The Magician by W. Somerset Maugham (ebook reader macos TXT) 📕

were heavy and his face deeply lined. He was exhausted. At length, after much tiresome changing, they reached Venning. She had expected a greater coolness in that northern country; but there was a hot blight over the place, and, as they walked to the inn from the little station, they could hardly drag their limbs along.

Arthur had telegraphed from London that they must have rooms ready, and the landlady expected them. She recognized Arthur. He passionately desired to ask her whether anything had happened since he went away, but forced himself to be silent for a while. He greeted her with cheerfulness.

“Well, Mrs. Smithers, what has been going on since I left you?” he cried.

“Of course you wouldn’t have heard, sir,” she answered gravely.

He began to tremble, but with an almost superhuman effort controlled his voice.

“Has the squire hanged himself?” he asked lightly.

“No sir⁠—but the poor lady’s dead.”

He did not answer. He seemed turned to stone. He stared with ghastly eyes.

“Poor thing!” said Susie, forcing herself to speak. “Was it⁠—very sudden?”

The woman turned to Susie, glad to have someone with whom to discuss the event. She took no notice of Arthur’s agony.

“Yes, mum; no one expected it. She died quite sudden like. She was only buried this morning.”

“What did she die of?” asked Susie, her eyes on Arthur.

She feared that he would faint. She wanted enormously to get him away, but did not know how to manage it.

“They say it was heart disease,” answered the landlady. “Poor thing! It’s a happy release for her.”

“Won’t you get us some tea, Mrs. Smithers? We’re very tired, and we should like something immediately.”

“Yes, miss. I’ll get it at once.”

The good woman bustled away. Susie quickly locked the door. She seized Arthur’s arm.

“Arthur, Arthur.”

She expected him to break down. She looked with agony at Dr. Porhoët, who stood helplessly by.

“You couldn’t have done anything if you’d been here. You heard what the woman said. If Margaret died of heart disease, your suspicions were quite without ground.”

He shook her away, almost violently.

“For God’s sake, speak to us,” cried Susie.

His silence terrified her more than would have done any outburst of grief. Dr. Porhoët went up to him gently.

“Don’t try to be brave, my friend. You will not suffer as much if you allow yourself a little weakness.”

“For Heaven’s sake leave me alone!” said Arthur, hoarsely.

They drew back and watched him silently. Susie heard their hostess come along to the sitting-room with tea, and she unlocked the door. The landlady brought in the things. She was on the point of leaving them when Arthur stopped her.

“How do you know that Mrs. Haddo died of heart disease?” he asked suddenly.

His voice was hard and stern. He spoke with a peculiar abruptness that made the poor woman look at him in amazement.

“Dr. Richardson told me so.”

“Had he been attending her?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Haddo had called him in several times to see his lady.”

“Where does Dr. Richardson live?”

“Why, sir, he lives at the white house near the station.”

She could not make out why Arthur asked these questions.

“Did Mr. Haddo go to the funeral?”

“Oh yes, sir. I’ve never seen anyone so upset.”

“That’ll do. You can go.”

Susie poured out the tea and handed a cup to Arthur. To her surprise, he drank the tea and ate some bread and butter. She could not understand him. The expression of strain, and the restlessness which had been so painful, were both gone from his face, and it was set now to a look of grim determination. At last he spoke to them.

“I’m going to see this doctor. Margaret’s heart was as sound as mine.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do?”

He turned on her with a peculiar fierceness.

“I’m going to put a rope round that man’s neck, and if the law won’t help me, by God, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Mais, mon ami, vous êtes fou,” cried Dr. Porhoët, springing up.

Arthur put out his hand angrily, as though to keep him back. The frown on his face grew darker.

“You must leave me alone. Good Heavens, the time has gone by for tears and lamentation. After all I’ve gone through for months, I can’t weep because Margaret is dead. My heart is dried up. But I know that she didn’t die naturally, and I’ll never rest so long as that fellow lives.”

He stretched out his hands and with clenched jaws prayed that one day he might hold the man’s neck between them, and see his face turn livid and purple as he died.

“I am going to this fool of a doctor, and then I shall go to Skene.”

“You must let us come with you,” said Susie.

“You need not be frightened,” he answered. “I shall not take any steps of my own till I find the law is powerless.”

“I want to come with you all the same.”

“As you like.”

Susie went out and ordered a trap to be got ready. But since Arthur would not wait, she arranged that it should be sent for them to the doctor’s door. They went there at once, on foot.

Dr. Richardson was a little man of five-and-fifty, with a fair beard that was now nearly white, and prominent blue eyes. He spoke with a broad Staffordshire accent. There was in him something of the farmer, something of the well-to-do tradesman, and at the first glance his intelligence did not impress one.

Arthur was shown with his two friends into the consulting-room, and after a short interval the doctor came in. He was dressed in flannels and had an old-fashioned racket in his hand.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but Mrs. Richardson has got a few lady-friends to tea, and I was just in the middle of a set.”

His effusiveness jarred upon Arthur, whose manner by contrast became more than usually abrupt.

“I have just learnt of the death of Mrs. Haddo. I was her guardian and her oldest friend. I came to you in the hope that you would be able to tell me something about it.”

Dr. Richardson gave him at once, the suspicious glance of a stupid man.

“I don’t know why you come to me