The Secret Journey Read Online Free PDF Page B

something?’
    â€˜Oh no. Thank you.’ Then the door opened and he shot out into the street. The door closed loudly behind him. He walked quickly down the gravel path, and when he came to the gate he stopped, turned round, and, leaning across it, stared back at the big gloomy house, in complete darkness now save for the faint light burning in the hall. He thought of the peculiar creature who had opened the door to him, as he thought too of that woman dressed in black velvet whose hands had so fascinated him and who seemed so calm, so businesslike, and so indifferent to everybody but herself. She had seemed quite indifferent to his haste, his agitation. ‘So that’s how it is,’ he thought, as he hurried down the road. ‘That’s the position. Well!…’ When he reached the bottom, he saw a tram racing along. Without waiting for it to stop he ran and boarded it, swinging dangerously by one hand to the brass pole. The car rocked crazily as it took the descent of the hill. There was only one passenger in it, a man going to work. He was trying to read the late issue of The Gelton Times , but the fantastic movements of the tram made this most difficult. By his side was a parcel. Obviously his food. ‘Must be a night worker,’ thought Peter as he passed him to take a seat right in front of the car. The life of the streets had dimmed, here and there lamps had been put out by the wind, and as he passed the local theatre he saw crowds streaming out, the air was filled with conversation, laughter, titters and curses. ‘I’m late,’ he thought. ‘Of course, Mother would just do that. Just like her. First night home from sea into the bargain.’ Well, he had made his position pretty plain. They needn’t expect him back before midnight. And no more questions, no more apologies, no more resurrecting old ghosts and playing upon his feelings. All past. A new page had come into being, the brightest page he had ever turned. In this rushing tram making towards the town at a speed that might have actually been fashioned to his very purpose, he was really floating upon the crest of the most delicious and delirious wave of anticipation. He was going towards happiness. ‘Sheila!’ he kept muttering under his breath. ‘Dear Sheila!’ Oh! Why had she married that thick brother of his? Why? Why? It all seemed so preposterous. Married nearly two years, and yet they meant nothing to each other. At least Desmond meant nothing to her. ‘If,’ he thought,’ ‘if’—but suddenly the tram pulled up with a jerk, and it seemed to snap off his train of thought as quickly as it had pitched him forward in his seat. He shook himself like a dog, dashed down the car, swung down the stair-rail, and landed in the road just as the car with a loud screech set off on its journey again. Then he disappeared into the darkness.
    Prees Street contained only four houses. The rest of it consisted of offices. It faced the back of the Custom House on one side, the square known as Ranes Square on the other. At the end of this street, standing under the lamp, the one illumination supplied for the benefit of the inhabitants, was a woman dressed in a long blue coat. The collar was buttoned high around her neck. On her head she was wearing a blue tam-o’-shanter on which a black feather was pinned by a silver brooch. She kept looking up and down the street, her attitude furtive, impatient, as every now and again she made a quick disappearance round the corner. Suddenly a form loomed up out of the darkness and two arms were thrown round her, her head forced back to meet the smiling face of the young man who a few minutes ago had jumped from the tram. ‘Sheila!’ he exclaimed breathlessly. ‘Dear Sheila!’ He continued to press back her head until his lips touched her own. He pressed them against her own, at the same time increasing his grip upon her body. The