“I wish ’e was,” said Mr. Pinner, mournfully. “I wish ’e was anywhere but ’ere. The idea o’ making a delikit man like that a policeman. Why, I ’ardly touched ’im.”
“Promise me you won’t go out,” said his wife, tearfully.
“Out?” said Mr. Pinner, energetically; “out? D’ ye think I’m mad, or wot? I’m going to stay ’ere till the ship sails, then I’m going down in a cab. Wot d’ye think I want to go out for?”
He sat in a frightened condition in the darkest corner of the room, and spoke only to his wife in terms of great bitterness concerning the extraordinary brittleness of members of the police force. “I’ll never touch one on ’em agin as long as I live,” he protested. “If you brought one to me asleep on a chair I wouldn’t touch ’im.”
“It’s the drink as made you do it,” said his wife.
“I’ll never touch a drop agin,” affirmed Mr. Pinner, shivering.
His pipe had lost its flavour, and he sat pondering in silence until the absolute necessity of finding more reasons for his continued presence in the house occurred to him. Mrs. Pinner agreed with the idea, and together they drew up a list of improvements which would occupy every minute of his spare time.
He worked so feverishly that he became a by-word in the mouths of the other lodgers, and the only moments of security and happiness he knew were when he was working in the bedroom with the door locked. Mr. Smith attributed it to disease, and for one panic-stricken hour discussed with Mr. Hawk the possibility of its being infectious.
Slowly the days passed until at length there were only two left, and he was in such a nervous and overwrought state that Mrs. Pinner was almost as anxious as he was for the day of departure. To comfort him she read a paragraph from the paper to the effect that the police had given up the search in despair. Mr. Pinner shook his head at this, and said it was a trap to get him out. He also, with a view of defeating the ends of justice, set to work upon a hood for the perambulator.
He was employed on this when his wife went out to do a little shopping. The house when she returned was quiet, and there were no signs of anything unusual having occurred; but when she entered the room she started back with a cry at the sight which met her eyes. Mr. Pinner was in a crouching attitude on the sofa, his face buried in the cushion, while one leg waved spasmodically in the air.