LITMIR.BIZ

      Between SCENE I. and SCENE II.—Thirty hours.

      Between SCENE II. and SCENE III.—Two months.

      SCENE I

      It is six o'clock of a November evening, in KEITH DARRANT'S study. A large, dark-curtained room where the light from a single reading-lamp falling on Turkey carpet, on books beside a large armchair, on the deep blue-and-gold coffee service, makes a sort of oasis before a log fire. In red Turkish slippers and an old brown velvet coat, KEITH DARRANT sits asleep. He has a dark, clean-cut, clean-shaven face, dark grizzling hair, dark twisting eyebrows.

      KEITH. Who's there?

      LARRY. [In a stifled voice] Only I—Larry.

      KEITH. [Half-waked] Come in! I was asleep. [He does not turn his head, staring sleepily at the fire.]

      The sound of LARRY's breathing can be heard.

      [Turning his head a little] Well, Larry, what is it?

      [Staring] Are you ill?

      LARRY stands still again and heaves a deep sigh.

      KEITH. [Rising, with his back to the fire, and staring at his brother] What is it, man? [Then with a brutality born of nerves suddenly ruffled] Have you committed a murder that you stand there like a fish?

      LARRY. [In a whisper] Yes, Keith.

      KEITH. [With vigorous disgust] By Jove! Drunk again! [In a voice changed by sudden apprehension] What do you mean by coming here in this state? I told you– If you weren't my brother–! Come here, where I can we you! What's the matter with you, Larry?

      LARRY. It's true.

      KEITH. [Angry, bewildered-in a low voice] What in God's name is this nonsense?

      Come, Larry! Pull yourself together and drop exaggeration! What on earth do you mean?

      LARRY. [In a shrill outburst] It's true, I tell you; I've killed a man.

      KEITH. [Bracing himself; coldly] Be quiet!

      LARRY lifts his hands and wrings them.

      [Utterly taken aback] Why come here and tell me this?

      LARRY. Whom should I tell, Keith? I came to ask what I'm to do— give myself up, or what?

      KEITH. When—when—what–?

      LARRY. Last night.

      KEITH. Good God! How? Where? You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning. Here, drink this coffee; it'll clear your head.

      LARRY. My head! Yes! It's like this, Keith—there's a girl–

      KEITH. Women! Always women, with you! Well?

      LARRY. A Polish girl. She—her father died over here when she was sixteen, and left her all alone. There was a mongrel living in the same house who married her—or pretended to. She's very pretty, Keith. He left her with a baby coming. She lost it, and nearly starved. Then another fellow took her on, and she lived with him two years, till that brute turned up again and made her go back to him. He used to beat her black and blue. He'd left her again when—I met her. She was taking anybody then. [He stops, passes his hand over his lips, looks up at KEITH, and goes on defiantly] I never met a sweeter woman, or a truer, that I swear. Woman! She's only twenty now! When I went to her last night, that devil had found her out again. He came for me—a bullying, great, hulking brute. Look! [He touches a dark mark on his forehead] I took his ugly throat, and when I let go—[He stops and his hands drop.]

      KEITH. Yes?

      LARRY. [In a smothered voice] Dead, Keith. I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him—to h-help me. [Again he wrings his hands.]

      KEITH. [In a hard, dry voice] What did you do then?

      LARRY. We—we sat by it a long time.

      KEITH. Well?

      LARRY. Then I carried it on my back down the street, round a corner, to an archway.

      KEITH. How far?

      LARRY. About fifty yards.

      KEITH. Was—did anyone see?

      LARRY. No.

      KEITH. What time?

      LARRY. Three in the morning.

      KEITH. And then?

      LARRY. Went back to her.

      KEITH. Why—in heaven's name?

      LARRY. She way lonely and afraid. So was I, Keith.

      KEITH. Where is this place?

      LARRY. Forty-two Borrow Square, Soho.

      KEITH. And the archway?

      LARRY. Corner of Glove Lane.

      KEITH. Good God! Why, I saw it in the paper this morning. They were talking of it in the Courts! [He snatches the evening paper from his armchair, and runs it over anal reads] Here it is again. "Body of a man was found this morning under an archway in Glove Lane. From marks about the throat grave suspicion of foul play are entertained. The body had apparently been robbed." My God! [Suddenly he turns] You saw this in the paper and dreamed it. D'you understand, Larry?—you dreamed it.

      LARRY. [Wistfully] If only I had, Keith!

      [KEITH makes a movement of his hands almost like his brother's.]

      KEITH. Did you take anything from the-body?

      LARRY. [Drawing au envelope from his pocket] This dropped out while we were struggling.

      KEITH. [Snatching it and reading] "Patrick Walenn"—Was that his name? "Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London." [Stooping, he puts it in the fire] No!—that makes me–[He bends to pluck it out, stays his hand, and stamps it suddenly further in with his foot] What in God's name made you come here and tell me? Don't you know I'm—I'm within an ace of a Judgeship?

      LARRY. [Simply] Yes. You must know what I ought to do. I didn't, mean to kill him, Keith. I love the girl—I love her. What shall I do?

      KEITH. Love!

      LARRY. [In a flash] Love!—That swinish brute! A million creatures die every day, and not one of them deserves death as he did. But but I feel it here. [Touching his heart] Such an awful clutch, Keith. Help me if you can, old man. I may be no good, but I've never hurt a fly if I could help it. [He buries his face in his hands.]

      KEITH. Steady, Larry! Let's think it out. You weren't

Скачать книгу