Chapter 25 Not from Captain Hastings’ Personal Narrative¹

Mr Cust came out of the Regal Cinema and looked up at the sky.
A beautiful evening…A really beautiful evening…
A quotation² from Browning came into his head.
‘God’s in His heaven. All’s right with the world.’
He had always been fond of that quotation
Only there were times, very often, when he had felt it wasn’t true…
He trotted³ along the street smiling to himself until he came to the Black Swan where he was staying.
He climbed the stairs to his bedroom, a stuffy⁴ little room on the second floor, giving over a paved inner court and garage.
As he entered the room his smile faded suddenly. There was a stain on his sleeve near the cuff⁵. He touched it tentatively—wet and red—blood…
His hand dipped into his pocket and brought out something—a long slender knife. The blade of that, too, was sticky and red…
Mr Cust sat there a long time.
Once his eyes shot round the room like those of a hunted animal.
His tongue passed feverishly⁶ over his lips…
‘It isn’t my fault,’ said Mr Cust.
He sounded as though he were arguing with somebody—a schoolboy pleading to his headmaster.
He passed his tongue over his lips again…
Again, tentatively, he felt his coat sleeve.
His eyes crossed the room to the wash-basin.
A Minute later he was pouring out water from the old-fashioned jug⁷ into the basin. Removing his coat, he rinsed⁸ the sleeve, carefully squeezing it out…
Ugh! The water was red now…
A tap on the door.
He stood there frozen into immobility—staring.
The door opened. A plump young woman—jug in hand.

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