The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

Taking out his card-case, he pencilled the following message:

'Come round at once. I've sent the carriage for you.'

On getting out he gave this card to his coachman, telling him to

drive--as fast as possible to the Hotch Potch Club, and if Mr. Jolyon

Forsyte were there to give him the card and bring him at once. If not

there yet, he was to wait till he came.

He followed the others slowly up the steps, leaning on his umbrella,

and stood a moment to get his breath. The Inspector said: "This is the

mortuary, sir. But take your time."

In the bare, white-walled room, empty of all but a streak of sunshine

smeared along the dustless floor, lay a form covered by a sheet. With

a huge steady hand the Inspector took the hem and turned it back. A

sightless face gazed up at them, and on either side of that sightless

defiant face the three Forsytes gazed down; in each one of them the

secret emotions, fears, and pity of his own nature rose and fell like

the rising, falling waves of life, whose wish those white walls barred

out now for ever from Bosinney. And in each one of them the trend of his

nature, the odd essential spring, which moved him in fashions minutely,

unalterably different from those of every other human being, forced him

to a different attitude of thought. Far from the others, yet inscrutably

close, each stood thus, alone with death, silent, his eyes lowered.

The Inspector asked softly:

"You identify the gentleman, sir?"

Old Jolyon raised his head and nodded. He looked at his brother

opposite, at that long lean figure brooding over the dead man, with face

dusky red, and strained grey eyes; and at the figure of Soames white and

still by his father's side. And all that he had felt against those two

was gone like smoke in the long white presence of Death. Whence comes

it, how comes it--Death? Sudden reverse of all that goes before; blind

setting forth on a path that leads to where? Dark quenching of the fire!

The heavy, brutal crushing--out that all men must go through, keeping

their eyes clear and brave unto the end! Small and of no import, insects

though they are! And across old Jolyon's face there flitted a gleam, for

Soames, murmuring to the Inspector, crept noiselessly away.

Then suddenly James raised his eyes. There was a queer appeal in that

suspicious troubled look: "I know I'm no match for you," it seemed to

say. And, hunting for handkerchief he wiped his brow; then, bending

sorrowful and lank over the dead man, he too turned and hurried out.