The Ghost Ship

by Richard Middleton

  The Coffin Merchant

  I

  London on a November Sunday inspired Eustace Reynolds with amelancholy too insistent to be ignored and too causeless to beenjoyed. The grey sky overhead between the house-tops, the cold windround every street-corner, the sad faces of the men and women on thepavements, combined to create an atmosphere of ineloquent misery.Eustace was sensitive to impressions, and in spite of ahalf-conscious effort to remain a dispassionate spectator of theworld's melancholy, he felt the chill of the aimless day creepingover his spirit. Why was there no sun, no warmth, no laughter on theearth? What had become of all the children who keep laughter like amask on the faces of disillusioned men? The wind blew downSouthampton Street, and chilled Eustace to a shiver that passed awayin a shudder of disgust at the sombre colour of life. A windy Sundayin London before the lamps are lit, tempts a man to believe in thenobility of work.

  At the corner by Charing Cross Telegraph Office a man thrust ahandbill under his eyes, but he shook his head impatiently. Theblueness of the fingers that offered him the paper was alonesufficient to make him disinclined to remove his hands from hispockets even for an instant. But, the man would not be dismissed solightly.

  "Excuse me, sir," he said, following him, "you have not looked tosee what my bills are."

  "Whatever they are I do not want them."

  "That's where you are wrong, sir," the man said earnestly. "You willnever find life interesting if you do not lie in wait for theunexpected. As a matter of fact, I believe that my bill containsexactly what you do want."

  Eustace looked at the man with quick curiosity. His clothes wereragged, and the visible parts of his flesh were blue with cold, buthis eyes were bright with intelligence and his speech was that of aneducated man. It seemed to Eustace that he was being regarded with akeen expectancy, as though his decision I on the trivial point was ofreal importance.

  "I don't know what you are driving at," he said, "but if it will giveyou any pleasure I will take one of your bills; though if you arguewith all your clients as you have with me, it must take you a longtime to get rid of them."

  "I only offer them to suitable persons," the man said, folding up oneof the handbills while he spoke, "and I'm sure you will not regrettaking it," and he slipped the paper into Eustace's hand and walkedrapidly away.

  Eustace looked after him curiously for a moment, and then opened thepaper in his hand. When his eyes comprehended its significance, hegave a low whistle of astonishment. "You will soon be warning acoffin!" it read. "At 606, Gray's Inn Road, your order will beattended to with civility and despatch. Call and see us!!"

  Eustace swung round quickly to look for the man, but he was out ofsight. The wind was growing colder, and the lamps were beginning toshine out in the greying streets. Eustace crumpled the paper intohis overcoat pocket, and turned homewards.

  "How silly!" he said to himself, in conscious amusement. The sound ofhis footsteps on the pavement rang like an echo to his laugh.

  II

  Eustace was impressionable but not temperamentally morbid, and he wastroubled a little by the fact that the gruesomely bizarre handbillcontinued to recur to his mind. The thing was so manifestly absurd,he told himself with conviction, that it was not worth a secondthought, but this did not prevent him from thinking of it again andagain. What manner of undertaker could hope to obtain business bygiving away foolish handbills in the street? Really, the whole thinghad the air of a brainless practical joke, yet his intellectualfairness forced him to admit that as far as the man who had given himthe bill was concerned, brainlessness was out of the question, andjoking improbable. There had been depths in those little brighteyes which his glance had not been able to sound, and the man'smanner in making him accept the handbill had given the wholetransaction a kind of ludicrous significance.

  "You will soon be wanting a coffin----!"

  Eustace found himself turning the words over and over in his mind.If he had had any near relations he might have construed the thingas an elaborate threat, but he was practically alone in the world,and it seemed to him that he was not likely to want a coffin foranyone but himself.

  "Oh damn the thing!" he said impatiently, as he opened the door ofhis flat, "it isn't worth worrying about. I mustn't let the whim ofsome mad tradesman get on my nerves. I've got no one to bury,anyhow."

  Nevertheless the thing lingered with him all the evening, and whenhis neighbour the doctor came in for a chat at ten o'clock, Eustacewas glad to show him the strange handbill. The doctor, who hadexperienced the queer magics that are practised to this day on theWest Coast of Africa, and who, therefore, had no nerves, wasdelighted with so striking an example of British commercialenterprise.

  "Though, mind you," he added gravely, smoothing the crumpled paper onhis knee, "this sort of thing might do a lot of harm if it fell intothe hands of a nervous subject. I should be inclined to punch thehead of the ass who perpetrated it. Have you turned that address upin the Post Office Directory?"

  Eustace shook his head, and rose and fetched the fat red book whichmakes London an English city. Together they found the Gray's InnRoad, and ran their eyes down to No. 606.

  "'Harding, G. J., Coffin Merchant and Undertaker.' Not muchinformation there," muttered the doctor.

  "Coffin merchant's a bit unusual, isn't it?" queried Eustace.

  "I suppose he manufactures coffins wholesale for the trade. Still, Ididn't know they called themselves that. Anyhow, it seems, as thoughthat handbill is a genuine piece of downright foolishness. The idiotought to be stopped advertising in that way."

  "I'll go and see him myself tomorrow," said Eustace bluntly.

  "Well, he's given you an invitation," said the doctor, "so it's onlypolite of you to go. I'll drop in here in the evening to hear whathe's like. I expect that you'll find him as mad as a hatter."

  "Something like that," said Eustace, "or he wouldn't give handbillsto people like me. I have no one to bury except myself."

  "No," said the doctor in the hall, "I suppose you haven't. Don't lethim measure you for a coffin, Reynolds!"

  Eustace laughed.

  "We never know," he said sententiously.

  III

  Next day was one of those gorgeous blue days of which November givesbut few, and Eustace was glad to run out to Wimbledon for a game ofgolf, or rather for two. It was therefore dusk before he made his wayto the Gray's Inn Road in search of the unexpected. His attitudetowards his errand despite the doctor's laughter and the prosaicentry in the directory, was a little confused. He could not helpreflecting that after all the doctor had not seen the man with thelittle wise eyes, nor could he forget that Mr. G. J. Harding'sdescription of himself as a coffin merchant, to say the least of it,approached the unusual. Yet he felt that it would be intolerable tochop the whole business without finding out what it all meant. On thewhole he would have preferred not to have discovered the riddle atall; but having found it, he could not rest without an answer.

  No. 606, Gray's Inn Road, was not like an ordinary undertaker's shop.The window was heavily draped with black cloth, but was otherwiseunadorned. There were no letters from grateful mourners, no littlemodel coffins, no photographs of marble memorials. Even moresurprising was the absence of any name over the shop-door, so thatthe uninformed stranger could not possibly tell what trade wascarried on within, or who was responsible for the management of thebusiness. This uncommercial modesty did not tend to remove Eustace'sdoubts as to the sanity of Mr. G. J. Harding; but he opened theshop-door which started a large bell swinging noisily, and steppedover the threshold. The shop was hardly more expressive inside thanout. A broad counter ran across it, cutting it in two, and in thepartial gloom overhead a naked gas-burner whistled a noisy song.Beyond this the shop contained no furniture whatever, and nostock-in-trade except a few planks leaning against the wall in onecorner. There was a large ink-stand on the counter. Eustace waitedpatiently for a minut
e or two, and then as no one came he beganstamping on the floor with his foot. This proved efficacious, forsoon he heard the sound of footsteps ascending wooden stairs, thedoor behind the counter opened and a man came into the shop.

  He was dressed quite neatly now, and his hands were no longer bluewith cold, but Eustace knew at once that it was the man who had givenhim the handbill. Nevertheless he looked at Eustace without a sign ofrecognition.

  "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked pleasantly.

  Eustace laid the handbill down on the counter.

  "I want to know about this," he said. "It strikes me as being inpretty bad taste, and if a nervous person got hold of it, it might bedangerous."

  "You think so, sir? Yet our representative," he lingeredaffectionately on the words, "our representative told you, I believe,that the handbill was only distributed to suitable cases."

  "That's where you are wrong," said Eustace sharply, "for I have noone to bury."

  "Except yourself," said the coffin merchant suavely.

  Eustace looked at him keenly. "I don't see----" he began. But thecoffin merchant interrupted him.

  "You must know, sir," he said, "that this is no ordinary undertaker'sbusiness. We possess information that enables us to defy competitionin our special class of trade."

  "Information!"

  "Well, if you prefer it, you may say intuitions. If ourrepresentative handed you that advertisement, it was because he knewyou would need it."

  "Excuse me," said Eustace, "you appear to be sane, but your words donot convey to me any reasonable significance. You gave me thatfoolish advertisement yourself, and now you say that you did sobecause you knew I would need it. I ask you why?"

  The coffin merchant shrugged his shoulders. "Ours is a sentimentaltrade," he said, "I do not know why dead men want coffins, but theydo. For my part I would wish to be cremated."

  "Dead men?"

  "Ah, I was coming to that. You see Mr.----?"

  "Reynolds."

  "Thank you, my name is Harding--G. J. Harding. You see, Mr. Reynolds,our intuitions are of a very special character, and if we say thatyou will need a coffin, it is probable that you will need one."

  "You mean to say that I----"

  "Precisely. In twenty-four hours or less, Mr. Reynolds, you will needour services."

  The revelation of the coffin merchant's insanity came to Eustacewith a certain relief. For the first time in the interview he had asense of the dark empty shop and the whistling gas-jet over hishead.

  "Why, it sounds like a threat, Mr. Harding!" he said gaily.

  The coffin merchant looked at him oddly, and produced a printed formfrom his pocket. "If you would fill this up," he said.

  Eustace picked it up off the counter and laughed aloud. It was anorder for a hundred-guinea funeral.

  "I don't know what your game is," he said, "but this has gone on longenough."

  "Perhaps it has, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, and heleant across the counter and looked Eustace straight in the face.

  For a moment Eustace was amused; then he was suddenly afraid. "Ithink it's time I----" he began slowly, and then he was silent, hiswhole will intent on fighting the eyes of the coffin merchant. Thesong of the gas-jet waned to a point in his ears, and then rosesteadily till it was like the beating of the world's heart. The eyesof the coffin merchant grew larger and larger, till they blended inone great circle of fire. Then Eustace picked a pen off the counterand filled in the form.

  "Thank you very much, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant,shaking hands with him politely. "I can promise you every civilityand despatch. Good-day, sir."

  Outside on the pavement Eustace stood for a while trying to recallexactly what had happened. There was a slight scratch on his hand,and when he automatically touched it with his lips, it made themburn. The lit lamps in the Gray's Inn Road seemed to him a littleunsteady, and the passers-by showed a disposition to blunder intohim.

  "Queer business," he said to himself dimly; "I'd better have a cab."

  He reached home in a dream.

  It was nearly ten o'clock before the doctor remembered his promise,and went upstairs to Eustace's flat. The outer door was half-open sothat he thought he was expected, and he switched on the light in thelittle hall, and shut the door behind him with the simplicity ofhabit. But when he swung round from the door he gave a cry ofastonishment. Eustace was lying asleep in a chair before him withhis face flushed and drooping on his shoulder, and his breathhissing noisily through his parted lips. The doctor looked at himquizzically, "If I did not know you, my young friend," he remarked,"I should say that you were as drunk as a lord."

  And he went up to Eustace and shook him by the shoulder; but Eustacedid not wake.

  "Queer!" the doctor muttered, sniffing at Eustace's lips; "he hasn'tbeen drinking."