Уильям Моэм - The Narrow Corner

“Don’t be so silly,” said the doctor.

“Why is it silly? When you love someone like Louise it’s horrible to think that you’ve lain in strange arms and that you’ve kissed bought and painted mouths. I feel unworthy enough of her as it is. I might at least have brought her a clean and decent body.”

“Oh, my dear boy!”

Dr. Saunders thought the young man was talking nonsense, but he felt no inclination to argue with him. It was getting late and his own concerns called him. He finished his drink.

“I have never had any sympathy with the ascetic attitude. The wise man combines the pleasures of the senses and the pleasures of the spirit in such a way as to increase the satisfaction he gets from both. The most valuable thing I have learnt from life is to regret nothing. Life is short, nature is hostile, and man is ridiculous; but oddly enough most misfortunes have their compensations, and with a certain humour and a good deal of horse–sense one can make a fairly good job of what is after all a matter of very small consequence.”

With that he got up and left.

NEXT morning, comfortably seated on the verandah of the hotel, with his legs up, Dr. Saunders was reading a book. He had just learnt from the steamship office that news had been received of the arrival of a ship on the following day but one. It stopped at Bali, which would give him the opportunity of seeing that attractive island, and from there it would be easy to get to Surabaya. He was enjoying his holiday. He had forgotten that it was so pleasant to have nothing in the world to do.

“A man of leisure,” he murmured to himself. “By God, I might almost pass for a gentleman.”

Presently Fred Blake strolled along the road, nodded and joined him.

“You haven’t received a cable, have you?” he asked.

“No, that’s the last thing I expect.”

“I was in the post–office a minute ago. The man asked me if my name was Saunders.”

“That’s funny. No one has the least notion I’m here; nor do I know anyone in the world who wants to communicate with me urgently enough to waste money on a cablegram.”

But a surprise was in store for him. Barely an hour had passed when a youth rode up to the hotel on a bicycle and the manager shortly afterwards came out with him on to the verandah and asked Dr. Saunders to sign for a cable that had just arrived for him.

“What an extraordinary thing!” he cried. “Old Kim Ching is the only man who can even suspect that I’m here.”

But when he opened the cablegram he was more astonished still.

“That’s a damned idiotic thing,” he said. “It’s in code. Who in God’s name can have done such a silly thing as that? How can I be expected to make head or tail of it?”

“May I have a look?” asked Fred. “If it’s one of the well–known codes I might be able to tell you. One’s sure to be able to get all the usual code–books here.”

The doctor handed him the slip of paper. It was a numeral code. The words, or phrases, were represented by groups of numbers and the termination of each group was clearly indicated by a zero.

“The commercial codes use made–up words,” said Fred.

“I know as much as that.”

“I’ve made rather a study of codes. Been a hobby of mine. D’you mind if I have a shot at deciphering it?”

“Not a bit.”

“They say it’s only a question of time before you can find the secret of any code. There’s one fellow in the British service, they say, who can solve the most complicated code anyone can invent in twenty–four hours.”

“Go right ahead.”

“I’ll go inside. I must have pens and paper.”

Dr. Saunders suddenly remembered. He reached out.

“Let me just see that cable again.”

Fred handed it to him and he looked for the place of despatch. Melbourne. He did not give it back.

“Is it for you by any chance?”

Fred hesitated for an instant. Then he smiled. When he wanted to cajole anyone he could be very ingratiating.

“Well, it is, as a matter of fact.”

“Why did you have it addressed to me?”

“Well, I thought that me living on the Fenton and all that, perhaps they wouldn’t deliver it, or they might want proof of identity or something. I thought it would save a lot of trouble if I had it sent to you.”

“You’ve got your nerve with you.”

“I knew you were a sport.”

“And that little realistic detail about your being asked at the post–office if your name was Saunders?”

“Pure invention, old man,” Fred answered airily.

Dr. Saunders chuckled.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been able to make head or tail of it and torn it up?”

“I knew it couldn’t arrive till to–day. They only got the address yesterday.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“The people who sent the cable,” replied Fred, with a smile.

“Then it’s not entirely for the pleasure of my society that you have been giving me your company this morning?”

“Not entirely.”

The doctor gave him back the flimsy.

“You’ve got the cheek of the devil. Take it. I suppose you’ve got the key in your pocket.”

“In my head.”

He went into the hotel. Dr. Saunders began to read again. But he read with divided attention. He could not entirely dismiss from his head the incident that had just occurred. It amused him not a little and he wondered again what was the mystery in which the boy was involved. He was discreet. He had never so much as dropped a hint upon which an agile intelligence might work. There was nothing to go upon. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. After all, the matter was no business of his. He sought to dissipate his baffled curiosity by pretending to himself that he didn’t care a damn and made a resolute effort to attend to what he was reading. But after an interval Fred came back on to the verandah.

“Have a drink, doctor?” he said.

His eyes were shining, his face was flushed, but at the same time he bore an air of some bewilderment. He was excited. He wanted to burst out laughing, but since he could give no reason for hilarity plainly was trying to control himself.

“Had good news?” asked the doctor.

Suddenly Fred could restrain himself no longer. He burst into a peal of laughter.

“As good as all that?”

“I don’t know if it’s good or bad. It’s awfully funny. I wish I could tell you. It’s strange. It makes me feel rather queer. I don’t quite know what to make of it. I must have a bit of time to get used to it. I don’t quite know if I’m standing on my head or on my heels.”

Dr. Saunders looked at him reflectively. The boy seemed to have gained vitality. There had always been something hang–dog in his expression that took away from his unusual good looks. Now he looked candid and open. You would have thought a load had been lifted from his shoulders. The drinks came.

“I want you to drink to the memory of a deceased friend of mine,” he said, seeing his glass.

“By name?”

“Smith.”

He emptied the glass in a draught.

“I must ask Erik if we can’t go somewhere this afternoon. I feel like walking my legs off. A bit of exercise would do me good.”

“When are you sailing?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I like it here. I wouldn’t mind staying for a bit. I wish you could have seen the view from the top of that volcano Erik and I went up yesterday. Pretty, I can tell you. The world’s not a bad old place, is it?”

A buggy drawn by a small shabby horse came trundling shakily down the road, raising a cloud of dust, and stopped at the hotel. Louise was driving and her father sat by her side. He got out and walked up the steps. He had in his hand a flat brown–paper parcel.