In the bright light of day his courage returned, and, dismissing all
else from his mind, he thought only of how to escape the consequences
of his crime. Inch by inch he examined the room and the hall. Then he
went into the garden, and, going round the shed, satisfied himself
that no crack or hole existed that might reveal his secret. He walked
the length of the garden and looked about him. The nearest house was
a hundred yards away, and the bottom of the garden screened by trees.
Near the angle of the fence he would dig a shallow trench and over it
pile up a rockery of bricks and stones and earth. Once started he could
take his time about it, and every day would make him more and more
secure. There was an air of solidity and permanency about a rockery
that nothing else could give.
He was back in the house when the charwoman arrived, and in a few words
told her of his accident of the night before. “I cleaned up the--the
mess as well as I could,” he concluded.
Mrs. Howe nodded. “I’ll have a go at it while you’re having your
breakfast,” she remarked. “Good job for you, sir, that you ain’t one o’
them as faints at the sight of blood.”
She brought coffee and bacon into the little back dining-room, and
Keller, as he sat drinking his coffee and trying to eat, heard her at
work in the study. He pushed away his plate at last, and filling a pipe
from which all flavour had departed sat smoking and thinking.
He was interrupted by Mrs. Howe. She stood in the doorway with a
question which numbed his brain, and for a time arrested speech.
“Eh?” he said at last.
“Key of the bicycle-shed,” repeated the woman, staring at him. “You had
a couple o’ my dusters to clean your bicycle with.”
Keller felt in his pockets, thinking, thinking. “H’mm!” he said at
last, “I’m afraid I’ve mislaid it. I’ll look for it presently.”
Mrs. Howe nodded. “You do look bad,” she said, with an air of concern.
“P’r’aps you hurt yourself more than what you think.”
Keller forced a smile and shook his head, sinking back in his chair as
she vanished, and trying to control his quivering limbs.
For a long time he sat inert, listening dully to the movements of Mrs.
Howe as she bustled to and fro. He heard her washing the step at the
back door, and, after that, a rasping, grating noise to which at first
he paid but little heed. Then there was a faint, musical chinking as of
keys knocking together. _Keys!_
He sprang from his chair like a madman, and dashed to the door. Mrs.
Howe, with a bunch of odd keys tied on a string, had inserted one in
the lock of the bicycle-shed, and was striving to turn it.
“Stop!” cried Keller, in a dreadful voice. “STOP!”
He snatched the keys from her, and, flinging them from him, stood
mouthing dumbly at her. The fear in her eyes recalled him to his senses.
“Spoil the lock,” he muttered, “spoil the lock. Sorry. I didn’t mean to
shout. No sleep all night. Neuralgia; ’fraid my nerves are wrong.”
The woman’s face relaxed and her eyes softened. “I saw you weren’t
yourself as soon as I saw you this morning,” she exclaimed.
She went back into the house, but he thought she eyed him curiously as
she passed. She resumed her work, but in a subdued fashion, and, two or
three times that morning meeting his eyes, nervously turned away her
own. He realised at last that he was behaving in an unusual fashion
altogether. In and out of the house, and, in the garden, never far
from the shed.
By lunch-time he had regained control of himself. He opened a bottle
of beer, and, congratulating Mrs. Howe upon the grilling of the chops,
went on to speak of her husband and the search for work which had been
his only occupation since his marriage ten years before. Some of the
fear went out of the woman’s eyes--but not all, and it was with obvious
relief that she left the room.
For some time after lunch Keller stayed in the dining-room, and that
in itself was unusual. Two or three times he got up and resolved, for
the sake of appearances, to take a short walk, but the shed held him.
He dare not leave it unguarded. With a great effort he summoned up
sufficient resolution to take him to the bottom of the garden and start
his gruesome task.
He dug roughly, avoiding the shape which might have aroused comment
from any chance visitor. The ground was soft and, in spite of his
injured hand, he made good progress, breaking off at frequent intervals
to listen, or to move aside and obtain an unobstructed view of the shed.
With a short break for tea he went on with his task until he was called
in to his simple meal at seven. The manual labour had done him good
and his appearance was almost normal. To Mrs. Howe he made a casual
reference to his afternoon’s work and questioned where to obtain the
best rock-plants.
With her departure after she had cleared away, fear descended upon him
again. The house became uncanny and the shed a place of unspeakable
horror. Suppose his nerve failed and he found himself unable to open
it! For an hour he paced up and down in the long twilight, waiting for
the dark.
It came at last, and fighting down his fears and nausea, he drew the
garden-barrow up to the shed, and took the key from his pocket. He
walked to the front gate, and looked up and down the silent road. Then
he came back and, inserting the key in the lock, opened the door, and,
in the light of an electric torch, stood looking down at what he had
placed there the night before.
With his ears alert for the slightest sound, he took the inhabitant of
the shed by the shoulders, and, dragging it outside, strove to lift
it into the barrow. He succeeded at last, and, with the rigid body
balanced precariously and the dead face looking up into his, seized the
handles and slowly and silently took Martle to the place prepared for
him.
He did not leave him for a long time. Not until the earth was piled
high above him in a circular mound and a score or two of bricks formed
the first beginnings of a rockery. Then he walked slowly up the garden,
and, after attending to the shed, locked it up and went indoors.
The disposal of the body gave a certain measure of relief. He would
live, with time for repentance, and, perhaps, for forgetting. He washed
in the scullery, and then, fearing the shadows upstairs, drew the
heavy curtains in the dining-room to shut in the light and settled
himself in an easy chair. He drank until his senses were deadened; his
nerves quietened, his aching limbs relaxed, and he fell into a heavy
sleep.