all my might and main, so that Jesus may grant her this great mercy. I
want to put in her heart the passionate desire to be punished so that at
the end, even if I offered to let her go, she would refuse. I want her
to feel that the bitter punishment of prison is the thank-offering that
she places at the feet of our Blessed Lord, who gave his life for her."
The days passed slowly. The whole household, intent on the wretched,
tortured woman downstairs, lived in a state of unnatural excitement. She
was like a victim that was being prepared for the savage rites of a
bloody idolatry. Her terror numbed her. She could not bear to let
Davidson out of her sight; it was only when he was with her that she had
courage, and she hung upon him with a slavish dependence. She cried a
great deal, and she read the Bible, and prayed. Sometimes she was
exhausted and apathetic. Then she did indeed look forward to her ordeal,
for it seemed to offer an escape, direct and concrete, from the anguish
she was enduring. She could not bear much longer the vague terrors
which now assailed her. With her sins she had put aside all personal
vanity, and she slopped about her room, unkempt and dishevelled, in her
tawdry dressing-gown. She had not taken off her night-dress for four
days, nor put on stockings. Her room was littered and untidy. Meanwhile
the rain fell with a cruel persistence. You felt that the heavens must
at last be empty of water, but still it poured down, straight and heavy,
with a maddening iteration, on the iron roof. Everything was damp and
clammy. There was mildew on the walls and on the boots that stood on the
floor. Through the sleepless nights the mosquitoes droned their angry
chant.
"If it would only stop raining for a single day it wouldn't be so bad,"
said Dr Macphail.
They all looked forward to the Tuesday when the boat for San Francisco
was to arrive from Sydney. The strain was intolerable. So far as Dr
Macphail was concerned, his pity and his resentment were alike
extinguished by his desire to be rid of the unfortunate woman. The
inevitable must be accepted. He felt he would breathe more freely when
the ship had sailed. Sadie Thompson was to be escorted on board by a
clerk in the governor's office. This person called on the Monday evening
and told Miss Thompson to be prepared at eleven in the morning. Davidson
was with her.
"I'll see that everything is ready. I mean to come on board with her
myself."
Miss Thompson did not speak.
When Dr Macphail blew out his candle and crawled cautiously under his
mosquito curtains, he gave a sigh of relief.
"Well, thank God that's over. By this time to-morrow she'll be gone."
"Mrs Davidson will be glad too. She says he's wearing himself to a
shadow," said Mrs Macphail. "She's a different woman."
"Who?"
"Sadie. I should never have thought it possible. It makes one humble."
Dr Macphail did not answer, and presently he fell asleep. He was tired
out, and he slept more soundly than usual.
He was awakened in the morning by a hand placed on his arm, and,
starting up, saw Horn by the side of his bed. The trader put his finger
on his mouth to prevent any exclamation from Dr Macphail and beckoned to
him to come. As a rule he wore shabby ducks, but now he was barefoot and
wore only the _lava-lava_ of the natives. He looked suddenly savage, and
Dr Macphail, getting out of bed, saw that he was heavily tattooed. Horn
made him a sign to come on to the verandah. Dr Macphail got out of bed
and followed the trader out.
"Don't make a noise," he whispered. "You're wanted. Put on a coat and
some shoes. Quick."
Dr Macphail's first thought was that something had happened to Miss
Thompson.
"What is it? Shall I bring my instruments?"
"Hurry, please, hurry."
Dr Macphail crept back into the bedroom, put on a waterproof over his
pyjamas, and a pair of rubber-soled shoes. He rejoined the trader, and
together they tiptoed down the stairs. The door leading out to the road
was open and at it were standing half a dozen natives.
"What is it?" repeated the doctor.
"Come along with me," said Horn.
He walked out and the doctor followed him. The natives came after them
in a little bunch. They crossed the road and came on to the beach. The
doctor saw a group of natives standing round some object at the water's
edge. They hurried along, a couple of dozen yards perhaps, and the
natives opened out as the doctor came up. The trader pushed him
forwards. Then he saw, lying half in the water and half out, a dreadful
object, the body of Davidson. Dr Macphail bent down--he was not a man to
lose his head in an emergency--and turned the body over. The throat was
cut from ear to ear, and in the right hand was still the razor with
which the deed was done.
"He's quite cold," said the doctor. "He must have been dead some time."
"One of the boys saw him lying there on his way to work just now and
came and told me. Do you think he did it himself?"
"Yes. Someone ought to go for the police."
Horn said something in the native tongue, and two youths started off.
"We must leave him here till they come," said the doctor.
"They mustn't take him into my house. I won't have him in my house."
"You'll do what the authorities say," replied the doctor sharply. "In
point of fact I expect they'll take him to the mortuary."
They stood waiting where they were. The trader took a cigarette from a
fold in his _lava-lava_ and gave one to Dr Macphail. They smoked while
they stared at the corpse. Dr Macphail could not understand.
"Why do you think he did it?" asked Horn.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. In a little while native police came
along, under the charge of a marine, with a stretcher, and immediately
afterwards a couple of naval officers and a naval doctor. They managed
everything in a businesslike manner.
"What about the wife?" said one of the officers.
"Now that you've come I'll go back to the house and get some things on.
I'll see that it's broken to her. She'd better not see him till he's
been fixed up a little."
"I guess that's right," said the naval doctor.
When Dr Macphail went back he found his wife nearly dressed.
"Mrs Davidson's in a dreadful state about her husband," she said to him
as soon as he appeared. "He hasn't been to bed all night. She heard him
leave Miss Thompson's room at two, but he went out. If he's been walking
about since then he'll be absolutely dead."
Dr Macphail told her what had happened and asked her to break the news
to Mrs Davidson.
"But why did he do it?" she asked, horror-stricken.
"I don't know."
"But I can't. I can't."
"You must."
She gave him a frightened look and went out. He heard her go into Mrs
Davidson's room. He waited a minute to gather himself together and then
began to shave and wash. When he was dressed he sat down on the bed and
waited for his wife. At last she came.
"She wants to see him," she said.
"They've taken him to the mortuary. We'd better go down with her. How
did she take it?"
"I think she's stunned. She didn't cry. But she's trembling like a
leaf."
"We'd better go at once."
When they knocked at her door Mrs Davidson came out. She was very pale,
but dry-eyed. To the doctor she seemed unnaturally composed. No word was
exchanged, and they set out in silence down the road. When they arrived
at the mortuary Mrs Davidson spoke.
"Let me go in and see him alone."
They stood aside. A native opened a door for her and closed it behind
her. They sat down and waited. One or two white men came and talked to
them in undertones. Dr Macphail told them again what he knew of the
tragedy. At last the door was quietly opened and Mrs Davidson came out.
Silence fell upon them.
"I'm ready to go back now," she said.
Her voice was hard and steady. Dr Macphail could not understand the look
in her eyes. Her pale face was very stern. They walked back slowly,
never saying a word, and at last they came round the bend on the other
side of which stood their house. Mrs Davidson gave a gasp, and for a
moment they stopped still. An incredible sound assaulted their ears. The
gramophone which had been silent for so long was playing, playing
ragtime loud and harsh.
"What's that?" cried Mrs Macphail with horror.
"Let's go on," said Mrs Davidson.
They walked up the steps and entered the hall. Miss Thompson was
standing at her door, chatting with a sailor. A sudden change had taken
place in her. She was no longer the cowed drudge of the last days. She
was dressed in all her finery, in her white dress, with the high shiny
boots over which her fat legs bulged in their cotton stockings; her hair
was elaborately arranged; and she wore that enormous hat covered with
gaudy flowers. Her face was painted, her eyebrows were boldly black, and
her lips were scarlet. She held herself erect. She was the flaunting
quean that they had known at first. As they came in she broke into a
loud, jeering laugh; and then, when Mrs Davidson involuntarily stopped,
she collected the spittle in her mouth and spat. Mrs Davidson cowered
back, and two red spots rose suddenly to her cheeks. Then, covering her
face with her hands, she broke away and ran quickly up the stairs. Dr
Macphail was outraged. He pushed past the woman into her room.
"What the devil are you doing?" he cried. "Stop that damned machine."
He went up to it and tore the record off. She turned on him.
"Say, doc, you can that stuff with me. What the hell are you doin' in my
room?"
"What do you mean?" he cried. "What d'you mean?"
She gathered herself together. No one could describe the scorn of her
expression or the contemptuous hatred she put into her answer.
"You men! You filthy, dirty pigs! You're all the same, all of you. Pigs!
Pigs!"
Dr Macphail gasped. He understood.
VIII
_Envoi_
When your ship leaves Honolulu they hang _leis_ round your neck,
garlands of sweet smelling flowers. The wharf is crowded and the band
plays a melting Hawaiian tune. The people on board throw coloured
streamers to those standing below, and the side of the ship is gay with
the thin lines of paper, red and green and yellow and blue. When the
ship moves slowly away the streamers break softly, and it is like the
breaking of human ties. Men and women are joined together for a moment
by a gaily coloured strip of paper, red and blue and green and yellow,
and then life separates them and the paper is sundered, so easily, with
a little sharp snap. For an hour the fragments trail down the hull and
then they blow away. The flowers of your garlands fade and their scent
is oppressive. You throw them overboard.
THE END
* * * * *
BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM
OF HUMAN BONDAGE
THE MOON AND SIXPENCE
THE TREMBLING OF A LEAF
MRS. CRADDOCK
THE EXPLORER
THE MAGICIAN
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY