“They wouldn’t have let him hang, you damned fool,” said a voice in the growing crowd.
“Who said that? I’ll run you in,” said the constable.
“Can’t we cut him down?” said O’Byrne. “Is there any reason why you should leave him like that?”
Action was something the constable understood. “Yes, I guess it’s all right to cut him down. You. O’Burns. Give me a hand.”
“Not me!”
“You’re the one wants him cut down,” said the constable.
“I don’t want to touch him.”
“Make way, please.” A voice with authority was heard. A middle-aged man—Professor Raymond Revercomb, of the English-teaching staff. “Go to your own rooms, fellows. Disperse. You’re only in the way here,” he said, but having said it made no further effort in that regard, and no one left. “O’Byrne. Lockwood. You discovered him?”
“Yes sir.”
Revercomb entered the room. “Good God, let’s get him down. In the name of decency, let’s get him down. This is grotesque. Constable, can’t you cut that rope?”
“I was just getting ready to, but I need help with the corpse.”
“Well, I’ll help. Lockwood, you stand on his left side and I’ll stand on his right. Constable, you cut the rope, and Lockwood, you and I carry him to the cot. Good God. Good God.”
George Lockwood shivered upon touching his dead friend, but he did as he was told and they put Chatsworth on the cot. “Cover him,” said Revercomb. “Somebody’s been sick in here.”
“Me,” said O’Byrne.
“Well, I don’t blame you, but let’s open a window. What do we do now, Constable? I mean the legalities.”
“I sent somebody for Doc Perry.”
“He can take as long as he likes,” said Revercomb. “He’ll do no good here, or any other doctor.”
“Well, I guess if I write down some more witnesses the next thing is send for the undertaker.”
“O’Byrne and I, and Bender,” said George Lockwood. “We were the first here.”
“As far as you know,” said the constable.
“Listen to him!” said a student. “ ‘As far as you know.’ “
“I warned you before, I’ll run you in,” said the constable.
“Shut up, whoever said that,” said Revercomb. “Show some respect, please. And you, Constable, bear in mind that you’re on University property.”
“You bear in mind that I was sent for, Professor.”
“Oh, all right, all right,” said Revercomb. “What shall we do? Lock this room till the undertaker gets here? You fellows didn’t find a note or a letter, did you?”
“I never thought to look,” said George Lockwood.
“Neither did I,” said O’Byrne.
“Yes, there ought to be some kind of a letter,” said the constable. “They usually leave a letter. Though not always. The women are more apt to leave a letter, those that can read and write. If anybody finds a letter, or a note, turn it right over to me.”
“You mean now?” said George Lockwood.
“Of course, now. I’ll look in his pants pockets, and Professor, you go through his desk.”
The four searched, but no letter was found.
“Lockwood, O’Byrne, there’s no use your hanging around here any longer. Go on back to your rooms and try to get some sleep. The authorities will notify us if they want you. Inquest, I suppose. I’ll stay here till the undertaker comes, and that’s about all we can do tonight.”
“What about his family, Professor?” said O’Byrne.
“I’ll attend to that. We will. We’ll get off a telegram as soon as we have more details. Goodnight, now, boys.”
“Goodnight, sir,” they said.
Out in the cold air the friends of Anson Chatsworth walked aimlessly in the shadows of the bare elms. “Do you want to come back to my room?” said O’Byrne.
“All right,” said George Lockwood. He had two roommates, Lewis and Loomis, but they were not his close friends; propinquity had not created intimacy. “I don’t think I’ll sleep, do you?”
“Well, you can stretch out in the Morris chair. You ought to get some sleep, George. You’ve had a Christ’s-own of an exhausting day.”
In O’Byrne’s room George Lockwood said, “Would you ever do that, Ned?”
“Meaning what Chat did? I’ve thought about it. I’d never hang myself. That’s because Judas Iscariot hanged himself, I guess.”
“I had a friend at St. Bartholomew’s, his father was a friend of my father’s. He shot himself in the head. I think I’d shoot myself in the heart, or take poison. I wouldn’t hang myself, either. Especially after tonight. He shouldn’t have looked that way.”
“He wasn’t thinking about how he’d look.”
“But I would. Wouldn’t you? A bullet in the brain they say—”
“I know, I know.”
“I’d care about how I looked, and I’d care about the shock to people that saw me.”
“I guess I would, too, and I guess for that reason you or I won’t ever do it. Chat was a pretty simple sort of a fellow.”
“Not stupid.”
“No, of course not stupid. But not used to worrying, not used to thinking about things the way you and I are all the time. He wasn’t used to trouble, and this thing he got into was too much for him.”
“I guess that was it.”
“Hear the bell.”
“Uh-huh. The end of the day. Now it’s Monday. The new week is starting. But not for Chat.”
“No, not for Chat. It’s all over for Chat.”
“Jesus, I’m tired.”
“Go to sleep. Don’t fight it. Sleep, George.”
“Think maybe I will.” He was asleep before O’Byrne put the blanket over him.
Their testimony at the inquest was brief, and they were treated with consideration. George was therefore surprised when O’Byrne, on leaving the borough hall, said: “God, I’m glad to get out of there!”
“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”
O’Byrne looked behind them and said: “I got this in the mail, Tuesday after Chat died. With it was $200, the same money I gave him that Saturday. Read it.”
Ned:—It’s no use. Even if I get the money that will only be the beginning of my troubles. I could not face my family after bringing this disgrace on them. Thank you for being a true and loyal friend. This is goodbye.
A. C.
They had stopped under a street lamp so that George Lockwood could read the note. He handed it back to O’Byrne.
“I don’t know whether to keep it or burn it. In a way it’s evidence,” said O’Byrne.
“Yes, but they gave a verdict, the only one they could give. Chat hung himself while of unsound mind, or whatever the wording was. You did the right thing, Ned. If you’d shown them the note they would have asked a lot of questions. It’s better to let the whole thing die down.”
“If the girl’s father keeps quiet.”
“No use making trouble now.”
“With Chat’s family.”
“Chicago’s a long way from New Brunswick. I just don’t think he’ll make any more trouble. What would be the use? Even if he went to Chicago Chat’s family wouldn’t have to believe him. It would never hold up in court, I don’t think.”
“I wish I knew the girl’s name,” said O’Byrne.
“What would you do?”
“I probably wouldn’t do anything, but it doesn’t seem right. You realize that you and I are probably the only ones here that really knew why he did it.”
“That’s a blessing. Let’s keep it that way.”
“All right. Shall we take an oath? I solemnly swear that I will never reveal or divulge what I know about the death of Anson Chats-worth.”