I realised, with a sense of shock, that a hearse stood before the door. What had happened? I looked at my watch. It was after six. The train which was to bear the coffin to Cressland was due to start in something like an hour. What an idiot I had been! Better have left everything else undone rather than run the risk of being too late.
Suppose the undertaker's men were already in the room, and Mr. Babbacombe--mistaking the cause of my non-arrival, and setting it down as intentional--had realised that their purpose was to prison him in that narrow box, and shut him off for ever from the light of day, what might not be taking place! I leaped from the cab and rushed up the steps. The landlord met me in the hall.
'The undertaker's men have arrived, sir. They are closing the coffin now.'
'Closing the coffin!'
I waited to hear no more. Never before had I mounted a flight of stairs as I did those then. I was up them in a hop, skip, and jump; not pausing to consider what I was to say or do when I reached the chamber of the supposititious dead, but only anxious to get there.
When I got there it was already too late. I saw it at a glance. Never shall I forget with what sensations!
Four men were in the room, all dressed in black. One had his hat on; the hats of the other three were together on a single chair. An oak coffin stood on a black velvet pall, which doubtless covered trestles. Two men, one at either end, were screwing on the lid. A third was prowling about the room. The fourth--the one with his hat on--was standing, with his hands in his pockets, surveying the proceedings. They all glanced towards me as I entered, unmistakably taken by surprise. The fourth man, withdrawing his hands from his pockets, made haste to remove his hat. The prowler came hurrying towards the others.
'You're--you're not closing the coffin?'
'Yes, sir. By Mr. Tattenham's instructions.'
'But it's not time.'