Dark Side

Chapter One THE KIT BAG ALGERNON BLACKWOOD When the Words "not guilty" sounded through the crowded courtroom that dark December afternoon, Arthur Wilbraham, the great criminal K.C. [king's counsel] and leader for the triumphant defense, was represented by his junior; but Johnson, his private secretary, carried the verdict across to his chambers like lightning. "It's what we expected, I think," said the lawyer, without emotion; "and, personally, I am glad the case is over." There was no particular sign of pleasure that his defense of John Turk, the murderer, on a plea of insanity, had been successful, for no doubt he felt, as everybody who had watched the case felt, that no man had ever better deserved the gallows. "I'm glad too," said Johnson. He had sat in the court for ten days watching the face of the man who had carried out with callous detail one of the most brutal and cold-blooded murders of recent years. The counsel glanced up at his secretary. They were more than employer and employed; for family and other reasons, they were friends. "Ah, I remember; yes," he said with a kind smile, "and you want to get away for Christmas? You're going to skate and ski in the Alps, aren't you? If I was your age, I'd come with you." Johnson laughed shortly. He was a young man of 26, with a delicate face like a girl's. "I can catch the morning boat now," he said, "but that's not the reason I'm glad the trial is over. I'm glad it's over because I've seen the last of that man's dreadful face. It positively haunted me. That white skin, with the black hair brushed low over the forehead, is a thing I shall never forget, and the description of the way the dismembered body was crammed and packed with lime into that-" "Don't dwell on it, my dear fellow," interrupted the other, looking at him curiously out of his keen eyes. "Don't think about it. Such pictures have a trick of coming back when one least wants them." He paused a moment. "Now go," he added presently, "and enjoy your holiday. I shall want all of your energy for my Parliamentary work when you get back. And don't break your neck skiing." Johnson shook hands and took his leave. At the door he turned suddenly. "I knew there was something I wanted to ask you," he said. "Would you mind lending me one of your kit bags? It's too late to get one tonight, and I leave in the morning before the shops are open." "Of course; I'll send Henry over with it to your rooms. You shall have it the moment I get home." "I promise to take great care of it," said Johnson gratefully, delighted to think that within 30 hours he would be nearing the brilliant sunshine of the high Alps in the winter. The thought of that criminal court was like an evil dream in his mind. He dined at his club and went on to Bloomsbury, where he occupied the top floor in one of those old, gaunt houses in which the rooms are large and lofty. The floor below his own was vacant and unfurnished, and below that were other lodgers whom he did not know. It was cheerless, and he heartily looked forward to a change. The night was even more cheerless: it was miserable, and few people were around. A cold, sleety rain was driving down the streets before the keenest east wind that he had ever felt. It howled dismally among the big, gloomy houses of the great squares, and when he reached his rooms, he heard it whistling and shouting over the world of black roofs beyondPrice, Susan is the author of 'Dark Side ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780753461433 and ISBN 0753461439.