gave a quiet look round.

"If that's the case," he said firmly, "we had better bring her in here. That sofa that you have there, sir, will do nicely, for her to be laid upon while they try to bring her round. We've got a doctor already——"

Mr. Tapster bent his head; he was too much bewildered to propose any other plan; and then he turned—turned to see his hall invaded by a strange and sinister quartette. It was composed of two policemen and of two of those loafers of whom he so greatly disapproved; they were carrying a hurdle, from which Mr. Tapster quickly averted his eyes.

But though he was able to shut out the sight he feared to see, he could not prevent himself from hearing certain sounds—those, for instance, made by the two loafers, who breathed with ostentatious difficulty as if to show they were unaccustomed to bearing even so comparatively light a burden as Flossy drowned.