I only know there was a funeral, and
people were sobbing and looking at me, and somebody said I was callous,
but somebody else said, "No, look at him," and that it was just the other
way about. And I think I remember, now, that it wasn't in London, for I
was in a train; but after the funeral I dodged them, and found myself
back at Euston again. They followed me, but I shook them off. I locked my
own studio up, and lay as quiet as a mouse in Benlian's place when they
came hammering at the door....

       *       *       *       *       *

And now I must come to what you'll called the finish--though it's awfully
stupid to call things like that "finishes." I'd slipped into my own studio one night--I forget what for; and I'd gone
quietly, for I knew they were following me, those people, and would catch
me if they could. It was a thick, misty night, and the light came
streaming up through Benlian's roof window, with the shadows of the
window-divisions losing themselves like dark rays in the fog. A lot of
hooting was going on down the river, steamers and barges.... Oh, I know
what I'd come into my studio for! It was for those negatives. Benlian
wanted them for the diary, so that it could be seen there wasn't any
fake about the prints. For he'd said he would make a final spurt that
evening and get the job finished. It had taken a long time, but I'll bet
_you_ couldn't have passed _yourself_ any quicker. When I got back he was sitting in the chair he'd hardly left for weeks,
and the diary was on the table by his side. I'd taken all the scaffolding
down from the statue, and he was ready to begin. He had to waste one last
bit of strength to explain to me, but I drew as close as I could, so that
he wouldn't lose much. "Now, Pudgie," I just heard him say, "you've behaved splendidly, and
you'll be quite still up to the finish, won't you?" I nodded. "And you mustn't expect the statue to come down and walk about,
or anything like that," he continued. "_Those_ aren't the really
wonderful things. And no doubt people will tell you it hasn't changed;
but you'll know better! It's much more wonderful that I should be there
than that they should be able to prove it, isn't it?... And, of course,
I don't know exactly how it will happen, for I've never done this
before.... You have the letter for the S.P.R.? They can photograph it if
they want.... By the way, you don't think the same of my statue as you
did at first, do you?" "Oh, it's wonderful!" I breathed. "And even if, like the God of the others, it doesn't vouchsafe a special
sign and wonder, it's Benlian, for all that?" "Oh, do be quick, Benlian! I can't bear another minute!" Then, for the last time, he turned his great eaten-out eyes on me. "_I seal you mine, Pudgie_!" he said. Then his eyes fastened themselves on the statue. I waited for a quarter of an hour, scarcely breathing. Benlian's breath
came in little flutters, many seconds apart. He had a little clock on the
table. Twenty minutes passed, and half an hour. I was a little
disappointed, really, that the statue wasn't going to move; but Benlian
knew best, and it was filling quietly up with him instead. Then I thought
of those zigzag bunches of lightning they draw on the electric-belt
advertisements, and I was rather glad after all that the statue _wasn't_
going to move. It would have been a little cheap, that ... vulgar, in a
sense.... He was breathing a little more sharply now, as if in pain, but
his eyes never moved. A dog was howling somewhere, and I hoped that the
hooting of the tugs wouldn't disturb Benlian....

Nearly an hour had passed when, all of a sudden, I pushed my chair
farther away and cowered back, gnawing my fingers, very frightened. Benlian had suddenly moved. He'd set himself forward in his chair, and he
seemed to be strangling. His mouth was wide open, and he began to make
long harsh "_Aaaaah-aaaah's_!" I shouldn't have thought passing yourself
was such agony....

And then I gave a scream--for he seemed to be thrusting himself back in
his chair again, as if he'd changed his mind and didn't want to pass
himself at all. But just you ask anybody: When you get yourself just over
half-way passed, the other's dragged out of you, and you can't help
yourself. His "_Aaaaahs_!" became so loud and horrid that I shut my eyes
and stopped my ears.... Minutes that lasted; and then there came a high
dinning that I couldn't shut out, and all at once the floor shook with a
heavy thump. When all was still again I opened my eyes. His chair had overturned, and he lay in a heap beside it. I called "Benlian!" but he didn't answer.... He'd passed beautifully; quite dead. I looked up at the statue. It was
just as Benlian had said--it didn't open its eyes, nor speak, nor
anything like that. Don't you believe chaps who tell you that statues
that have been passed into do that; they don't. But instead, in a blaze and flash and shock, I knew now for the first
time what a glorious thing that statue was! Have you ever seen anything
for the first time like that? If you have, you never see very much
afterwards, you know. The rest's all piffle after that. It was like
coming out of fog and darkness into a split in the open heavens, my
statue was so transfigured; and I'll bet if you'd been there you'd have
clapped your hands, as I did, and chucked the tablecloth over the Benlian
on the floor till they should come to cart that empty shell away, and
patted the statue's foot and cried: "_Is it all right, Benlian_?" I did this; and then I rushed excitedly out into the street, to call
somebody to see how glorious it was....

       *       *       *       *       *

They've brought me here for a holiday, and I'm to go back to the studio
in two or three days. But they've said that before, and I think it's
caddish of fellows not to keep their word--and not to return a valuable
diary too! But there isn't a peephole in my room, as there is in some of
them (the Emperor of Brazil told me that); and Benlian knows I haven't
forsaken him, for they take me a message every day to the studio, and
Benlian always answers that it's "_all right_, and I'm to stay where I am
for a bit." So as long as he knows, I don't mind so much. But it is a bit
rotten hanging on here, especially when the doctors themselves admit how
reasonable it all is.... Still, if Benlian says it's "_All right_ ..."




IO


As the young man put his hand to the uppermost of the four brass
bell-knobs to the right of the fanlighted door he paused, withdrew the
hand again, and then pulled at the lowest knob. The sawing of bell-wire
answered him, and he waited for a moment, uncertain whether the bell had
rung, before pulling again. Then there came from the basement a single
cracked stroke; the head of a maid appeared in the whitewashed area
below; and the head was withdrawn as apparently the maid recognised him.