The Trouble With Harry by Jack Trevor Story Read Free Book Online Page B

humorous, wrinkled, struggling to accommodate a splendid yawn. At the critical, top-dead-centre of this yawn the eyes focused properly on the young artist and the body; the yawn was lost forever.
    â€˜â€™Struth!’ said the new captain.
    Sam Marlow, painting a delicate line, carefully removed his brush from the canvas, then raised a quizzical eyebrow at the corpse.
    The captain said: ‘And I was kidding meself it was all a nasty dream!’
    Sam then saw the face of the new captain floating in the shrubbery like a puzzle picture in a children’s comic. He looked from the captain to the corpse, digesting the captain’s remark and considering the implications.
    â€˜Is this your body, little man?’
    The captain began to emerge from the bush, the gun clasped in his hands. ‘Don’t give me away! Don’t split on me! I thought he was a rabbit or pheasant or something!’ By now the little hanging nooses were appearing amongst the trees.
    Sam Marlow studied the body; he had a considerable imagination of his own, but he could not see the reason for the captain’s error.
    â€˜Let’s get this straight,’ he said.

THE CORPSE MADE NO REPLY
    Sam Marlow the artist and Albert Wiles the new captain sat down on the warm earth to discuss the unfortunate happening, while close by Harry the corpse lay bootless and silent.
    According to the young artist, who was a realist, prepared for every eventuality and surprised by none, the affair was a simple one and there was no cause for alarm. Although the retired lighterman was old enough to be Sam Marlow’s father, the young artist spoke to him as though he, the captain, was the junior. He spoke with cool, clear reasoning, but the little captain remained unimpressed. This was to beunderstood, since the artist could see only the captain and the fine landscape, whereas the captain could see the corpse, the gun, and a number of hanging nooses.
    ‘It stands to reason,’ Sam explained, ‘that they can’t touch you for it. It was accidental. An act of God, perhaps. In a way you should be grateful that you were able to do your share in accomplishing the destiny of a fellow being.’
    The captain stared morosely at the hanging nooses and said nothing. Sam continued:
    ‘Suppose for instance,’ he said, ‘it was written in the Book of Heaven that this man was to die in this particular place and at this particular time. Suppose for a moment that in some manner the actual accomplishing of his demise had been bungled; that something had gone wrong. Perhaps it was to be a thunderbolt and there was no thunder available, say. Well, you come along and you shoot him and Heaven’s will is done and destiny fulfilled. Surely your conscience is quite clear? Why should
you
be unhappy?’
    The captain licked his lips and, after a moment, he spoke. He said:
    ‘Now look, Sammy. You got the wrong end of the blooming stick. It’s not me conscience that’s worrying me. I haven’t got a conscience. If you’d been the places I’ve been and seen the things I’ve seen
you
wouldn’t have a conscience, neither. And it’s not Heaven that worries me, for I don’t suppose I’ll ever have to face it. And it’s not his mother or his father neither, which I don’t suppose he ever knew. And it’s not any of the fine things you’ve been talking about. It’s not nothing like that. It’s me. It’s me what’s worrying me. Me and my neck. I know the police and their suspicious ways. I had a brother in the police and he told me that everybody they has anything to do with is guilty till they’re proved innocent – and I don’t want nothing to do with ’em. Bury him, I say, and have done with him. He’s no good to no one now, not the way he is. Lay him to rest. Put him under the sod. Forget him. You never saw him and I never done it.’
    Sam shook his head, sorrowfully. ‘And what about all those other people who saw him? How about the woman and the little boy?