it would seem that rachel corrie had forgotten her own weakness in her brother’s collapse. he had risen as usual, but it was evident that he was totally unfit for the business of the day. crouched in his chair by the kitchen fire he presented a sad spectacle of human misery and shame. it was after nine, and rachel was endeavouring to persuade him to eat some breakfast.
with scarcely any warning symington, coming from the shop, was upon them. his face was like chalk, his eyes were congested.
“corrie,” he cried hoarsely, “i give you three minutes to produce my zenith certificates!”
corrie seemed to shrink—that was all.
rachel placed herself in front of him.
“mr. symington,” she said steadily, “i took them, and ye can just make up your mind never to see them again.”
just for an instant he seemed baulked. then p. 277he said viciously: “hand them over, or see your brother go to jail!”
“for what? ’twas me that fired the postman’s house, but that’s all settled. anything else?”
he glared at her, uncertain how to proceed.
she did not wait for him. “mr. symington, two gentlemen were here last night, and i sent them to a house at richmond, surrey—”
“what? . . . devil, you’ve ruined me!” he fairly staggered. he did not ask how she had learned about the house.
“they’ll be there by now, i should say,” she went on unemotionally. “a dirty business, mr. symington. if i were you, i would make haste to quit this country. you’re a done man.”
“corrie,” he shouted, “you’re responsible! you sold me the shares. find me the certificates at once, or by—”
“dinna tell all the neighbours about it,” rachel said quietly. “i’m responsible. do what ye like wi’ me. but mind ye broke your part o’ the bargain by selling some o’ the shares secretly—”
“you fool, that was no legal bargain! but the law will recognize your brother’s receipt for—”
p. 278“gang to the law! . . . man, i can fancy ye sweating at the sight o’ a policeman!”
he looked death at her then, yet he must still use guile rather than force. suddenly he spoke.
“look here! i’ll make terms with you. i’ll give you a—a third.”
“i’ll keep what i’ve got—for kitty. so that’s the end, and ye can just get out o’ this and leave me to give john his breakfast.”
with a snarl he sprang, thrust her aside, and reached the side of corrie’s armchair; corrie leapt, sank back and became rigid, the muzzle of a revolver against his temple.
“get me the zeniths!”
rachel’s countenance was grey. at last she wet her lips, and said almost inaudibly—
“i’ll fetch them.” she turned to go.
“no,” whispered the voice of john corrie. “let him shoot. ye’ll keep your honour, and he’ll be a murderer. i’m no caring.”
in the silence steps were heard approaching. the voice of a girl called: “is mr. symington there? a wire has come for him.”
symington went to the door and took the orange envelope. then closing the door and putting his back to it—the revolver still in his hand—he opened the message. as he read he p. 279seemed to forget the presence of others. his face took on a bleak, sickly aspect.
this was the message—
“at anchor line office, glasgow, fifty pounds and ticket await mr. granton. one hour after dispatch of this, instructions will be sent local police. bearer zeniths are now subject to scrutiny at company’s london office before they can be negotiated. john risk, director.”
he read it thrice, and during the third reading he slipped, as if unconsciously, the revolver into his pocket. for a brief space he stood motionless, bowed as if in thought.
all at once he turned, opened the door, threw up his head, squared his shoulders, and went out.
dunford saw him no more.
john corrie still carries on business there. his sister’s money, which turned out to be twice as much as he thought, saved the situation. the only noticeable change in the man is his open respect for her. she writes to kitty a stiff letter twice a year.
sam, the postman, refused a new house, but accepted from risk a “soft job” in london.
* * * * *
p. 280on a night, six months after symington’s disappearance, our five friends occupied a box at the planet. the occasion was the 150th performance of the play, which was going as strong as ever. anthony west had ceased to grumble at having to accept a fat cheque every wednesday. kitty did not know what to do with all her money, but, as risk assured her, she had still time to think about it. her marriage day was fixed for a month thence.
the curtain fell on the last act.
“don’t wait for me,” said risk. “i’m going down in a minute to have a word with craven. i may look you up later, hilda,” he added with a more than usual affectionate glance at his sister.
that afternoon west had called upon him, and made a confession concerning hilda.
with leisurely haste the four lovers left the box. none of them had protested at the idea of not waiting for risk.
he gazed after them, smiling whimsically, possibly a little sadly.
“and so,” he murmured, “the poor dog got none.”
the end
