Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

Alec.

  Did you ever know that before we came away I asked Lucy to marry me?

  George.

  I knew you cared for her.

  Alec.

  She asked me to bring you here in the hope that you would regain the good name of your family. I think that is the object she has most at heart in the world. It’s as great as her love for you. The plan hasn’t been much of a success, has it?

  George.

  She ought to have known that I wasn’t suited for this kind of life.

  Alec.

  I saw very soon that you were weak and irresolute. But I hoped to make something of you. Your intentions seemed good enough, but you never had the strength to carry them out.... I’m sorry if I seem to be preaching to you.

  George.

  [Bitterly.] Oh, d’you think I care what any one says to me now?

  Alec.

  [Gravely, but not unkindly.] Then I found you were drinking. I told you that no man could stand liquor in this country, and you gave me your word of honour that you wouldn’t touch it again.

  George.

  Yes, I broke it. I couldn’t help it; the temptation was too strong.

  Alec.

  When we came to the station at Muneas you and Macinnery got blind drunk, and the whole camp saw you. I ought to have sent you back to the coast then, but it would have broken Lucy’s heart.

  George.

  It was Macinnery’s fault.

  Alec.

  It’s because I thought he was to blame that I sent him back alone. I wanted to give you another chance. It struck me that the feeling of authority might have some influence on you, and so when we came to the lake I left you to guard the ferry. I put the chief part of the stores in your care and marched on. I needn’t remind you what happened then.

  [George looks down sulkily, and in default of excuses keeps silent.

  Alec.

  I came to the conclusion that it was hopeless. You seemed to me rotten through and through.

  George.

  [With a little laugh.] Like my father before me.

  Alec.

  I couldn’t believe a word you said. You did everything you shouldn’t have done. The result was that the men mutinied, and if I hadn’t come back in the nick of time they’d have killed you and looted all the stores.

  George.

  You always blame me for everything. A man’s not responsible for what he does when he’s down with fever.

  Alec.

  It was too late to send you back to the coast then, and I was obliged to take you on. And now the end has come. Your murder of that woman has put us all in deadly peril. Already to your charge lie the deaths of Richardson and almost twenty natives. Tribes that were friendly have joined with the Arabs, and we’re as near destruction as we can possibly be.

  George.

  What are you going to do?

  Alec.

  We’re far away from the coast, and I must take the law into my own hands.

  George.

  [With a gasp.] You’re not going to kill me?

  Alec.

  Are you fond of Lucy?

  George.

  [Brokenly.] You — you know I am. Why d’you remind me of her now? I’ve made a rotten mess of everything, and I’m better out of the way. But think of the disgrace of it. It’ll kill Lucy.... And she was hoping I’d do so much.

  Alec.

  Listen to me. Our only chance of escaping from the confounded fix we’re in is to make a sudden attack on the Arabs before the natives join them. We shall be enormously outnumbered, but we may just smash them if we can strike to-night. My plan is to start marching as if I didn’t know that the Turkana were going to turn against us. After an hour all the whites but one, and the Swahilis whom I can trust implicitly, will take a short cut. The Arabs will have had news of our starting, and they’ll try to cut us off at the pass. I shall fall on them just as they begin to attack. D’you understand?

  George.

  Yes.

  Alec.

  Now I must have one white man to head the Turkana, and that man will run the greatest possible danger. I’d go myself, only the Swahilis won’t fight unless I lead them.... Are you willing to take that post?

  George.

  I?

  Alec.

  I could order you, but the job’s too dangerous for me to force it on any one. If you refuse, I shall call the others together and ask some one to volunteer. In that case you will have to find your way back alone as best you can to the coast.

  George.

  No, no! Anything rather than the shame of that.

  Alec.

  I won’t hide from you that it means almost certain death. But there’s no other way of saving ourselves. On the other hand, if you show perfect courage at the moment the Arabs attack and the Turkana find that we’ve given them the slip, you may escape. If you do, I promise nothing shall be said of all that has happened here.

  George.

  All right. I’ll do that. And I thank you with all my heart for giving me the chance.

  Alec.

  I’m glad you’ve accepted. Whatever happens you’ll have done a brave action in your life. [He holds out his hand to George, who takes it.] I think there’s nothing more to be said. You must be ready to start in half an hour. Here’s your revolver. Remember that one chamber’s empty. You’d better put in another cartridge.

  George.

  Yes, I’ll do that.

  [He goes out.

  Dick.

  D’you think he has any chance of escaping?

  Alec.

  If he has pluck he may get through.

  Dick.

  Well!

  Alec.

  To-morrow we shall know if he has that last virtue of a blackguard — courage.

  Dick.

  And if he hasn’t, it’s death you’re sending him to?

  Alec.

  Yes. It’s death!

  THE THIRD ACT

  Scene: A smoking-room at Lady Kelsey’s, leading by an archway into a drawing-room at the back. On the right is a glass door which leads into the garden. On one side is a sofa; on the other a table with cigarettes, matches, whiskey, sodas, etc.

  Lady Kelsey is giving a dance, and the music of the Lancers is heard vaguely from the ball-room as the curtain rises. Mrs. Crowley and Sir Robert Boulger are sitting down. Lady Kelsey comes in with the Rev. James Carbery.

  Lady Kelsey.

  Oh, you wretched people, why aren’t you dancing? It’s too bad of you to hide yourselves here!

  Mrs. Crowley.

  We thought no one would find us in the smoking-room. But why have you abandoned your guests, Lady Kelsey?

  Lady Kelsey.

  Oh, I’ve got them all comfortably settled in the Lancers, and I’m free to rest myself for a quarter of an hour. You don’t know what agonies I’ve been suffering the whole evening.

  Mrs. Crowley.

  Good gracious me! Why?

  Lady Kelsey.

  I’m so afraid Alec Mackenzie will come.

  Boulger.

  You needn’t worry about that, Aunt Alice. He’ll never venture to show his face.

  Lady Kelsey.

  I didn’t know what to do. It was impossible to put the dance off. It’s too dreadful that these horrible revelations should....

  Carbery.

  [Supplying the word.] Transpire.

  Lady Kelsey.

  Yes, transpire on the very day I’ve at last persuaded Lucy to come into the world again. I wish Dick would come.

  Boulger.

  Yes, he’ll be able to tell us something.

  Mrs. Crowley.

  But will he?

  Carbery.

  Wherever I go people are talking about Mr. Mackenzie, and I’m bound to say I’ve found nobody who has a good word for him.

  Boulger.

  [Bitterly.] Humpty-dumpty’s had a great fall.

  Carbery.

  I wonder if I might have a cigarette?

  Mrs.
Crowley.

  I’m sure you might. And if you press me dreadfully, I’ll have one, too.

  Boulger.

  Don’t press her. She’s already had far too many.

  Mrs. Crowley.

  Well, I’ll forego the pressing, but not the cigarette.

  Carbery.

  [Handing her the box and giving her a light.] It’s against all my principles, you know.

  Mrs. Crowley.

  What is the use of principles except to give one an agreeable sensation of wickedness when one doesn’t act up to them?

  [Dick comes in as she speaks.

  Dick.

  My dear lady, you’re as epigrammatic as a dramatist. Do you say such things from choice or necessity?

  Lady Kelsey.

  Dick!

  Boulger.

  Dick!

  Mrs. Crowley.

  Mr. Lomas!

  Carbery.

  Ah!

  [The four exclamations are simultaneous.

  Dick.

  This enthusiasm at my appearance is no less gratifying than unexpected.

  Lady Kelsey.

  I’m so glad you’ve come at last. Now we shall get at the truth.

  Boulger.

  [Impatiently.] Well?

  Dick.

  My dear people, what are you talking about?

  Boulger.

  Oh, don’t be such an ass!

  Mrs. Crowley.

  Good heavens, didn’t you read the Times this morning?

  Dick.

  I only came back from Paris to-night. Besides, I never read the papers except in August.

  Mrs. Crowley.

  [Raising her eyebrows.] When there’s nothing in them?

  Dick.

  Pardon me, I’m an eager student of the sea-serpent and the giant gooseberry.

  Lady Kelsey.

  My dear Dick, it’s too shocking. I wish I’d had the courage to write and ask Mr. Mackenzie not to come. But since you both came back from Africa a month ago he’s been here nearly every day. And he’s been so good and kind to us, I couldn’t treat him as though there was no doubt the story was true.

  Boulger.

  There can’t be the least doubt about it. By George, I should like to kick him.

  Dick.

  [Dryly.] My dear chap, Alec is a hardy Scot and bigger than you, so I shouldn’t advise you to try.

  Boulger.

  I was engaged to dine with him to-night, but I wired to say I had a headache.

  Lady Kelsey.

  What will he think if he sees you here?

  Boulger.

  He can think what he jolly well likes.

  Lady Kelsey.

  I hope he has the sense to stay away.

  Carbery.

  I think you’re pretty safe now, Lady Kelsey. It’s growing late.

  Dick.

  Will some one kindly explain?

  Mrs. Crowley.

  D’you mean to say you really don’t know — seriously? After all, you were with him.

  Lady Kelsey.

  My dear Dick, there are two columns of fiery denunciation in this morning’s Times.

  [Dick is a little startled, but at once collects himself.

  Dick.

  Oh, that’s only the reaction. That’s nothing. Since he arrived in Mombassa, after three years in the heart of Africa, he’s made almost a triumphal progress. Of course, it couldn’t last. The reaction was bound to come.

  Boulger.

  [Looking at him steadily.] The article is signed by a man named Macinnery.

  Dick.

  [Calmly.] Alec found Macinnery half starving at Mombassa, and took him solely out of charity. But he was a worthless rascal, and he had to send him back.

  Boulger.

  He gives ample proof for every word he says.

  Dick.

  Whenever an explorer comes home, there’s some one to tell nasty stories about him. People forget that kid gloves are not much use in a tropical forest, and grow very indignant when they hear that a man has used a little brute force to make himself respected.

  Lady Kelsey.

  Oh, my dear Dick, it’s much worse than that. First poor Lucy’s father died....

  Dick.

  You’re not going to count that as an overwhelming misfortune? We were unanimous in describing that gentleman’s demise as an uncommonly happy release.

  Lady Kelsey.

  But Lucy was heart-broken all the same. And when her life seemed to grow a little more cheerful, came her brother’s tragic death.

  Dick.

  [Abruptly, to Mrs. Crowley.] What is it exactly?

  Mrs. Crowley.

  The long and short of it is that Mr. Mackenzie was the cause of George Allerton’s death.

  Dick.

  Lucy’s brother was killed by the slave-traders.

  Boulger.

  Mackenzie sent him into a confounded trap to save his own dirty skin.

  Lady Kelsey.

  And the worst of it is that I think Lucy is in love with Mr. Mackenzie.

  [Boulger makes a slight movement, and for a moment there is an uncomfortable pause.

  Carbery.

  I saw him this evening in Piccadilly, and I almost ran into his arms. It was quite awkward.

  Dick.

  [Frigidly.] Why?

  Carbery.

  I don’t think I want to shake the man’s hand. He’s nothing short of a murderer.

  Boulger.

  [Savagely.] He’s worse than that. He’s ten times worse.

  Lady Kelsey.

  Well, for heaven’s sake be polite to him if he comes to-night.

  Carbery.

  I really couldn’t bring myself to shake hands with him.

  Dick.

  [Dryly.] Don’t you think you’d better wait for evidence before you condemn him?

  Boulger.

  My dear fellow, the letter in the Times is absolutely damning. Interviewers went to him from the evening papers, and he refused to see them.

  Dick.

  What does Lucy say of it? After all, she’s the person most concerned.

  Lady Kelsey.

  She doesn’t know. I took care that she shouldn’t see the paper. I wanted to give her this evening’s enjoyment unalloyed.

  Mrs. Crowley.

  Take care, here she is.

  [Lucy comes in.

  Lady Kelsey.

  [Smiling and reaching out her hand.] Well, darling?

  Lucy.

  [Going to Lady Kelsey.] Are you growing very tired, my aunt?

  Lady Kelsey.

  I can rest myself for the time. I don’t think any one else will come now.

  Lucy.

  [Gaily.] You faithless woman, have you forgotten the guest of the evening?

  Lady Kelsey.

  Mr. Mackenzie?

  Lucy.

  [Bending over her.] My dear, it was charming of you to hide the paper from me this morning....

  Lady Kelsey.

  [Startled.] Did you see the letter? I so wanted you not to till to-morrow.

  Lucy.

  Mr. Mackenzie very rightly thought I should know at once what was said about him and my brother. He sent me the paper himself this evening.

  Boulger.

  Did he write to you?

  Lucy.

  No, he merely scribbled on a card: “I think you should read this.”

  Boulger.

  Well, I’m damned!

  Lady Kelsey.

  What did you think of the letter, Lucy?

  Lucy.

  [Proudly.] I didn’t believe it.

  BOULGER.

  [Bitterly.] You must be blinded by your — friendship for Alec Mackenzie. I never read anything more convincing.

  Lucy.

  I could hardly believe him guilty of such an odious crime if he confessed it with his own lips.

  Boulger.

  Of course, he won’t do that.

  Dick.

  Did I ever tell you how
I made acquaintance with Alec? In the Atlantic — about three hundred miles from land.

  Mrs. Crowley.

  What a perfectly ridiculous place for an introduction.

  Dick.

  I was a silly young fool in those days, and I habitually played the giddy goat. In the course of which, I fell overboard and was proceeding to drown when Alec jumped in after me. It was an incautious thing to do, because he very nearly got drowned himself.

  Lucy.

  That’s not the only heroic thing he’s done.

  Dick.

  No, it’s one of his hobbies to risk his life to save unnecessary and useless people. But the funny thing is that ever since he saved mine, he’s been quite absurdly grateful. He seems to think I did him an intentional service and fell into the water on purpose to give him a chance of pulling me out.

  Lucy.

  [With a long look at Dick.] It’s very kind and good of you to have told that story.

  [The Butler comes in and announces Alec Mackenzie.

  Butler.

  Mr. Mackenzie.

  Alec.

  [Blandly.] Ah, I thought I should find you here, Lady Kelsey.

  Lady Kelsey.

  [Shaking hands with him.] How d’you do? We’ve just been talking of you.

  Alec.

  Really?

  Lady Kelsey.

  It’s so late, we were afraid you wouldn’t come. I should have been dreadfully disappointed.

  Alec.

  It’s very kind of you to say so. I’ve been at the Travellers’, reading various appreciations of my own character.

  Lady Kelsey.

  [Somewhat embarrassed.] Oh, I heard there was something about you in the papers.

  Alec.

  There’s a good deal. I really had no idea the world was so interested in me.

  Lady Kelsey.

  It’s charming of you to come to-night. I’m sure you hate dances!

  Alec.

  Oh, no, they interest me enormously. I remember, one of the Kings of Uganda gave a dance in my honour. Ten thousand warriors in war-paint. I assure you it was most impressive.

  Dick.

  My dear fellow, if paint is the attraction you really need not go much farther than Mayfair.

  Alec.

  [Pretending for the first time to notice Boulger.] Ah, there’s my little friend Bobbie. I thought you had a headache?

  Lady Kelsey.

  [Quickly.] I’m afraid Bobby is dreadfully dissipated. He’s not looking at all well.

  Alec.

  [Good-humouredly.] You shouldn’t keep such late hours, Bobbie. At your age one wants one’s beauty sleep.

  Boulger.

  It’s very kind of you to take an interest in me. My headache has passed off.

  Alec.