Captains All and Others. William Wymark Jacobs

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СКАЧАТЬ the back of my head,” remarked Mr. Travers. “What are you going to do?”

      There was no reply.

      “What are you going to do?” repeated Mr. Travers, somewhat uneasily. “You look too nice to do anything hard; leastways, so far as I can judge through this crack.”

      There was a smothered exclamation, and then sounds of somebody moving hastily about the room and the swish of clothing hastily donned.

      “You ought to have done it before,” commented the thoughtful Mr. Travers. “It’s enough to give you your death of cold.”

      “Mind your business,” said the voice, sharply. “Now, if I let you out, will you promise to do exactly as I tell you?”

      “Honour bright,” said Mr. Travers, fervently.

      “I’m going to give Mr. Benn a lesson he won’t forget,” proceeded the other, grimly. “I’m going to fire off this gun, and then run down and tell him I’ve killed you.”

      “Eh?” said the amazed Mr. Travers. “Oh, Lord!”

      “H’sh! Stop that laughing,” commanded the voice. “He’ll hear you. Be quiet!”

      The key turned in the lock, and Mr. Travers, stepping forth, clapped his hand over his mouth and endeavoured to obey. Mrs. Waters, stepping back with the gun ready, scrutinized him closely.

      “Come on to the landing,” said Mr. Travers, eagerly. “We don’t want anybody else to hear. Fire into this.”

      He snatched a patchwork rug from the floor and stuck it up against the balusters. “You stay here,” said Mrs. Waters. He nodded.

      She pointed the gun at the hearth-rug, the walls shook with the explosion, and, with a shriek that set Mr. Travers’s teeth on edge, she rushed downstairs and, drawing back the bolts of the back door, tottered outside and into the arms of the agitated boatswain.

      “Oh! oh! oh!” she cried.

      “What—what’s the matter?” gasped the boatswain.

      The widow struggled in his arms. “A burglar,” she said, in a tense whisper. “But it’s all right; I’ve killed him.”

      “Kill—” stuttered the other. “Kill–Killed him?”

      Mrs. Waters nodded and released herself, “First shot,” she said, with a satisfied air.

      The boatswain wrung his hands. “Good heavens!” he said, moving slowly towards the door. “Poor fellow!”

      “Come back,” said the widow, tugging at his coat.

      “I was—was going to see—whether I could do anything for ‘im,” quavered the boatswain. “Poor fellow!”

      “You stay where you are,” commanded Mrs. Waters. “I don’t want any witnesses. I don’t want this house to have a bad name. I’m going to keep it quiet.”

      “Quiet?” said the shaking boatswain. “How?”

      “First thing to do,” said the widow, thoughtfully, “is to get rid of the body. I’ll bury him in the garden, I think. There’s a very good bit of ground behind those potatoes. You’ll find the spade in the tool-house.”

      The horrified Mr. Benn stood stock-still regarding her.

      “While you’re digging the grave,” continued Mrs. ‘Waters, calmly, “I’ll go in and clean up the mess.”

      The boatswain reeled and then fumbled with trembling fingers at his collar.

      Like a man in a dream he stood watching as she ran to the tool-house and returned with a spade and pick; like a man in a dream he followed her on to the garden.

      “Be careful,” she said, sharply; “you’re treading down my potatoes.”

      The boatswain stopped dead and stared at her. Apparently unconscious of his gaze, she began to pace out the measurements and then, placing the tools in his hands, urged him to lose no time.

      “I’ll bring him down when you’re gone,” she said, looking towards the house.

      The boatswain wiped his damp brow with the back of his hand. “How are you going to get it downstairs?” he breathed.

      “Drag it,” said Mrs. Waters, briefly.

      “Suppose he isn’t dead?” said the boat-swain, with a gleam of hope.

      “Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Waters. “Do you think I don’t know? Now, don’t waste time talking; and mind you dig it deep. I’ll put a few cabbages on top afterwards—I’ve got more than I want.”

      She re-entered the house and ran lightly upstairs. The candle was still alight and the gun was leaning against the bed-post; but the visitor had disappeared. Conscious of an odd feeling of disappointment, she looked round the empty room.

      “Come and look at him,” entreated a voice, and she turned and beheld the amused countenance of her late prisoner at the door.

      “I’ve been watching from the back window,” he said, nodding. “You’re a wonder; that’s what you are. Come and look at him.”

      Mrs. Waters followed, and leaning out of the window watched with simple pleasure the efforts of the amateur sexton. Mr. Benn was digging like one possessed, only pausing at intervals to straighten his back and to cast a fearsome glance around him. The only thing that marred her pleasure was the behaviour of Mr. Travers, who was struggling for a place with all the fervour of a citizen at the Lord Mayor’s show.

      “Get back,” she said, in a fierce whisper. “He’ll see you.”

      Mr. Travers with obvious reluctance obeyed, just as the victim looked up.

      “Is that you, Mrs. Waters?” inquired the boatswain, fearfully.

      “Yes, of course it is,” snapped the widow. “Who else should it be, do you think? Go on! What are you stopping for?”

      Mr. Benn’s breathing as he bent to his task again was distinctly audible. The head of Mr. Travers ranged itself once more alongside the widow’s. For a long time they watched in silence.

      “Won’t you come down here, Mrs. Waters?” called the boatswain, looking up so suddenly that Mr. Travers’s head bumped painfully against the side of the window. “It’s a bit creepy, all alone.”

      “I’m all right,” said Mrs. Waters.

      “I keep fancying there’s something dodging behind them currant bushes,” pursued the unfortunate Mr. Benn, hoarsely. “How you can stay there alone I can’t think. I thought I saw something looking over your shoulder just now. Fancy if it came creeping up behind and caught hold of you! The widow gave a sudden faint scream.

      “If you do that again!” she said, turning fiercely on Mr. Travers.

      “He put it into my head,” said the culprit, humbly; “I should never have thought of such a thing by myself. I’m one of the quietest and best-behaved–”

      “Make СКАЧАТЬ