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The Brute
by
“It used to make me sick to think of her going about the world murdering people.”
Jermyn approached the handkerchief a little nearer to the grate and groaned. It was simply a habit he had.
“I’ve seen her once,” he declared, with mournful indifference. “She had a house –“
The stranger in tweeds turned to stare down at him, surprised.
“She had three houses,” he corrected, authoritatively. But Jermyn was not to be contradicted.
“She had a house, I say,” he repeated, with dismal obstinacy. “A great, big, ugly, white thing. You could see it from miles away — sticking up.”
“So you could,” assented the other readily. “It was old Colchester’s notion, though he was always threatening to give her up. He couldn’t stand her racket any more, he declared; it was too much of a good thing for him; he would wash his hands of her, if he never got hold of another — and so on. I daresay he would have chucked her, only — it may surprise you — his missus wouldn’t hear of it. Funny, eh? But with women, you never know how they will take a thing, and Mrs. Colchester, with her moustaches and big eyebrows, set up for being as strong-minded as they make them. She used to walk about in a brown silk dress, with a great gold cable flopping about her bosom. You should have heard her snapping out: ‘Rubbish!’ or ‘Stuff and nonsense!’ I daresay she knew when she was well off. They had no children, and had never set up a home anywhere. When in England she just made shift to hang out anyhow in some cheap hotel or boarding-house. I daresay she liked to get back to the comforts she was used to. She knew very well she couldn’t gain by any change. And, moreover, Colchester, though a first-rate man, was not what you may call in his first youth, and, perhaps, she may have thought that he wouldn’t be able to get hold of another (as he used to say) so easily. Anyhow, for one reason or another, it was ‘Rubbish’ and ‘Stuff and nonsense’ for the good lady. I overheard once young Mr. Apse himself say to her confidentially: ‘I assure you, Mrs. Colchester, I am beginning to feel quite unhappy about the name she’s getting for herself.’ ‘Oh,’ says she, with her deep little hoarse laugh, ‘if one took notice of all the silly talk,’ and she showed Apse all her ugly false teeth at once. ‘It would take more than that to make me lose my confidence in her, I assure you,’ says she.”
At this point, without any change of facial expression, Mr. Stonor emitted a short, sardonic laugh. It was very impressive, but I didn’t see the fun. I looked from one to another. The stranger on the hearthrug had an ugly smile.
“And Mr. Apse shook both Mrs. Colchester’s hands, he was so pleased to hear a good word said for their favourite. All these Apses, young and old you know, were perfectly infatuated with that abominable, dangerous –“
“I beg your pardon,” I interrupted, for he seemed to be addressing himself exclusively to me; “but who on earth are you talking about?”
“I am talking of the Apse family,” he answered, courteously.
I nearly let out a damn at this. But just then the respected Miss Blank put her head in, and said that the cab was at the door, if Mr. Stonor wanted to catch the eleven three up.
At once the senior pilot arose in his mighty bulk and began to struggle into his coat, with awe-inspiring upheavals. The stranger and I hurried impulsively to his assistance, and directly we laid our hands on him he became perfectly quiescent. We had to raise our arms very high, and to make efforts. It was like caparisoning a docile elephant. With a “Thanks, gentlemen,” he dived under and squeezed himself through the door in a great hurry.