THE COLLECTED PLAYS OF W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM. Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

      I thought you were never coming. I begged you to come at once.

      John.

      I started immediately I got your wire.

      Basil.

      It seems hours since the girl went to the post-office.

      John.

      What's the matter?

      Basil.

      [Hoarsely.] Don't you know? I thought I had said it in my telegram.

      John.

      You simply wired that you were in great trouble.

      Basil.

      I suppose I thought you'd see it in the papers.

      John.

      What on earth d'you mean? I've not seen a paper. Where's your wife?

      Basil.

      [After a pause, almost in a whisper.] She's dead.

      John.

      [Thunderstruck.] Good God!

      Basil.

      [Impatiently.] Don't look at me like that. Isn't it plain enough? Don't you understand?

      John.

      But she was all right yesterday.

      Basil.

      [Dully.] Yes. She was all right yesterday.

      John.

      For goodness sake tell me what you mean, Basil.

      Basil.

      She's dead.... And she was all right yesterday.

      [John does not understand. He is greatly distressed, and does not know what to say.

      Basil.

      I killed her—as surely as if I'd strangled her with my own hands.

      John.

      What d'you mean? She's not really dead!

      Basil.

      [In agony.] She threw herself into the river last night.

      John.

      How awful!

      Basil.

      Haven't you got something more to say than how awful? I feel as if I were going mad.

      John.

      But I can't understand! Why did she do it?

      Basil.

      Oh—yesterday we had an awful row ... before you came.

      John.

      I know.

      Basil.

      Then she followed me to ... to your sister-in-law's. And she came up and made another scene. Then I lost my head. I was so furious, I don't know what I said. I was mad. I told her I'd have nothing more to do with her.... Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it.

      [He breaks down and hides his face in his hands, sobbing.

      John.

      Come, Basil—pull yourself together a bit.

      Basil.

      [Looking up despairingly.] I can hear her voice now. I can see the look of her eyes. She asked me to give her another chance, and I refused. It was so pitiful to hear the way she appealed to me, only I was mad, and I couldn't feel it.

      [Fanny comes in with the cup of tea, which Basil silently takes and drinks.

      Fanny.

      [To John.] He ain't slept a wink all night, sir.... No more 'ave I, for the matter of that.

      [John nods, but does not answer; and Fanny, wiping her eyes with her apron, leaves the room.

      Basil.

      Oh, I'd give everything not to have said what I did. I'd always held myself in before, but yesterday—I couldn't.

      John.

      Well?

      Basil.

      I didn't get back here till nearly ten, and the maid told me Jenny had just gone out. I thought she'd gone back to her mother's.

      John.

      Yes?

      Basil.

      And soon after a constable came up and asked me to go down to the river. He said there'd been an accident.... She was dead. A man had seen her walk along the tow-path and throw herself in.

      John.

      Where is she now?

      Basil.

      [Pointing to one of the doors.] In there.

      John.

      Will you take me in?

      Basil.

      Go in alone, John. I daren't, I'm afraid to look at her. I can't bear the look on her face.... I killed her—as surely as if I'd strangled her with my own hands. I've been looking at the door all night, and once I thought I heard a sound. I thought she was coming to reproach me for killing her.

      [John goes to the door, and as he opens it, Basil averts his head. When John shuts the door after him, he looks at it with staring, frightened eyes, half mad with agony. He tries to contain himself. After a while John comes back, very quietly.

      Basil.

      [Whispering.] What does she look like?

      John.

      There's nothing to be afraid of, Basil. She might be sleeping.

      Basil.

      [Clenching his hands.] But the ghastly pallor....

      John.

      [Gravely.] She's happier than she would ever have been if she'd lived.

      [Basil sighs deeply.

      John.

      [Seeing the revolver.] What's this for?

      Basil.

      [With a groan of self-contempt.] I tried to kill myself in the night.

      John.

      H'm!

      [He takes the cartridges out and puts the revolver in his pocket.

      Basil.

      [Bitterly.] Oh, don't be afraid, I haven't got the pluck.... I was afraid to go on living. I thought if I killed myself it would be a reparation for her death. I went down to the river, and I walked along the tow-path to the same spot—but I couldn't do it. The water looked so black and cold and pitiless. And yet she did it so easily. She just walked along and threw herself in. [A pause.] Then I came back, and I thought I'd shoot myself.

      John.

      D'you think that would have done any one much good?

      Basil.

      I despised myself. I felt I hadn't the right to live, and I thought it would be easier just to pull a trigger.... People say it's cowardly to destroy oneself, they don't know what courage it wants. I couldn't face the pain—and then, I don't know what's on the other side. After all, it may be true that there's a cruel, avenging God, who will punish us to all eternity if we break His unknown laws.

      John.

      I'm very glad you sent for me. You had better come back to London, and stay with me for the present.

      Basil.

      And d'you know what happened in the night? I couldn't go to bed. I felt I could never sleep again—and then, presently, I dozed