The Pale Horse Read Online Free PDF Page A

quality, nearly new.
    “She seemed quite happy?” he asked.
    “I suppose so.”
    He pounced on the faint doubtful tone in her voice.
    “You only suppose so?”
    “Well, it's not the kind of thing you think about, is it? I should say she was nicely off, with a good job, and quite satisfied with her life. She wasn't the bubbling over sort. But of course, when she got ill -”
    “Yes, when she got ill?” he prompted her.
    “Vexed, she was at first. When she went down with flu, I mean. It would put all her schedule out, she said. Missing appointments and all that. But flu's flu, and you can't ignore it when it's there. So she stopped in bed, and made herself tea on the gas ring, and took aspirin. I said why not have the doctor and she said no point in it. Nothing to do for flu but stay in bed and keep warm and I'd better not come near her to catch it. I did a bit of cooking for her when she got better. Hot soup and toast. And a rice pudding now and again. It got her down, of course, flu does - but not more than what's usual, I'd say. It's after the fever goes down that you get the depression - and she got that like everyone does. She sat there, by the gas fire, I remember, and said to me, 'I wish one didn't have so much time to think. I don't like having time to think. It gets me down.'”
    Lejeune continued to look deeply attentive and Mrs Coppins warmed to her theme.
    “Lent her some magazines, I did. But she didn't seem able to keep her mind on reading. Said once, I remember, 'If things aren't all they should be, it's better not to know about it, don't you agree?' And I said 'That's right, dearie.' And she said, 'I don't know - I've never really been sure.' And I said that was all right, then. And she said 'Everything I've done has always been perfectly straightforward and aboveboard. I've nothing to reproach myself with.' And I said 'Of course you haven't, dear.' But I did just wonder in my own mind whether in the firm that employed her there mightn't have been some funny business with the accounts maybe, and she'd got wind of it - but had felt it wasn't really her business.”
    “Possible,” agreed Lejeune.
    “Anyway, she got well again - or nearly so, and went back to work. I told her it was too soon. Give yourself another day or two, I said. And there, how right I was! Come back the second evening, she did, and I could see at once she'd got a high fever. Couldn't hardly climb the stairs. You must have the doctor, I says, but no, she wouldn't. Worse and worse she got, all that day, her eyes glassy, and her cheeks like fire, and her breathing terrible. And the next day in the evening she said to me, hardly able to get the words out: 'A priest. I must have a priest. And quickly... or it will be too late.' But it wasn't our vicar she wanted. It had to be a Roman Catholic priest. I never knew she was a Roman, never any crucifix about or anything like that.”
    But there had been a crucifix, tucked away at the bottom of the suitcase. Lejeune did not mention it. He sat listening.
    “I saw young Mike in the street and I sent him for that Father Gorman at St Dominic's. And I rang the doctor, and the hospital on my own account, not saying nothing to her.”
    “You took the priest up to her when he came?”
    “Yes, I did. And left them together.”
    “Did either of them say anything?”
    “Well now, I can't exactly remember. I was talking myself, saying here was the priest and now she'd be all right, trying to cheer her up, but I do call to mind now as I closed the door I heard her say something about wickedness. Yes - and something, too, about a horse - horse racing, maybe. I like a half-crown on myself occasionally, but there's a lot of crookedness goes on in racing, so they say.”
    “Wickedness,” said Lejeune. He was struck by the word.
    “Have to confess their sins, don't they, Romans, before they die? So I suppose that was it.”
    Lejeune did not doubt that that was it, but his imagination was stirred by the