“Well, Gray,” said Cropper, standing up with the scalpel and forceps in his hands, “there it is if you want to see it. Typical carcinoma. Now we can sign the certificates with a clear conscience. I’ll just put in a stitch or two, and then we can put him back in his coffin. I suppose you have got the forms?”
“They are downstairs,” said Mr. Morris. “When we have got him back I will show you the way down.”
This, however, was unnecessary, as there was only one staircase, and I was not a stranger. Accordingly, when we had replaced the body, we took our leave of Mr. Morris and departed; and, glancing back as I passed out of the door, I saw him driving in the screws with the ready skill of a cabinetmaker.
The filling-up of the forms was a portentous business which was carried out in the drawing-room under the superintendence of Mrs. Morris, and was watched with respectful interest by the two spinsters. When it was finished and I had handed the registration certificate to Mrs. Morris, Cropper gathered up the forms “B” and “C,” and slipped them into a long envelope on which the Medical Referee’s address was printed.
“I will post this off tonight,” said he; “and you will send in Form A, Mrs. Morris, when you have filled it in.”
“I have sent it off already,” she replied.
“Good,” said Dr. Cropper. “Then that is all; and now I must run away. Can I put you down anywhere, Gray?”
“Thank you, no,” I replied. “I thought of taking a walk along the towpath, if you can tell me how to get down to it, Mrs. Morris.”
“I can’t,” she replied. “But when Dr. Cropper has gone, I will run up and ask my husband. I daresay he knows.”
We escorted Cropper along the passage to the door, which he reached without mishap, and having seen him into his brougham, turned back to the hall, where Mrs. Morris ascended the stairs, and I went into the drawing-room, where the two spinsters appeared to be preparing for departure. In a couple of minutes Mrs. Morris returned, and seeing both the ladies standing, said: “You are not going yet, Miss Dewsnep. You must have some refreshment before you go. Besides, I thought you wanted to see Mr. Bendelow again.”
“So we should,” said Miss Dewsnep. “Just a little peep, to see how he looks after—”
“I will take you up in a minute,” interrupted Mrs. Morris. “When Dr. Gray has gone.” Then addressing me, she said: “My husband says that you can get down to the towpath through that alley nearly opposite. There is a flight of steps at the end which comes right out on the path.”
I thanked her for the direction, and having bidden farewell to the spinsters, was once more escorted along the passage and finally launched into the outer world.
IX
A Strange Misadventure
Although I had been in harness but a few weeks, it was with a pleasant sense of freedom that I turned from the door and crossed the road towards the alley. My time was practically my own, for, though I was remaining with Dr. Cornish until the end of the week, he was now in charge, and my responsibilities were at an end.
The alley was entered by an arched opening, so narrow that I had never suspected it of being a public thoroughfare, and I now threaded it with my shoulders almost touching the walls. Whither it finally led I have no idea, for when I reached another arched opening in the left hand wall and saw that this gave on a flight of stone steps, I descended the latter and found myself on the towpath. At the foot of the steps I stood awhile and looked about me. The moon was nearly full, and shone brightly on the opposite side of the canal, but the towpath was in deep shadow, being flanked by a high wall, behind which were the houses of the adjoining streets. Looking back—that is, to my left—I could just make out the bridge and the adjoining buildings, all their unlovely details blotted out by the thin night-haze, which reduced them to mere flat shapes of grey. A little nearer, one or two spots of ruddy light with wavering reflections beneath them, marked the cabin windows of the sloop, and her mast, rising above the grey obscurity, was clearly visible against the sky.
Naturally, I turned in that direction, sauntering luxuriously and filling my pipe as I went. Doubtless, by day the place was sordid enough in aspect—though it is hard to vulgarize a navigable waterway—but now, in the moonlit haze, the scene was almost romantic. And it was astonishingly quiet and peaceful. From above, beyond the high wall, the noises of the streets came subdued and distant, like sounds from another world; but here there was neither sound nor movement. The towpath was utterly deserted, and the only sign of human life was the glimmer of light from the sloop.
It was delightfully restful. I found myself treading the gravel lightly not to disturb the grateful silence, and as I strolled along, enjoying my pipe, I let my thoughts ramble idly from one topic to another. Somewhere above me, in that rather mysterious house, Simon Bendelow was lying in his narrow bed, the wasted, yellow face looking out into the darkness through that queer little celluloid window, or perhaps Miss Dewsnep and her friend were even now taking their farewell peep at him. I looked up, but, of course, the house was not visible from the towpath, nor was I now able to guess at its position.
A little farther, and the hull of
