Such Is Death Read Free Page B

an hour later the man called Ernest Rafter brought his glass to the counter but did not order another drink. He moved with the peculiar deliberateness of one who is controlling his own tipsiness.
    â€œI shall leave it till tomorrow,” he told Dorisambiguously. “Plenty of time then. I don’t feel like tackling it tonight.”
    â€œGoing to bed, are you? That’s right. You get a nice night’s sleep and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
    â€œI am not going to bed. I don’t need a nice night’s sleep and I feel perfectly well tonight,” retorted the man sulkily.
    â€œYou do whatever you think best, then. I was only saying.”
    â€œI shall go for a walk,” said Ernest Rafter obstinately.
    â€œWhat, in all that wind? It cuts right through you like a razor. Wherever are you going?”
    â€œPromenade,” said the man. “There is a promenade, isn’t there?”
    â€œOf course there is. Ever so nice it is in summer. But there won’t be many out there tonight.”
    â€œSuits me. Good night.”
    â€œCheerio,” said Doris and watched him march resolutely to the door. “He’s had too much,” she told Vivienne. “I can’t think what he’s going down to the front for, unless it’s to cool his head. He’ll certainly do that in this wind, won’t he?”
    â€œMmmm,” said Vivienne, agreeing.
    Meanwhile Ernest Rafter made straight for the sea as though he went to an appointment. His light raincoat did little to protect him from the wind and his head and shoulders were thrust forward. He passed almost no one on his way down Carter Street which ran from the Queen Victoria hotel to the promenade, not even a policeman trying doors or a conscientious drinker coming from his pub. One bundle of rather aged womanhood and a young man with hands in pockets ostentatiously without a coat were the only people he saw and of these he took no notice.
    â€œTomorrow,” he said irritably and aloud, as he reached the promenade. It was as though he was answering someone’s nagging questions. ‘Tomorrow,’ he was thinking. ‘There’s plenty of time. They’ll have to pay for my hotel. Might even stay for a while.’
    Had he been sober enough for surprise he would have found it odd that the asphalt was not quite deserted. Even by the reduced lighting he could see several hurrying figures and coming towards him was a young policeman who had evidently just completed a tour of inspection of the promenade. The policeman seemed to eye him rather fixedly but said nothing as he passed.
    Ernest Rafter breathed heavily. The cold wind seemed to make his head swim and he hesitated, as though trying to decide which direction to take, to the left towards the bandstand or to the right, towards the end of the promenade and the last shelter. He chose the right.
    As he walked he was passed more than once but was almost unaware of it and certainly had no idea what sort of being had gone by. On the contrary he believed himself alone, but he was accustomed to that. He had no friends and wanted none. More than half drunk but obstinately determined to complete the walk he had undertaken, he pushed forward against the wind. He passed several shelters which seemed to offer a respite from his drunken battle with the elements, but resisted the temptation to sit down.
    It was not until he came to the last shelter, curiously isolated it seemed, that he felt at last he must rest. He was just sober enough to choose a seat on the lee side. In a few moments he was in a cramped and stertorous sleep.

3
    T HE policeman whom Ernest Rafter had passed was called Sitwell and had been on the promenade beat for about a fortnight. He was an ambitious and idealistic young man who believed in the high purpose of law and order and saw himself and his fellow policemen as avenging angels in a population conveniently dividedinto black and white,