Mortal Coils

ar by drowning in a warm bath his seventh bride. The public imagination was stirred by this tale of a murder brought to light months after the date of the crime. Here, it was felt, was one

movement of the hand of God. There had been vague, but persistent, rumours in the neighbourhood; the police had taken action at last. Then came the exhumation order, the post-mortem examination, the inquest, the evidence of the experts, the ver

monstrous, a scandalous thing that the police should take such idle, malicious gossip seriously. When the inquest was over

experts had examined the body, and had found traces of arsenic; they w

er that, Mr. Hutton learned with surprise that there was enoug

ascinated, he watched it growing, growing, like some monstrous tropical pla

called. Mrs. Hutton, she remembered, had asked her to go and fetch her medicine. Mr. Hutton had volunteered to go instead; he had gone alone. Miss Spence-ah, the memory of the storm, the w

htened. It was all too fantastic to be taken seriously, an

ive on the day of Mrs. Hutton's death. He could see them refle

ent to bed with a headache. When he went to her

he bent down and kissed her bare shoulder. He had his own affairs, however, to think about. What had happened? How was it that the stupid gossip had actually come true? Emily had died of arsenic poisoning.

bbed out. "I shouldn't have loved you; I oughtn'

looked down in silence at the abjec

hing to you I sh

ngth, and looked at him with a kind of violen

ards her, clasped him, pressed herself against him. "I didn't know you lov

f the day, was transformed into a violent anger against her. "It's all such damned stupidity. Haven't you any conception of a civilised man's mentality? Do I look the sort of man who'd go about slaughtering people? I suppose you imagined I was so insanely in love with you that I could commit any fol

e things, he knew-odious things that he ought speedily t

ed. She might try to do something silly-throw herself out of the window or God knows what! He listened attentively; there was no sound. But he pictured her very clearly, tiptoeing across the room, lifting the sash as high as it would go, leaning out into the cold night air. It was raining a little. U

o many queer delightful people still unknown, so many lovely women never so much as seen. The huge white oxen would still be dragging their wains along the Tuscan roads, the cypresses would still go up, straight as pillars, to the blue heaven; but he would not be there to see them. And the sweet southern wines-Tear of Christ and Blood of Judas-others would drink them, not he. Others would walk down the obscure and narrow lanes between the bookshelves in the Londo

od came to him almost unsought from some long unopened chamber of the memory. "God bless Father and Mother, Tom and Cissie and th

k Doris's forgiveness. He found her lying on the couch at the foot of the bed. On the floor beside her

he said when she opened her eye

serious consequences. "You mustn't do this again

vent me?" she

you," he said. "Only yourself and your baby. Isn't it rather bad luck on your

time. "All right," sh

s chair, he woke up, stiff and cold, to find himself drained dry, as it were, of every emotion. He had become nothing but a tired and suffering carcase. At six o'clock he undressed