The Impending Sword: A Novel (Vol. 2 of 3)Yates, Edmund
General
The Impending Sword: A Novel (Vol. 2 of 3)
Yates, Edmund
Fiction
This done, he took off his black wig, beard, and moustaches, placed
them in the centre of the roll, and proceeded to unpack the bundle. It
contained a suit of sailors clothes, including a blue shirt, a red
wig, and a red beard. These were very carefully constructed, and he
assumed them without any difficulty. He then put on the sailor's dress
complete, wrapped his white shirt round the clothes he had taken off,
and sitting down on the topmost step of the lower stair, with the dead
man's feet within a foot of his elbow, sewed up the second bundle in
the tarpaulin cover which had enclosed the first, by the aid of a
packing-needle and a piece of twine which he took with him ready in
his trousers pocket.
This done, he stood up and stood still for two clear minutes, mentally
recapitulating the precautions he had just taken, and comparing them
with the programme he had arranged. He had omitted nothing, he was
quite satisfied; so he put his bundle under his arm, blew out the
scrap of candle, and without a glance in the direction in which the
dead man lay in a mass rapidly becoming indistinguishable in the
darkness, almost groped his way down the stairs, passed out of the
door, crossed the yard noiselessly, and noiselessly pushing back the
bolt of the outer gate, emerged from it just as a policeman on his
beat had reached the second block of building above it, and was safe
not to observe him.
The sailor strolled leisurely down to the landing-stage. If any one
had met him, it would have been impossible to mistake his character of
houseless, companionless, foreign sailor; but no one did meet him, and
a few minutes' keen inspection of the lonely scene satisfied him that
the opportunity for the last precaution to be taken with success was
there. He advanced to the edge of the stage, and leaning against one
of the iron posts which supported the boundary chain, he slowly
dropped the parcel with its tarpaulin covering into the river. Even to
his impassiveness, to his almost incredible indifference of manner,
the finality of this act seemed to be a relief. He straightened his
figure, drew a deep breath, stretched his arms out to their full
length, and brought them down by his sides, and after standing for a
few minutes, with a straight look-out seawards, he turned away, and
keeping the side of the road which borders the landing-stage, avoiding
on this occasion the shade of the great warehouses, he took his way
towards the tramps' quarters where he had passed the previous night.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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