the man who was thursday-第7节

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The　voice　of　the　chairman　clove　his　speech　with　a　cold　accent。

〃Does　anyone　second　this　amendment？〃　he　said。　A　tall；　tired　man；　with　melancholy　eyes　and　an　American　chin　beard；　was　observed　on　the　back　bench　to　be　slowly　rising　to　his　feet。　Gregory　had　been　screaming　for　some　time　past；　now　there　was　a　change　in　his　accent；　more　shocking　than　any　scream。　〃I　end　all　this！〃　he　said；　in　a　voice　as　heavy　as　stone。

〃This　man　cannot　be　elected。　He　is　a〃

〃Yes；〃　said　Syme；　quite　motionless；　〃what　is　he？〃　Gregory's　mouth　worked　twice　without　sound；　then　slowly　the　blood　began　to　crawl　back　into　his　dead　face。　〃He　is　a　man　quite　inexperienced　in　our　work；〃　he　said；　and　sat　down　abruptly。

Before　he　had　done　so；　the　long；　lean　man　with　the　American　beard　was　again　upon　his　feet；　and　was　repeating　in　a　high　American　monotone

〃I　beg　to　second　the　election　of　Comrade　Syme。〃

〃The　amendment　will；　as　usual；　be　put　first；〃　said　Mr。　Buttons；　the　chairman；　with　mechanical　rapidity。

〃The　question　is　that　Comrade　Syme〃

Gregory　had　again　sprung　to　his　feet；　panting　and　passionate。

〃Comrades；〃　he　cried　out；　〃I　am　not　a　madman。〃

〃Oh；　oh！〃　said　Mr。　Witherspoon。

〃I　am　not　a　madman；〃　reiterated　Gregory；　with　a　frightful　sincerity　which　for　a　moment　staggered　the　room；　〃but　I　give　you　a　counsel　which　you　can　call　mad　if　you　like。　No；　I　will　not　call　it　a　counsel；　for　I　can　give　you　no　reason　for　it。　I　will　call　it　a　command。　Call　it　a　mad　command；　but　act　upon　it。　Strike；　but　hear　me！　Kill　me；　but　obey　me！　Do　not　elect　this　man。〃　Truth　is　so　terrible；　even　in　fetters；　that　for　a　moment　Syme's　slender　and　insane　victory　swayed　like　a　reed。　But　you　could　not　have　guessed　it　from　Syme's　bleak　blue　eyes。　He　merely　began

〃Comrade　Gregory　commands〃

Then　the　spell　was　snapped；　and　one　anarchist　called　out　to　Gregory

〃Who　are　you？　You　are　not　Sunday〃；　and　another　anarchist　added　in　a　heavier　voice；　〃And　you　are　not　Thursday。〃

〃Comrades；〃　cried　Gregory；　in　a　voice　like　that　of　a　martyr　who　in　an　ecstacy　of　pain　has　passed　beyond　pain；　〃it　is　nothing　to　me　whether　you　detest　me　as　a　tyrant　or　detest　me　as　a　slave。　If　you　will　not　take　my　command；　accept　my　degradation。　I　kneel　to　you。　I　throw　myself　at　your　feet。　I　implore　you。　Do　not　elect　this　man。〃

〃Comrade　Gregory；〃　said　the　chairman　after　a　painful　pause；　〃this　is　really　not　quite　dignified。〃

For　the　first　time　in　the　proceedings　there　was　for　a　few　seconds　a　real　silence。　Then　Gregory　fell　back　in　his　seat；　a　pale　wreck　of　a　man；　and　the　chairman　repeated；　like　a　piece　of　clock…work　suddenly　started　again

〃The　question　is　that　Comrade　Syme　be　elected　to　the　post　of　Thursday　on　the　General　Council。〃

The　roar　rose　like　the　sea；　the　hands　rose　like　a　forest；　and　three　minutes　afterwards　Mr。　Gabriel　Syme；　of　the　Secret　Police　Service；　was　elected　to　the　post　of　Thursday　on　the　General　Council　of　the　Anarchists　of　Europe。

Everyone　in　the　room　seemed　to　feel　the　tug　waiting　on　the　river；　the　sword…stick　and　the　revolver；　waiting　on　the　table。　The　instant　the　election　was　ended　and　irrevocable；　and　Syme　had　received　the　paper　proving　his　election；　they　all　sprang　to　their　feet；　and　the　fiery　groups　moved　and　mixed　in　the　room。　Syme　found　himself；　somehow　or　other；　face　to　face　with　Gregory；　who　still　regarded　him　with　a　stare　of　stunned　hatred。　They　were　silent　for　many　minutes。

〃You　are　a　devil！〃　said　Gregory　at　last。

〃And　you　are　a　gentleman；〃　said　Syme　with　gravity。

〃It　was　you　that　entrapped　me；〃　began　Gregory；　shaking　from　head　to　foot；　〃entrapped　me　into〃

〃Talk　sense；〃　said　Syme　shortly。　〃Into　what　sort　of　devils'　parliament　have　you　entrapped　me；　if　it　comes　to　that？　You　made　me　swear　before　I　made　you。　Perhaps　we　are　both　doing　what　we　think　right。　But　what　we　think　right　is　so　damned　different　that　there　can　be　nothing　between　us　in　the　way　of　concession。　There　is　nothing　possible　between　us　but　honour　and　death；〃　and　he　pulled　the　great　cloak　about　his　shoulders　and　picked　up　the　flask　from　the　table。

〃The　boat　is　quite　ready；〃　said　Mr。　Buttons；　bustling　up。　〃Be　good　enough　to　step　this　way。〃

With　a　gesture　that　revealed　the　shop…walker；　he　led　Syme　down　a　short；　iron…bound　passage；　the　still　agonised　Gregory　following　feverishly　at　their　heels。　At　the　end　of　the　passage　was　a　door；　which　Buttons　opened　sharply；　showing　a　sudden　blue　and　silver　picture　of　the　moonlit　river；　that　looked　like　a　scene　in　a　theatre。　Close　to　the　opening　lay　a　dark；　dwarfish　steam…launch；　like　a　baby　dragon　with　one　red　eye。

Almost　in　the　act　of　stepping　on　board；　Gabriel　Syme　turned　to　the　gaping　Gregory。

〃You　have　kept　your　word；〃　he　said　gently；　with　his　face　in　shadow。　〃You　are　a　man　of　honour；　and　I　thank　you。　You　have　kept　it　even　down　to　a　small　particular。　There　was　one　special　thing　you　promised　me　at　the　beginning　of　the　affair；　and　which　you　have　certainly　given　me　by　the　end　of　it。〃

〃What　do　you　mean？〃　cried　the　chaotic　Gregory。　〃What　did　I　promise　you？〃

〃A　very　entertaining　evening；〃　said　Syme；　and　he　made　a　military　salute　with　the　sword…stick　as　the　steamboat　slid　away。



CHAPTER　IV

THE　TALE　OF　A　DETECTIVE

GABRIEL　SYME　was　not　merely　a　detective　who　pretended　to　be　a　poet；　he　was　really　a　poet　who　had　become　a　detective。　Nor　was　his　hatred　of　anarchy　hypocritical。　He　was　one　of　those　who　are　driven　early　in　life　into　too　conservative　an　attitude　by　the　bewildering　folly　of　most　revolutionists。　He　had　not　attained　it　by　any　tame　tradition。　His　respectability　was　spontaneous　and　sudden；　a　rebellion　against　rebellion。　He　came　of　a　family　of　cranks；　in　which　all　the　oldest　people　had　all　the　newest　notions。　One　of　his　uncles　always　walked　about　without　a　hat；　and　another　had　made　an　unsuccessful　attempt　to　walk　about　with　a　hat　and　nothing　else。　His　father　cultivated　art　and　self…realisation；　his　mother　went　in　for　simplicity　and　hygiene。　Hence　the　child；　during　his　tenderer　years；　was　wholly　unacquainted　with　any　drink　between　the　extremes　of　absinth　and　cocoa；　of　both　of　which　he　had　a　healthy　dislike。　The　more　his　mother　preached　a　more　than　Puritan　abstinence　the　more　did　his　father　expand　into　a　more　than　pagan　latitude；　and　by　the　time　the　former　had　come　to　enforcing　vegetarianism；　the　latter　had　pretty　well　reached　the　point　of　defending　cannibalism。

Being　surrounded　with　every　conceivable　kind　of　revolt　from　infancy；　Gabriel　had　to　revolt　into　something；　so　he　revolted　into　the　only　thing　leftsanity。　But　there　was　just　enough　in　him　of　the　blood　of　these　fanatics　to　make　even　his　protest　for　common　sense　a　little　too　fierce　to　be　sensible。　His　hatred　of　modern　lawlessness　had　been　crowned　also　by　an　accident。　It　happened　that　he　was　walking　in　a　side　street　at　the　instant　of　a　dynamite　outrage。　He　had　been　blind　and　deaf　for　a　moment；　and　then　seen；　the　smoke　clearing；　the　broken　windows　and　the　bleeding　faces。　After　that　he　went　about　as　usualquiet；　courteous；　rather　gentle；　but　there　was　a　spot　on　his　mind　that　was　not　sane。　He　did　not　regard　anarchists；　as　most　of　us　do；　as　a　handful　of　morbid　men；　combining　ignorance　with　intellectualism。　He　regarded　them　as　a　huge　and　pitiless　peril；　like　a　Chinese　invasion。

He　poured　perpetually　into　newspapers　and　their　waste…paper　baskets　a　torrent　of　tales；　verses　and　violent　articles；　warning　men　of　this　deluge　of　barbaric　denial。　But　he　seemed　to　be　getting　no　nearer　his　enemy；　and；　what　was　worse；　no　nearer　a　living。　As　he　paced　the　Thames　embankment；　bitterly　biting　a　cheap　cigar　and　brooding　on　the　advance　of　Anarchy；　there　was　no　anarchist　with　a　bomb　in　his　pocket　so　savage　or　so　solitary　as　he。　Indeed；　he　always　felt　that　Government　stood　alone　and　desperate；　with　its　back　to　the　wall。　He　was　too　quixotic　to　have　cared　for　it　otherwise。

He　walked　on　the　Embankment　once　under　a　dark　red　sunset。　The　red　river　reflected　the　red　sky；　and　they　both　reflected　his　anger。　The　sky；　indeed；　was　so　swarthy；　and　the　light　on　the　river　relatively　so　lurid；　that　the　water　almost　seemed　of　fiercer　flame　than　the　sunset　it　mirrored。　It　looked　like　a　stream　of　literal　fire　winding　under　the　vast　caverns　of　a　subterranean　country。

Syme　was　shabby　in　those　days。　He　wore　an　old…fashioned　black　chimney…pot　hat；　he　was　wrapped　in　a　yet　more　old…fashioned　cloak；　black　and　ragged；　and　the　combination　gave　him　the　look　of　the　early　villains　in　Dickens　and　Bulwer　Lytton。　Also　his　yellow　beard　and　hair　were　more　unkempt　and　leonine　than　when　they　appeared　long　afterwards；　cut　and　pointed；　on　the　lawns　of　Saffron　Park。　A　long；　lean；　black　cigar；　bought　in　Soho　for　twopence；　stood　out　from　between　his　tightened　teeth；　and　altogether　he　looked　a　very　satisfactory　specimen　of　the　anarchists　upon　whom　he　had　vowed　a　holy　war。　Perhaps　this　was　why　a　policeman　on　the　Embankment　spoke　to　him；　and　said　〃Good　evening。〃

Syme；　at　a　crisis　of　his　morbid　fears　for　humanity；　seemed　stung　by　the　mere　stolidity　of　the　automatic　official；　a　mere　bulk　of　blue　in　the　twilight。

〃A　good　evening　is　it？〃　he　said　sharply。　〃You　fellows　would　call　the　end　of　the　world　a　good　evening。　Look　at　that　bloody　red　sun　and　that　bloody　river！　I　tell　you　that　if　that　were　literally　human　blood；　spilt　and　shining；　y