J. Harding. You see, Mr. Reynolds,
our intuitions are of a very special character, and if we say that
you 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 need
our services."
The revelation of the coffin merchant's insanity came to Eustace
with a certain relief. For the first time in the interview he had a
sense of the dark empty shop and the whistling gas-jet over his
head.
"Why, it sounds like a threat, Mr. Harding!" he said gaily.
The coffin merchant looked at him oddly, and produced a printed form
from his pocket. "If you would fill this up," he said.
Eustace picked it up off the counter and laughed aloud. It was an
order for a hundred-guinea funeral.
"I don't know what your game is," he said, "but this has gone on long
enough."
"Perhaps it has, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, and he
leant across the counter and looked Eustace straight in the face.
For a moment Eustace was amused; then he was suddenly afraid. "I
think it's time I----" he began slowly, and then he was silent, his
whole will intent on fighting the eyes of the coffin merchant. The
song of the gas-jet waned to a point in his ears, and then rose
steadily till it was like the beating of the world's heart. The eyes
of the coffin merchant grew larger and larger, till they blended in
one great circle of fire. Then Eustace picked a pen off the counter
and filled in the form.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139