Уильям Моэм - The Narrow Corner

“Well, after the accident I broke open his strong box. We’d bought a couple when we was at Merauke. I ’ad to, you know, to see if there was an address or anythin’ so as I could communicate with the sorrowin’ relatives. I’m very particular about that sort of thing. And d’you know, there wasn’t a shillin’ there. It was as empty as the palm of my ’and. The dirty little tyke carried all ’is money in ’is belt and ’e gone overboard with it.”

“It must have been a sell for you.”

“I never liked him, not from the beginnin’. Crooked ’e was. And mind you, it was me own money, most of it. You can’t tell me ’e could win like that playin’ on the square. I don’t know whatever I should ’ave done if I ’adn’t been able to sell the ketch to a Chink at Penang. It looked like I was bein’ made the goat.”

The doctor stared. It was a queer story. He wondered if there was any truth in it. Captain Nichols filled him with repulsion.

“I suppose you didn’t by any chance push him overboard when he was drunk?” he asked acidly.

“What d’you mean by that?”

“You didn’t know the money was in his belt. It was quite a packet for a bum like you. I wouldn’t put it past you to have done the dirty on the wretched boy.”

Captain Nichols went green in the face. His jaw dropped and a glassy stare came into his eyes. The doctor chuckled. That random shot of his had gone home. The scoundrel. But then he saw that the skipper was not looking at him, but at something behind; he turned round and saw a woman slowly ascending the steps from the street to the terrace. She was a shortish woman and stout, with a flat, pasty face and somewhat protruding eyes. They were strangely round and shone like boot–buttons. She wore a dress of black cloth that was a little too tight for her, and on her head a black straw hat, like a man’s. She was most unsuitably dressed for the tropics. She looked hot and out of temper.

“My God!” gasped the skipper, under his breath. “My old woman.”

She walked up to the table in a leisurely manner. She looked at the unhappy man with distaste in her eyes and he watched her in helpless fascination.

“What ’ave you done with your front teeth, captain?” she said.

He smiled ingratiatingly.

“Whoever thought of seein’ you, my dear,” he said. “This is a joyful surprise.”

“We’ll go and ’ave a cup of tea, captain.”

“Just as you say, my dear.”

He got up. She turned round and walked the way she came. Captain Nichols followed her. His face wore a very serious expression. The doctor reflected that now he would never know the truth about poor Fred Blake. He smiled grimly as he saw the skipper walk in silence down the street by his wife’s side.

A faint breeze rustled suddenly the leaves of the trees and a ray of sun found its way through them and danced for a moment by his side. He thought of Louise and her ash–blonde hair. She was like an enchantress in an old tale whom men loved to their destruction. She was an enigmatic figure going about her household duties with that steady composure and with serenity waiting for what would in due course befall her. He wondered what it would be. He sighed a little, for whatever it was, if the richest dreams the imagination offered came true, in the end it remained nothing but illusion.

THE END