And so, it was Mr Ibbs I was watching, when it happened. I didn't see it when Gentleman began to stagger. But I heard him groan. It was a soft sort of groan.
'Have you hit me?' he said. His voice was strange.
Then I looked.
He supposed he had only been punched. I think I supposed it, too. He had his hands at his stomach and was leaning forward, as if nursing the pain of the blow. Maud stood a little before him, but now moved away; and as she did I heard something fall, though whether it fell from her hand, or from his— or from Mrs Sucksby's— I cannot tell you.
Mrs Sucksby was the closer to him. She was certainly the closer. She put her arm about him, and as he sagged she braced herself against his weight, and held him.
'Have you hit me?' he said again.
'I don't know,' she said.
I don't think anyone knew. His clothes were dark, and Mrs Sucksby's gown was black, and they stood in the shadows, it was hard to see. But at last he took a hand away from his waistcoat and held it before his face; and then we saw the white of his palm made dark with blood.
'My God!' he said then.
Dainty shrieked.
'Bring a light!' said Mrs Sucksby. 'Bring a light!'
John caught up the lamp and held it, shaking. The dark blood turned suddenly crimson.
Gentleman's waistcoat and trousers were soaked with it, and Mrs Sucksby's taffeta gown was red and running where she had held him.
I had never seen blood run so freely. I had talked, an hour before, of murdering Maud.
I had sharpened the knife. I had left the knife upon the table. It was not there now. I had never seen blood run, like this. I grew sick.
'No,' I said. 'No, no!'
Mrs Sucksby gripped Gentleman's arm. 'Take your hand away,' she said. He still clutched his stomach.
'I can't.'
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'Take your hand away!'
She wanted to see how deep the wound went. He grimaced, then drew off his fingers.
There came, from a gash in his waistcoat, a bubble— like a bubble of soap, but swirling red— a n d t h e n a s p u r t o f b l o o d , t h a t f e l l a n d s t r u c k t h e f l o o r w i t h a splash— an ordinary splash, like water or soup would make.
Dainty shrieked again. The light wobbled. 'Fuck! Fuck!' said John.
'Set him down in a chair,' said Mrs Sucksby. 'Fetch a cloth, for the cut. Fetch something to catch this blood. Fetch something, anything— '
'Help me,' said Gentleman. 'Help me. Oh, Christ!'
They moved him, awkwardly, with grunts and sighs. They sat him on a hard-backed chair. I stood and looked on, while they did it— held still, I suppose, by horror; though I am ashamed now, that I did nothing. Mr Ibbs plucked a towel from a hook on the wall and Mrs Sucksby knelt at Gentleman's side and held it against the wound. Each time he moved or took his hand from his stomach, the blood spurted. 'Fetch a bucket or a pot,' she said again; and finally Dainty ran to the door, caught up the chamber-pot that had been left there, and brought it and set it down beside the chair. The sound of the blood striking the china— and the sight of the red of it, against the white, and against that great dark eye— was worse than anything. Gentleman heard it and grew frightened.
'Oh, Christ!' he said again. 'Oh, Christ, I'm d y i n g ! ' I n b e t w e e n t h e w o r d s , h e moaned— a shuddering, chattering moan, that he could not help or stop. 'Oh, Jesus, save me!'
'There now,' said Mrs Sucksby, touching his face. 'There now. Be brave. I've seen women lose blood like this, from a baby; and live to tell of it.'
'Not like this!' he said. 'Not like this! I'm cut. How badly am I cut? Oh, Christ! I need a surgeon. Do I?'
'Bring him liquor,' said Mrs Sucksby, to Dainty; but he shook his head.
'No liquor. A smoke, though. In my pocket, here.'
He dipped his chin to his waistcoat, and John fished in the folds and brought out a packet of cigarettes, and another of matches.
Half of the cigarettes were soaked with blood, but he found one that was dry, lit it at his own mouth, then put it in Gentleman's.
'Good boy,' said Gentleman, coughing. But he winced, and the cigarette fell. John caught it up in trembling fingers and set it back between his lips. He coughed again.
More blood oozed up between his hands. Mrs Sucksby took the towel away and wrung it— wrung it as if it were filled with water. Gentleman began to shake.
'How did this happen?' he said. I looked at Maud. She had not moved since stepping from him as he began to fall. She had kept still as me, her eyes upon his face. 'How can this be?' He looked wildly about him— at John, at Mr Ibbs, at me. 'Why do you stand and watch me? Bring a doctor. Bring a surgeon!'
I think Dainty took a step. Mr Ibbs caught her arm.
'No surgeons here,' he said firmly. 'No men like that, to this house.'
'No men like that?' cried Gentleman. The cigarette fell. 'What are you saying? Look at 324
me! Christ! Don't you know a crooked man? Look at me! I'm dying! Mrs Sucksby, you love me. Bring a man, I beg you.'
'Dear boy, be still,' she said, still pressing the towel to the cut. He cried out in pain and fear.
'Damn you!' he said. 'You bitches! John— '
John put down the lamp and raised his hand to his eyes. He was weeping and trying to hide it.
'John, go for a surgeon! Johnny! I'll pay you! Fuck!' The blood spurted again. Now his face was white, his whiskers black but matted, here and there, with red, his cheek gleaming like lard.
John shook his head. 'I can't! Don't ask me!'
Gentleman turned to me. 'Suky!' he said. 'Suky, they've killed me— '
'No surgeons,' said Mr Ibbs again, when I looked at him. 'Bring a man like that, and we're done for.'
'Take him to the street,' I said. 'Can't you? Call a doctor to the street.'
'He is cut too bad. Look at him. It would bring them here. There is too much blood.'
There was. It now almost filled the china pot. Gentleman's moans had begun to grow fainter.
'Damn you!' he said softly. He had begun to cry. 'Who is there who'll help me? I've money, I swear it. Who is there? Maud?'
Her cheek was almost as pale as his, her lip quite white.
'Maud? Maud?' he said.
She shook her head. Then she said, in a whisper: 'I am sorry. I am sorry.'
'God damn you! Help me! Oh!' He coughed. There came, in the spittle at his mouth, a thread of crimson; and then, a moment later, a gush of blood. He raised a feeble hand to it— saw the fresh red upon his lingers— and his look grew wild. He reached, out of the circle of lamp- light, and began to struggle, as if to raise himself from the chair. He reached for Charles. 'Charley?' he said, the blood bubbling and bursting about the word. He clutched at Charles's coat and made to draw him closer. But Charles would not come. He had stood all this time in the shadows, a look of fixed and awful terror on his face. Now he saw the bubbles at Gentleman's lips and whiskers, Gentleman's red and slippery hand gripping the coarse blue collar of his jacket, and he twitched like a hare. He turned and ran. He ran, the way I had brought him— along the passage to Mr Ibbs's shop. And before we could call to him or go to him to make him stop, we heard him tear open the door then shriek, like a girl, into Lant Street:
'Murder! Help! Help! Murder!'
At that we all, save Mrs Sucksby and Maud, sprang back. John made for the shop.— 'Too late!' said Mr Ibbs. 'Too late.' He held up his hand. John stood and listened. There had come a swirl of hot wind from the open shop-door and it carried with it what I thought at first was the echo of Charles's cry; then the sound grew stronger, and I understood it was an answering shout, perhaps from the window of a house nearby. In a second it was joined by another. Then it was joined by this— the worst sound of all, to us