"Thank you very much, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant,
shaking hands with him politely. "I can promise you every civility
and despatch. Good-day, sir."
Outside on the pavement Eustace stood for a while trying to recall
exactly what had happened. There was a slight scratch on his hand,
and when he automatically touched it with his lips, it made them
burn. The lit lamps in the Gray's Inn Road seemed to him a little
unsteady, and the passers-by showed a disposition to blunder into
him.
"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 so
that he thought he was expected, and he switched on the light in the
little hall, and shut the door behind him with the simplicity of
habit. But when he swung round from the door he gave a cry of
astonishment. Eustace was lying asleep in a chair before him with
his face flushed and drooping on his shoulder, and his breath
hissing noisily through his parted lips. The doctor looked at him
quizzically, "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 Eustace
did not wake.
"Queer!" the doctor muttered, sniffing at Eustace's lips; "he hasn't
been drinking."
The Soul Of A Policeman
I
Outside, above the uneasy din of the traffic, the sky was glorious
with the far peace of a fine summer evening.
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