The Coffin Merchant, by Richard Middleton
London on a November Sunday inspired Eustace Reynolds with a
melancholy too insistent to be ignored and too causeless to be
enjoyed. The grey sky overhead between the house-tops, the cold wind
round every street-corner, the sad faces of the men and women on the
pavements, combined to create an atmosphere of ineloquent misery.
Eustace was sensitive to impressions, and in spite of a
half-conscious effort to remain a dispassionate spectator of the
world's melancholy, he felt the chill of the aimless day creeping
over his spirit. Why was there no sun, no warmth, no laughter on the
earth? What had become of all the children who keep laughter like a
mask on the faces of disillusioned men? The wind blew down
Southampton Street, and chilled Eustace to a shiver that passed away
in a shudder of disgust at the sombre colour of life. A windy Sunday
in London before the lamps are lit, tempts a man to believe in the
nobility of work.
At the corner by Charing Cross Telegraph Office a man thrust a
handbill under his eyes, but he shook his head impatiently. The
blueness of the fingers that offered him the paper was alone
sufficient to make him disinclined to remove his hands from his
pockets even for an instant. But, the man would not be dismissed so
"Excuse me, sir," he said, following him, "you have not looked to
see what my bills are."
"Whatever they are I do not want them."
"That's where you are wrong, sir," the man said earnestly. "You will
never find life interesting if you do not lie in wait for the
unexpected. As a matter of fact, I believe that my bill contains
exactly what you do want."
Eustace looked at the man with quick curiosity. His clothes were
ragged, and the visible parts of his flesh were blue with cold, but
his eyes were bright with intelligence and his speech was that of an
educated man. It seemed to Eustace that he was being regarded with a
keen expectancy, as though his decision I on the trivial point was of
"I don't know what you are driving at," he said, "but if it will give
you any pleasure I will take one of your bills; though if you argue
with all your clients as you have with me, it must take you a long
time to get rid of them."
"I only offer them to suitable persons," the man said, folding up one
of the handbills while he spoke, "and I'm sure you will not regret
taking it," and he slipped the paper into Eustace's hand and walked
Eustace looked after him curiously for a moment, and then opened the
paper in his hand. When his eyes comprehended its significance, he
gave a low whistle of astonishment. "You will soon be warning a
coffin!" it read. "At 606, Gray's Inn Road, your order will be
attended to with civility and despatch. Call and see us!!"
Eustace swung round quickly to look for the man, but he was out of
sight. The wind was growing colder, and the lamps were beginning to
shine out in the greying streets. Eustace crumpled the paper into
his overcoat pocket, and turned homewards.
"How silly!" he said to himself, in conscious amusement. The sound of
his footsteps on the pavement rang like an echo to his laugh.
Eustace was impressionable but not temperamentally morbid, and he was
troubled a little by the fact that the gruesomely bizarre handbill
continued to recur to his mind. The thing was so manifestly absurd,
he told himself with conviction, that it was not worth a second
thought, but this did not prevent him from thinking of it again and
again. What manner of undertaker could hope to obtain business by
giving away foolish handbills in the street? Really, the whole thing
had the air of a brainless practical joke, yet his intellectual
fairness forced him to admit that as far as the man who had given him
the bill was concerned, brainlessness was out of the question, and
joking improbable. There had been depths in those little bright
eyes which his glance had not been able to sound, and the man's
manner in making him accept the handbill had given the whole
transaction a kind of ludicrous significance.
"You will soon be wanting a coffin?!"
Eustace found himself turning the words over and over in his mind.
If he had had any near relations he might have construed the thing
as an elaborate threat, but he was practically alone in the world,
and it seemed to him that he was not likely to want a coffin for
anyone but himself.
"Oh damn the thing!" he said impatiently, as he opened the door of
his flat, "it isn't worth worrying about. I mustn't let the whim of
some mad tradesman get on my nerves. I've got no one to bury,
Nevertheless the thing lingered with him all the evening, and when
his neighbour the doctor came in for a chat at ten o'clock, Eustace
was glad to show him the strange handbill. The doctor, who had
experienced the queer magics that are practised to this day on the
West Coast of Africa, and who, therefore, had no nerves, was
delighted with so striking an example of British commercial
"Though, mind you," he added gravely, smoothing the crumpled paper on
his knee, "this sort of thing might do a lot of harm if it fell into
the hands of a nervous subject. I should be inclined to punch the
head of the ass who perpetrated it. Have you turned that address up
in the Post Office Directory?"
Eustace shook his head, and rose and fetched the fat red book which
makes London an English city. Together they found the Gray's Inn
Road, and ran their eyes down to No. 606.
"'Harding, G. J., Coffin Merchant and Undertaker.' Not much
information there," muttered the doctor.
"Coffin merchant's a bit unusual, isn't it?" queried Eustace.
"I suppose he manufactures coffins wholesale for the trade. Still, I
didn't know they called themselves that. Anyhow, it seems, as though
that handbill is a genuine piece of downright foolishness. The idiot
ought to be stopped advertising in that way."
"I'll go and see him myself tomorrow," said Eustace bluntly.
"Well, he's given you an invitation," said the doctor, "so it's only
polite of you to go. I'll drop in here in the evening to hear what
he's like. I expect that you'll find him as mad as a hatter."
"Something like that," said Eustace, "or he wouldn't give handbills
to people like me. I have no one to bury except myself."
"No," said the doctor in the hall, "I suppose you haven't. Don't let
him measure you for a coffin, Reynolds!"
"We never know," he said sententiously.
Next day was one of those gorgeous blue days of which November gives
but few, and Eustace was glad to run out to Wimbledon for a game of
golf, or rather for two. It was therefore dusk before he made his way
to the Gray's Inn Road in search of the unexpected. His attitude
towards his errand despite the doctor's laughter and the prosaic
entry in the directory, was a little confused. He could not help
reflecting that after all the doctor had not seen the man with the
little wise eyes, nor could he forget that Mr. G. J. Harding's
description of himself as a coffin merchant, to say the least of it,
approached the unusual. Yet he felt that it would be intolerable to
chop the whole business without finding out what it all meant. On the
whole he would have preferred not to have discovered the riddle at
all; but having found it, he could not rest without an answer.
No. 606, Gray's Inn Road, was not like an ordinary undertaker's shop.
The window was heavily draped with black cloth, but was otherwise
unadorned. There were no letters from grateful mourners, no little
model coffins, no photographs of marble memorials. Even more
surprising was the absence of any name over the shop-door, so that
the uninformed stranger could not possibly tell what trade was
carried on within, or who was responsible for the management of the
business. This uncommercial modesty did not tend to remove Eustace's
doubts as to the sanity of Mr. G. J. Harding; but he opened the
shop-door which started a large bell swinging noisily, and stepped
over the threshold. The shop was hardly more expressive inside than
out. A broad counter ran across it, cutting it in two, and in the
partial gloom overhead a naked gas-burner whistled a noisy song.
Beyond this the shop contained no furniture whatever, and no
stock-in-trade except a few planks leaning against the wall in one
corner. There was a large ink-stand on the counter. Eustace waited
patiently for a minute or two, and then as no one came he began
stamping on the floor with his foot. This proved efficacious, for
soon he heard the sound of footsteps ascending wooden stairs, the
door behind the counter opened and a man came into the shop.
He was dressed quite neatly now, and his hands were no longer blue
with cold, but Eustace knew at once that it was the man who had given
him the handbill. Nevertheless he looked at Eustace without a sign of
"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked pleasantly.
Eustace laid the handbill down on the counter.
"I want to know about this," he said. "It strikes me as being in
pretty bad taste, and if a nervous person got hold of it, it might be
"You think so, sir? Yet our representative," he lingered
affectionately on the words, "our representative told you, I believe,
that the handbill was only distributed to suitable cases."
"That's where you are wrong," said Eustace sharply, "for I have no
one to bury."
"Except yourself," said the coffin merchant suavely.
Eustace looked at him keenly. "I don't see??" he began. But the
coffin merchant interrupted him.
"You must know, sir," he said, "that this is no ordinary undertaker's
business. We possess information that enables us to defy competition
in our special class of trade."
"Well, if you prefer it, you may say intuitions. If our
representative handed you that advertisement, it was because he knew
you would need it."
"Excuse me," said Eustace, "you appear to be sane, but your words do
not convey to me any reasonable significance. You gave me that
foolish advertisement yourself, and now you say that you did so
because you knew I would need it. I ask you why?"
The coffin merchant shrugged his shoulders. "Ours is a sentimental
trade," he said, "I do not know why dead men want coffins, but they
do. For my part I would wish to be cremated."
"Ah, I was coming to that. You see Mr.?"
"Thank you, my name is Harding G. J. Harding. You see, Mr. Reynolds,
our intuitions are of a very special character, and if we say that
you will need a coffin, it is probable that you will need one."
"You mean to say that I?"
"Precisely. In twenty-four hours or less, Mr. Reynolds, you will need
The revelation of the coffin merchant's insanity came to Eustace
with a certain relief. For the first time in the interview he had a
sense of the dark empty shop and the whistling gas-jet over his
"Why, it sounds like a threat, Mr. Harding!" he said gaily.
The coffin merchant looked at him oddly, and produced a printed form
from his pocket. "If you would fill this up," he said.
Eustace picked it up off the counter and laughed aloud. It was an
order for a hundred-guinea funeral.
"I don't know what your game is," he said, "but this has gone on long
"Perhaps it has, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant, and he
leant across the counter and looked Eustace straight in the face.
For a moment Eustace was amused; then he was suddenly afraid. "I
think it's time I?" he began slowly, and then he was silent, his
whole will intent on fighting the eyes of the coffin merchant. The
song of the gas-jet waned to a point in his ears, and then rose
steadily till it was like the beating of the world's heart. The eyes
of the coffin merchant grew larger and larger, till they blended in
one great circle of fire. Then Eustace picked a pen off the counter
and filled in the form.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Reynolds," said the coffin merchant,
shaking hands with him politely. "I can promise you every civility
and despatch. Good-day, sir."
Outside on the pavement Eustace stood for a while trying to recall
exactly what had happened. There was a slight scratch on his hand,
and when he automatically touched it with his lips, it made them
burn. The lit lamps in the Gray's Inn Road seemed to him a little
unsteady, and the passers-by showed a disposition to blunder into
"Queer business," he said to himself dimly; "I'd better have a cab."
He reached home in a dream.
It was nearly ten o'clock before the doctor remembered his promise,
and went upstairs to Eustace's flat. The outer door was half-open so
that he thought he was expected, and he switched on the light in the
little hall, and shut the door behind him with the simplicity of
habit. But when he swung round from the door he gave a cry of
astonishment. Eustace was lying asleep in a chair before him with
his face flushed and drooping on his shoulder, and his breath
hissing noisily through his parted lips. The doctor looked at him
quizzically, "If I did not know you, my young friend," he remarked,
"I should say that you were as drunk as a lord."
And he went up to Eustace and shook him by the shoulder; but Eustace
did not wake.
"Queer!" the doctor muttered, sniffing at Eustace's lips; "he hasn't