Samedi the Deafness Read Online Free PDF

gate swung back, the man got back in, and the car drove on up a curving drive. The hedge ceased along the sides of the road; an immense lawn and a large mansion could be seen. There were several cars pulled up in front of it.

    I wonder, thought James, am I being brought before Samedi? The weight of the pistol in his coat reassured him. Since they'd tied his hands in front of him, he could still reach it if he had to. Not that James had had much practice firing a pistol. But he felt he could, if he had to.

    The car stopped. The men got out and pulled James upright.

    —Into the house with you, said the first man.

    He led James up the walk towards the house. Through the windows, James could see the vague outlines of people watching. Have they, he wondered, made up their minds about me? Then he thought of the letter in the paper. Perhaps it's not me at all they're looking at. After all, the future is always outside of the room one is in, beyond the windows, beyond the doors. If this is Samedi's house, who could live here and not think constantly of the seventh day?

 

    James was taken to a sort of sitting room. His hands were unbound, and his coat was taken from him. It was hung over the back of a chair on the far side of the room. Too far, really, for James to jump for it. Anyway, this gun wasn't lucky for jumping at. Mayne had learned that lesson.

    The room was done up in a sort of eighteenth-century style. Engravings on the wall, were they Hogarth?

    The first man was standing behind James's chair. It was an awful habit, very rude, thought James.

    Five minutes passed.

    —Where are we? said James to his captor.

    The man said nothing.

    Five minutes more went by. The door creaked, and opened. Thomas McHale entered, dressed neatly in an expensive-looking suit.

    James could not hide his shock.

    —I see, said Thomas McHale. You have met my brother, haven't you?

    He laughed. The man behind James laughed also.

    —Torquin, said Thomas, you can go now. I'll keep an eye on him.

    Torquin, thought James. The other Thomas McHale had said that name. Could they really be brothers? Twin brothers? The odds were against it. But certainly it was the only solution. A man could not die so convincingly and then stand again before one in such a bold and shameless way.

    Thomas McHale shut the door after Torquin, and then turned to face James.

    —You've met my brother, then, he repeated. Did you like him? No, no, I guess there wasn't time for you to meet properly, was there? Very sad, what happened. Do you know the story? I'm sure he told you something.

    —If you're going to do to me what you did to him, you might as well do it now. I don't like waiting around for nothing.

    —Hmmm, said Thomas McHale. What we did? What I did? Hmmm. I wonder what he did tell you. . . . Do you know, do you know my brother had gone quite insane? Thought he was in the middle of a spy novel, really. The strangest thing. Nothing could convince him otherwise. I didn't want him in an institution, of course, frightful places, so I kept him here. But then he escaped. Persecution mania. He told everyone we were against him. Then before I can find him again, he gets mugged, assaulted, and dies. We had his funeral just yesterday up at Mount Auburn.

    James tried to follow this line of thought. Had the first Thomas McHale been mad? He had been right about where Estrainger lived. Or, at least, he had known that a man named Estrainger did indeed live near the Chinese district, and was indeed a playwright.

    Suddenly, McHale's information seemed less and less sure.

    —Then why the mask? burst out James. Why send me the mask?

    —The mask, yes, said McHale, tapping a letter against his sleeved arm. The mask, yes . . . well, that was a sort of mistake, really. You know, Grieve, she's an odd one. Her father likes to give her little jobs to do. She's quite a case. Lies about everything. Can't help it.

    —What? said James. She said her name was Lily