Free The Comedians by Graham Greene

government officials go. He had even during his first year of office made some attempt to improve the conditions of the shanty-town along the waterfront; they had built a water-pump, with his name on a stamped cast-iron label, at the bottom of the Rue Desaix, but the pipes had never been connected because the contractors had not received a proper rake-off.
    â€˜When I go in his room he not there any more.’
    â€˜Do you think he’s made for the mountain?’
    â€˜No, Monsieur Brown, not the mountain,’ Joseph said. He stood below me with his head bowed. ‘I think he gone done a very wicked thing.’ He added in a low voice the inscription on my paper-weight, ‘ Requiescat In Pace ,’ for Joseph was a good Catholic as well as a good Voodooist. ‘Please, Monsieur Brown, come with me.’
    I followed him down the path to the bathing-pool in which I had seen the pretty girl making love, once, in another epoch, in the golden age. It was empty of water now. My torch lit the shallows and a litter of leaves.
    â€˜Other end,’ Joseph told me, standing quite still, not going any nearer. Doctor Philipot must have walked up to the narrow cave of shadow made by the diving-plank, and now he lay in a crouched position below it with his knees drawn towards his chin, a middle-aged foetus ready dressed for burial in his neat grey suit. He had cut his wrists first and then his throat to make sure. Above the head was the dark circle of the pipe. We had only to turn on the water to wash the blood away; he had been as considerate as possible. He could not have been dead for more than a few minutes. My first thoughts were selfish ones: you cannot be blamed if a man kills himself in your swimming-pool. There was easy access to it direct from the road without passing the house. Beggars used to come here to try to sell trumpery wooden carvings to the guests swimming in the pool.
    I asked Joseph, ‘Is Doctor Magiot still in town?’ He nodded.
    â€˜Go to Madame Pineda in the car outside and ask her to drive you to his house on the way to the embassy. Don’t tell her the reason. Bring him back – if he’ll come.’ He was the only doctor in town, I thought, with the courage to attend even a stone-dead enemy of the Baron. But before Joseph could start up the path there was a clatter of footsteps and I heard the unmistakable voice of Mrs Smith. ‘The New York customs could learn a thing or two from the men here. They were very polite to us both. You never find such courtesy among white people as you do with coloured.’
    â€˜Look out, my dear, there’s a hole in the path.’
    â€˜I can see well enough. There’s nothing like raw carrots for the sight, Mrs . . .’
    â€˜Pineda.’
    â€˜Mrs Pineda.’
    Martha brought up the rear carrying an electric torch. Mr Smith said, ‘We found this good lady in the car outside. There seemed no one around.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I’d quite forgotten you were going to stay here.’
    â€˜I thought Mr Jones was coming here too, but we left him with a police officer. I hope he’s not in trouble.’
    â€˜Joseph, get the John Barrymore suite ready. See that there are plenty of lamps for Mr and Mrs Smith. I must apologize for the lights. They will come on any moment now.’
    â€˜We like it,’ Mr Smith said, ‘it feels like an adventure.’
    If a spirit hovers, as some believe, for an hour or two over the cadaver it has abandoned, what banalities it is doomed to hear, while it waits in a despairing hope that some serious thought will be uttered, some expression which will lend dignity to the life it has left. I said to Mrs Smith, ‘Tonight would you mind having only eggs? Tomorrow I’ll have everything organized to suit you. Unfortunately the cook went off yesterday.’
    â€˜Don’t bother about the eggs,’ Mr Smith said. ‘To tell you the truth we