THE WOMAN IN BLACK

 BY EDMUND CLERIHEW BENTLEY

 Copyright, 1913, by The Century Co. NEW YORK _Published, March, 1913_

 ". .. So shall you hear Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters, Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause, And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fall'n on the inventors' heads . .. "

 --_Hamlet_. 

TO GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON

_My dear Gilbert_:

I dedicate this story to you. First: because the only really noblemotive I had in writing it was the hope that you would enjoy it. Second:because I owe you a book in return for "The Man Who Was Thursday. "Third: because I said I would when I unfolded the plan of it to you, surrounded by Frenchmen, two years ago. Fourth: because I remember thepast. 

I have been thinking again to-day of those astonishing times whenneither of us ever looked at a newspaper; when we were purely happy inthe boundless consumption of paper, pencils, tea and our elders'patience; when we embraced the most severe literature, and ourselvesproduced such light reading as was necessary; when (in the words ofCanada's poet) we studied the works of nature, also those little frogs;when, in short, we were extremely young. 

For the sake of that age I offer you this book. 

 Yours always, E. C. BENTLEY. 

CONTENTS

Prologue

I Knocking the Town Endways

II Breakfast

III Handcuffs in the Air

IV Poking About

V Mr. Brunner on the Case

VI The Lady in Black

VII The Inquest

VIII A Hot Scent

IX The Wife of Dives

X Hitherto Unpublished

XI Evil Days

XII Eruption

XIII Writing a Letter

XIV Double Cunning

XV The Last Straw

THE WOMAN IN BLACK

PROLOGUE

Between what matters and what seems to matter, how should the world weknow judge wisely?

When the scheming, indomitable brain of Sigsbee Manderson was scatteredby a shot from an unknown hand, that world lost nothing worth a singletear; it gained something memorable in a harsh reminder of the vanity ofsuch wealth as this dead man had piled up--without making one loyalfriend to mourn him, without doing an act that could help his memory tothe least honor. But when the news of his end came, it seemed to thoseliving in the great vortices of business as if the earth, too, shudderedunder a blow. 

In all the lurid commercial history of his country there had been nofigure that had so imposed itself upon the mind of the trading world. Hehad a niche apart in its temples. Financial giants, strong to direct andaugment the forces of capital, and taking an approved toll in millionsfor so doing, had existed before; but in the case of Manderson there hadbeen this singularity, that a pale halo of piratical romance, a thingespecially dear to the hearts of his countrymen, had remainedincongruously about his head through the years when he stood in everyeye as the unquestioned guardian of stability, the stamper-out ofmanipulated crises, the foe of the raiding chieftains that infest theborders of Wall Street. 

The fortune left by his grandfather, who had been one of thosechieftains, on the smaller scale of his day, had descended to him withaccretion through his father, who during a long life had quietlycontinued to lend money and never had margined a stock. Manderson, whohad at no time known what it was to be without large sums to his hand, should have been altogether of that newer American plutocracy which issteadied by the tradition and habit of great wealth. But it was not so. While his nurture and education had taught him European ideas of a richman's proper external circumstance; while they had rooted in him aninstinct for quiet magnificence, the larger costliness which does notshriek of itself with a thousand tongues; there had been handed on tohim, nevertheless, much of the Forty-Niner and financial buccaneer, hisforbear. During that first period of his business career which had beencalled his early bad manner he had been little more than a gambler ofgenius, his hand against every man's, an infant prodigy who brought tothe enthralling pursuit of speculation a brain better endowed than anyopposed to it. At St. Helena it was laid down that war is _une belleoccupation_, and so the young Manderson had found the multitudinous andcomplicated dog-fight of the Stock Exchange of New York. 

Then came his change. At his father's death, when Manderson was thirtyyears old, some new revelation of the power and the glory of the god heserved seemed to have come upon him. With the sudden, elasticadaptability of his nation he turned to steady labor in his father'sbanking business, closing his ears to the sound of the battles of theStreet. In a few years he came to control all the activity of the greatfirm whose unimpeached conservatism, safety and financial weight liftedit like a cliff above the angry sea of the markets. All mistrust foundedon the performances of his youth had vanished. He was quite plainly adifferent man. How the change came about none could with authority say, but there was a story of certain last words spoken by his father, whomalone he had respected and perhaps loved. 

He began to tower above the financial situation. Soon his name wascurrent in the bourses of the world. One who spoke the name of Mandersoncalled up a vision of all that was broad-based and firm in the vastwealth of the United States. He planned great combinations of capital, drew together and centralized industries of continental scope, financedwith unerring judgment the large designs of state or of privateenterprise. Many a time when he "took hold" to smash a strike, or tofederate the ownership of some great field of labor, he sent ruin upon amultitude of tiny homes; and if miners or steel-workers or cattlemendefied him and invoked disorder, he could be more lawless and ruthlessthan they. But this was done in the pursuit of legitimate business ends. Tens of thousands of the poor might curse his name, but the financierand the speculator execrated him no more. He stretched a hand to protector to manipulate the power of wealth in every corner of the country. Forcible, cold and unerring, in all he did he ministered to the nationallust for magnitude; and a grateful country surnamed him the Colossus. 

But there was an aspect of Manderson in this later period that lay longunknown and unsuspected save by a few, his secretaries and lieutenantsand certain of the associates of his bygone hurling time. This littlecircle knew that Manderson, the pillar of sound business and stabilityin the markets, had his hours of nostalgia for the lively times when theStreet had trembled at his name. It was, said one of them, as ifBlackbeard had settled down as a decent merchant in Bristol on thespoils of the Main. Now and then the pirate would glare suddenly out, the knife in his teeth and the sulphur matches sputtering in hishat-band. During such spasms of reversion to type a score of tempestuousraids upon the market had been planned on paper in the inner room of theoffices of Manderson, Colefax and Company. But they were never carriedout. Blackbeard would quell the mutiny of his old self within him and gosoberly down to his counting-house--humming a stave or two of "SpanishLadies, " perhaps, under his breath. Manderson would allow himself theharmless satisfaction, as soon as the time for action had gone by, ofpointing out to some Rupert of the markets how a coup worth a million tothe depredator might have been made. "Seems to me, " he would say almostwistfully, "the Street is getting to be a mighty dull place since Iquit. " By slow degrees this amiable weakness of the Colossus becameknown to the business world, which exulted greatly in the knowledge. 

 * * * * *

At the news of his death, panic went through the markets like ahurricane; for it came at a luckless time. Prices tottered and crashedlike towers in an earthquake. For two days Wall Street was a clamorousinferno of pale despair. All over the United States, whereverspeculation had its devotees, went a waft of ruin, a plague of suicide. In Europe also not a few took with their own hands lives that had becomepitiably linked to the destiny of a financier whom most of them hadnever seen. In Paris a well-known banker walked quietly out of theBourse and fell dead upon the broad steps among the raving crowd ofJews, a phial crushed in his hand. In Frankfort one leaped from theCathedral top, leaving a redder stain where he struck the red tower. Menstabbed and shot and strangled themselves, drank death or breathed it asthe air, because in a lonely corner of England the life had departedfrom one cold heart vowed to the service of greed. 

The blow could not have fallen at a more disastrous moment. It came whenWall Street was in a condition of suppressed "scare. " Suppressed:because for a week past the great interests known to act with or to beactually controlled by the Colossus had been desperately combating theeffects of the sudden arrest of Lucas Hahn, and the exposure of hisplundering of the Hahn banks. This bombshell, in its turn, had fallen ata time when the market had been "boosted" beyond its real strength. Inthe language of the place, a slump was due. Reports from the corn-landshad not been good, and there had been two or three railway statementswhich had been expected to be much better than they were. But atwhatever point in the vast area of speculation the shudder of thethreatened break had been felt, "the Manderson crowd" had stepped in andheld the market up. All through the week the speculator's mind, asshallow as it is quick-witted, as sentimental as greedy, had seen inthis the hand of the giant stretched out in protection from afar. Manderson, said the newspapers in chorus, was in hourly communicationwith his lieutenants in the Street. One journal was able to give, inround figures, the sum spent on cabling between New York and Marlstonein the past twenty-four hours; it told how a small staff of expertoperators had been sent down by the Post Office authorities to Marlstoneto deal with the flood of messages. Another revealed that Manderson, onthe first news of the Hahn crash, had arranged to abandon his holidayand return home by the _Lusitania_; but that he soon had the situationso well in hand that he had determined to remain where he was. 

All this was falsehood, more or less consciously elaborated by the"finance editors, " consciously initiated and encouraged by the shrewdbusiness men of the Manderson group, who knew that nothing could betterhelp their plans than this illusion of hero-worship--knew also that noword had come from Manderson in answer to their messages, and thatHoward B. Jeffrey, of Steel and Iron fame, was the true organizer ofvictory. So they fought down apprehension through four feverish days, and minds grew calmer. On Saturday, though the ground beneath the feetof Mr. Jeffrey yet rumbled now and then with Ætna-mutterings ofdisquiet, he deemed his task almost done. The market was firm and slowlyadvancing. Wall Street turned to its sleep of Sunday, worn out butthankfully at peace. 

In the first trading hour of Monday a hideous rumor flew round the sixtyacres of the financial district. It came into being as the lightningcomes, a blink that seems to begin nowhere; though it is to be suspectedthat it was first whispered over the telephone--together with an urgentselling order--by some employee in the cable service. In five minutesthe dull noise of the curbstone market in Broad Street had leaped to ahigh note of frantic interrogation. From within the hive of the Exchangeitself could be heard a droning hubbub of fear and men rushed hatless inand out. Was it true? asked every man; and every man replied, withtrembling lips, that it was a lie put out by some unscrupulous "short"interest seeking to cover itself. In another quarter of an hour newscame of a sudden and ruinous collapse of "Yankees" in London at theclose of the Stock Exchange day. It was enough. New York had still fourhours' trading in front of her. The strategy of pointing to Manderson asthe savior and warden of the market had recoiled upon its authors withannihilating force, and Jeffrey, his ear at his private telephone, listened to the tale of disaster with a set jaw. The new Napoleon hadlost his Marengo. He saw the whole financial landscape sliding andfalling into chaos before him. In half an hour the news of the findingof Manderson's body, with the inevitable rumor that it was suicide, wasprinting in a dozen newspaper offices; but before a copy reached WallStreet the tornado of the panic was in full fury, and Howard B. Jeffreyand his collaborators were whirled away like leaves before its breath. 

 * * * * *

All this sprang out of nothing. 

Nothing in the texture of the general life had changed. The corn had notceased to ripen in the sun. The rivers bore their barges and gave powerto a myriad engines. The flocks fattened on the pastures, the herds wereunnumbered. Men labored everywhere in the various servitudes to whichthey were born, and chafed not more than usual in their bonds. Bellonatossed and murmured as ever, yet still slept her uneasy sleep. To allmankind save a million or two of half-crazed gamblers, blind to allreality, the death of Manderson meant nothing; the life and work of theworld went on. Weeks before he died strong hands had been in control ofevery wire in the huge network of commerce and industry that he hadsupervised. Before his corpse was buried his countrymen had made astrange discovery: that the existence of the potent engine of monopolythat went by the name of Sigsbee Manderson had not been a condition ofeven material prosperity. The panic blew itself out in two days, thepieces were picked up, the bankrupts withdrew out of sight; the market"recovered a normal tone. "

While the brief delirium was yet subsiding there broke out a domesticscandal in England that suddenly fixed the attention of two continents. Next morning the Chicago Limited was wrecked, and the same day a notablepolitician was shot down in cold blood by his wife's brother in thestreets of New Orleans. Within a week of its arising "the Mandersonstory, " to the trained sense of editors throughout the Union, was"cold. " The tide of American visitors pouring through Europe made eddiesround the memorial or statue of many a man who had died in poverty; andnever thought of their most famous plutocrat. Like the poet who died inRome, so young and poor, a hundred years ago, he was buried far awayfrom his own land; but for all the men and women of Manderson's peoplewho flock round the tomb of Keats in the cemetery under the MonteTestaccio, there is not one, nor ever will be, to stand in reverence bythe rich man's grave beside the little church of Marlstone. 

CHAPTER I

KNOCKING THE TOWN ENDWAYS

In the only comfortably furnished room in the offices of the _Record_, the telephone on Sir James Molloy's table buzzed. Sir James made amotion with his pen, and Mr. Silver, his secretary, left his work andcame over to the instrument. 

"Who is that?" he said. "Who?. .. I can't hear you . .. Oh, it's Mr. Bunner, is it? Yes, but . .. I know, but he's fearfully busy thisafternoon. Can't you . .. Oh, really? Well, in that case--just hold on, will you?"

He placed the receiver before Sir James. "It's Calvin Bunner, SigsbeeManderson's right hand man, " he said concisely. "He insists on speakingto you personally. Says it is the gravest piece of news. He is talkingfrom the house down by Bishopsbridge, so it will be necessary to speakclearly. "

Sir James looked at the telephone, not affectionately, and took up thereceiver. "Well?" he said in his strong voice; and listened. "Yes, " hesaid. The next moment Mr. Silver, eagerly watching him, saw a look ofamazement and horror. "Good God, " murmured Sir James. Clutching theinstrument, he slowly rose to his feet, still bending ear intently. Atintervals he repeated, "Yes. " Presently, as he listened, he glanced atthe clock, and spoke quickly to Mr. Silver over the top of thetransmitter. "Go and hunt up Figgis and young Williams. Hurry!" Mr. Silver darted from the room. 

The great journalist was a tall, strong, clever Irishman of fifty, swartand black-mustached, a man of untiring business energy, well known inthe world, which he understood very thoroughly, and played upon with thehalf-cynical competence of his race. Yet was he without a touch of thecharlatan: he made no mysteries, and no pretenses of knowledge, and hesaw instantly through these in others. In his handsome, well-bred, well-dressed appearance there was something a little sinister when angeror intense occupation put its imprint about his eyes and brow; but whenhis generous nature was under no restraint he was the most cordial ofmen. He was managing director of the company which owned that mostpowerful morning paper, the _Record_, and also that most indispensableevening paper, the _Sun_, which had its offices on the other side of thestreet. He was moreover editor-in-chief of the _Record_, to which he hadin the course of years attached the most variously capable personnel inthe country. It was a maxim of his that where you could not get gifts, you must do the best you could with solid merit; and he employed a greatdeal of both. He was respected by his staff as few are respected in aprofession not favorable to the growth of the sentiment of reverence. 

"You're sure that's all?" asked Sir James, after a few minutes ofearnest listening and questioning. "And how long has this beenknown?. .. Yes, of course, the police are; but the servants? Surelyit's all over the place down there by now. .. . Well, we'll have atry. .. . Look here, Bunner, I'm infinitely obliged to you about this. I owe you a good turn. You know I mean what I say. Come and see me thefirst day you get to town. .. . All right, that's understood. Now I mustact on your news. Good-by. "

Sir James hung up the receiver, and seized a railway time-table from therack before him. After a rapid consultation of this oracle, he flung itdown with a forcible word as Mr. Silver hurried into the room, followedby a hard-featured man with spectacles, and a youth with an alert eye. 

"I want you to jot down some facts, Figgis, " said Sir James, banishingall signs of agitation and speaking with a rapid calmness. "When youhave them, put them into shape just as quick you can for a specialedition of the _Sun_. " The hard-featured man nodded and glanced at theclock, which pointed to a few minutes past three; he pulled out anotebook and drew a chair up to the big writing-table. "Silver, " SirJames went on, "go and tell Jones to wire our local correspondent veryurgently, to drop everything and get down to Marlstone at once. He isnot to say why in the telegram. There must not be an unnecessary wordabout this news until the _Sun_ is on the streets with it--you allunderstand. Williams, cut across the way and tell Mr. Anthony to holdhimself ready for a two-column opening that will knock the town endways. Just tell him that he must take all measures and precautions for ascoop. Say that Figgis will be over in five minutes with the facts, andthat he had better let him write up the story in his private room. Asyou go, ask Miss Morgan to see me here at once and tell the telephonepeople to see if they can get Mr. Trent on the wire for me. After seeingMr. Anthony, return here and stand by. " The alert-eyed young manvanished like a spirit. 

Sir James turned instantly to Mr. Figgis, whose pencil was poised overthe paper. "Sigsbee Manderson has been murdered, " he began quickly andclearly, pacing the floor with his hands behind him. Mr. Figgisscratched down a line of shorthand with as much emotion as if he hadbeen told that the day was fine--the pose of his craft. "He and his wifeand two secretaries have been for the past fortnight at the house calledWhite Gables, at Marlstone, near Bishopsbridge. He bought it four yearsago. He and Mrs. Manderson have since spent a part of each summer there. Last night he went to bed about half-past eleven, just as usual. No oneknows when he got up and left the house. He was not missed until thismorning. About ten o'clock his body was found by a gardener. It waslying by a shed in the grounds. He was shot in the head, through theleft eye. Death must have been instantaneous. The body was not robbed, but there were marks on the wrists which pointed to a struggle havingtaken place. Dr. Stock, of Marlstone, was at once sent for, and willconduct the post-mortem examination. The police from Bishopsbridge, whowere soon on the spot, are reticent, but it is believed that they arequite without a clue to the identity of the murderer. There you are, Figgis. Mr. Anthony is expecting you. Now I must telephone him andarrange things. "

Mr. Figgis looked up. "One of the ablest detectives at Scotland Yard, "he suggested, "has been put in charge of the case. It's a safestatement. "

"If you like, " said Sir James. 

"And Mrs. Manderson? Was she there?"

"Yes. What about her?"

"Prostrated by the shock, " hinted the reporter, "and sees nobody. Humaninterest. "

"I wouldn't put that in, Mr. Figgis, " said a quiet voice. It belonged toMiss Morgan, a pale, graceful woman, who had silently made herappearance while the dictation was going on. "I have seen Mrs. Manderson, " she proceeded, turning to Sir James. "She looks quitehealthy and intelligent. Has her husband been murdered? I don't thinkthe shock would prostrate her. She is more likely to be doing all shecan to help the police. "

"Something in your own style, then, Miss Morgan, " he said with amomentary smile. Her imperturbable efficiency was an office proverb. "Cut it out, Figgis. Off you go! Now, madam, I expect you know what Iwant. "

"Our Manderson biography happens to be well up-to-date, " replied MissMorgan, drooping her dark eye-lashes as she considered the position. "Iwas looking over it only a few months ago. It is practically ready forto-morrow's paper. I should think the _Sun_ had better use the sketch ofhis life they had about two years ago, when he went to Berlin andsettled the potash difficulty. I remember it was a very good sketch, andthey won't be able to carry much more than that. As for our paper, ofcourse we have a great quantity of cuttings, mostly rubbish. Thesub-editors shall have them as soon as they come in. Then we have twovery good portraits that are our own property; the best is a drawing Mr. Trent made when they were both on the same ship somewhere. It is betterthan any of the photographs; but you say the public prefers a badphotograph to a good drawing. I will send them down to you at once, andyou can choose. As far as I can see, the _Record_ is well ahead of thesituation, except that you will not be able to get a special man downthere in time to be of any use for to-morrow's paper. "

Sir James sighed deeply. "What are we good for, anyhow?" he inquireddejectedly of Mr. Silver, who had returned to his desk. "She even knowsBradshaw by heart. "

Miss Morgan adjusted her cuffs with an air of patience. "Is thereanything else?" she asked, as the telephone bell rang. 

"Yes, one thing, " replied Sir James as he took up the receiver. "I wantyou to make a bad mistake some time, Miss Morgan; an everlastingbloomer--just to put us in countenance. " She permitted herself thefraction of what would have been a charming smile as she went out. 

"Anthony?" asked Sir James; and was at once deep in consultation withthe editor on the other side of the road. He seldom entered the _Sun_building in person: the atmosphere of an evening paper, he would say, was all very well if you liked that kind of thing. Mr. Anthony, theMurat of Fleet Street, who delighted in riding the whirlwind andfighting a tumultuous battle against time, would say the same of amorning paper. 

It was some five minutes later that a uniformed boy came in to say thatMr. Trent was on the wire. Sir James abruptly closed his talk with Mr. Anthony. "They can put him through at once, " he said to the boy. 

"Hullo!" he cried into the telephone after a few moments. A voice in theinstrument replied: "Hullo be blowed! What do you want?"

"This is Molloy, " said Sir James. 

"I know it is, " the voice said. "This is Trent. He is in the middle ofpainting a picture, and he has been interrupted at a critical moment. Well, I hope it's something important, that's all!"

"Trent, " said Sir James impressively, "it is important. I want you to dosome work for us. "

"Some play, you mean, " replied the voice. "Believe me, I don't want aholiday. The working fit is very strong. I am doing some really decentthings. Why can't you leave a man alone?"

"Something very serious has happened. "

"What?"

"Sigsbee Manderson has been murdered--shot through the brain--and theydon't know who has done it. They found the body this morning. Ithappened at his place near Bishopsbridge. " Sir James proceeded to tellhis hearer, briefly and clearly, the facts that he had communicated toMr. Figgis. "What do you think of it?" he ended. 

A considering grunt was the only answer. 

"Come now!" urged Sir James. 

"Tempter!"

"You will go down?"

There was a brief pause. "Are you there?" said Sir James. 

"Look here, Molloy, " the voice broke out querulously, "the thing may bea case for me, or it may not. We can't possibly tell. It may be amystery: it may be as simple as bread and cheese. The body not beingrobbed looks interesting, but he may have been outed by some wretchedtramp whom he found sleeping in the grounds and tried to kick out. It'sthe sort of thing he would do. Such a murderer might easily have senseenough to know that to leave the money and valuables was the safestthing. I tell you frankly, I wouldn't have a hand in hanging a poordevil who had let daylight into a man like Sig Manderson as a measure ofsocial protest. "

Sir James smiled at the telephone: a smile of success. "Come, my boy, you're getting feeble. Admit you want to go and have a look at the case. You know you do. If it's anything you don't want to handle, you're freeto drop it. By the bye, where are you?"

"I am blown along a wandering wind, " replied the voice irresolutely, "and hollow, hollow, hollow all delight. "

"Can you get here within an hour?" persisted Sir James. 

"I suppose I can, " the voice grumbled. "How much time have I?"

"Good man! Well, there's time enough--that's just the worst of it. I'vegot to depend on our local correspondent for to-night. The only goodtrain of the day went half an hour ago. The next is a slow one, leavingPaddington at midnight. You could have the Buster, if you like"--SirJames referred to a very fast motor-car of his--"but you wouldn't getdown in time to do anything to-night. "

"And I'd miss my sleep. No, thanks. The train for me. I am quite fond ofrailway-traveling, you know; I have a gift for it. I am the stoker andthe stoked, I am the song the porter sings. "

"What's that you say?"

"It doesn't matter, " said the voice sadly. "I say, " it continued, "willyour people look out a hotel near the scene of action, and telegraph fora room?"

"At once, " said Sir James. "Come here as soon as you can!" He replacedthe receiver. As he turned to his papers again a shrill outcry burstforth in the street below. He walked to the open window. A band ofexcited boys was rushing down the steps of the Sun building and up thenarrow thoroughfare toward Fleet Street. Each carried a bundle ofnewspapers and a large broadsheet with the simple legend:

 MURDER OF SIGSBEE MANDERSON

Sir James smiled and rattled the money in his pockets cheerfully. 

"It makes a good bill, " he observed to Mr. Silver, who stood at hiselbow. 

Such was Manderson's epitaph. 

CHAPTER II

BREAKFAST

At about eight o'clock in the morning of the following day Mr. NathanielBurton Cupples stood on the veranda of the hotel at Marlstone. He wasthinking about breakfast. In his case the colloquialism must be takenliterally; he really was thinking about breakfast, as he thought aboutevery conscious act of his life when time allowed deliberation. Hereflected that on the preceding day the excitement and activityfollowing upon the discovery of the corpse had disorganized his appetiteand led to his taking considerably less nourishment than usual. Thismorning he was very hungry, having already been up and about for anhour; and he decided to allow himself a third piece of toast and anadditional egg; the rest as usual. The remaining deficit must be made upat luncheon; but that could be gone into later. 

So much being determined, Mr. Cupples applied himself to the enjoymentof the view for a few minutes before ordering his meal. With aconnoisseur's eye he explored the beauty of the rugged coast, where agreat pierced rock rose from a glassy sea, and the ordered loveliness ofthe vast tilted levels of pasture and tillage and woodland that slopedgently up from the cliffs toward the distant moor. Mr. Cupples delightedin landscape. 

He was a man of middle height and spare figure, nearly sixty years old, by constitution rather delicate in health, but wiry and active for hisage. A sparse and straggling beard and mustache did not conceal a thinbut kindly mouth; his eyes were keen and pleasant; his sharp nose andnarrow jaw gave him very much the air of a priest, and this impressionwas helped by his commonplace dark clothes and soft black hat. He was aman of unusually conscientious, industrious and orderly mind, withlittle imagination. His father's household had been used to recruit itsdomestic establishment by means of advertisements in which it wastruthfully described as a serious family. From that fortress of gloom hehad escaped with two saintly gifts somehow unspoiled: an inexhaustiblekindness of heart and a capacity for innocent gaiety which owed nothingto humor. In an earlier day and with a clerical training he might haverisen to the scarlet hat. He was, in fact, a highly regarded member ofthe London Positivist Society, a retired banker, a widower withoutchildren. His austere but not unhappy life was spent largely among booksand in museums; his profound and patiently accumulated knowledge of anumber of curiously disconnected subjects which had stirred his interestat different times had given him a place in the quiet, half-lit world ofprofessors and curators and devotees of research; at their amiable, unconvivial dinner-parties he was most himself. His favorite author wasMontaigne. 

Just as Mr. Cupples was finishing his meal at a little table on theveranda, a big motor-car turned into the drive before the hotel. "Who isthis?" he inquired of the waiter. "Id is der manager, " said the youngman listlessly. "He have been to meed a gendleman by der train. "

The car drew up and the porter hurried from the entrance. Mr. Cupplesuttered an exclamation of pleasure as a long, loosely-built man, muchyounger than himself, stepped from the car and mounted the veranda, flinging his hat on a chair. His high-boned Quixotic face wore apleasant smile, his rough tweed clothes, his hair and short mustachewere tolerably untidy. 

"Cupples, by all that's miraculous!" cried the man, pouncing upon Mr. Cupples before he could rise, and seizing his outstretched hand in ahard grip. "My luck is serving me to-day, " the newcomer went onspasmodically. "This is the second slice within an hour. How are you, mybest of friends? And why are you here? Why sit'st thou by that ruinedbreakfast? Dost thou its former pride recall, or ponder how it passedaway? I _am_ glad to see you!"

"I was half expecting you, Trent, " Mr. Cupples replied, his facewreathed in smiles. "You are looking splendid, my dear fellow. I willtell you all about it. But you cannot have had your own breakfast yet. Will you have it at my table here?"

"Rather!" said the man. "An enormous great breakfast, too--with refinedconversation and tears of recognition never dry. Will you get youngSiegfried to lay a place for me while I go and wash? I sha'n't be threeminutes. " He disappeared into the hotel, and Mr. Cupples, after amoment's thought, went to the telephone in the porter's office. 

He returned to find his friend already seated, pouring out tea, andshowing an unaffected interest in the choice of food. "I expect this tobe a hard day for me, " he said, with the curious jerky utterance whichseemed to be his habit. "I sha'n't eat again till the evening, verylikely. You guess why I'm here, don't you?"

"Undoubtedly, " said Mr. Cupples. "You have come down to write about themurder. "

"That is rather a colorless way of stating it, " Trent replied, as hedissected a sole. "I should prefer to put it that I have come down inthe character of avenger of blood, to hunt down the guilty and vindicatethe honor of society. That is my line of business. Families waited on attheir private residences. I say, Cupples, I have made a good beginningalready. Wait a bit, and I'll tell you. " There was a silence, duringwhich the newcomer ate swiftly and abstractedly, while Mr. Cuppleslooked on happily. 

"Your manager here, " said the tall man at last, "is a fellow ofremarkable judgment. He is an admirer of mine. He knows more about mybest cases than I do myself. The _Record_ wired last night to say I wascoming, and when I got out of the train at seven o'clock this morning, there he was waiting for me with a motor-car the size of a haystack. Heis beside himself with joy at having me here. It is fame. " He drank acup of tea and continued: "Almost his first words were to ask me if Iwould like to see the body of the murdered man--if so, he thought hecould manage it for me. He is as keen as a razor. The body lies in Dr. Stock's surgery, you know, down in the village, exactly as it was whenfound. It's to be post-mortem'd this morning, by the way, so I was onlyjust in time. Well, he ran me down here to the doctor's, giving me fullparticulars about the case all the way. I was pretty well _au fait_ bythe time we arrived. I suppose the manager of a place like this has somesort of a pull with the doctor. Anyhow, he made no difficulties, nor didthe constable on duty, though he was careful to insist on my not givinghim away in the paper. "

"I saw the body before it was removed, " remarked Mr. Cupples. "I shouldnot have said there was anything remarkable about it, except that theshot in the eye had scarcely disfigured the face at all, and causedscarcely any effusion of blood, apparently. The wrists were scratchedand bruised. I expect that, with your trained faculties, you were ableto remark other details of a suggestive nature. "

"Other details, certainly; but I don't know that they suggest anything. They are merely odd. Take the wrists, for instance. How is it you couldsee bruises and scratches on them? I dare say you saw something ofManderson down here before the murder?"

"Certainly, " Mr. Cupples said. 

"Well, did you ever see his wrists?"

Mr. Cupples reflected. "No. Now you raise the point, I am reminded thatwhen I interviewed Manderson here he was wearing stiff cuffs, comingwell down over his hands. "

"He always did, " said Trent. "My friend the manager says so. I pointedout to him the fact you didn't observe, that there were no cuffsvisible, and that they had indeed been dragged up inside thecoat-sleeves, as yours would be if you hurried into a coat withoutpulling your cuffs down. That was why you saw his wrists. "

"Well, I call that suggestive, " observed Mr. Cupples mildly. "You mightinfer, perhaps, that when he got up he hurried over his dressing. "

"Yes, but did he? The manager said just what you say. 'He was always abit of a swell in his dress, ' he told me, and he drew the inference thatwhen Manderson got up in that mysterious way, before the house wasstirring, and went out into the grounds, he was in a great hurry. 'Lookat his shoes, ' he said to me: 'Mr. Manderson was always specially neatabout his foot-wear. But those shoe-laces were tied in a hurry. ' Iagreed. 'And he left his false teeth in his room, ' said the manager. 'Doesn't _that_ prove he was flustered and hurried?' I allowed that itlooked like it. But I said, 'Look here: if he was so very much pressed, why did he part his hair so carefully? That parting is a work of art. Why did he put on so much?--for he had on a complete out-fit ofunderclothing, studs in his shirt, sock-suspenders, a watch and chain, money and keys and things in his pockets. ' That's what I said to themanager. He couldn't find an explanation. Can you?"

Mr. Cupples considered. "Those facts might suggest that he was hurriedonly at the end of his dressing. Coat and shoes would come last. "

"But not false teeth. You ask anybody who wears them. And besides, I'mtold he hadn't washed at all on getting up, which in a neat man lookslike his being in a violent hurry from the beginning. And here's anotherthing. One of his waistcoat pockets was lined with wash-leather for thereception of his gold watch. But he had put his watch into the pocket onthe other side. Anybody who has settled habits can see how odd that is. The fact is, there are signs of great agitation and haste, and there aresigns of exactly the opposite. For the present I am not guessing. I mustreconnoiter the ground first, if I can manage to get the right side ofthe people of the house. " Trent applied himself again to his breakfast. 

Mr. Cupples smiled at him benevolently. "That is precisely the point, "he said, "on which I can be of some assistance to you. " Trent glanced upin surprise. "I told you I half expected you. I will explain thesituation. Mrs. Manderson, who is my niece--"

"What!" Trent laid down his knife and fork. "Cupples, you are jestingwith me. "

"I am perfectly serious, Trent, really, " returned Mr. Cupples earnestly. "Her father, John Peter Domecq, was my wife's brother. I never mentionedmy niece or her marriage to you before, I suppose. To tell the truth, ithas always been a painful subject to me, and I have avoided discussingit with anybody. To return to what I was about to say: last night, whenI was over at the house--by the way, you can see it from here. Youpassed it in the car. " He indicated a red roof among poplars some threehundred yards away, the only building in sight that stood separate fromthe tiny village in the gap below them. 

"Certainly I did, " said Trent. "The manager told me all about it, amongother things, as he drove me in from Bishopsbridge. "

"Other people here have heard of you and your performances, " Mr. Cuppleswent on. "As I was saying, when I was over there last night, Mr. Bunner, who is one of Manderson's two secretaries, expressed a hope that the_Record_ would send you down to deal with the case, as the police seemedquite at a loss. He mentioned one or two of your past successes, andMabel--my niece--was interested when I told her afterwards. She isbearing up wonderfully well, Trent; she has remarkable fortitude ofcharacter. She said she remembered reading your articles about theAbinger case. She has a great horror of the newspaper side of this sadbusiness, and she had entreated me to do anything I could to keepjournalists away from the place--I'm sure you can understand herfeeling, Trent; it isn't really any reflection on that profession. Butshe said you appeared to have great powers as a detective, and she wouldnot stand in the way of anything that might clear up the crime. Then Itold her you were a personal friend of mine, and gave you a goodcharacter for tact and consideration of others' feelings; and it endedin her saying that if you should come, she would like you to be helpedin every way. "

Trent leaned across the table and shook Mr. Cupples by the hand insilence. Mr. Cupples, much delighted with the way things were turningout, resumed:

"I spoke to my niece on the telephone only just now, and she is glad youare here. She asks me to say that you may make any inquiries you like, and she puts the house and grounds at your disposal. She had rather notsee you herself; she is keeping to her own sitting-room. She has alreadybeen interviewed by a detective officer who is there, and feels unequalto any more. She adds that she does not believe she could say anythingthat would be of the smallest use. The two secretaries and Martin, thebutler (who is a most intelligent man) could tell you all you want toknow, she thinks. "

Trent finished his breakfast with a thoughtful brow. He filled a pipeslowly, and seated himself on the rail of the veranda. "Cupples, " hesaid quietly, "is there anything about this business that you know andwould rather not tell me?"

Mr. Cupples gave a slight start, and turned an astonished gaze on thequestioner. "What do you mean?" he said. 

"I mean about the Mandersons. Look here! shall I tell you a thing thatstrikes me about this affair at the very beginning? Here's a mansuddenly and violently killed; and nobody's heart seems to be brokenabout it, to say the least. The manager of this hotel spoke to me abouthim as coolly as if he'd never set eyes on him, though I understandthey've been neighbors every summer for some years. Then you talk aboutthe thing in the coldest of blood. And Mrs. Manderson--well, you won'tmind my saying that I have heard of women being more cut up about theirhusbands being murdered than she seems to be. Is there something inthis, Cupples, or is it my fancy? Was there something queer aboutManderson? I traveled on the same boat with him once, but never spoke tohim. I only know his public character, which was repulsive enough. Yousee, this may have a bearing on the case; that's the only reason why Iask. "

Mr. Cupples took time for thought. He fingered his sparse beard andlooked out over the sea. At last he turned to Trent. "I see no reason, "he said, "why I shouldn't tell you as between ourselves, my dear fellow. I need not say that this must not be referred to, however distantly. Thetruth is that nobody really liked Manderson; and I think those who werenearest to him liked him least. "

"Why?" the other interjected. 

"Most people found a difficulty in explaining why. In trying to accountto myself for my own sensations, I could only put it that one felt inthe man a complete absence of the sympathetic faculty. There was nothingoutwardly repellent about him. He was not ill-mannered, or vicious, ordull--indeed, he could be remarkably interesting. But I received theimpression that there could be no human creature whom he would notsacrifice in the pursuit of his schemes, in his task of imposing himselfand his will upon the world. Perhaps that was fanciful, but I think notaltogether so. However, the point is that Mabel, I am sorry to say, wasvery unhappy. I am nearly twice your age, my dear boy, though you alwaysso kindly try to make me feel as if we were contemporaries--I am gettingto be an old man, and a great many people have been good enough toconfide their matrimonial troubles to me; but I never knew another caselike my niece's and her husband's. I have known her since she was ababy, Trent, and I know--you understand, I think, that I do not employthat word lightly--I _know_ that she is as amiable and honorable awoman, to say nothing of her other good gifts, as any man could wish. But Manderson, for some time past, had made her miserable. "

"What did he do?" asked Trent, as Mr. Cupples paused. 

"When I put that question to Mabel, her words were that he seemed tonurse a perpetual grievance. He maintained a distance between them, andhe would say nothing. I don't know how it began or what was behind it;and all she would tell me on that point was that he had no cause in theworld for his attitude. I think she knew what was in his mind, whateverit was; but she is full of pride. This seems to have gone on for months. At last, a week ago, she wrote to me. I am the only near relative shehas. Her mother died when she was a child; and after John Peter died, Iwas something like a father to her until she married--that was fiveyears ago. She asked me to come and help her, and I came at once. Thatis why I am here now. "

Mr. Cupples paused and drank some tea. Trent smoked and stared out atthe hot June landscape. 

"I would not go to White Gables, " Mr. Cupples resumed. "You know myviews, I think, upon the economic constitution of society, and theproper relationship of the capitalist to the employee, and you know, nodoubt, what use that person made of his vast economic power upon severalvery notorious occasions. I refer especially to the trouble in thePennsylvania coal fields, three years ago. I regarded him, apart fromall personal dislike, in the light of a criminal and a disgrace tosociety. I came to this hotel, and I saw my niece here. She told me whatI have more briefly told you. She said that the worry and thehumiliation of it, and the strain of trying to keep up appearancesbefore the world, were telling upon her, and she asked for my advice. Isaid I thought she should face him and demand an explanation of his wayof treating her. But she would not do that. She had always taken theline of affecting not to notice the change in his demeanor, and nothing, I knew, would persuade her to admit to him that she was injured, oncepride had led her into that course. Life is quite full, my dear Trent, "said Mr. Cupples with a sigh, "of these obstinate silences andcultivated misunderstandings. "

"Did she love him?" Trent inquired abruptly. Mr. Cupples did not replyat once. "Had she any love left for him?" Trent amended. 

Mr. Cupples played with his teaspoon. "I am bound to say, " he answeredslowly, "that I think not. But you must not misunderstand the woman, Trent. No power on earth would have persuaded her to admit that to anyone--even to herself, perhaps--so long as she considered herself boundto him. And I gather that, apart from this mysterious sulking of late, he had always been considerate and generous. "

"You were saying that she refused to have it out with him. "

"She did, " replied Mr. Cupples. "And I knew by experience that it wasquite useless to attempt to move a Domecq where the sense of dignity wasinvolved. So I thought it over carefully, and next day I watched myopportunity and met Manderson as he passed by this hotel. I asked him tofavor me with a few minutes' conversation, and he stepped inside thegate down there. We had held no communication of any kind since myniece's marriage, but he remembered me, of course. I put the matter tohim at once and quite definitely. I told him what Mabel had confided tome. I said that I would neither approve nor condemn her action inbringing me into the business, but that she was suffering, and Iconsidered it my right to ask how he could justify himself in placingher in such a position. "

"And how did he take that?" said Trent, smiling secretly at thelandscape. The picture of this mildest of men calling the formidableManderson to account pleased him. 

"Not very well, " Mr. Cupples replied sadly. "In fact, far from well. Ican tell you almost exactly what he said--it wasn't much. He said, 'Seehere, Cupples, you don't want to butt in. My wife can look afterherself. I've found that out, along with other things. ' He was perfectlyquiet--you know he was said never to lose control of himself--thoughthere was a light in his eyes that would have frightened a man who wasin the wrong, I dare say. But I had been thoroughly roused by his lastremark, and the tone of it, which I cannot reproduce. You see, " said Mr. Cupples simply, "I love my niece. She is the only child that there hasbeen in our--in my house. Moreover, my wife brought her up as a girl, and any reflection on Mabel I could not help feeling, in the heat of themoment, as an indirect reflection upon one who is gone. "

"You turned upon him, " suggested Trent in a low tone. "You asked him toexplain his words. "

"That is precisely what I did, " said Mr. Cupples. "For a moment he onlystared at me, and I could see a vein on his forehead swelling--anunpleasant sight. Then he said quite quietly: 'This thing has gone farenough, I guess, ' and turned to go. "

"Did he mean your interview?" Trent asked thoughtfully. 

"From the words alone you would think so, " Mr. Cupples answered. "Butthe way in which he uttered them gave me a strange and very apprehensivefeeling. I received the impression that the man had formed some sinisterresolve. But I regret to say I had lost the power of dispassionatethought. I fell into a great rage"--Mr. Cupples' tone was mildlyapologetic--"and said a number of foolish things. I reminded him thatthe law allowed a measure of freedom to wives who received intolerabletreatment. I made some utterly irrelevant references to his publicrecord, and expressed the view that such men as he were unfit to live. Isaid these things, and others as ill-considered, under the eyes, andvery possibly within earshot, of half a dozen persons sitting on thisveranda. I noticed them, in spite of my agitation, looking at me as Iwalked up to the hotel again after relieving my mind--for it undoubtedlydid relieve it, " sighed Mr. Cupples, lying back in his chair. 

"And Manderson? Did he say no more?"

"Not a word. He listened to me with his eyes on my face, as quiet asbefore. When I stopped he smiled very slightly, and at once turned awayand strolled through the gate, making for White Gables. "

"And this happened--?"

"On the Sunday morning. "

"Then I suppose you never saw him alive again?"

"No, " said Mr. Cupples. "Or rather, yes--once. It was later in the day, on the golf-course. But I did not speak to him. And next morning he wasfound dead. "

The two regarded each other in silence for a few moments. A party ofguests who had been bathing came up the steps and seated themselves, with much chattering, at a table near them. The waiter approached. Mr. Cupples rose, and taking Trent's arm led him to a long tennis-lawn atthe side of the hotel. 

"I have a reason for telling you all this, " began Mr. Cupples as theypaced slowly up and down. 

"Trust you for that, " rejoined Trent, carefully filling his pipe again. He lit it, smoked a little and then said: "I'll try and guess what yourreason is, if you like. "

Mr. Cupples' face of solemnity relaxed into a slight smile. He saidnothing. 

"You thought it possible, " said Trent meditatively, "may I say youthought it practically certain?--that I should find out for myself thatthere had been something deeper than a mere conjugal tiff between theMandersons. You thought that my unwholesome imagination would begin atonce to play with the idea of Mrs. Manderson having something to do withthe crime. Rather than that I should lose myself in barren speculationsabout this, you decided to tell me exactly how matters stood, andincidentally to impress upon me, who know how excellent your judgmentis, your opinion of your niece. Is that about right?"

"It is perfectly right. Listen to me, my dear fellow, " said Mr. Cupplesearnestly, laying his hand on the other's arm. "I am going to be veryfrank. I am extremely glad that Manderson is dead. I believe him to havedone nothing but harm in the world as an economic factor. I know that hewas making a desert of the life of one who was like my own child to me. But I am under an intolerable dread of Mabel being involved in suspicionwith regard to the murder. It is horrible to me to think of her delicacyand goodness being in contact, if only for a time, with the brutalitiesof the law. She is not fitted for it. It would mark her deeply. Manyyoung women of twenty-five in these days could face such an ordeal, Isuppose. I have observed a sort of imitative hardness about the productsof the higher education of women to-day which would carry them throughanything, perhaps. I am not prepared to say it is a bad thing in theconditions of feminine life prevailing at present. Mabel, however, isnot like that. She is as unlike that as she is unlike the simperingmisses that used to surround me as a child. She has plenty of brains;she is full of character; her mind and her tastes are cultivated; but itis all mixed up"--Mr. Cupples waved his hands in a vague gesture--"withideals of refinement and reservation and womanly mystery. I fear she isnot a child of the age. You never knew my wife, Trent. Mabel is mywife's child. "

The younger man bowed his head. They paced the length of the lawn beforehe asked gently: "Why did she marry him?"

"I don't know, " said Mr. Cupples briefly. 

"Admired him, I suppose, " suggested Trent. 

Mr. Cupples shrugged his shoulders. "I have been told that a woman willusually be more or less attracted by the most successful man in hercircle. Of course we cannot realize how a wilful, dominating personalitylike his would influence a girl whose affections were not bestowedelsewhere; especially if he laid himself out to win her. It is probablyan overwhelming thing to be courted by a man whose name is known allover the world. She had heard of him, of course, as a financial greatpower, and she had no idea--she had lived mostly among people ofartistic or literary propensities--how much soulless inhumanity thatmight involve. For all I know, she has no adequate idea of it to thisday. When I first heard of the affair the mischief was done, and I knewbetter than to interpose my unsought opinions. She was of age, and therewas absolutely nothing against him from the conventional point of view. Then I dare say his immense wealth would cast a spell over almost anywoman. Mabel had some hundreds a year of her own; just enough, perhaps, to let her realize what millions really meant. But all this isconjecture. She certainly had not wanted to marry some scores of youngfellows who, to my knowledge, had asked her; and though I don't believe, and never did believe, that she really loved this man of forty-five, shecertainly did want to marry him. But if you ask me why, I can only say Idon't know. "

Trent nodded, and after a few more paces looked at his watch. "You'veinterested me so much, " he said, "that I had quite forgotten my mainbusiness. I mustn't waste my morning. I am going down the road to WhiteGables at once, and I dare say I shall be poking about there untilmid-day. If you can meet me then, Cupples, I should like to talk overanything I find out with you, unless something detains me. "

"I am going for a walk this morning, " Mr. Cupples replied. "I meant tohave luncheon at a little inn near the golf-course, the Three Tuns. Youhad better join me there. It's further along the road, about a quarterof a mile beyond White Gables. You can just see the roof between thosetwo trees. The food they give one there is very plain, but good. "

"So long as they have a cask of beer, " said Trent, "they are all right. We will have bread and cheese, and oh, may Heaven our simple livesprevent from luxury's contagion, weak and vile! Till then, good-by. " Hestrode off to recover his hat from the veranda, waved it to Mr. Cupples, and was gone. 

The old gentleman, seating himself in a deck-chair on the lawn, claspedhis hands behind his head and gazed up into the speckless blue sky. "Heis a dear fellow, " he murmured. "The best of fellows. And a terriblyacute fellow. Dear me! How curious it all is!"

CHAPTER III

HANDCUFFS IN THE AIR

A painter and the son of a painter, Philip Trent had, while yet in histwenties, achieved some reputation within the world of English art. Moreover, his pictures sold. An original, forcible talent and a habit ofleisurely but continuous working, broken by fits of strong creativeenthusiasm, were at the bottom of it. His father's name had helped; apatrimony large enough to relieve him of the perilous imputation ofbeing a struggling man had certainly not hindered. But his best aid tosuccess had been an unconscious power of getting himself liked. Goodspirits and a lively, humorous fancy will always be popular. Trentjoined to these a genuine interest in others that gained him somethingdeeper than popularity. His judgment of persons was penetrating, but itsprocess was internal; no one felt on good behavior with a man who seemedalways to be enjoying himself. Whether he was in a mood for floods ofnonsense or applying himself vigorously to a task, his face seldom lostits expression of contained vivacity. Apart from a sound knowledge ofhis art and its history, his culture was large and loose, dominated by alove of poetry. At thirty-two he had not yet passed the age of laughterand adventure. 

His rise to a celebrity a hundred times greater than his proper work hadwon for him came of a momentary impulse. One day he had taken up anewspaper to find it chiefly concerned with a crime of a sort curiouslyrare in our country: a murder done in a railway train. The circumstanceswere puzzling; two persons were under arrest upon suspicion. Trent, towhom an interest in such affairs was a new sensation, heard the thingdiscussed among his friends, and set himself in a purposeless mood toread up the accounts given in several journals. He became intrigued; hisimagination began to work, in a manner strange to him, upon facts; anexcitement took hold of him such as he had only known before in hisbursts of art-inspiration or of personal adventure. At the end of theday he wrote and despatched a long letter to the editor of the _Record_, which he chose only because it had contained the fullest and mostintelligent version of the facts. 

In this letter he did very much what Poe had done in the case of themurder of Mary Rogers. With nothing but the newspapers to guide him, hedrew attention to the significance of certain apparently negligiblefacts, and ranged the evidence in such a manner as to throw gravesuspicion upon a man who had presented himself as a witness. Sir JamesMolloy had printed this letter in leaded type. The same evening he wasable to announce in the _Sun_ the arrest and full confession of theincriminated man. 

Sir James, who knew all the worlds of London, had lost no time in makingTrent's acquaintance. The two men got on well; for Trent possessed somesecret of native tact which had the effect of almost abolishingdifferences of age between himself and others. The great rotary pressesin the basement of the _Record_ building had filled him with a newenthusiasm: he had painted there, and Sir James had bought at sight, what he called a machinery-scape in the manner of Heinrich Kley. 

Then a few months later came the affair known as the Ilkley mystery. SirJames had invited Trent to an emollient dinner, and thereafter offeredhim what seemed to the young man a fantastically large sum for histemporary services as special representative of the _Record_ at Ilkley. "You could do it, " the editor had urged. "You can write good stuff, andyou know how to talk to people, and I can teach you all thetechnicalities of a reporter's job in half an hour. And you have a headfor a mystery; you have imagination and cool judgment along with it. Think how it would feel if you pulled it off!" Trent had admitted thatit would be rather a lark; he had smoked, frowned, and at last convincedhimself that the only thing that held him back was fear of an unfamiliartask. To react against fear had become a fixed moral habit with him, andhe had accepted Sir James's offer. 

He had pulled it off. For the second time he had given the authorities astart and a beating, and his name was on all tongues. He withdrew andpainted pictures. He felt no leaning towards journalism, and Sir James, who knew a good deal about art, honorably refrained--as other editorsdid not--from tempting him with a good salary. But in the course of afew years he had applied to him perhaps thirty times for his services inthe unraveling of similar problems at home and abroad. Sometimes Trent, busy with work that held him, had refused; sometimes he had beenforestalled in the discovery of the truth. But the result of hisirregular connection with the _Record_ had been to make his name one ofthe best-known in England. It was characteristic of him that his namewas almost the only detail of his personality known to the public. Hehad imposed absolute silence about himself upon the Molloy papers; andthe others were not going to advertise one of Sir James's men. 

The Manderson case, he told himself as he walked rapidly up the slopingroad to White Gables, might turn out to be terribly simple. Cupples wasa wise old boy, but it was probably impossible for him to have animpartial opinion about his niece. Yet it was true that the manager ofthe hotel, who had spoken of her beauty in terms that aroused hisattention, had spoken even more emphatically of her goodness. Not anartist in words, the manager had yet conveyed a very definite idea toTrent's mind. "There isn't a child about here that don't brighten up atthe sound of her voice, " he had said, "nor yet a grown-up, for thematter of that. Everybody used to look forward to her coming over in thesummer. I don't mean that she's one of those women that are all kindheart and nothing else. There's backbone with it, if you know what Imean--pluck--any amount of go. There's nobody in Marlstone that isn'tsorry for the lady in her trouble--not but what some of us may thinkshe's lucky at the last of it. " Trent wanted very much to meet Mrs. Manderson. 

He could see now, beyond a spacious lawn and shrubbery, the front of thetwo-storied house of dull red brick, with the pair of great gables fromwhich it had its name. He had had but a glimpse of it from the car thatmorning. A modern house, he saw; perhaps ten years old. The place wasbeautifully kept, with that air of opulent peace that clothes even thesmallest houses of the well-to-do in an English country-side. Before it, beyond the road, the rich meadow-land ran down to the edge of thecliffs; behind it a woody landscape stretched away across a broad valeto the moors. That such a place could be the scene of a crime ofviolence seemed fantastic; it lay so quiet and well-ordered, so eloquentof disciplined service and gentle living. Yet there beyond the house, and near the hedge that rose between the garden and the hot, white road, stood the gardener's tool-shed, by which the body had been found, lyingtumbled against the wooden wall. 

Trent walked past the gate of the drive and along the road until he wasopposite this shed. Some forty yards further along, the road turnedsharply away from the house, to run between thick plantations; and justbefore this turn the grounds of the house ended, with a small white gateat the angle of the boundary hedge. He approached this gate, which wasplainly for the use of gardeners and the service of the establishment;it swung easily on its hinges, and he passed slowly up a path that ledtowards the back of the house between the outer hedge and a tall wall ofrhododendrons. Through a gap in this wall a track led him to the littleneatly-built erection of wood, which stood among trees that faced acorner of the front. The body had lain on the side away from the house;a servant, he thought, looking out of the nearer windows in the earlierhours of the day before, might have glanced unseeing at the hut, as shewondered what it could be like to be as rich as Manderson. 

He examined the place carefully, and ransacked the hut within, but hecould note no more than the trodden appearance of the uncut grass wherethe body had lain. Crouching low, with keen eyes and feeling fingers, hesearched the ground minutely over a wide area; but the search wasfruitless. 

It was interrupted by the sound--the first he had heard from thehouse--of the closing of the front door. Trent unbent his long legs andstepped to the edge of the drive. A man was walking quickly away fromthe house in the direction of the great gate. 

At the noise of a footstep on the gravel, the man wheeled with nervousswiftness and looked earnestly at Trent. The sudden sight of his facewas almost terrible, so white and worn it was. Yet it was a young man'sface. There was not a wrinkle about the haggard blue eyes, for all theirtale of strain and desperate fatigue. As the two approached each other, Trent noted with admiration the man's breadth of shoulder and lithe, strong figure. In his carriage, inelastic as weariness had made it, inhis handsome, regular features, in his short, smooth yellow hair and inhis voice as he addressed Trent, the influence of a special sort oftraining was confessed. "Oxford was your playground, I think, my youngfriend, " said Trent to himself. 

"If you are Mr. Trent, " said the young man pleasantly, "you areexpected. Mr. Cupples 'phoned from the hotel. My name is Marlowe. "

"You were secretary to Mr. Manderson, I believe, " said Trent. He wasmuch inclined to like young Mr. Marlowe. Though he seemed so near aphysical break-down, he gave out none the less that air of clean livingand inward health that is the peculiar glory of his social type at hisyears. But there was something in the tired eyes that was a challenge toTrent's penetration; an habitual expression, as he took it to be, ofmeditating and weighing things not present to their sight. It was a looktoo intelligent, too steady and purposeful, to be called dreamy. Trentthought he had seen such a look before somewhere. He went on to say: "Itis a terrible business for all of you. I fear it has upset youcompletely, Mr. Marlowe. "

"A little limp, that's all, " replied the young man wearily. "I wasdriving the car all Sunday night and most of yesterday, and I didn'tsleep last night, after hearing the news--who would? But I have anappointment now, Mr. Trent, down at the doctor's--arranging about theinquest. I expect it'll be to-morrow. If you will go up to the house andask for Mr. Bunner, you'll find him expecting you; he will tell you allabout things and show you round. He's the other secretary; an American, and the best of fellows; he'll look after you. There's a detective here, by the way; Inspector Murch, from Scotland Yard. He came yesterday. "

"Murch!" Trent exclaimed. "But he and I are old friends. How under thesun did he get here so soon?"

"I have no idea, " Mr. Marlowe answered. "But he was here last evening, before I got back from Southampton, interviewing everybody, and he'sbeen about here since eight this morning. He's in the librarynow--that's where the open French window is that you see at the end ofthe house there. Perhaps you would like to step down there and talkabout things. "

"I think I will, " said Trent. Mr. Marlowe nodded and went on his way. The thick turf of the lawn round which the drive took its circular sweepmade Trent's footsteps as noiseless as a cat's. In a few moments he waslooking in through the open leaves of the window at the southward end ofthe house, considering with a smile a very broad back and a bent headcovered with short grizzled hair. The man within was stooping over anumber of papers laid out on the table. 

"'Twas ever thus, " said Trent in a melancholy tone, at the first soundof which the man within turned round with startling swiftness. "Fromchildhood's hour I've seen my fondest hopes decay. I did think I wasahead of Scotland Yard this time, and now here is the largest officer inthe entire Metropolitan force already occupying the position. "

The detective smiled grimly and came to the window. "I was expectingyou, Mr. Trent, " he said. "This is the sort of case that you like. "

"Since my tastes were being considered, " Trent replied, stepping intothe room, "I wish they had followed up the idea by keeping my hatedrival out of the business. You have got a long start, too--I know allabout it. " His eyes began to wander round the room. "How did you manageit? You are a quick mover, I know; the dun deer's hide on fleeter footwas never tied; but I don't see how you got here in time to be at workyesterday evening. Has Scotland Yard secretly started an aviation corps?Or is it in league with the infernal powers? In either case the HomeSecretary should be called upon to make a statement. "

"It's simpler than that, " said Mr. Murch with professional stolidity. "Ihappened to be on leave with the Missus at Halvey, which is only twelvemile or so along the coast. As soon as our people there heard of themurder they told me. I wired to the Chief, and was put in charge of thecase at once. I bicycled over yesterday evening, and have been at itsince then. "

"Arising out of that reply, " said Trent inattentively, "how is Mrs. Inspector Murch?"

"Never better, thank you, " answered the inspector, "and frequentlyspeaks of you and the games you used to have with our kids. But you'llexcuse me saying, Mr. Trent, that you needn't trouble to talk yournonsense to me while you're using your eyes. I know your ways by now. Iunderstand you've fallen on your feet as usual, and have the lady'spermission to go over the place and make inquiries. "

"Such is the fact, " said Trent. "I am going to cut you out again, Inspector. I owe you one for beating me over the Abinger case, you oldfox. But if you really mean that you're not inclined for the socialamenities just now, let us leave compliments and talk business. " Hestepped to the table, glanced through the papers arranged there inorder, and then turned to the open roll-top desk. He looked into thedrawers swiftly. "I see this has been cleared out. Well now, inspector, I suppose we play the game as before. "

Trent had found himself on several occasions in the past thrown into thecompany of Inspector Murch, who stood high in the councils of theCriminal Investigation Department. He was a quiet, tactful and veryshrewd officer, a man of great courage, with a vivid history inconnection with the more dangerous class of criminals. His humanity wasas broad as his frame, which was large even for a policeman. Trent andhe, through some obscure working of sympathy, had appreciated oneanother from the beginning, and had formed one of those curiousfriendships with which it was the younger man's delight to adorn hisexperience. The inspector would talk more freely to him than to any one, under the rose, and they would discuss details and possibilities ofevery case, to their mutual enlightenment. There were necessarily rulesand limits. It was understood between them that Trent made nojournalistic use of any point that could only have come to him from anofficial source. Each of them, moreover, for the honor and prestige ofthe institution he represented, openly reserved the right to withholdfrom the other any discovery or inspiration that might come to him whichhe considered vital to the solution of the difficulty. Trent hadinsisted on carefully formulating these principles of what he calleddetective sportsmanship. Mr. Murch, who loved a contest, and who onlystood to gain by his association with the keen intelligence of theother, entered very heartily into "the game. " In these strivings for thecredit of the press and of the police, victory sometimes attended theexperience and method of the officer, sometimes the quicker brain andlivelier imagination of Trent, his gift of instinctively recognizing thesignificant through all disguises. 

The inspector, then, replied to Trent's last words with cordialagreement. Leaning on either side of the French window, with the deeppeace and hazy splendor of the summer landscape before them, theyreviewed the case. 

 * * * * *

Trent had taken out a thin notebook, and as they talked he began tomake, with light, sure touches, a rough sketch plan of the room. It wasa thing he did habitually on such occasions, and often quite idly, butnow and then the habit had served him to good purpose. 

This was a large, light apartment at the corner of the house, withgenerous window-space in two walls. A broad table stood in the middle. As one entered by the window the roll-top desk stood just to the left ofit against the wall. The inner door was in the wall to the left, at thefarther end of the room; and was faced by a broad window divided intoopenings of the casement type. A beautifully carved old corner-cupboardrose high against the wall beyond the door, and another cupboard filleda recess beside the fireplace. Some colored prints of Harunobu, withwhich Trent promised himself a better acquaintance, hung on what littlewall-space was unoccupied by books. These had a very uninspiringappearance of having been bought by the yard and never taken from theirshelves. Bound with a sober luxury, the great English novelists, essayists, historians and poets stood ranged like an army struck dead inits ranks. There were a few chairs made, like the cupboard and table, ofold carved oak; a modern arm-chair and a swivel office-chair before thedesk. The room looked costly but very bare. Almost the only portableobjects were a great porcelain bowl of a wonderful blue on the table, aclock and some cigar boxes on the mantel-shelf, and a movable telephonestandard on the top of the desk. 

 * * * * *

"Seen the body?" inquired the inspector. 

Trent nodded. "And the place where it lay, " he said. 

"First impressions of this case rather puzzle me, " said the inspector. "From what I heard at Halvey I guessed it might be common robbery andmurder by some tramp, though such a thing is very far from common inthese parts. But as soon as I began my inquiries I came on some curiouspoints, which by this time I dare say you've noted for yourself. The manis shot in his own grounds, quite near the house, to begin with. Yetthere's not the slightest trace of any attempt at burglary. And the bodywasn't robbed. In fact, it would be as plain a case of suicide as youcould wish to see, if it wasn't for certain facts. Here's another thing:for a month or so past, they tell me, Manderson had been in a queerstate of mind. I expect you know already that he and his wife had sometrouble between them. The servants had noticed a change in his manner toher for a long time, and for the past week he had scarcely spoken toher. They say he was a changed man, moody and silent--whether on accountof that or something else. The lady's maid says he looked as ifsomething was going to arrive. It's always easy to remember that peoplelooked like that, after something has happened to them. Still, that'swhat they say. There you are again, then: suicide! Now, why wasn't itsuicide, Mr. Trent?"

"The facts, so far as I know them, are really all against it, " Trentreplied, sitting on the threshold of the window and clasping his knees. "First, of course, no weapon is to be found. I've searched, and you'vesearched, and there's no trace of any firearm anywhere within a stone'sthrow of where the body lay. Second, the marks on the wrists, fleshscratches and bruises, which we can only assume to have been done in astruggle with somebody. Third, who ever heard of anybody shootinghimself in the eye? Then I heard from the manager of the hotel hereanother fact, which strikes me as the most curious detail in thisaffair. Manderson had dressed himself fully before going out there, buthe forgot his false teeth. Now how could a suicide who dressed himselfto make a decent appearance as a corpse forget his teeth?"

"That last argument hadn't struck me, " admitted Mr. Murch. "There'ssomething in it. But on the strength of the other points, which hadoccurred to me, I am not considering suicide. I have been looking aboutfor ideas in this house, this morning. I expect you were thinking ofdoing the same. "

"That is so. It is a case for ideas, it seems to me. Come, Murch, let usmake an effort; let us bend our spirits to a temper of generalsuspicion. Let us suspect everybody in the house, to begin with. Listen:I will tell you whom I suspect. I suspect Mrs. Manderson, of course. Ialso suspect both the secretaries--I hear there are two, and I hardlyknow which of them I regard as more thoroughly open to suspicion. Isuspect the butler and the lady's maid. I suspect the other domestics, and especially do I suspect the boot-boy. By the way, what domestics arethere? I have more than enough suspicion to go round, whatever the sizeof the establishment; but as a matter of curiosity I should like toknow. "

"All very well to laugh, " replied the inspector, "but at the first stageof affairs it's the only safe principle, and you know that as well as Ido, Mr. Trent. However, I've seen enough of the people here, last nightand to-day, to put a few of them out of my mind for the present atleast. You will form your own conclusions. As for the establishment, there's the butler and lady's maid, cook and three other maids, one ayoung girl. One chauffeur, who's away with a broken wrist. No boy. "

"What about the gardener? You say nothing about that shadowy andsinister figure, the gardener. You are keeping him in the background, Murch. Out with him!"

"The garden is attended to by a man in the village, who comes twice aweek. I've talked to him. He was here last on Friday. "

"Then I suspect him all the more, " said Trent. "And now as to the houseitself. What I propose to do, to begin with, is to sniff about a littlein this room, where I am told Manderson spent a great deal of his time, and in his bedroom; especially the bedroom. But since we're in thisroom, let's start here. You seem to be at the same stage of the inquiry. Perhaps you've done the bedroom already?"

The inspector nodded. "I've been through Manderson's and his wife's. Nothing to be got there, I think. Very simple and bare, no signs of anysort--that _I_ could see. Seems to have insisted on the simple life, does Manderson. Never employed a valet. The room's almost like a cell, except for the clothes and shoes. You'll find it all exactly as I foundit; and they tell me that's exactly as Manderson left it at we don'tknow what o'clock yesterday morning. Opens into Mrs. Manderson'sbedroom--not much of the cell about that, I can tell you. I should saythe lady was as fond of pretty things as most. But she cleared out of iton the morning of the discovery--told the maid she could never sleep ina room opening into her murdered husband's room. Very natural feeling ina woman, Mr. Trent. She's camping out, so to say, in one of the sparebedrooms now. "

"Come, my friend, " Trent was saying to himself, as he made a few notesin his little book. "Have you got your eye on Mrs. Manderson? Or haven'tyou? I know that colorless tone of the inspectorial voice. I wish I hadseen her. Either you've got something against her and you don't want meto get hold of it; or else you've made up your mind she's innocent, buthave no objection to my wasting my time over her. Well, it's all in thegame; which begins to look extremely interesting as we go on. " To Mr. Murch he said aloud: "Well, I'll draw the bedroom later on. What aboutthis?"

"They call it the library, " said the inspector. "Manderson used to dohis writing and that in here; passed most of the time he spent indoorshere. Since he and his wife ceased to hit it off together, he had takento spending his evenings alone, and when at this house he always spent'em in here. He was last seen alive, as far as the servants areconcerned, in this room. "

Trent rose and glanced again through the papers set out on the table. "Business letters and documents, mostly, " said Mr. Murch. "Reports, prospectuses, and that. A few letters on private matters, nothing inthem that I can see. The American secretary--Bunner his name is, and aqueerer card I never saw turned--he's been through this desk with methis morning. He had got it into his head that Manderson had beenreceiving threatening letters, and that the murder was the outcome ofthat. But there's no trace of any such thing; and we looked at everyblessed paper. The only unusual things we found were some packets ofbank-notes to a very considerable amount, and a couple of little bags ofunset diamonds. I asked Mr. Bunner to put them in a safer place. Itappears that Manderson had begun buying diamonds lately as aspeculation--it was a new game to him, the secretary said, and it seemedto amuse him. "

"What about these secretaries?" Trent inquired. "I met one calledMarlowe just now outside; a nice-looking chap with singular eyes, unquestionably English. The other, it seems, is an American. What didManderson want with an English secretary?"

"Mr. Marlowe explained to me how that was. The American was hisright-hand business man, one of his office staff, who never left him. Mr. Marlowe had nothing to do with Manderson's business as a financier, knew nothing of it. His job was to look after Manderson's horses andmotors and yacht and sporting arrangements and that--make himselfgenerally useful, as you might say. He had the spending of a lot ofmoney, I should think. The other was confined entirely to the officeaffairs, and I dare say he had his hands full. As for his being English, it was just a fad of Manderson's to have an English secretary. He'd hadseveral before Mr. Marlowe. "

"He showed his taste, " observed Trent. "It might be more thaninteresting, don't you think, to be minister to the pleasures of amodern plutocrat with a large P? Only they say that Manderson's wereexclusively of an innocent kind. Certainly Marlowe gives me theimpression that he would be weak in the part of Petronius. But to returnto the matter in hand. " He looked at his notes. "You said just now thathe was last seen alive here, 'so far as the servants were concerned. 'That meant--?"

"He had a conversation with his wife on going to bed. But for that, theman-servant, Martin by name, last saw him in this room. I had his storylast night, and very glad he was to tell it. An affair like this is meatand drink to the servants of the house. "

Trent considered for some moments, gazing through the open window overthe sun-flooded slopes. "Would it bore you to hear what he has to sayagain?" he asked at length. For reply, Mr. Murch rang the bell. A spare, clean-shaven, middle-aged man, having the servant's manner in its mostdistinguished form, answered it. 

"This is Mr. Trent, who is authorized by Mrs. Manderson to go over thehouse and make inquiries, " explained the detective. "He would like tohear your story. " Martin bowed distantly. He recognized Trent for agentleman. Time would show whether he was what Martin called a gentlemanin every sense of the word. 

"I observed you approaching the house, sir, " said Martin with impassivecourtesy. He spoke with a slow and measured utterance. "My instructionsare to assist you in every possible way. Should you wish me to recallthe circumstances of Sunday night?"

"Please, " said Trent with ponderous gravity. Martin's style was makingclamorous appeal to his sense of comedy. He banished with an effort allvivacity of expression from his face. 

"I last saw Mr. Manderson--"

"No, not that yet, " Trent checked him quietly. "Tell me all you saw ofhim that evening--after dinner, say. Try to recollect every littledetail. "

"After dinner, sir?--yes. I remember that after dinner Mr. Manderson andMr. Marlowe walked up and down the path through the orchard, talking. Ifyou ask me for details, it struck me they were talking about somethingimportant, because I heard Mr. Manderson say something when they came inthrough the back entrance. He said, as near as I can remember: 'IfHarris is there, every minute is of importance. You want to start rightaway. And not a word to a soul. ' Mr. Marlowe answered: 'Very well. Iwill just change out of these clothes and then I'm ready'--or words tothat effect. I heard this plainly as they passed the window of mypantry. Then Mr. Marlowe went up to his bedroom and Mr. Mandersonentered the library and rang for me. He handed me some letters for thepostman in the morning and directed me to sit up, as Mr. Marlowe hadpersuaded him to go for a drive in the car by moonlight. "

"That was curious, " remarked Trent. 

"I thought so, sir. But I recollected what I had heard about 'not a wordto a soul, ' and I concluded that this about a moonlight drive wasintended to mislead. "

"What time was this?"

"It would be about ten, sir, I should say. After speaking to me, Mr. Manderson waited until Mr. Marlowe had come down and brought round thecar. He then went into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Manderson was. "

"Did that strike you as curious?"

Martin looked down his nose. "If you ask me the question, sir, " he saidwith reserve, "I had not known him enter that room since we came herethis year. He preferred to sit in the library in the evenings. Thatevening he only remained with Mrs. Manderson for a few minutes. Then heand Mr. Marlowe started immediately. "

"You saw them start?"

"Yes, sir. They took the direction of Bishopsbridge. "

"And you saw Mr. Manderson again later?"

"After an hour or thereabouts, sir, in the library. That would have beenabout a quarter past eleven, I should say; I had noticed eleven strikingfrom the church. I may say I am peculiarly quick of hearing, sir. "

"Mr. Manderson had rung the bell for you, I suppose. Yes? And whatpassed when you answered it?"

"Mr. Manderson had put out the decanter of whisky and a syphon andglass, sir, from the cupboard where he kept them--"

Trent held up his hand. "While we are on that point, Martin, I want toask you plainly, did Mr. Manderson drink very much? You understand thisis not impertinent curiosity on my part. I want you to tell me becauseit may possibly help in the clearing up of this case. "

"Perfectly, sir, " replied Martin gravely. "I have no hesitation intelling you what I have already told the inspector. Mr. Manderson was, considering his position in life, a remarkably abstemious man. In myfour years of service with him I never knew anything of an alcoholicnature pass his lips except a glass or two of wine at dinner, veryrarely a little at luncheon, and from time to time a whisky-and-sodabefore going to bed. He never seemed to form a habit of it. Often I usedto find his glass in the morning with only a little soda water in it;sometimes he would have been having whisky with it, but never much. Henever was particular about his drinks; ordinary soda was what hepreferred, though I had ventured to suggest some of the naturalminerals, having personally acquired a taste for them in my previousservice. He used to keep them in the cupboard here because he had agreat dislike of being waited on more than was necessary. It was anunderstood thing that I never came near him after dinner unless sentfor. And when he sent for anything, he liked it brought quick, and to beleft alone again at once. He hated to be asked if he required anythingmore. Amazingly simple in his tastes, sir, Mr. Manderson was. "

"Very well; and he rang for you that night about a quarter past eleven. Now can you remember exactly what he said?"

"I think I can tell you with some approach to accuracy, sir. It was notmuch. First he asked me if Mr. Bunner had gone to bed, and I repliedthat he had been gone up some time. He then said that he wanted someoneto sit up until twelve-thirty, in case an important message should comeby telephone, and that Mr. Marlowe having gone to Southampton for him inthe motor, he wished me to do this, and that I was to take down themessage if it came, and not disturb him. He also ordered a fresh syphonof soda-water. I believe that was all, sir. "

"You noticed nothing unusual about him, I suppose. "

"No, sir, nothing unusual. When I answered the ring, he was seated atthe desk listening at the telephone, waiting for a number, as Isupposed. He gave his orders and went on listening at the same time. When I returned with the syphon he was engaged in conversation over thewire. "

"Do you remember anything of what he was saying?"

"Very little, sir; it was something about somebody being at somehotel--of no interest to me. I was only in the room just time enough toplace the syphon on the table and withdraw. As I closed the door he wassaying: 'You're sure he isn't in the hotel?' or words to that effect. "

"And that was the last you saw and heard of him alive?"

"No, sir. A little later, at half-past eleven, when I had settled downin my pantry with the door ajar, and a book to pass the time, I heardMr. Manderson go upstairs to bed. I immediately went to close thelibrary window, and slipped the lock of the front door. I did not hearanything more. "

Trent considered. "I suppose you didn't doze at all, " he saidtentatively, "while you were sitting up waiting for the telephonemessage. "

"Oh, no, sir! I am always very wakeful about that time. I'm a badsleeper, especially in the neighborhood of the sea, and I generally readin bed until somewhere about midnight. "

"And did any message come?"

"No, sir. "

"No. And I suppose you sleep with your window open, these warm nights. "

"It is never closed at night, sir. "

Trent added a last note; then he looked thoughtfully through those hehad taken. He rose and paced up and down the room for some moments witha downcast eye. At length he paused opposite Martin. "It all seemsperfectly ordinary and simple, " he said. "I just want to get a fewdetails clear. You went to shut the windows in the library before goingto bed. Which windows?"

"The French window, sir. It had been open all day. The windows oppositethe door were seldom opened. "

"And what about the curtains? I am wondering whether anyone outside thehouse could have seen into the room. "

"Easily, sir, I should say, if he had got into the grounds on that side. The curtains were never drawn in the hot weather. Mr. Manderson wouldoften sit right in the doorway at nights, smoking and looking out intothe darkness. But nobody could have seen him who had any business to bethere. "

"I see. And now tell me this. Your hearing is very acute, you say, andyou heard Mr. Manderson enter the house when he came in after dinnerfrom the garden. Did you hear him re-enter it after returning from themotor-drive?"

Martin paused. "Now you mention it, sir, I remember that I did not. Hisringing the bell in this room was the first I knew of his being back. Ishould have heard him come in, if he had come in by the front. I shouldhave heard the door go. But he must have come in by the window. " The manreflected for a moment, then added: "As a general rule, Mr. Mandersonwould come in by the front, hang up his hat and coat in the hall, andpass down the hall into the study. It seems likely to me that he was ina great hurry to use the telephone, and so went straight across the lawnto the window--he was like that, sir, when there was anything importantto be done. He had on his hat, now I remember, and had thrown hisgreat-coat over the end of the table. He gave his order very sharp, too, as he always did when busy. A very precipitate man indeed, was Mr. Manderson; a hustler, as they say. "

"Ah! He appeared to be busy. But didn't you say just now that younoticed nothing unusual about him?"

A melancholy smile flitted momentarily over Martin's face. "Thatobservation shows that you did not know Mr. Manderson, sir, if you willpardon my saying so. His being like that was nothing unusual; quite thecontrary. It took me long enough to get used to it. Either he would besitting quite still and smoking a cigar, thinking or reading, or else hewould be writing, dictating, and sending off wires all at the same time, till it almost made one dizzy to see it, sometimes for an hour or moreat a stretch. As for being in a hurry over a telephone message, I maysay it wasn't in him to be anything else. "

Trent turned to the inspector, who met his eye with a look of answeringintelligence. Not sorry to show his understanding of the line of inquiryopened by Trent, Mr. Murch for the first time put a question:

"Then you left him telephoning by the open window, with the lights on, and the drinks on the table; is that it?"

"That is so, Mr. Murch. " The delicacy of the change in Martin's mannerwhen called upon to answer the detective momentarily distracted Trent'sappreciative mind. But the big man's next question brought it back tothe problem at once. 

"About those drinks. You say Mr. Manderson often took no whisky beforegoing to bed. Did he have any that night?"

"I could not say. The room was put to rights in the morning by one ofthe maids, and the glass washed, I presume, as usual. I know that thedecanter was nearly full that evening; I had refilled it a few daysbefore, and I glanced at it when I brought the fresh syphon, just out ofhabit, to make sure there was a decent-looking amount. "

The inspector went to the tall corner-cupboard and opened it. He tookout a decanter of cut glass, and set it on the table before Martin. "Wasit fuller than that?" he asked quietly. "That's how I found it thismorning. " The decanter was more than half empty. 

For the first time Martin's self-possession wavered. He took up thedecanter quickly, tilted it before his eyes, and then stared amazedly atthe others. He said slowly: "There's not much short of half a bottlegone out of this since I last set eyes on it--and that was Sundaynight. "

"Nobody in the house, I suppose--" suggested Trent discreetly. 

"Out of the question, " replied Martin briefly. Then he added: "I begpardon, sir, but this is a most extraordinary thing to me. Such a thingnever happened in all my experience of Mr. Manderson. As for thewomen-servants, they never touch anything. I can answer for it; and asfor me, when I want a drink I can help myself without going to thedecanters. " He took up the decanter again, and aimlessly renewed hisobservation of the contents, while the inspector eyed him with a look ofserene satisfaction, as a master contemplates his handiwork. 

Trent turned to a fresh page of his notebook, and tapped it thoughtfullywith his pencil. Then he looked up and said: "I suppose Mr. Mandersonhad dressed for dinner that night. "

"Certainly, sir. He had on a suit with a dress-jacket, what he used torefer to as a Tuxedo, which he usually wore when dining at home orinformally. "

"And he was dressed like that when you saw him last?"

"All but the jacket, sir. When he spent the evening in the library, asusually happened, he would change it for an old shooting-jacket afterdinner, a light-colored tweed, a little too loud in pattern for Englishtastes, perhaps. He had it on when I saw him last. It used to hang inthis cupboard here"--Martin opened the door of it as he spoke--"alongwith Mr. Manderson's fishing-rods and such things, so that he could slipit on after dinner without going upstairs. "

"Leaving the dinner-jacket in the cupboard?"

"Yes, sir. The housemaid used to take it upstairs in the morning. "

"In the morning, " Trent repeated slowly. "And now that we are speakingof the morning, will you tell me exactly what you know about that. Iunderstand that Mr. Manderson was not missed until the body was foundabout ten o'clock. "

"That is so, sir. Mr. Manderson would never be called, or have anythingbrought to him in the morning. He occupied a separate bedroom. Usuallyhe would get up about eight and go round to the bathroom, and he wouldcome down some time before nine. But often he would sleep till nine orten o'clock. Mrs. Manderson was always called at seven. The maid wouldtake in tea to her. Yesterday morning Mrs. Manderson took breakfastabout eight in her sitting-room as usual, and everyone supposed that Mr. Manderson was still in bed and asleep when Evans came rushing up to thehouse with the shocking intelligence. "

"I see, " said Trent. "And now another thing. You say you slipped thelock of the front door before going to bed. Was that all the locking-upyou did?"

"To the front-door, sir, yes; I slipped the lock. No more is considerednecessary in these parts. But I had locked both the doors at the back, and seen to the fastenings of all the windows on the ground-floor. Inthe morning everything was as I had left it. "

"As you had left it. Now here is another point--the last, I think. Werethe clothes in which the body was found the clothes that Mr. Mandersonwould naturally have worn that day?"

Martin rubbed his chin. "You remind me how surprised I was when I firstset eyes on the body, sir. At first I couldn't make out what was unusualabout the clothes, and then I saw what it was. The collar was a shape ofcollar Mr. Manderson never wore except with evening dress. Then I foundthat he had put on all the same things that he had worn the nightbefore--large-fronted shirt and all--except just the coat and waistcoatand trousers, and the brown shoes and blue tie. As for the suit, it wasone of half a dozen he might have worn. But for him to have simply puton all the rest just because they were there, instead of getting out thekind of shirt and things he always wore by day--well, sir, it wasunprecedented. It shows, like some other things, what a hurry he musthave been in when getting up. "

"Of course, " said Trent. "Well, I think that's all I wanted to know. Youhave put everything with admirable clearness, Martin. If we want to askany more questions later on, I suppose you will be somewhere about. "

"I shall be at your disposal, sir. " Martin bowed and went out quietly. 

Trent flung himself into the arm-chair and exhaled a long breath. "Martin is a great creature, " he said. "He is far, far better than aplay. There is none like him, none--nor will be when our summers havedeceased. Straight, too: not an atom of harm in dear old Martin. Do youknow, Murch, you are wrong in suspecting that man. "

"I never said a word about suspecting him. " The inspector was takenaback. "_You_ know, Mr. Trent, he would never have told his story likethat if he thought I suspected him. "

"I dare say he doesn't think so. He is a wonderful creature, a greatartist; but in spite of that he is not at all a sensitive type. It hasnever occurred to his mind that you, Murch, could suspect him, Martin, the complete, the accomplished. But I know it. You must understand, inspector, that I have made a special study of the psychology ofofficers of the law. It is a grossly neglected branch of knowledge. Theyare far more interesting than criminals, and not nearly so easy. All thetime I was questioning him I saw handcuffs in your eye. Your lips weremutely framing the syllables of those tremendous words: 'It is my dutyto tell you that anything you now say will be taken down and used inevidence against you. ' Your manner would have deceived most men, but itcould not deceive me. "

Mr. Murch laughed heartily. Trent's nonsense never made any sort ofimpression on his mind, but he took it as a mark of esteem, which indeedit was; so it never failed to please him. "Well, Mr. Trent, " he said, "you're perfectly right. There's no point in denying it. I have got myeye on him. Not that there's anything definite; but you know, as well asI do, how often servants are mixed up in affairs of this kind, and thisman is such a very quiet customer. You remember the case of Lord WilliamRussell's valet, who went in as usual in the morning to draw up theblinds in his master's bedroom, as quiet and starchy as you please, afew hours after he had murdered him in his bed. I've talked to all thewomen of the house, and I don't believe there's a morsel of harm in oneof them. But Martin's not so easy set aside. I don't like his manner; Ibelieve he's hiding something. If so, I shall find it out. "

"Cease!" said Trent. "Drain not to its dregs the urn of bitter prophecy. Let us get back to facts. Have you, as a matter of evidence, anything atall to bring against Martin's story as he has told it to us?"

"Nothing whatever at present. As for his suggestion that Manderson camein by way of the window after leaving Marlowe and the car, that's rightenough, I should say. I questioned the servant who swept the room nextmorning, and she tells me there were gravelly marks near the window, onthis plain drugget that goes round the carpet. And there's a footprintin this soft new gravel just outside. " The inspector took a folding rulefrom his pocket and with it pointed out the traces. "One of the patentshoes Manderson was wearing that night exactly fits that print--you'llfind them, " he added, "on the top shelf in the bedroom, near thewindow-end, the only patents in the row. The girl who polished them inthe morning picked them out for me. "

Trent bent down and studied the faint marks keenly. "Good!" he said. "You have covered a lot of ground, Murch, I must say. That was excellentabout the whisky--you made your point finely. I felt inclined to shout'Encore!' It's a thing that I shall have to think over. "

"I thought you might have fitted it in already, " said Mr. Murch. "Come, Mr. Trent, we're only at the beginning of our inquiries, but what do yousay to this for a preliminary theory? There's a plan of burglary--say acouple of men in it and Martin squared. They know where the plate is, and all about the handy little bits of stuff in the drawing-room andelsewhere. They watch the house; see Manderson off to bed; Martin comesto shut the window, and leaves it ajar--accidentally on purpose. Theywait till Martin goes to bed at twelve-thirty; then they just walk intothe library, and begin to sample the whisky first thing. Now supposeManderson isn't asleep, and suppose they make a noise opening thewindow, or however it might be. He hears it; thinks of burglars; gets upvery quietly to see if anything's wrong; creeps down on them, perhaps, just as they're getting ready for work. They cut and run; he chases themdown to the shed, and collars one; there's a fight; one of them loseshis temper and his head, and makes a swinging job of it. Now, Mr. Trent, pick that to pieces. "

"Very well, " said Trent. "Just to oblige you, Murch--especially as Iknow you don't believe a word of it. First: no traces of any kind leftby your burglar or burglars, and the window found fastened in themorning--according to Martin. Not much force in that, I allow. Next:nobody in the house hears anything of this stampede through the library, nor hears any shout from Manderson either inside the house or outside. Next: Manderson goes down without a word to anybody, though Bunner andMartin are both at hand. Next: did you ever hear in your long experienceof a householder getting up in the night to pounce on burglars, whodressed himself fully, with underclothing, shirt, collar and tie, trousers, waistcoat and coat, socks and hard leather shoes; and who gavethe finishing touches to a somewhat dandified toilet by doing his hairand putting on his watch and chain? Personally, I call thatover-dressing the part. The only decorative detail he seems to haveforgotten is his teeth. "

The inspector leaned forward thinking, his large hands clasped beforehim. "No, " he said at last. "Of course there's no help in that theory. Irather expect we have some way to go before we find out why a man getsup before the servants are awake, dresses himself fully, and is murderedwithin sight of his house early enough to be cold and stiff by ten inthe morning. "

Trent shook his head. "We can't build anything on that lastconsideration. I've gone into the subject with people who know. Ishouldn't wonder, " he added, "if the traditional notions about loss oftemperature and rigor after death had occasionally brought an innocentman to the gallows, or near it. Dr. Stock has them all, I feel sure:most general practitioners of the older generation have. That Dr. Stockwill make an ass of himself at the inquest is almost as certain as thatto-morrow's sun will rise. I've seen him. He will say the body must havebeen dead about so long, because of the degree of coldness and _rigormortis_. I can see him nosing it all out in some text-book that was outof date when he was a student. Listen, Murch, and I will tell you somefacts which will be a great hindrance to you in your professionalcareer. There are many things that may hasten or retard the cooling ofthe body. This one was lying in the long dewy grass on the shady side ofthe shed. As for rigidity, if Manderson died in a struggle, or laboringunder sudden emotion, his corpse might stiffen practicallyinstantaneously: there are dozens of cases noted, particularly in casesof injury to the skull, like this one. On the other hand, the stiffeningmight not have begun until eight or ten hours after death. You can'thang anybody on _rigor mortis_ nowadays, inspector, much as you mayresent the limitation. No; what we _can_ say is this. If he had beenshot after the hour at which the world begins to get up and go about itsbusiness, it would have been heard and very likely seen, too. In fact, we must reason--to begin with, at any rate--on the assumption that hewasn't shot at a time when people might be awake--it isn't done in theseparts. Put that time at six-thirty A. M. Manderson went up to bed ateleven P. M. And Martin sat up till twelve-thirty. Assuming that he wentto sleep at once on turning in, that leaves us something like six hoursfor the crime to be committed in; and that is a long time. But wheneverit took place, I wish you would suggest a reason why Manderson, who was afairly late riser, was up and dressed at or before six-thirty; and whyneither Martin, who sleeps lightly, nor Bunner, nor his wife heard himmoving about, or letting himself out of the house. He must have beencareful. He must have crept about like a cat. .. . Do you feel as I do, Murch, about all this: that it is very, very strange and baffling?"

"That's how it looks, " agreed the inspector. 

"And now, " said Trent, rising to his feet, "I'll leave you to yourmeditations, and take a look at the bedrooms. Perhaps the explanation ofall this will suddenly burst upon you while I am poking about up there. But, " concluded Trent in a voice of sudden exasperation, turning roundin the doorway, "if you can tell me at any time how under the sun a manwho put on all those clothes could forget to put in his teeth, you maykick me from here to the nearest lunatic asylum, and hand me over as anincipient dement. "

CHAPTER IV

POKING ABOUT

There are moments in life, as one might think, when that which is withinus, busy about its secret affair, lets escape into consciousness somehint of a fortunate thing ordained. Who does not know what it is to feelat times a wave of unaccountable persuasion that it is about to go wellwith him?--not the feverish confidence of men in danger of a blow fromfate, not the persistent illusion of the optimist, but an unsoughtconviction, springing up like a bird from the heather, that success isat hand in some great or little thing. The general suddenly knows atdawn that the day will bring him victory; the man on the green suddenlyknows that he will put down the long putt. As Trent mounted the stairwayoutside the library door he seemed to rise into certainty ofachievement. 

A host of guesses and inferences swarmed apparently unsorted through hismind; a few secret observations that he had made, and which he felt musthave significance, still stood unrelated to any plausible theory of thecrime; yet as he went up he seemed to know indubitably that light wasgoing to appear. 

The bedrooms lay on either side of a broad carpeted passage, lighted bya tall end-window. It went the length of the house until it ran at rightangles into a narrower passage, out of which the servants' rooms opened. Martin's room was the exception: it opened out of a small landinghalfway to the upper floor. As Trent passed it, he glanced within. Alittle square room, clean and commonplace. In going up the rest of thestairway he stepped with elaborate precaution against noise, hugging thewall closely and placing each foot with care; but a series of veryaudible creaks marked his passage. 

He knew that Manderson's room was the first on the right hand when thebedroom floor was reached, and he went to it at once. He tried the latchand the lock, which worked normally, and examined the wards of the key. Then he turned to the room. 

It was a small apartment, strangely bare. The plutocrat's toiletappointments were of the simplest. All remained just as it had been onthe morning of the ghastly discovery in the grounds. The sheets andblankets of the unmade bed lay tumbled over a narrow wooden bedstead, and the sun shone brightly through the window upon them. It gleamed, too, upon the gold parts of the delicate work of dentistry that lay inwater in a shallow bowl of glass placed on a small, plain table by thebedside. On this also stood a wrought-iron candlestick. Some clothinglay untidily over one of the two rush-bottomed chairs. Various objectson the top of a chest of drawers, which had been used as a dressingtable, lay in such disorder as a hurried man might make--toiletarticles, a book of flies, an empty pocket-book with a burst strap, apocket compass and other trifles. Trent looked them over with aquestioning eye. He noted also that the occupant of the room had neitherwashed nor shaved. With his finger he turned over the dental plate inthe bowl, and frowned again at its incomprehensible presence. 

The emptiness and disarray of the little room, flooded by the sunbeams, were producing in Trent a sense of gruesomeness. His fancy called up apicture of a haggard man dressing himself in careful silence by thefirst light of dawn, glancing constantly at the inner door behind whichhis wife slept, his eyes full of some terror. 

Trent shivered, and to fix his mind again on actualities opened two tallcupboards in the wall on either side of the bed. They containedclothing, a large choice of which had evidently been one of the very fewconditions of comfort for the man who had slept there. 

In the matter of shoes, also, Manderson had allowed himself theadvantage of wealth. An extraordinary number of these, treed andcarefully kept, was ranged on two long low shelves against the wall. Trent, himself an amateur of good shoe-leather, now turned to them, andglanced over the collection with an appreciative eye. It was to be seenthat Manderson had been inclined to pride himself on a rather small andwell-formed foot. The shoes were of a distinctive shape, narrow andround-toed, beautifully made; all were evidently from the same last. 

Suddenly his eyes narrowed themselves over a pair of patent-leathershoes on the upper shelf. 

These were the shoes of which the inspector had already described theposition to him; the shoes worn by Manderson the night before his death. They were a well-worn pair, he saw at once; he saw, too, that they hadbeen very recently polished. Something about the uppers of these shoeshad seized his attention. He bent lower and frowned over them, comparingwhat he saw with the appearance of the neighboring shoes. Then he tookthem up and examined the line of juncture of the uppers with the soles. 

As he did this, Trent began unconsciously to whistle faintly, and withgreat precision, an air which Inspector Murch, if he had been present, would have recognized. 

Most men who have the habit of self-control have also some involuntarytrick which tells those who know them that they are suppressingexcitement. The inspector had noted that, when Trent had picked up astrong scent, he whistled faintly a certain melodious passage; thoughthe inspector could not have told you that it was, in fact, the openingmovement of Mendelssohn's _Lied ohne Wörter_ in A major. 

He turned the shoes over, made some measurements with a marked tape, andlooked minutely at the bottoms. On each, in the angle between the heeland the instep, he detected a faint trace of red gravel. 

Trent placed the shoes on the floor, and walked with his hands behindhim to the window, out of which, still faintly whistling, he gazed witheyes that saw nothing. Once his lips opened to emit mechanically theEnglishman's expletive of sudden enlightenment. At length he turned tothe shelves again, and swiftly but carefully examined every one of theshoes there. 

This done, he took up the garments from the chair, looked them overclosely and replaced them. He turned to the wardrobe cupboards again, and hunted through them carefully. The litter on the dressing table nowengaged his attention for the second time. Then he sat down on the emptychair, took his head in his hands, and remained in that attitude, staring at the carpet, for some minutes. He rose at last and opened theinner door leading to Mrs. Manderson's room. 

It was evident at a glance that the big room had been hurriedly put downfrom its place as the lady's bower. All the array of objects that belongto a woman's dressing table had been removed; on bed and chairs andsmaller tables there were no garments or hats, bags or boxes; no traceremained of the obstinate conspiracy of gloves and veils, handkerchiefsand ribbons, to break the captivity of the drawer. The room was like anunoccupied guest-chamber. Yet in every detail of furniture anddecoration it spoke of an unconventional but exacting taste. Trent, ashis expert eye noted the various perfection of color and form amid whichthe ill-mated lady dreamed her dreams and thought her loneliestthoughts, knew that she had at least the resources of an artisticnature. His interest in this unknown personality grew stronger; and hisbrows came down heavily as he thought of the burdens laid upon it, andof the deed of which the history was now shaping itself with more andmore of substance before his busy mind. 

He went first to the tall French window in the middle of the wall thatfaced the door, and opening it, stepped out upon a small balcony with aniron railing. He looked down on a broad stretch of lawn that beganimmediately beneath him, separated from the house-wall only by a narrowflower-bed, and stretched away with an abrupt dip at the farther end, toward the orchard. The other window opened with a sash above thegarden-entrance to the library. In the further inside corner of the roomwas a second door giving upon the passage; the door by which the maidwas wont to come in, and her mistress to go out, in the morning. 

Trent, seated on the bed, quickly sketched in his notebook a plan of theroom and its neighbor. The bed stood in the angle between thecommunicating-door and the sash-window, its head against the walldividing the room from Manderson's. Trent stared at the pillows; then helay down with deliberation on the bed and looked through the open doorinto the adjoining room. 

This observation taken, he rose again and proceeded to note on his planthat on either side of the bed was a small table with a cover. Upon thatfarthest from the door was a graceful electric-lamp standard of copperconnected by a free wire with the wall. Trent looked at it thoughtfully, then at the switches connected with the other lights in the room. Theywere, as usual, on the wall just within the door, and some way out ofhis reach as he sat on the bed. He rose, and satisfied himself that thelights were all in order. Then he turned on his heel, walked quicklyinto Manderson's room, and rang the bell. 

"I want your help again, Martin, " he said, as the butler presentedhimself, upright and impassive, in the doorway. "I want you to prevailupon Mrs. Manderson's maid to grant me an interview. "

"Certainly, sir, " said Martin. 

"What sort of a woman is she? Has she her wits about her?"

"She's French, sir, " replied Martin succinctly; adding after a pause:"She has not been with us long, sir, but I have formed the impressionthat the young woman knows as much of the world as is good forher--since you ask me. "

"You think butter might possibly melt in her mouth, do you?" said Trent. "Well, I am not afraid. I want to put some questions to her. "

"I will send her up immediately, sir. " The butler withdrew, and Trentwandered round the little room with his hands at his back. Sooner thanhe had expected, a small, neat figure in black appeared quietly beforehim. 

The lady's maid, with her large brown eyes, had taken favorable noticeof Trent from a window when he had crossed the lawn, and had been hopingdesperately that the resolver of mysteries (whose reputation was asgreat below-stairs as elsewhere) would send for her. For one thing, shefelt the need to make a scene; her nerves were overwrought. But herscenes were at a discount with the other domestics, and as for Mr. Murch, he had chilled her into self-control with his official manner. Trent, her glimpse of him had told her, had not the air of a policeman, and at a distance he had appeared _sympathetique_. 

As she entered the room, however, instinct decided for her that anyapproach to coquetry would be a mistake, if she sought to make a goodimpression at the beginning. It was with an air of amiable candor, then, that she said, "Monsieur desire to speak with me?" She added helpfully, "I am called Célestine. "

"Naturally, " said Trent with businesslike calm. "Now what I want you totell me, Célestine, is this: when you took tea to your mistressyesterday morning at seven o'clock, was the door between the twobedrooms--this door here--open?"

Célestine became intensely animated in an instant. "Oh, yes, " she said, using her favorite English idiom. "The door was open as always, monsieur, and I shut it as always. But it is necessary to explain. Listen! When I enter the room of madame from the other door inthere--ah! but if monsieur will give himself the pain to enter the otherroom, all explains itself. " She tripped across to the door, and urgedTrent before her into the larger bedroom with a hand on his arm. "See! Ienter the room with the tea like this. I approach the bed. Before I comequite near the bed, here is the door to my right hand--open, always--so!But monsieur can perceive that I see nothing in the room of MonsieurManderson. The door opens to the bed, not to me who approach from downthere. I shut it without seeing in. It is the order. Yesterday it was asordinary. I see nothing of the next room. Madame sleep like anangel--she see nothing. I shut the door. I place the plateau--I open thecurtains--I prepare the toilette--I retire--voilà!" Célestine paused forbreath, and spread her hands abroad. 

Trent, who had followed her movements and gesticulations with deepeninggravity, nodded his head. "I see exactly how it was now, " he said. "Thank you, Célestine. So Mr. Manderson was supposed to be still in hisroom while your mistress was getting up, and dressing, and havingbreakfast in her boudoir. "

"Oui, monsieur. "

"Nobody missed him, in fact, " remarked Trent. "Well, Célestine, I amvery much obliged to you. " He re-opened the door to the outer bedroom. 

"It is nothing, monsieur, " said Célestine, as she crossed the smallroom. "I hope that monsieur will catch the assassin of MonsieurManderson. .. . But I not regret him too much, " she added with sudden andamazing violence, turning round with her hand on the knob of the outerdoor. She set her teeth with an audible sound, and the color rose in hersmall, dark face. English departed from her. "Je ne le regrette pas dutout, du tout!" she cried with a flood of words. "Madame--ah! je mejetterais au feu pour madame--une femme si charmante, si adorable. Maisun homme comme, monsieur--maussade, boudeur, impassible! Ah, non!--de mavie! J'en avais pardessus la tête, de monsieur! Ah! vrai! Est-ceinsupportable, tout de même, qu'il existe des types comme ça? Je vousjure que--"

"Finissez ce chahut, Célestine!" Trent broke in sharply. Célestine'stirade had brought back the memory of his student days in Paris with arush. "En voilà une scène! C'est rasant, vous savez. Faut rentrer ça, mademoiselle. Du reste, c'est bien imprudent, croyez-moi. Hang it! havesome common sense! If the inspector downstairs heard you saying thatkind of thing, you would get into trouble. And don't wave your fistsabout so much; you might hit something. You seem, " he went on morepleasantly, as Célestine grew calmer under his authoritative eye, "to beeven more glad than other people that Mr. Manderson is out of the way. Icould almost suspect, Célestine, that Mr. Manderson did not take as muchnotice of you, as you thought necessary and right. "

"A peine s'il m'avait regardé!" Célestine answered simply. 

"Ca, c'est un comble!" observed Trent. "You are a nice young woman for asmall tea-party, I don't think. A star upon your birthday burned, whosefierce, serene, red, pulseless planet never yearned in heaven, Célestine. Mademoiselle, I am busy. Bon jour. You certainly are abeauty!"

Célestine took this as a scarcely-expected compliment. The surpriserestored her balance. With a sudden flash of her eyes and teeth at Trentover her shoulder, the lady's maid opened the door and swiftlydisappeared. 

Trent, left alone in the little bedroom, relieved his mind with twoforcible descriptive terms in Célestine's language, and turned to hisproblem. 

He took the pair of shoes which he had already examined, and placed themon one of the two chairs in the room, then seated himself on the otheropposite to this. With his hands in his pockets he sat with eyes fixedupon those two dumb witnesses. Now and then he whistled, almostinaudibly, a few bars. It was very still in the room. A subduedtwittering came from the trees through the open window. From time totime a breeze rustled in the leaves of the thick creeper about the sill. But the man in the room, his face grown hard and somber now with histhoughts, never moved. 

So he sat for the space of half an hour. Then he rose quickly to hisfeet. He replaced the shoes on their shelf with care, and stepped outupon the landing. 

Two bedroom doors faced him on the other side of the passage. He openedthat which was immediately opposite, and entered a bedroom by no meansausterely tidy. Some sticks and fishing-rods stood confusedly in onecorner, a pile of books in another. The housemaid's hand had failed togive a look of order to the jumble of heterogeneous objects left on thedressing-table and the mantel-shelf--pipes, pen-knives, pencils, keys, golf-balls, old letters, photographs, small boxes, tins and bottles. Twofine etchings and some water-color sketches hung on the walls; leaningagainst the end of the wardrobe, unhung, were a few framed engravings. Arow of shoes and boots was ranged beneath the window. Trent crossed theroom and studied them intently; then he measured some of them with histape, whistling very softly. This done, he sat on the side of the bed, and his eyes roamed gloomily about the room. 

The photographs on the mantel-shelf attracted him presently. He rose andexamined one representing Marlowe and Manderson on horseback. Two otherswere views of famous peaks in the Alps. There was a faded print of threeyouths--one of them unmistakably his acquaintance of the haggard blueeyes--clothed in tatterdemalion soldier's gear of the sixteenth century. Another was a portrait of a majestic old lady, slightly resemblingMarlowe. Trent, mechanically taking a cigarette from an open box on themantel-shelf, lit it and stared at the photographs. Next he turned hisattention to a flat leathern case that lay by the cigarette-box. 

It opened easily. A small and light revolver of beautiful workmanshipwas disclosed, with a score or so of loose cartridges. On the stock wereengraved the initials "J. M. "

A step was heard on the stairs, and as Trent opened the breech andpeered into the barrel of the weapon, Inspector Murch appeared at theopen door of the room. "I was wondering"--he began; then stopped as hesaw what the other was about. His intelligent eyes opened slightly. "Whose is the revolver, Mr. Trent?" he asked in a conversational tone. 

"Evidently it belongs to the occupant of the room, Mr. Marlowe, " repliedTrent with similar lightness, pointing to the initials. "I found thislying about on the mantel-piece. It seems a handy little pistol to me, and it has been very carefully cleaned, I should say, since the lasttime it was used. But I know little about firearms. "

"Well, I know a good deal, " rejoined the inspector quietly, taking therevolver from Trent's outstretched hand. "It's a bit of a specialty withme, is firearms, as I think you know, Mr. Trent. But it don't require anexpert to tell one thing. " He replaced the revolver in its case on themantel-shelf, took out one of the cartridges, and laid it on thespacious palm of one hand; then, taking a small object from hiswaistcoat pocket, he laid it beside the cartridge. It was a littleleaden bullet, slightly battered about the nose, and having upon it somebright new scratches. 

"Is that _the_ one?" Trent murmured as he bent over the inspector'shand. 

"That's him, " replied Mr. Murch. "Lodged in the bone at the back of theskull. Dr. Stock got it out within the last hour, and handed it to thelocal officer, who has just sent it on to me. These bright scratches yousee, were made by the doctor's instruments. These other marks were madeby the rifling of the barrel--a barrel like this one. " He tapped therevolver. "Same make, same caliber. "

With the pistol in its case between them, Trent and the inspector lookedinto each other's eyes for some moments. Trent was the first to speak. "This mystery is all wrong, " he observed. "It is insanity. The symptomsof mania are very marked. Let us see how we stand. We were not in anydoubt, I believe, about Manderson having despatched Marlowe in the carto Southampton, or about Marlowe having gone, returning late last night, many hours after the murder was committed. "

"There _is_ no doubt whatever about all that, " said Mr. Murch, with aslight emphasis on the verb. 

"And now, " pursued Trent, "we are invited by this polished andinsinuating firearm to believe the following line of propositions: thatMarlowe never went to Southampton; that he returned to the house in thenight; that he somehow, without waking Mrs. Manderson or anybody else, got Manderson to get up, dress himself, and go out into the grounds;that he then and there shot the said Manderson with his incriminatingpistol; that he carefully cleaned the said pistol, returned to the houseand, again without disturbing any one, replaced it in its case in afavorable position to be found by the officers of the law; that he thenwithdrew and spent the rest of the day in hiding--_with_ a largemotor-car; and that he turned up, feigning ignorance of the wholeaffair, at--what time was it?"

"A little after nine P. M. " The inspector still stared moodilyat Trent. "As you say, Mr. Trent, that is the first theory suggested bythis find, and it seems wild enough--at least it would do, if it didn'tfall to pieces at the very start. When the murder was done Marlowe musthave been fifty to a hundred miles away. He _did_ go to Southampton. "

"How do you know?"

"I questioned him last night, and took down his story. He arrived inSouthampton about six-thirty on the Monday morning. "

"Come off!" exclaimed Trent bitterly. "What do I care about his story?What do you care about his story? I want to know how you _know_ he wentto Southampton. "

Mr. Murch chuckled. "I thought I should take a rise out of you, Mr. Trent, " he said. "Well, there's no harm in telling you. After I arrivedyesterday evening, as soon as I had got the outlines of the story fromMrs. Manderson and the servants, the first thing I did was to go to thetelegraph office and wire to our people in Southampton. Manderson hadtold his wife when he went to bed that he had changed his mind, and sentMarlowe to Southampton to get some important information from someonewho was crossing by the next day's boat. It seemed right enough; but yousee, Marlowe was the only one of the household who wasn't under my hand, so to speak; he didn't return in the car until later in the evening; sobefore thinking the matter out any further, I wired to Southamptonmaking certain inquiries. Early this morning I got this reply. " Hehanded a series of telegraph slips to Trent, who read:

 Person answering description in motor answering description arrived Bedford Hotel here 6:30 this morning gave name Marlowe left car hotel garage told attendant car belonged Manderson had bath and breakfast went out heard of later at docks inquiring for passenger name Harris on Havre boat inquired repeatedly until boat left at noon next heard of at hotel where he lunched about 1:15, left soon afterwards in car company's agents inform berth was booked name Harris last week but Harris did not travel by boat. Burke Inspector. 

"Simple and satisfactory, " observed Mr. Murch as Trent, after twicereading the message, returned it to him. "His own story corroborated inevery particular. He told me he hung about the dock for half an hour orso on the chance of Harris turning up late, then strolled back, lunchedand decided to return at once. He sent a wire to Manderson: 'Harris notturned up missed boat returning Marlowe, ' which was duly delivered herein the afternoon, and placed among the dead man's letters. He motoredback at a good rate, and arrived dog-tired. When he heard of Manderson'sdeath from Martin, he nearly fainted. What with that and the beingwithout sleep for so long, he was rather a wreck when I came tointerview him last night; but he was perfectly coherent. "

Trent picked up the revolver and twirled the cylinder idly for a fewmoments. "It was unlucky for Manderson that Marlowe left his pistol andcartridges about so carelessly, " he remarked at length, as he put itback in the case. "It was throwing temptation in somebody's way, don'tyou think?"

Mr. Murch shook his head. "There isn't really much to lay hold of aboutthe revolver, when you come to think. That particular make of revolveris common enough in England. It was introduced from the States. Half thepeople who buy a revolver to-day for self-defense or mischief providethemselves with that make, of that caliber. It is very reliable, andeasily carried in the hip-pocket. There must be thousands of them in thepossession of crooks and honest men. For instance, " continued theinspector with an air of unconcern, "Manderson himself had one, thedouble of this. I found it in one of the top drawers of the deskdownstairs, and it's in my overcoat pocket now. "

"Aha! so you were going to keep that little detail to yourself. "

"I was, " said the inspector, "but as you've found one revolver, you mayas well know about the other. As I say, neither of them may do us anygood. The people in the house--"

Both men started, and the inspector checked his speech abruptly, as thehalf-closed door of the bedroom was slowly pushed open, and a man stoodin the doorway. His eyes turned from the pistol in its open case to thefaces of Trent and the inspector. They, who had not heard a sound toherald this entrance, simultaneously looked at his long, narrow feet. Hewore rubber-soled tennis shoes. 

"You must be Mr. Bunner, " said Trent. 

CHAPTER V

MR. BUNNER ON THE CASE

"Calvin C. Bunner, at your service, " amended the newcomer, with a touchof punctilio, as he removed an unlighted cigar from his mouth. He wasused to finding Englishmen slow and ceremonious with strangers, andTrent's quick remark plainly disconcerted him a little. "You are Mr. Trent, I expect, " he went on. "Mrs. Manderson was telling me a whileago. Captain, good-morning. " Mr. Murch acknowledged the greeting with anod. "I was coming up to my room, and I heard a strange voice in here, so I thought I would take a look in. " Mr. Bunner laughed easily. "Youthought I might have been eavesdropping, perhaps, " he said. "No, sir; Iheard a word or two about a pistol--this one, I guess--and that's all. "

Mr. Bunner was a thin, rather short young man with a shaven, pale, bony, almost girlish face and large, dark, intelligent eyes. His waving darkhair was parted in the middle. His lips, usually occupied with a cigar, in its absence were always half open with a curious expression as ofpermanent eagerness. By smoking or chewing a cigar this expression wasbanished, and Mr. Bunner then looked the consummately cool and sagaciousYankee that he was. 

Born in Connecticut, he had gone into a broker's office on leavingcollege, and had attracted the notice of Manderson, whose business withhis firm he had often handled. The Colossus had watched him for sometime, and at length offered him the post of private secretary. Mr. Bunner was a pattern business man, trustworthy, long-headed, methodicaland accurate. Manderson could have found many men with those virtues:but he engaged Mr. Bunner because he was also swift and secret, and hadbesides a singular natural instinct in regard to the movements of thestock market. 

Trent and the American measured one another coolly with their eyes. Bothappeared satisfied with what they saw. "I was having it explained tome, " said Trent pleasantly, "that my discovery of a pistol that mighthave shot Manderson does not amount to very much. I am told it is afavorite weapon among your people, and has become quite popular overhere. "

Mr. Bunner stretched out a bony hand and took the pistol from its case. "Yes, sir, " he said, handling it with an air of familiarity, "thecaptain is right. This is what we call out home a Little Arthur, and Idare say there are duplicates of it in a hundred thousand hip-pocketsthis minute. I consider it too light in the hand myself, " Mr. Bunnerwent on, mechanically feeling under the tail of his jacket, andproducing an ugly-looking weapon. "Feel of that, now, Mr. Trent--it'sloaded, by the way. Now this Little Arthur--Marlowe bought it justbefore we came over this year, to please the old man. Manderson said itwas ridiculous for a man to be without a pistol in the twentiethcentury. So he went out and bought what they offered him, I guess--neverconsulted me. Not but what it's a good gun, " Mr. Bunner conceded, squinting along the sights. "Marlowe was poor with it at first, but I'vecoached him some in the last month or so, and he's practised until he ispretty good. But he never could get the habit of carrying it around. Why, it's as natural to me as wearing my pants. I have carried one forsome years now, because there was always likely to be somebody layingfor Manderson. And now, " Mr. Bunner concluded sadly, "they got him whenI wasn't around. Well, gentlemen, you must excuse me. I am going in toBishopsbridge. There is a lot to do these days, and I have to send off abunch of cables big enough to choke a cow. "

"I must be off, too, " said Trent. "I have an appointment at the ThreeTuns inn. "

"Let me give you a lift in the automobile, " said Mr. Bunner cordially. "I go right by that joint. Say, Cap, are you coming my way, too? No?Then come along, Mr. Trent, and help me get out the car. The chauffeuris out of action, and we have to do 'most everything ourselves exceptclean the dirt off her. "

Still tirelessly talking in his measured drawl, Mr. Bunner led Trentdownstairs and through the house to the garage at the back. It stood ata little distance from the house, and made a cool retreat from the blazeof the mid-day sun. 

Mr. Bunner seemed to be in no hurry to get out the car. He offered Trenta cigar, which was accepted, and for the first time lit his own. Then heseated himself on the foot-board of the car, his thin hands claspedbetween his knees, and looked keenly at the other. 

"See here, Mr. Trent, " he said after a few moments. "There are somethings I can tell you that may be useful to you. I know your record. Youare a smart man, and I like dealing with smart men. I don't know if Ihave that detective sized up right, but he strikes me as a mutt. I wouldanswer any questions he had the gumption to ask me--I have done so, infact--but I don't feel encouraged to give him any notions of minewithout his asking. See?"

Trent nodded. "That is a feeling many people have in the presence of ourpolice, " he said. "It's the official manner, I suppose. But let me tellyou Murch is anything but what you think. He is one of the shrewdestofficers in Europe. He is not very quick with his mind, but he is verysure. And his experience is immense. My forte is imagination, but Iassure you in police work experience outweighs it by a great deal. "

"Outweighs nothing!" replied Mr. Bunner crisply. "This is no ordinarycase, Mr. Trent. I will tell you one reason why. I believe the old manknew there was something coming to him. Another thing. I believe it wassomething he thought he couldn't dodge. "

Trent pulled a crate opposite to Mr. Bunner's place on the foot-boardand seated himself. "This sounds like business, " he said. "Tell me yourideas. "

"I say what I do because of the change in the old man's manner this lastfew weeks. I dare say you have heard, Mr. Trent, that he was a man whoalways kept himself well in hand. That was so. I have always consideredhim the coolest and hardest head in business. That man's calm was justdeadly--I never saw anything to beat it. And I knew Manderson as nobodyelse did. I was with him in the work he really lived for. I guess I knewhim a heap better than his wife did, poor woman. I knew him better thanMarlowe could--he never saw Manderson in his office when there was a bigthing on. I knew him better than any of his friends. "

"Had he any friends?" interjected Trent. 

Mr. Bunner glanced at him sharply. "Somebody has been putting you next, I see that, " he remarked. "No: properly speaking, I should say not. Hehad many acquaintances among the big men, people he saw 'most every day;they would even go yachting or hunting together. But I don't believethere ever was a man that Manderson opened a corner of his heart to. Butwhat I was going to say was this: some months ago the old man began toget like I never knew him before--gloomy and sullen, just as if he waseverlastingly brooding over something bad, something that he couldn'tfix. This went on without any break; it was the same down town as it wasup home, he acted just as if there was something lying heavy on hismind. But it wasn't until a few weeks back that his self-restraint beganto go; and let me tell you this, Mr. Trent"--the American laid his bonyclaw on the other's knee--"I'm the only man that knows it. With everyoneelse he would be just morose and dull; but when he was alone with me inhis office, or anywhere where we would be working together, if the leastlittle thing went wrong, by George! he would fly off the handle to beatthe Dutch. In this library here I have seen him open a letter withsomething that didn't just suit him in it, and he would rip around andcarry on like an Indian, saying he wished he had the man that wrote ithere, he wouldn't do a thing to him, and so on, till it was justpitiful. I never saw such a change. And here's another thing. For a weekbefore he died Manderson neglected his work, for the first time in myexperience. He wouldn't answer a letter or a cable, though things lookedlike going all to pieces over there. I supposed that this anxiety ofhis, whatever it was, had got onto his nerves till they were worn out. Once I advised him to see a doctor, and he told me to go to hell. Butnobody saw this side of him but me. If he was having one of these ragesin the library here, for example, and Mrs. Manderson would come into theroom, he would be all calm and cold again in an instant. "

"And you put this down to some secret anxiety, a fear that somebody haddesigns on his life?" asked Trent. 

The American nodded. 

"I suppose, " Trent resumed, "you had considered the idea of there beingsomething wrong with his mind--a break-down from overstrain, say. Thatis the first thought that your account suggests to me. Besides, it iswhat is always happening to your big business men in America, isn't it?That is the impression one gets from the newspapers. "

"Don't let them slip you any of that bunk, " said Mr. Bunner earnestly. "It's only the ones who have got rich too quick, and can't make good, who go crazy. Think of all our really big men--the men anywhere nearManderson's size: did you ever hear of any one of them losing hissenses? They don't do it--believe _me_. I know they say every man hashis loco point, " Mr. Bunner added reflectively, "but that doesn't meangenuine, sure-enough craziness; it just means some personal eccentricityin a man . .. Like hating cats . .. Or my own weakness of not being ableto touch any kind of fish-food. "

"Well, what was Manderson's?"

"He was full of them--the old man. There was his objection to all theunnecessary fuss and luxury that wealthy people don't kick at much, as ageneral rule. He didn't have any use for expensive trifles andornaments. He wouldn't have anybody do little things for him; he hatedto have servants tag around after him unless he wanted them. Andalthough Manderson was as careful about his clothes as any man I everknew, and his shoes--well, sir, the amount of money he spent on shoeswas sinful--in spite of that, I tell you, he never had a valet. He neverliked to have anybody touch him. All his life nobody ever shaved him. "

"I've heard something of that, " Trent remarked. "Why was it, do youthink?"

"Well, " Mr. Bunner answered slowly, "it was the Manderson habit of mind, I guess; a sort of temper of general suspicion and jealousy. They sayhis father and grandfather were just the same. .. . Like a dog with abone, you know, acting as if all the rest of creation was laying for achance to steal it. He didn't really _think_ the barber would start into saw his head off; he just felt there was a possibility that he_might_, and he was taking no risks. Then again in business he wasalways convinced that somebody else was after his bone--which was trueenough a good deal of the time; but not all the time. The consequence ofthat was that the old man was the most cautious and secret worker in theworld of finance; and that had a lot to do with his success, too. .. . Butthat doesn't amount to being a lunatic, Mr. Trent; not by a long way. You ask me if Manderson was losing his mind before he died. I say Ibelieve he was just worn out with worrying over something, and waslosing his nerve. "

Trent smoked thoughtfully. He wondered how much Mr. Bunner knew of thedomestic difficulty in his chief's household, and decided to put out afeeler. "I understood that he had trouble with his wife. "

"Sure, " replied Mr. Bunner. "But do you suppose a thing like that wasgoing to upset Sig Manderson that way? No, sir! He was a sight too big aman to be all broken up by any worry of that kind. "

Trent looked half-incredulously into the eyes of the young man. Butbehind all their shrewdness and intensity he saw a massive innocence. Mr. Bunner really believed a serious breach between husband and wife tobe a minor source of trouble for a big man. 

"What _was_ the trouble between them?" Trent inquired. 

"You can search me, " Mr. Bunner replied briefly. He puffed at his cigar. "Marlowe and I have often talked about it, and we could never make out asolution. I had a notion at first, " said Mr. Bunner in a lower voice, leaning forward, "that the old man was disappointed and vexed because hehad expected a child; but Marlowe told me that the disappointment onthat score was the other way around, likely as not. His idea was allright, I guess; he gathered it from something said by Mrs. Manderson'sFrench maid. "

Trent looked up at him quickly. "Célestine!" he said; and his thoughtwas: "So that was what she was getting at!"

Mr. Bunner misunderstood his glance. "Don't you think I'm giving a manaway, Mr. Trent, " he said. "Marlowe isn't that kind. Célestine just tooka fancy to him because he talks French like a native, and she wouldalways be holding him up for a gossip. French servants are quite unlikeEnglish that way. And servant or no servant, " added Mr. Bunner withemphasis, "I don't see how a woman could mention such a subject to aman. But the French beat me. " He shook his head slowly. 

"But to come back to what you were telling me just now, " Trent said. "You believe that Manderson was going in terror of his life for sometime. Who should threaten it? I am quite in the dark. "

"Terror--I don't know, " replied Mr. Bunner meditatively. "Anxiety, ifyou like . .. Or suspense--that's rather my idea of it. The old man washard to terrify, anyway; and more than that, he wasn't taking anyprecautions--he was actually avoiding them. It looked more like he wasasking for a quick finish--supposing there's any truth in my idea. Why, he would sit in that library window, nights, looking out into the dark, with his white shirt just a target for anybody's gun. As for who shouldthreaten his life--well, sir, " said Mr. Bunner with a faint smile, "it'scertain you have not lived in the States. To take the Pennsylvania coalhold-up alone, there were thirty thousand men, with women and childrento keep, who would have jumped at the chance of drilling a hole throughthe man who fixed it so that they must starve or give in to his terms. Thirty thousand of the toughest aliens in the country, Mr. Trent. There's a type of desperado you find in that kind of push who has beenknown to lay for a man for years, and kill him when he had forgottenwhat he did. They have been known to dynamite a man in Idaho who haddone them dirt in New Jersey ten years before. Do you suppose theAtlantic is going to stop them?. .. It takes some sand, I tell you, to bea big business man in our country. No, sir: the old man knew--had alwaysknown--that there was a whole crowd of dangerous men scattered up anddown the States who had it in for him. My belief is that he had somehowgot to know that some of them were definitely after him at last. Whatlicks me altogether is why he should have just laid himself open to themthe way he did--why he never tried to dodge, but walked right down intothe garden yesterday morning to be shot at. "

Mr. Bunner ceased to speak, and for a little while both men sat withwrinkled brows, faint blue vapors rising from their cigars. Then Trentrose. "Your theory is quite fresh to me, " he said. "It's perfectlyrational, and it's only a question of whether it fits all the facts. Imustn't give away what I'm doing for my newspaper, Mr. Bunner, but Iwill say this: I have already satisfied myself that this was apremeditated crime, and an extraordinarily cunning one at that. I'mdeeply obliged to you. We must talk it over again. " He looked at hiswatch. "I have been expected for some time by my friend. Shall we make amove?"

"Two o'clock, " said Mr. Bunner, consulting his own as he got up from thefoot-board. "Ten A. M. In little old New York. You don't know WallStreet, Mr. Trent. Let's you and I hope we never see anything nearerhell than what's loose in the Street this minute. "

CHAPTER VI

THE LADY IN BLACK

The sea broke raging upon the foot of the cliff under a good breeze; thesun flooded the land with life from a dappled blue sky. In thisperfection of English weather, Trent, who had slept ill, went downbefore eight o'clock to a pool among the rocks, the direction of whichhad been given him, and dived deep into clear water. Between vast grayboulders he swam out to the tossing open, forced himself some little wayagainst a coast-wise current, and then returned to his refuge batteredand refreshed. Ten minutes later he was scaling the cliff again, and hismind, cleared for the moment of a heavy disgust for the affair he had inhand, was turning over his plans for the morning. 

It was the day of the inquest, the day after his arrival in the place. He had carried matters not much farther after parting with the Americanon the road to Bishopsbridge. In the afternoon he had walked from theinn into the town, accompanied by Mr. Cupples, and had there madecertain purchases at a chemist's shop, conferred privately for some timewith a photographer, sent off a reply-paid telegram, and made an inquiryat the telephone-exchange. He had said but little about the case to Mr. Cupples, who seemed incurious on his side, and nothing at all about theresults of his investigation or the steps he was about to take. Aftertheir return from Bishopsbridge, Trent had written a long dispatch forthe _Record_, and sent it to be telegraphed by the proud hands of thepaper's local representative. 

This morning as he scaled the cliff he told himself that he had nevertaken up a case he liked so little, or which absorbed him so much. Themore he contemplated it in the golden sunshine of this new day, the moreevil and the more challenging it appeared. All that he suspected and allthat he almost knew had occupied his questing brain for hours to theexclusion of sleep; and in this glorious light and air, though washed inbody and spirit by the fierce purity of the sea, he only saw the moreclearly the darkness of the guilt in which he believed, and was morebitterly repelled by the motive at which he guessed. But now at leasthis zeal was awake again, and the sense of the hunt quickened. He wouldneither slacken nor spare; here need be no compunction. In the course ofthe day, he hoped, his net would be complete. He had work to do in themorning; and with very vivid expectancy, though not much serious hope, he awaited the answer to the telegram which he had shot into the sky, asit were, the day before. 

The path back to the hotel wound for some way along the top of thecliff, and on nearing a spot he had marked from the sea-level, where theface had fallen away long ago, he approached the edge and looked down, hoping to follow with his eyes the most delicately beautiful of all themovements of water, the wash of a light sea over broken rock. But norock was there. A few feet below him a broad ledge stood out, a roughplatform as large as a great room, thickly grown with wiry grass andwalled in steeply on three sides. There, close to the verge where thecliff at last dropped sheer, a woman was sitting, her arms about herdrawn-up knees, her eyes fixed on the trailing smoke of a distant liner, her face full of some dream. 

This woman seemed to Trent, whose training had taught him to live in hiseyes, to make the most beautiful picture he had ever seen. Her face ofSouthern pallor, touched by the kiss of the wind with color on thecheek, presented to him a profile of delicate regularity in which therewas nothing hard; nevertheless the black brows bending down toward thepoint where they almost met gave her in repose a look of something likeseverity, strangely redeemed by the open curves of the mouth. Trent saidto himself that the absurdity or otherwise of a lover writing sonnets tohis mistress's eyebrow depended after all on the quality of the eyebrow. Her nose was of the straight and fine sort, exquisitely escaping theperdition of too much length. Her hat lay pinned to the grass besideher, and the lively breeze played with her thick dark hair, blowingbackward the two broad bandeaux that should have covered much of herforehead, and agitating a hundred tiny curls from the mass gathered atthe nape. 

Everything about this lady was black, from her shoes of suède to the hatthat she had discarded; lusterless black covered her to her bare throat. All she wore was fine and well put on. Dreamy and delicate of spirit asher looks declared her, it was very plain that she was long-practised asonly a woman grown can be in dressing well, the oldest of the arts, andhad her touch of primal joy in the excellence of the body that was soadmirably curved now in the attitude of embraced knees. With thesuggestion of French taste in her clothes, she made a very modern figureseated there, until one looked at her face and saw the glow and triumphof all vigorous beings that ever faced sun and wind and sea together inthe prime of the year. One saw, too, a womanhood unmixed and vigorous, unconsciously sure of itself. 

Trent, who had halted only for a moment in the surprise of seeing thewoman in black, had passed by on the cliff above her, perceiving andfeeling as he went the things set down. At all times his keen vision andactive brain took in and tasted details with an easy swiftness that wasmarvelous to men of slower chemistry; the need to stare, he held, wasevidence of blindness. Now the feeling of beauty was awakened andexultant, and doubled the power of his sense. In these instants apicture was printed on his memory that would never pass away. 

As he went by unheard on the turf the woman, still alone with herthoughts, suddenly moved. She unclasped her long hands from about herknees, stretched her limbs and body with feline grace, then slowlyraised her head and extended her arms with open, curving fingers, as ifto gather to her all the glory and overwhelming sanity of the morning. This was a gesture not to be mistaken: it was a gesture of freedom, themovement of a soul's resolution to be, to possess, to go forward, perhaps to enjoy. 

So he saw her for an instant as he passed, and he did not turn. He knewsuddenly who the woman must be, and it was as if a curtain of gloom weredrawn between him and the splendor of the day. 

 * * * * *

"You were planning to go to White Gables before the inquest, I think, "remarked Trent to Mr. Cupples as they finished their breakfast. "Youought to be off, if you are to get back to the court in time. I havesomething to attend to there myself, so we might walk up together. Iwill just go and get my camera. "

"By all means, " Mr. Cupples answered; and they set off at once in theever-growing warmth of the morning. The roof of White Gables, a surlypatch of dull red against the dark trees, seemed to harmonize withTrent's mood; he felt heavy, sinister and troubled. If a blow must fallthat might strike down that creature radiant of beauty and life whom hehad seen that morning, he did not wish it to come from his hand. Anexaggerated chivalry had lived in him since the first teachings of hismother; but at this moment the horror of bruising anything so lovely wasalmost as much the artist's revulsion as the gentleman's. On the otherhand, was the hunt to end in nothing? The quality of the affair was suchthat the thought of forbearance was an agony. There never was such acase; and he alone, he was confident, held the truth of it under hishand. At least, he determined, that day should show whether what hebelieved was a delusion. He would trample his compunction underfootuntil he was quite sure that there was any call for it. That samemorning he would know. 

As they entered at the gate of the drive they saw Marlowe and theAmerican standing in talk before the front door. In the shadow of theporch was the lady in black. 

She saw them, and came gravely forward over the lawn, moving as Trenthad known that she would move, erect and balanced, stepping lightly. When she welcomed him on Mr. Cupples' presentation, her eyes ofgolden-flecked brown observed him kindly. In her pale composure, worn asthe mask of distress, there was no trace of the emotion that had seemeda halo about her head on the ledge of the cliff. She spoke theappropriate commonplace in a low and even voice. After a few words toMr. Cupples she turned her eyes on Trent again. 

"I hope you will succeed, " she said earnestly. "Do you think you willsucceed?"

He made his mind up as the words left her lips. He said: "I believe Ishall do so, Mrs. Manderson. When I have the case sufficiently completeI shall ask you to let me see you and tell you about it. It may benecessary to consult you before the facts are published. "

She looked puzzled, and distress showed for an instant in her eyes. "Ifit is necessary, of course you shall do so, " she said. 

On the brink of his next speech Trent hesitated. He remembered that thelady had not wished to repeat to him the story already given to theinspector-or to be questioned at all. He was not unconscious that hedesired to hear her voice and watch her face a little longer, if itmight be; but the matter he had to mention really troubled his mind, itwas a queer thing that fitted nowhere into the pattern within whosecorners he had by this time brought the other queer things in the case. It was very possible that she could explain it away in a breath: it wasunlikely that any one else could. He summoned his resolution. 

"You have been so kind, " he said, "in allowing me access to the houseand every opportunity of studying the case, that I am going to ask leaveto put a question or two to yourself--nothing that you would rather notanswer, I think. May I?"

She glanced at him wearily. "It would be stupid of me to refuse. Askyour questions, Mr. Trent. "

"It's only this, " said Trent hurriedly. "We know that your husbandlately drew an unusually large sum of ready money from his Londonbankers, and was keeping it here. It is here now, in fact. Have you anyidea why he should have done that?"

She opened her eyes in astonishment. "I cannot imagine, " she said. "Idid not know he had done so. I am very much surprised to hear it. "

"Why is it surprising?"

"I thought my husband had very little money in the house. On Sundaynight, just before he went out in the motor, he came into thedrawing-room where I was sitting. He seemed to be irritated aboutsomething, and asked me at once if I had any notes or gold I could lethim have until next day. I was surprised at that, because he was neverwithout money; he made it a rule to carry a hundred pounds or so abouthim always in a note-case. I unlocked my escritoire, and gave him all Ihad by me. It was nearly thirty pounds. "

"And he did not tell you why he wanted it?"

"No. He put it in his pocket, and then said that Mr. Marlowe hadpersuaded him to go for a run in the motor by moonlight, and he thoughtit might help him to sleep. He had been sleeping badly, as perhaps youknow. Then he went off with Mr. Marlowe. I thought it odd he should needmoney on Sunday night, but I soon forgot about it. I never remembered itagain until now. "

"It was curious, certainly, " said Trent, staring into the distance. Mr. Cupples began to speak to his niece of the arrangements for the inquest, and Trent moved away to where Marlowe was pacing slowly upon the lawn. The young man seemed relieved to talk about the coming business of theday. Though he still seemed tired out and nervous, he showed himself notwithout a quiet humor in describing the pomposities of the local policeand the portentous airs of Dr. Stock. Trent turned the conversationgradually toward the problem of the crime, and all Marlowe's gravityreturned. 

"Bunner has told me what he thinks, " he said when Trent referred to theAmerican's theory. "I don't find myself convinced by it, because itdoesn't really explain some of the oddest facts. But I have lived longenough in the United States to know that such a stroke of revenge, donein a secret, melodramatic way, is not an unlikely thing. It is quite acharacteristic feature of certain sections of the labor movement there. Americans have a taste and a talent for that sort of business. Do youknow 'Huckleberry Finn?'"

"Do I know my own name?" exclaimed Trent. 

"Well, I think the most American thing in that great American epic isTom Sawyer's elaboration of an extremely difficult and romantic scheme, taking days to carry out, for securing the escape of the nigger Jim, which could have been managed quite easily in twenty minutes. You knowhow fond they are of lodges and brotherhoods. Every college club has itssecret signs and handgrips. You've heard of the Know-Nothing movement inpolitics, I dare say, and the Ku Klux Klan. Then look at Brigham Young'spenny-dreadful tyranny in Utah, with real blood. The founders of theMormon state were of the purest Yankee stock in America; and you knowwhat they did. It's all part of the same mental tendency. Americans makefun of it among themselves. For my part, I take it very seriously. "

"It can have a very hideous side to it, certainly, " said Trent, "whenyou get it in connection with crime. Or with vice. Or even mere luxury. But I have a sort of sneaking respect for the determination to make lifeinteresting and lively in spite of civilization. To return to the matterin hand, however: has it struck you as a possibility that Manderson'smind was affected to some extent by this menace that Bunner believes in?For instance, it was rather an extraordinary thing to send you postingoff like that in the middle of the night. "

"About ten o'clock, to be exact, " replied Marlowe. "Though mind you, ifhe'd actually roused me out of my bed at midnight I shouldn't have beenvery much surprised. It all chimes in with what we've just been saying. Manderson wasn't mad in the least, but he had a strong streak of thenational taste for dramatic proceedings; he was rather fond of hiswell-earned reputation for unexpected strokes and for going for hisobject with ruthless directness through every opposing consideration. Hehad decided suddenly that he wanted to have word from this man Harris--"

"Who is Harris?" interjected Trent. 

"Nobody knows. Even Bunner never heard of him, and can't imagine whatthe business in hand was. All I know is that when I went up to Londonlast week to attend to various things I booked a deck-cabin, atManderson's request, for a Mr. George Harris on the boat that sailed onMonday. It seems that Manderson suddenly found he wanted news fromHarris which presumably was of a character too secret for the telegraph;and there was no train that served; so I was sent off as you know. "

Trent looked round to make sure that they were not overheard, then facedthe other gravely. "There is one thing I may tell you, " he said quietly, "that I don't think you know. Martin the butler caught a few words atthe end of your conversation with Manderson in the orchard before youstarted with him in the car. He heard him say: 'If Harris is there everymoment is of importance. ' Now, Mr. Marlowe, you know my business here. Iam sent to make inquiries, and you mustn't take offense. I want to askyou if, in the face of that sentence, you will repeat that you knownothing of what the business was. "

Marlowe shook his head. "I know nothing, indeed. I'm not easilyoffended, and your question is quite fair. What passed during thatconversation I have already told the detective. Manderson plainly saidto me that he could not tell me what it was all about. He simply wantedme to find Harris, tell him that he desired to know how matters stood, and bring back a letter or message from him. Harris, I was further told, might not turn up. If he did, 'every moment was of importance. ' And nowyou know as much as I do. "

"That talk took place _before_ he told his wife that you were taking himfor a moonlight run. Why did he conceal your errand in that way, Iwonder. "

The young man made a gesture of helplessness. "Why? I can guess nobetter than you. "

"Why, " muttered Trent as if to himself, gazing on the ground, "did heconceal it--from Mrs. Manderson?" He looked up at Marlowe. 

"And from Martin, " the other amended coolly. "He was told the samething. "

With a sudden movement of his head Trent seemed to dismiss the subject. He drew from his breast-pocket a letter-case, and thence extracted twosmall leaves of clean, fresh paper. 

"Just look at these two slips, Mr. Marlowe, " he said. "Did you ever seethem before? Have you any idea where they come from?" he added, asMarlowe took one in each hand and examined them curiously. 

"They seem to have been cut with a knife or scissors from a small diaryfor this year--from the October pages, " Marlowe observed, looking themover on both sides. "I see no writing of any kind on them. Nobody herehas any such diary so far as I know. What about them?"

"There may be nothing in it, " Trent said dubiously. "Any one in thehouse, of course, might have such a diary without your having seen it. But I didn't much expect you would be able to identify the leaves--infact, I should have been surprised if you had. "

He stopped speaking as Mrs. Manderson came towards them. "My unclethinks we should be going now, " she said. 

"I think I will walk on with Mr. Bunner, " Mr. Cupples said as he joinedthem. "There are certain business matters that must be disposed of assoon as possible. Will you come on with these two gentlemen, Mabel? Wewill wait for you before we reach the place. "

Trent turned to her. "Mrs. Manderson will excuse me, I hope, " he said. "I really came up this morning in order to look about me here for someindications I thought I might possibly find. I had not thought ofattending the--the court just yet. "

She looked at him with eyes of perfect candor. "Of course, Mr. Trent. Please do exactly as you wish. We are all relying upon you. If you willwait a few moments, Mr. Marlowe, I shall be ready. "

She entered the house. Her uncle and the American had already strolledtowards the gate. 

Trent looked into the eyes of his companion. "That is a wonderfulwoman, " he said in a lowered voice. 

"You say so without knowing her, " replied Marlowe in a similar tone. "She is more than that. "

Trent said nothing to this. He stared out over the fields towards thesea. In the silence a noise of hobnailed haste rose on the still air. Alittle distance down the road a boy appeared trotting towards them fromthe direction of the hotel. In his hand was the orange envelope, unmistakable afar off, of a telegram. Trent watched him with a carefullyindifferent eye as he met and passed the two others. Then he turned toMarlowe. "Apropos of nothing in particular, " he said, "were you atOxford?"

"Yes, " said the young man. "Why do you ask?"

"I just wondered if I was right in my guess. It's one of the things youcan very often tell about a man, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, " Marlowe admitted. "Well, each of us is marked in one wayor another, perhaps. I should have said you were an artist, if I hadn'tknown it. "

"Why? Does my hair want cutting?"

"Oh, no! It's only that you look at things and people as I've seenartists do, with an eye that moves steadily from detail todetail--rather looking them over than looking at them. "

The boy came up panting. "Telegram for you, sir, " he said to Trent. "Just come, sir. "

Trent tore open the envelop with an apology, and his eyes lighted up sovisibly as he read the slip that Marlowe's tired face softened in asmile. 

"It must be good news, " he murmured half to himself. 

Trent turned on him a glance in which nothing could be read. "Notexactly news, " he said. "It only tells me that another little guess ofmine was a good one. "

CHAPTER VII

THE INQUEST

The coroner, who fully realized that for that one day of his life as aprovincial solicitor he was living in the gaze of the world, hadresolved to be worthy of the fleeting eminence. He was a large man ofjovial temper, with a strong interest in the dramatic aspects of hiswork, and the news of Manderson's mysterious death within hisjurisdiction had made him the happiest coroner in England. A respectablecapacity for marshaling facts was fortified in him by a copiousness ofimpressive language that made juries as clay in his hands and sometimesdisguised a doubtful interpretation of the rules of evidence. 

The court was held in a long unfurnished room lately built onto thehotel, and intended to serve as a ball-room or concert-hall. A regimentof reporters was entrenched in the front seats, and those who were to becalled on to give evidence occupied chairs to one side of the tablebehind which the coroner sat, while the jury, in double row, withplastered hair and a spurious ease of manner, flanked him on the otherside. An undistinguished public filled the rest of the space, andlistened, in an awed silence, to the opening solemnities. The newspapermen, well used to these, muttered among themselves. Those of them whoknew Trent by sight, assured the rest that he was not in the court. 

The identity of the dead man was proved by his wife, the first witnesscalled, from whom the coroner, after some inquiry into the health andcircumstances of the deceased, proceeded to draw an account of the lastoccasion on which she had seen her husband alive. Mrs. Manderson wastaken through her evidence by the coroner with the sympathy which everyman felt for that dark figure of grief. She lifted her thick veil beforebeginning to speak, and the extreme paleness and unbroken composure ofthe lady produced a singular impression. This was not an impression ofhardness. Interesting femininity was the first thing to be felt in herpresence. She was not even enigmatic. It was only clear that the forceof a powerful character was at work to master the emotions of hersituation. Once or twice as she spoke she touched her eyes with herhandkerchief, but her voice was low and clear to the end. 

Her husband, she said, had come up to his bedroom about his usual hourfor retiring on the Sunday night. His room was really a dressing-roomattached to her own bedroom, communicating with it by a door which wasusually kept open during the night. Both dressing-room and bedroom wereentered by other doors giving on the passage. Her husband had always hada preference for the greatest simplicity in his bedroom arrangements, and liked to sleep in a small room. She had not been awake when he cameup, but had been half-aroused, as usually happened, when the light wasswitched on in her husband's room. She had spoken to him. She had noclear recollection of what she had said, as she had been very drowsy atthe time; but she had remembered that he had been out for a moonlightrun in the car, and she believed she had asked whether he had had a goodrun, and what time it was. She had asked what the time was because shefelt as if she had only been a very short time asleep, and she hadexpected her husband to be out very late. In answer to her question hehad told her it was half-past eleven, and had gone on to say that he hadchanged his mind about going for a run. 

"Did he say why?" the coroner asked. 

"Yes, " replied the lady, "he did explain why. I remember very well whathe said, because--" she stopped with a little appearance of confusion. 

"Because--" the coroner insisted gently. 

"Because my husband was not as a rule communicative about his businessaffairs, " answered the witness, raising her chin with a faint touch ofdefiance. "He did not--did not think they would interest me, and as arule referred to them as little as possible. That is why I was rathersurprised when he told me that he had sent Mr. Marlowe to Southampton tobring back some important information from a man who was leaving forParis by the next day's boat. He said that Mr. Marlowe could do it quiteeasily if he had no accident. He said that he had started in the car, and then walked back home a mile or so, and felt all the better for it. "

"Did he say any more?"

"Nothing, as well as I remember, " the witness said. "I was very sleepy, and I dropped off again in a few moments. I just remember my husbandturning his light out, and that is all. I never saw him again alive. "

"And you heard nothing in the night?"

"No; I never woke until my maid brought my tea in the morning at seveno'clock. She closed the door leading to my husband's room, as she alwaysdid, and I supposed him to be still there. He always needed a great dealof sleep. He sometimes slept until quite late in the morning. I hadbreakfast in my sitting-room. It was about ten when I heard that myhusband's body had been found. " The witness dropped her head andsilently waited for her dismissal. 

But it was not to be yet. 

"Mrs. Manderson. " The coroner's voice was sympathetic, but it had a hintof firmness in it now. "The question I am going to put to you must, inthese sad circumstances, be a painful one; but it is my duty to ask it. Is it the fact that your relations with your late husband had not been, for some time past, relations of mutual affection and confidence? Is itthe fact that there was an estrangement between you?"

The lady drew herself up again and faced her questioner, the colorrising in her cheeks. "If that question is necessary, " she said withcold distinctness, "I will answer it so that there shall be nomisunderstanding. During the last few months of my husband's life hisattitude towards me had given me great anxiety and sorrow. He hadchanged towards me; he had become very reserved and seemed mistrustful. I saw much less of him than before; he seemed to prefer to be alone. Ican give no explanation at all of the change. I tried to work againstit; I did all I could with justice to my own dignity, as I thought. Something was between us, I did not know what, and he never told me. Myown obstinate pride prevented me from asking what it was in so manywords; I only made a point of being to him exactly as I had always been, so far as he would allow me. I suppose I shall never know now what itwas. " The witness, whose voice had trembled in spite of herself-control, over the last few sentences, drew down her veil when shehad said this, and stood erect and quiet. 

One of the jury asked a question, not without obvious hesitation. "Thenwas there never anything of the nature of what they call Words betweenyou and your husband, ma'am?"

"Never. " The word was colorlessly spoken; but everyone felt that a crassmisunderstanding of the possibilities of conduct in the case of a personlike Mrs. Manderson had been visited with some severity. 

Did she know, the coroner asked, of any other matter which might havebeen preying upon her husband's mind recently?

Mrs. Manderson knew of none whatever. The coroner intimated that herordeal was at an end, and the veiled lady made her way to the door. Thegeneral attention, which followed her for a few moments, was now eagerlydirected upon Martin, whom the coroner had proceeded to call. 

It was at this moment that Trent appeared at the doorway, and edged hisway into the great room. But he did not look at Martin. He was observingthe well-balanced figure that came quickly toward him along an openingpath in the crowd, and his eye was gloomy. He started, as he stood asidefrom the door with a slight bow, to hear Mrs. Manderson address him byname in a low voice. He followed her a pace or two into the hall. 

"I wanted to ask you, " she said in a voice now weak and oddly broken, "if you would give me your arm a part of the way to the house. I couldnot see my uncle near the door, and I suddenly felt rather faint. .. . Ishall be better in the air. .. . No, no! I cannot stay here--please, Mr. Trent!" she said, as he began to make an obvious suggestion. "I must goto the house. " Her hand tightened momentarily on his arm as if, for allher weakness, she could drag him from the place; then again she leanedheavily upon it, and with that support, and with bent head, she walkedslowly from the hotel and along the oak-shaded path toward White Gables. 

Trent went in silence, his thoughts whirling, dancing insanely to achorus of "Fool! fool!" All that he alone knew, all that he guessed andsuspected of this affair rushed through his brain in a rout; but thetouch of her unnerved hand upon his arm never for an instant left hisconsciousness, filling him with an exaltation that enraged andbewildered him. He was still cursing himself furiously behind the maskof conventional solicitude that he turned to the lady when he hadattended her to the house, and seen her sink upon a couch in the morningroom. Raising her veil, she thanked him gravely and frankly, with a lookof sincere gratitude in her eyes. She was much better now, she said, anda cup of tea would work a miracle upon her. She hoped she had not takenhim away from anything important. She was ashamed of herself; shethought she could go through with it, but she had not expected thoselast questions. "I am glad you did not hear me, " she said when heexplained. "But of course you will read it all in the reports. It shookme so to have to speak of that, " she added simply, "and to keep frommaking an exhibition of myself took it out of me. And all those staringmen by the door! Thank you again for helping me when I asked you. .. . Ithought I might, " she ended queerly, with a little tired smile; andTrent took himself away, his hand still quivering from the cool touch ofher fingers. 

CHAPTER VIII

A HOT SCENT

"Come in, " called Trent. 

Mr. Cupples entered his sitting-room at the hotel. It was the earlyevening of the day on which the coroner's jury, without leaving the box, had pronounced the expected denunciation of a person or persons unknown. Trent, with a hasty glance upward, continued his intent study of whatlay in a photographic dish of enameled metal, which he moved slowlyabout in the light of the window. He looked very pale and his movementswere nervous. 

"Sit on the sofa, " he advised. "The chairs are a job lot bought at thesale after the suppression of the Holy Inquisition in Spain. This is apretty good negative, " he went on, holding it up to the light with hishead at the angle of discriminating judgment. "Washed enough now, Ithink. Let us leave it to dry, and get rid of all this mess. "

Mr. Cupples, as the other busily cleared the table of a confusion ofbasins, dishes, racks, boxes and bottles, picked up first one and thenanother of the objects and studied them with innocent curiosity. 

"That is called hypo-eliminator, " said Trent as Mr. Cupples uncorked andsmelled at one of the bottles. "Very useful when you're in a hurry witha negative. I shouldn't drink it, though, all the same. It eliminatessodium hypophosphite, but I shouldn't wonder if it would eliminate humanbeings too. " He found a place for the last of the litter on the crowdedmantel-shelf, and came to sit before Mr. Cupples on the table. "Thegreat thing about a hotel sitting-room is that its beauty does notdistract the mind from work. It is no place for the May-fly pleasures ofa mind at ease. Have you ever been in this room before, Cupples? I have, hundreds of times. It has pursued me all over England for years. Ishould feel lost without it if, in some fantastic, far-off hotel, theywere to give me some other sitting-room. Look at this table-cover; thereis the ink I spilled on it when I had this room in Halifax. I burnt thathole in the carpet when I had it in Ipswich. But I see they have mendedthe glass over the picture of 'Silent Sympathy, ' which I threw a boot atin Banbury. I do all my best work here. This afternoon, for instance, since the inquest, I have finished several excellent negatives. There isa very good dark-room downstairs. "

"The inquest--that reminds me, " said Mr. Cupples, who knew that thissort of talk in Trent meant the excitement of action, and was wonderingwhat he could be about. "I came in to thank you, my dear fellow, forlooking after Mabel this morning. I had no idea she was going to feelill after leaving the box; she seemed quite unmoved, and really she is awoman of such extraordinary self-command, I thought I could leave her toher own devices and hear out the evidence, which I thought it importantI should do. It was a very fortunate thing she found a friend to assisther, and she is most grateful. She is quite herself again now. "

Trent, with his hands in his pockets and a slight frown on his brow, made no reply to this. "I tell you what, " he said after a short pause, "I was just getting to the really interesting part of the job when youcame in. Come: would you like to see a little bit of high-class policework? It's the very same kind of work that old Murch ought to be doingat this moment. Perhaps he is; but I hope to glory he isn't. " He sprangoff the table and disappeared into his bedroom. Presently he came outwith a large drawing-board on which a number of heterogeneous objectswas ranged. 

"First I must introduce you to these little things, " he said, settingthem out on the table. "Here is a big ivory paper-knife; here are twoleaves cut out of a diary--my own diary; here is a bottle containingdentifrice; here is a little case of polished walnut. Some of thesethings have to be put back where they belong in somebody's bedroom atWhite Gables before night. That's the sort of man I am--nothing stopsme. I borrowed them this very morning when everyone was down at theinquest, and I dare say some people would think it rather an oddproceeding if they knew. Now there remains one object on the board. Canyou tell me, without touching it, what it is?"

"Certainly I can, " said Mr. Cupples, peering at it with great interest. "It is an ordinary glass bowl. It looks like a finger-bowl. I seenothing odd about it, " he added after some moments of close scrutiny. 

"That, " replied Trent, "is exactly where the fun comes in. Now take thislittle fat bottle, Cupples, and pull out the cork. Do you recognize thatpowder inside it? You have swallowed pounds of it in your time, Iexpect. They give it to babies. Gray powder is its ordinaryname--mercury and chalk. It is great stuff. Now while I hold the basinside-ways over this sheet of paper, I want you to pour a little powderout of the bottle over this part of the bowl--just here. .. . Perfect! SirEdward Henry himself could not have handled the powder better. You havedone this before, Cupples, I can see. You are an old hand. "

"I really am not, " said Mr. Cupples seriously, as Trent returned thefallen powder to the bottle. "I assure you it is all a complete mysteryto me. What did I do then?"

"I brush the powdered part of the bowl lightly with this camel-hairbrush. Now look at it again. You saw nothing odd about it before. Do yousee anything now?"

Mr. Cupples peered again. "How curious, " he said. "Yes, there are twolarge gray finger-marks on the bowl. They were not there before. "

"I am Hawkshaw the detective, " observed Trent. "Would it interest you tohear a short lecture on the subject of glass finger-bowls? When you takeone up with your hand you leave traces upon it, usually practicallyinvisible, which may remain for days or months. You leave the marks ofyour fingers. The human hand, even when quite clean, is never quite dry, and sometimes--in moments of great anxiety, for instance, Cupples--it isvery moist. It leaves a mark on any cold smooth surface it may touch. That bowl was moved by somebody with a rather moist hand quite lately. "He sprinkled the powder again. "Here on the other side, you see, is thethumb-mark--very good impressions all of them. " He spoke without raisinghis voice, but Mr. Cupples could perceive that he was ablaze withexcitement as he stared at the faint gray marks. "This one should be theindex finger. I need not tell a man of your knowledge of the world thatthe pattern of it is a single-spiral whorl, with deltas symmetricallydisposed. This, the print of the second finger, is a simple loop, with astaple core and fifteen counts. I know there are fifteen, because I havejust the same two prints on this negative, which I have examined indetail. Look--!" he held one of the negatives up to the light of thedeclining sun and demonstrated with a pencil point. "You can see they'rethe same. You see the bifurcation of that ridge. There it is in theother. You see that little scar near the center. There it is in theother. There are a score of ridge-characteristics on which an expertwould swear in the witness-box that the marks on that bowl and the marksI have photographed on this negative were made by the same hand. "

"And where did you photograph them? What does it all mean?" asked Mr. Cupples, wide-eyed. 

"I found them on the inside of the left-hand leaf of the front-window inMrs. Manderson's bedroom. As I could not bring the window with me, Iphotographed them, sticking a bit of black paper on the other side ofthe glass for the purpose. The bowl comes from Manderson's room. It isthe bowl in which his false teeth were placed at night. I could bringthat away, so I did. "

"But those cannot be Mabel's finger-marks. "

"I should think not!" said Trent with decision. "They are twice the sizeof any print Mrs. Manderson could make. "

"Then they must be her husband's. "

"Perhaps they are. Now shall we see if we can match them once more? Ibelieve we can. " Whistling faintly, and very white in the face, Trentopened another small squat bottle containing a dense black powder. "Lamp-black, " he explained. "Hold a bit of paper in your hand for asecond or two, and this little chap will show you the pattern of yourfingers. " He carefully took up with a pair of tweezers one of the leavescut from his diary, and held it out for the other to examine. No marksappeared on the leaf. He tilted some of the powder out upon one surfaceof the paper, then, turning it over, upon the other; then shook the leafgently to rid it of the loose powder. He held it out to Mr. Cupples insilence. On one side of the paper appeared unmistakably, clearly printedin black, the same two finger-prints that he had already seen on thebowl and on the photographic plate. He took up the bowl and comparedthem. Trent turned the paper over, and on the other side was a boldblack replica of the thumb-mark that was printed in gray on the glass inhis hand. 

"Same man, you see, " Trent said with a short laugh. "I felt that it mustbe so, and now I know. " He walked to the window and looked out. "Now Iknow, " he repeated in a low voice, as if to himself. His tone wasbitter. Mr. Cupples, understanding nothing, stared at his motionlessback for a few moments. 

"I am still completely in the dark, " he ventured presently. "I haveoften heard of this finger-print business, and wondered how the policewent to work about it. It is of extraordinary interest to me, but uponmy life I cannot see how in this case Manderson's finger-prints aregoing--"

"I am very sorry, Cupples, " Trent broke in upon his meditative speechwith a swift return to the table. "When I began this investigation Imeant to take you with me every step of the way. You mustn't think Ihave any doubts about your discretion if I say now that I must hold mytongue about the whole thing, at least for a time. I will tell you this:I have come upon a fact that looks too much like having terribleconsequences if it is discovered by any one else. " He looked at theother with a hard and darkened face, and struck the table with his hand. "It is terrible for me here and now. Up to this moment I was hopingagainst hope that I was wrong about the fact. I may still be wrong inthe surmise that I base upon that fact. There is only one way of findingout that is open to me, and I must nerve myself to take it. " He smiledsuddenly at Mr. Cupples' face of consternation. "All right--I'm notgoing to be tragic any more, and I'll tell you all about it when I can. Look here, I'm not half through my game with the powder-bottles yet. "

He drew one of the defamed chairs to the table and sat down to test thebroad ivory blade of the paper knife. Mr. Cupples, swallowing hisamazement, bent forward in an attitude of deep interest and handed Trentthe bottle of lamp-black. 

CHAPTER IX

THE WIFE OF DIVES

Mrs. Manderson stood at the window of her sitting-room at White Gablesgazing out upon a wavering landscape of fine rain and mist. The weatherhad broken as it seldom does in that part in June. White wreathingsdrifted up the fields from the sullen sea; the sky was an unbroken graydeadness shedding pin-point moisture that was now and then blown againstthe panes with a crepitation of despair. The lady looked out on the dimand chilling prospect with a woeful face. It was a bad day for a womanbereaved, alone and without a purpose in life. 

There was a knock, and she called, "Come in!" drawing herself up with anunconscious gesture that always came when she realized that theweariness of the world had been gaining upon her spirit. Mr. Trent hadcalled, the maid said; he apologized for coming at such an early hour, but hoped that Mrs. Manderson would see him on a matter of urgentimportance. Mrs. Manderson would see Mr. Trent. She walked to a mirror, looked into the olive face she saw reflected there, shook her head atherself with the flicker of a grimace, and turned to the door as Trentwas shown in. 

His appearance, she noted, was changed. He had the jaded look of thesleepless, and a new and reserved expression, in which her quicksensibilities felt something not propitious, took the place of hishalf-smile of fixed good-humor. 

"May I come to the point at once?" he said when she had given him herhand. "There is a train I ought to catch at Bishopsbridge at twelveo'clock, but I cannot go until I have settled this thing, which concernsyou only, Mrs. Manderson. I have been working half the night, andthinking the rest; and I know now what I ought to do. "

"You look wretchedly tired, " she said kindly. "Won't you sit down?--thisis a very restful chair. Of course it is about this terrible businessand your work as correspondent. Please ask me anything you think I canproperly tell you, Mr. Trent. I know that you won't make it worse for methan you can help in doing your duty here. If you say you must see meabout something, I know it must be because, as you say, you ought to doit. "

"Mrs. Manderson, " said Trent, slowly measuring his words, "I won't makeit worse for you than I can help. But I am bound to make it bad foryou--only between ourselves, I hope. As to whether you can properly tellme what I shall ask you, you will decide that; but I tell you this on myword of honor: I shall ask you only as much as will decide me whether topublish or to withhold certain grave things that I have found out aboutyour husband's death, things not suspected by any one else, nor, Ithink, likely to be so. What I have discovered--what I believe that Ihave practically proved--will be a great shock to you in any case. Butit may be worse for you than that; and if you give me reason to think itwould be so, then I shall destroy this manuscript"--he laid a longenvelop on the small table beside him--"and nothing of what it has totell shall ever be printed. It consists, I may tell you, of a shortprivate note to my editor, followed by a long despatch for publicationin the _Record_. Now you may refuse to say anything to me. If you dorefuse, my duty to my employers, as I see it, is to take this up toLondon with me to-day and leave it with my editor to be dealt with athis discretion. My view is, you understand, that I am not entitled tosuppress it on the strength of a mere possibility that presents itselfto my imagination. But if I gather from you--and I can gather it from noother person--that there is substance in that imaginary possibility Ispeak of, then I have only one thing to do as a gentleman and as onewho"--he hesitated for a phrase--"wishes you well. I shall suppress thatdespatch of mine. In some directions I decline to assist the police. Have you followed me so far?" he asked with a touch of anxiety in hiscareful coldness; for her face, but for its pallor, gave no sign as sheregarded him, her hands clasped before her and her shoulders drawn backin a pose of rigid calm. She looked precisely as she had looked at theinquest. 

"I understand quite well, " said Mrs. Manderson in a low voice. She drewa deep breath, and went on: "I don't know what dreadful thing you havefound out, or what the possibility that has occurred to you can be, butit was good--it was honorable of you to come to me about it. Now willyou please tell me?"

"I cannot do that, " Trent replied. "The secret is my newspaper's, if itis not yours. If I find it is yours, you shall have my manuscript toread and destroy. Believe me, " he broke out with something of his oldwarmth, "I detest such mystery-making from the bottom of my soul, but itis not I who have made this mystery. This is the most painful hour of mylife, and you make it worse by not treating me like a hound. The firstthing I ask you to tell me"--he reverted with an effort to his colorlesstone--"is this: is it true, as you stated at the inquest, that you hadno idea at all of the reason why your late husband had changed hisattitude toward you, and become mistrustful and reserved, during thelast few months of his life?"

Mrs. Manderson's dark brows lifted and her eyes flamed; she quickly rosefrom her chair. Trent got up at the same moment, and took his envelopfrom the table; his manner said that he perceived the interview to be atan end. But she held up a hand, and there was color in her cheeks andquick breathing in her voice as she said: "Do you know what you ask, Mr. Trent? You ask me if I perjured myself. "

"I do, " he answered unmoved; and he added after a pause: "You knewalready that I had not come here to preserve the polite fictions, Mrs. Manderson. The theory that no reputable person, being on oath, couldwithhold a part of the truth under any circumstances is a politefiction. " He still stood as awaiting dismissal; but she was silent. Shewalked to the window, and he stood miserably watching the slightmovement of her shoulders until it subsided. Then with face averted, looking out on the dismal weather, she spoke at last clearly. 

"Mr. Trent, " she said, "you inspire confidence in people, and I feelthat things which I don't want known or talked about are safe with you. And I know you must have a very serious reason for doing what you aredoing, though I don't know what it is. I suppose it would be assistingjustice in some way if I told you the truth about what you asked me justnow. To understand that truth you ought to know about what went before;I mean about my marriage. After all, a good many people could tell youas well as I can that it was not . .. A very successful union. I was onlytwenty. I admired his force and courage and certainty; he was the onlystrong man I had ever known. But it did not take me long to find outthat he cared for his business more than for me, and I think I found outeven sooner that I had been deceiving myself and blinding myself, promising myself impossible things and wilfully misunderstanding my ownfeelings, because I was dazzled by the idea of having more money tospend than an English girl ever dreams of. I have been despising myselffor that for five years. My husband's feeling for me . .. Well, I cannotspeak of that . .. What I want to say is that along with it there hadalways been a belief of his that I was the sort of woman to take a greatplace in society, and that I should throw myself into it with enjoymentand become a sort of personage and do him great credit--that was hisidea; and the idea remained with him after other delusions hadgone. I was a part of his ambition. That was his really bitterdisappointment--that I failed him as a social success. I think he wastoo shrewd not to have known in his heart that such a man as he was, twenty years older than I, with great business responsibilities thatfilled every hour of his life, and caring for nothing else--he must havefelt that there was a risk of great unhappiness in marrying the sort ofgirl I was, brought up to music and books and unpractical ideas, alwaysenjoying myself in my own way. But he had really reckoned on me as awife who would do the honors of his position in the world; and I found Icouldn't. "

Mrs. Manderson had talked herself into a more emotional mood than shehad yet shown to Trent. Her words flowed freely, and her voice had begunto ring and give play to a natural expressiveness that must hithertohave been dulled, he thought, by the shock and self-restraint of thepast few days. Now she turned swiftly from the window and faced him asshe went on, her beautiful face flushed and animated, her eyes gleaming, her hands moving in slight emphatic gestures, as she surrendered herselfto the impulse of giving speech to things long pent up. 

"The people!" she said. "Oh, those people! Can you imagine what it mustbe for any one who has lived in a world where there was always creativework in the background, work with some dignity about it, men and womenwith professions or arts to follow, with ideals and things to believe inand quarrel about, some of them wealthy, some of them quite poor, --canyou think what it means to step out of that into another world where you_have_ to be very rich, shamefully rich, to exist at all--where money isthe only thing that counts and the first thing in everybody'sthoughts--where the men who make the millions are so jaded by the workthat sport is the only thing they can occupy themselves with when theyhave any leisure, and the men who don't have to work are even dullerthan the men who do, and vicious as well; and the women live for displayand silly amusements and silly immoralities--do you know how awful thatlife is?. .. Of course I know there are clever people and people of tastein that set, but they're swamped and spoiled, and it's the same thing inthe end--empty, empty! Oh! I suppose I'm exaggerating, and I did makefriends and have some happy times; but that's how I feel after it all. The seasons in New York and London! How I hated them! And ourhouse-parties and cruises in the yacht and the rest--the same people, the same emptiness!

"And you see, don't you, that my husband couldn't have an idea of allthis? _His_ life was never empty. He did not live it in society, andwhen he was in society he had always his business plans and difficultiesto occupy his mind. He hadn't a suspicion of what I felt, and I neverlet him know--I couldn't; it wouldn't have been fair. I felt I must do_something_ to justify myself as his wife, sharing his position andfortune; and the only thing I could do was to try, and try, to live upto his idea about my social qualities. .. . I did try. I acted my best. And it became harder year by year. .. . I never was what they call apopular hostess--how could I be? I was a failure; but I went ontrying. .. . I used to steal holidays now and then. I used to feel as if Iwas not doing my part of a bargain--it sounds horrid to put it likethat, I know, but it _was_ so--when I took one of my old school-friends, who couldn't afford to travel, away to Italy for a month or two, and wewent about cheaply all by ourselves and were quite happy; or when I wentand made a long stay in London with some quiet people who had known meall my life, and we all lived just as in the old days, when we had tothink twice about seats at the theater, and told each other about cheapdress-makers. Those and a few other expeditions of the same sort were mybest times after I was married, and they helped me to go through with itthe rest of the time. But I felt my husband would have hated to know howmuch I enjoyed every hour of those returns to the old life. 

"And in the end, in spite of everything I could do, he came toknow. .. . He could see through anything, I think, once his attention wasturned to it. He had always been able to see that I was not fulfillinghis idea of me as a figure in the social world, and I suppose he thoughtit was my misfortune rather than my fault. But the moment he began tosee, in spite of my pretending, that I wasn't playing my part with anyspirit, he knew the whole story; he divined how I loathed and was wearyof the luxury and the brilliancy and the masses of money just becauseof the people who lived among them--who were made so by them, Isuppose. .. . It happened last year. I don't know just how or when. It mayhave been suggested to him by some woman--for _they_ all understood, ofcourse. He said nothing to me, and I think he tried not to change in hismanner to me at first; but such things hurt--and it was working in bothof us. I knew that he knew. After a time we were just being polite andconsiderate to each other. Before he found me out we had been on afooting of--how can I express it to you?--of intelligent companionship, I might say. We talked without restraint of many things of the kind wecould agree or disagree about without its going very deep . .. If youunderstand. And then that came to an end. I felt that the only possiblebasis of our living in each other's company was going under my feet. Andat last it was gone. 

"It had been like that, " she ended simply, "for months before he died. "She sank into the corner of a sofa by the window, as though relaxing herbody after an effort. For a few moments both were silent. Trent washastily sorting out a tangle of impressions. He was amazed at thefrankness of Mrs. Manderson's story. He was amazed at the vigorousexpressiveness in her telling of it. In this vivid being, carried awayby an impulse to speak, talking with her whole personality, he had seenthe real woman in a temper of activity, as he had already seen the realwoman by chance in a temper of reverie and unguarded emotion. In bothshe was very unlike the pale, self-disciplined creature of majesty thatshe had been to the world. With that amazement of his went somethinglike terror of her dark beauty, which excitement kindled into anappearance scarcely mortal in his eyes. Incongruously there rushed intohis mind, occupied as it was with the affair of the moment, a littleknot of ideas . .. She was unique not because of her beauty but becauseof its being united with intensity of nature; in England all the verybeautiful women were placid, all the fiery women seemed to have burnt upthe best of their beauty; that was why no beautiful woman had ever castthis sort of spell on him before; when it was a question of wit in womenhe had preferred the brighter flame to the duller, without muchregarding the lamp. "All this is very disputable, " said his reason; andinstinct answered, "Yes--except that I am under a spell"; and a deeperinstinct cried out, "Away with it!" He forced his mind back to herstory, and found growing swiftly in him an irrepressible conviction. Itwas all very fine; but it would not do. 

"I feel as if I had led you into saying more than you meant to say, orthan I wanted to learn, " he said slowly. "But there is one brutalquestion which is the whole point of my inquiry. " He braced his framelike one preparing for a plunge into cold waters. "Mrs. Manderson, willyou assure me that your husband's change toward you had nothing to dowith John Marlowe?"

And what he had dreaded came. "Oh!" she cried with a sound of anguish, her face thrown up and open hands stretched out as if for pity; and thenthe hands covered the burning face, and she flung herself aside amongthe cushions at her elbow, so that he saw nothing but her heavy crown ofblack hair and her body moving with sobs that stabbed his heart, and afoot turned inward gracefully in an abandonment of misery. Like a talltower suddenly breaking apart she had fallen in ruins, helplesslyweeping. 

Trent stood up, his face white and calm. With a senseless particularityhe placed his envelop exactly in the center of the little polishedtable. He walked to the door, closed it noiselessly as he went out, andin a few minutes was tramping through the rain out of sight of WhiteGables, going nowhere, seeing nothing, his soul shaken in the fierceeffort to kill and trample the raving impulse that had seized him in thepresence of her shame, that clamored to him to drag himself before herfeet, to pray for pardon, to pour out words--he knew not what words, buthe knew that they had been straining at his lips--to wreck hisself-respect forever, and hopelessly defeat even the crazy purpose thathad almost possessed him, by drowning her wretchedness in disgust, bybabbling with the tongue of infatuation to a woman with a husband notyet buried, to a woman who loved another man. 

Such was the magic of her tears, quickening in a moment the thing which, as his heart had known, he must not let come to life. For Philip Trentwas a young man, younger in nature even than his years, and a way oflife that kept his edge keen and his spirit volcanic had prepared himvery ill for the meeting that comes once in the early manhood of most ofus, usually--as in his case, he told himself harshly--to no purpose butthe testing of virtue and the power of the will. 

CHAPTER X

"HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED"

(_Being the report which was not sent to the Record. _)

 _Marlstone, June 16th. _

 My Dear Molloy: This is in case I don't find you at your office. I have found out who killed Manderson, as this despatch will show. That was my problem; yours is to decide what use to make of it. It definitely charges an unsuspected person with having a hand in the crime, and practically accuses him of being the murderer, so I don't suppose you will publish it before his arrest, and I believe it is illegal to do so afterwards until he has been tried and found guilty. You may decide to publish it then; and you may find it possible to make some use or other before then of the facts I have given. That is your affair. Meanwhile, will you communicate with Scotland Yard, and let them see what I have written? I have done with the Manderson mystery, and I wish to God I had never touched it. Here follows my despatch. 

 P. T. 

I begin this, my third and probably my final despatch to the _Record_upon the Manderson murder, with conflicting feelings. I have a strongsense of relief, because in my two previous despatches I was obliged, inthe interests of justice, to withhold facts ascertained by me whichwould, if published then, have put a certain person upon his guard andpossibly have led to his escape; for he is a man of no common boldnessand resource. Those facts I shall now set forth. But I have, I confess, no liking for the story of treachery and perverted cleverness which Ihave to tell. It leaves an evil taste in the mouth, a savor of somethingrevolting in the deeper puzzle of motive underlying the puzzle of thecrime itself, which I believe I have solved. 

It will be remembered that in my first despatch I described thesituation as I found it on reaching this place early on Tuesday morning. I told how the body was found, and in what state; dwelt upon thecomplete mystery surrounding the crime and mentioned one or two localtheories about it; gave some account of the dead man's domesticsurroundings; and furnished a somewhat detailed description of hismovements on the evening before his death. I gave, too, a little factwhich may or may not have seemed irrelevant: that a quantity of whiskymuch larger than Manderson habitually drank at night had disappearedfrom his private decanter since the last time he was seen alive. On thefollowing day, the day of the inquest, I wired little more than anabstract of the proceedings in the coroner's court, of which a verbatimreport was made at my request by other representatives of the _Record_;and it will be remembered that the police evidence showed that tworevolvers, with either of which the crime might have been committed, hadbeen found--one in Manderson's bureau and the other in the room of thesecretary, Marlowe; but that no importance could be attached to this, asthe weapons were of an extremely popular make. I write these lines inthe last hours of the same day; and I have now completed aninvestigation which has led me directly to the man who must be calledupon to clear himself of the guilt of the death of Manderson. 

Apart from the central mystery of Manderson's having arisen long beforehis usual hour to go out and meet his death, there were two minor pointsof oddity about this affair which, I suppose, must have occurred tothousands of those who have read the accounts in the newspapers; pointsapparent from the very beginning. The first of these was that, whereasthe body was found at a spot not thirty yards from the house, all thepeople of the house declared that they had heard no cry or other noisein the night. Manderson had not been gagged; the marks on his wristspointed to a struggle with his assailant; and there had been at leastone pistol-shot. (I say at least one, because it is the fact that inmurders with firearms, especially if there has been a struggle, thecriminal commonly misses his victim at least once. ) This odd fact seemedall the more odd to me when I learned that Martin, the butler, was a badsleeper, very keen of hearing, and that his bedroom, with the windowopen, faced almost directly toward the shed by which the body was found. 

The second odd little fact that was apparent from the outset wasManderson's leaving his dental plate by the bedside. It appeared that hehad risen and dressed himself fully, down to his necktie and watch andchain, and had gone out-of-doors without remembering to put in thisplate, which he had carried in his mouth every day for years, and whichcontained all the visible teeth of the upper jaw. It had evidently notbeen a case of frantic hurry; and even if it had been, he would havebeen more likely to forget almost anything than this denture. Any onewho wears such a removable plate will agree that the putting it in onrising is a matter of second nature. Speaking as well as eating, to saynothing of appearances, depend upon it. 

Neither of these queer details, however, seemed to lead to anything atthe moment. They only awakened in me a suspicion of something lurking inthe shadows, something that lent more mystery to the already mysteriousquestion how and why and through whom Manderson met his end. 

With this much of preamble I come at once to the discovery which, in thefirst few hours of my investigation, set me upon the path which so muchingenuity had been directed to concealing. 

I have already described Manderson's bedroom, the rigorous simplicity ofits furnishings, contrasted so strangely with the multitude of clothesand shoes, and the manner of its communication with Mrs. Manderson'sroom. On the upper of the two long shelves on which the shoes wereranged I found, where I had been told I should find them, the pair ofpatent leather shoes which Manderson had worn on the evening before hisdeath. I had glanced over the row, not with any idea of their giving mea clue, but merely because it happens that I am a judge of shoes, andall these shoes were of the very best workmanship. 

But my attention was at once caught by a little peculiarity in thisparticular pair. They were the lightest kind of lace-up dress shoes, very thin in the sole, without toe-caps, and beautifully made, like allthe rest. These shoes were old and well-worn; but being carefullypolished and fitted, as all the shoes were, upon their trees, theylooked neat enough. What caught my eye was a slight splitting of theleather in that part of the upper known as the vamp, a splitting at thepoint where the two laced parts of the shoe rise from the upper. It isat this point that the strain comes when a tight shoe of this sort isforced upon the foot, and it is usually guarded with a strong stitchingacross the bottom of the opening. In both the shoes I was examining thisstitching had parted, and the leather below had given way. The splittingwas a tiny affair in each case, not an eighth of an inch long, and thetorn edges having come together again on the removal of the strain, there was nothing that a person who was not something of a connoisseurof shoe-leather would have noticed. Even less noticeable, and indeed notto be seen at all unless one were looking for it, was a slight strainingof the stitches uniting the upper to the sole. At the toe and on theouter side of each shoe this stitching had been dragged until it wasvisible on a close inspection of the joining. 

These indications, of course, could mean only one thing. The shoes hadbeen worn by someone for whom they were too small. 

Now it was clear at a glance that Manderson was always thoroughly wellshod and careful, perhaps a little vain, of his small and narrow feet. Not one of the other shoes in the collection, as I soon ascertained, bore similar marks; they had not belonged to a man who squeezed himselfinto tight shoe-leather. Someone who was not Manderson had worn theseshoes, and worn them recently; the edges of the tears were quite fresh. 

The possibility of someone having worn them since Manderson's death wasnot worth considering; the body had only been found about twenty-sixhours when I was examining the shoes; besides, why should any one wearthem? The possibility of someone having borrowed Manderson's shoes andspoiled them for him, while he was alive, seemed about as negligible. With others to choose from he would not have worn these. Besides, theonly men in the place were the butler and the two secretaries. But I donot say that I gave those possibilities even as much consideration asthey deserved; for my thoughts were running away with me; and I havealways found it good policy, in cases of this sort, to let them havetheir heads. Ever since I had got out of the train at Marlstone earlythat morning I had been steeped in details of the Manderson affair; thething had not once been out of my head. Suddenly the moment had comewhen the dæmon wakes and begins to range. 

Let me put it less fancifully. After all, it is a detail of psychologyfamiliar enough to all whose business or inclination brings them incontact with difficult affairs of any sort. Swiftly and spontaneously, when chance or effort puts one in possession of the key-fact in anysystem of baffling circumstances, one's ideas seem to rush to groupthemselves anew in relation to that fact, so that they are suddenlyrearranged almost before one has consciously grasped the significance ofthe key-fact itself. In the present instance, my brain had scarcelyformulated within itself the thought, 'Somebody who was not Mandersonhas been wearing those shoes, ' when there flew into my mind a flock ofideas, all of the same character and all bearing upon this new notion. It was unheard-of for Manderson to drink much whisky at night. It wasvery unlike him to be untidily dressed, as the body was when found--thecuffs dragged up inside the sleeves, the shoes unevenly laced; veryunlike him not to wash, when he rose, and to put on last night's eveningshirt and collar and underclothing; very unlike him to have his watch inthe waistcoat pocket that was not lined with leather for its reception. (In my first despatch I mentioned all these points, but neither I norany one else saw anything significant in them, when examining the body. )It was very strange, in the existing domestic situation, that Mandersonshould be communicative to his wife about his doings, especially at thetime of his going to bed, when he seldom spoke to her at all. It wasextraordinary that Manderson should leave his bedroom without his falseteeth. 

All these thoughts, as I say, came flocking into my mind together, drawnfrom various parts of my memory of the morning's inquiries andobservations. They had all presented themselves, in far less time thanit takes to read them as set down here, as I was turning over the shoes, confirming my own certainty on the main point. And yet when I confrontedthe definite idea that had sprung up suddenly and unsupported beforeme, --_It was not Manderson who was in the house that night_--it seemed astark absurdity at the first formulating. It was certainly Manderson whohad dined at the house and gone out with Marlowe in the car. People hadseen him at close quarters. But was it he who returned at ten? Thatquestion too seemed absurd enough. But I could not set it aside. Itseemed to me as if a faint light was beginning to creep over the wholeexpanse of my mind, as it does over land at dawn, and that presently thesun would be rising. I set myself to think over, one by one, the pointsthat had just occurred to me, so as to make out, if possible, why anyman masquerading as Manderson should have done these things thatManderson would not have done. 

I had not to cast about very long for the motive a man might have inforcing his feet into Manderson's narrow shoes. The examination offootmarks is very well understood by the police. But not only was theman concerned to leave no footmarks of his own. He was concerned toleave Manderson's, if any; his whole plan, if my guess was right, musthave been directed to producing the belief that Manderson was in theplace that night. Moreover, his plan did not turn upon leavingfootmarks. He meant to leave the shoes themselves, and he did so. Themaidservant had found them outside the bedroom door, as Manderson alwaysleft his shoes, and had polished them, replacing them on theshoe-shelves later in the morning, after the body had been found. 

When I came to consider in this new light the leaving of the falseteeth, an explanation of what had seemed the maddest part of the affairbroke upon me at once. A dental plate is not inseparable from its owner. If my guess was right, the unknown had brought the denture to the housewith him, and left it in the bedroom, with the same object as he had inleaving the shoes; to make it impossible that any one should doubt thatManderson had been in the house and had gone to bed there. This, ofcourse, led me to the inference that _Manderson was dead before thefalse Manderson came to the house_; and other things confirmed this. 

For instance, the clothing, to which I now turned in my review of theposition: if my guess was right, the unknown in Manderson's shoes hadcertainly had possession of Manderson's trousers, waistcoat and shootingjacket. They were there before my eyes in the bedroom; and Martin hadseen the jacket--which nobody could have mistaken--upon the man who satat the telephone in the library. It was now quite plain (if my guess wasright) that this unmistakable garment was a cardinal feature of theunknown's plan. He knew that Martin would take him for Manderson at thefirst glance. 

And there my thinking was interrupted by the realization of a thing thathad escaped me before. So strong had been the influence of theunquestioned assumption that it was Manderson who was present thatnight, that neither I nor, so far as I know, any one else had noted thepoint. _Martin had not seen the man's face; nor had Mrs. Manderson. _

Mrs. Manderson (judging by her evidence at the inquest, of which, as Ihave said, I had a full report made by the _Record_ stenographers incourt) had not seen the man at all. She hardly could have done, as Ishall show presently. She had merely spoken with him as she lay halfasleep, resuming a conversation which she had had with her livinghusband about an hour before. Martin, I perceived, could only have seenthe man's back, as he sat crouching over the telephone; no doubt acharacteristic pose was imitated there. And the man had worn his hat, Manderson's broad-brimmed hat! There is too much character in the backof a head and neck. The unknown, in fact, supposing him to have been ofabout Manderson's build, had had no need for any disguise, apart fromthe jacket and the hat and his powers of mimicry. 

I paused there to contemplate the coolness and ingenuity of the man. Thething, I now began to see, was so safe and easy, provided that hismimicry was good enough, and that his nerve held. Those two pointsassured, only some wholly unlikely accident could unmask him. 

To come back to my puzzling out of the matter as I sat in the dead man'sbedroom with the tell-tale shoes before me:--the reason for the entranceby the window instead of by the front-door will already have occurred toany one reading this. Entering by the door, the man would almostcertainly have been heard by the sharp-eared Martin in his pantry justacross the hall; he might have met him face to face. 

Then there was the problem of the whisky. I had not attached muchimportance to it; whisky will sometimes vanish in very queer ways in ahousehold of eight or nine persons; but it had seemed strange that itshould go in that way on that evening. Martin had been plainly quitedumfounded by the fact. It seemed to me now that many a man--fresh, asthis man in all likelihood was, from a bloody business, from theunclothing of a corpse, and with a desperate part still to play--wouldturn to that decanter as to a friend. No doubt he had a drink beforesending for Martin; after making that trick with ease and success, heprobably drank more. 

But he had known when to stop. The worst part of the enterprise wasbefore him, the business--clearly of such vital importance to him, forwhatever reason--of shutting himself in Manderson's room and preparing amass of convincing evidence of its having been occupied by Manderson;and this with the risk--very slight, as no doubt he understood, but howunnerving!--of the woman on the other side of the half-open door awakingand somehow discovering him. True, if he kept out of her limited fieldof vision from the bed, she could only see him by getting up and goingto the door. I found that to a person lying in her bed, which stood withits head to the wall a little beyond the door, nothing was visiblethrough the doorway but one of the cupboards by Manderson's bed-head. Moreover, since this man knew the ways of the household, he would thinkit most likely that Mrs. Manderson was asleep. Another point with him, Iguessed, might have been the estrangement between the husband and wife, which they had tried to cloak by keeping up, among other things, theirusual practice of sleeping in connected rooms, but which was well knownto all who had anything to do with them. He would hope from this that ifMrs. Manderson heard him, she would take no notice of the supposedpresence of her husband. 

So, pursuing my hypothesis, I followed the unknown up to the bedroom, and saw him setting about his work. And it was with a catch in my ownbreath that I thought of the hideous shock with which he must have heardthe sound of all others he was dreading most: the drowsy voice from theadjoining room. 

What Mrs. Manderson actually said, she was unable to recollect at theinquest. She thinks she asked her supposed husband whether he had had agood run in the car. And now what does the unknown do? Here, I think, wecome to a supremely significant point. Not only does he--standing rigidthere, as I picture him, before the dressing-table, listening to thesound of his own leaping heart--not only does he answer the lady in thevoice of Manderson; he volunteers an explanatory statement. He tells herthat he has, on a sudden inspiration, sent Marlowe in the car toSouthampton; that he has sent him to bring back some importantinformation from a man leaving for Paris by the steamboat that morning. Why these details from a man who had long been uncommunicative to hiswife, and that upon a point scarcely likely to interest her? Why thesedetails _about Marlowe_?

Having taken my story so far, I now put forward the following definitepropositions: that between a time somewhere about ten, when the carstarted, and a time somewhere about eleven, Manderson was shot--probablyat a considerable distance from the house, as no shot was heard; thatthe body was brought back, left by the shed, and stripped of its outerclothing, while the car was left in hiding somewhere at hand; that atsome time round about eleven o'clock a man who was not Manderson, wearing Manderson's shoes, hat and jacket, entered the library by thegarden-window; that he had with him Manderson's black trousers, waistcoat and motor-coat, the denture taken from Manderson's mouth, andthe weapon with which he had been murdered; that he concealed these, rang the bell for the butler, and sat down at the telephone with his haton and his back to the door; that he was occupied with the telephone allthe time Martin was in the room; that on going up to the bedroom-floorhe quietly entered Marlowe's room and placed the revolver with which thecrime had been committed--Marlowe's revolver--in the case on themantel-piece from which it had been taken; and that he then went toManderson's room, placed Manderson's shoes outside the door, threwManderson's garments on a chair, placed the denture in the bowl by thebedside, and selected a suit of clothes, a pair of shoes and a tie fromthose in the bedroom. 

Here I will pause in my statement of this man's proceedings to go into aquestion for which the way is now sufficiently prepared. 

_Who was the false Manderson?_

Reviewing what was known to me, or might almost with certainty besurmised, about that person, I set down the following five conclusions:

(1) He had been in close relations with the dead man. In his actingbefore Martin and his speaking to Mrs. Manderson he had made no mistake. 

(2) He was of a build not unlike Manderson's, especially as to heightand breadth of shoulder, which mainly determine the character of theback of a seated figure when the head is concealed and the body looselyclothed. But his feet were larger, though not greatly larger, thanManderson's. 

(3) He had considerable aptitude for mimicry and acting--probably someexperience too. 

(4) He had a minute acquaintance with the ways of the Mandersonhousehold. 

(5) He was under a vital necessity of creating the belief that Mandersonwas alive and in that house until some time after midnight on the Sundaynight. 

So much I took as either certain or next door to it. It was as far as Icould see. And it was far enough. 

I proceed to give, in an order corresponding with the numberedparagraphs above, such relevant facts as I was able to obtain about Mr. John Marlowe, from himself and other sources. 

(1) He had been Manderson's private secretary, upon a footing of greatintimacy, for nearly three years. 

(2) The two men were nearly of the same height, about five feet, eleveninches; both were powerfully built and heavy in the shoulder; Marlowe, who was the younger by some twenty years, was slighter about the body, though Manderson was a man in good physical condition. Marlowe's shoes(of which I examined several pairs) were roughly about one shoemaker'ssize longer and broader than Manderson's. 

(3) In the afternoon of the first day of my investigation, afterarriving at the results already detailed, I sent a telegram to apersonal friend, a fellow of a college at Oxford, whom I knew to beinterested in theatrical matters, in these terms:

 Please wire John Marlowe's record in connection with acting at Oxford some time past decade very urgent and confidential. 

My friend replied in the following telegram, which reached me nextmorning (the morning of the inquest):

 Marlowe was member O. U. D. S. For three years and president 19-- played Bardolph Cleon and Mercutio excelled in character acting and imitations in great demand at smokers was hero of some historic hoaxes. 

I had been led to send the telegram which brought this very helpfulanswer by seeing on the mantel-shelf in Marlowe's bedroom a photographof himself and two others in the costume of Falstaff's three followers, with an inscription from _The Merry Wives_, and by noting that it borethe imprint of an Oxford firm of photographers. 

(4) During his connection with Manderson, Marlowe had lived as one ofthe family. No other person, apart from the servants, had hisopportunities for knowing the domestic life of the Mandersons in detail. 

(5) I ascertained beyond doubt that Marlowe arrived at a hotel inSouthampton on the Monday morning at six-thirty, and there proceeded tocarry out the commission which, according to his story, and to thestatement made to Mrs. Manderson in the bedroom by the false Manderson, had been entrusted to him by his employer. He had then returned in thecar to Marlstone, where he had shown great amazement and horror at thenews of the murder. 

 * * * * *

These, I say, are the relevant facts about Marlowe. We must now examinefact number _five_ (as set out above) in connection with conclusionnumber _five_ about the false Manderson. 

I would first draw attention to one important fact. _The only person whoprofessed to have heard Manderson mention Southampton at all before hestarted in the car was Marlowe. _ His story--confirmed to some extent bywhat the butler overheard--was that the journey was all arranged in aprivate talk before they set out, and he could not say, when I put thequestion to him, why Manderson should have concealed his intentions bygiving out that he was going with Marlowe for a moonlight drive. Thispoint, however, attracted no attention. Marlowe had an absolutelyair-tight alibi in his presence at Southampton by six-thirty; nobodythought of him in connection with a murder which must have beencommitted after twelve-thirty--the hour at which Martin, the butler, hadgone to bed. But it was the Manderson who came back from the drive whowent out of his way to mention Southampton openly to two persons. _Heeven went so far as to ring up a hotel at Southampton and ask questionswhich bore out Marlowe's story of his errand. _ This was the call he wasbusy with when Martin was in the library. 

Now let us consider the alibi. If Manderson was in the house that night, and if he did not leave it until some time after twelve-thirty, Marlowecould not by any possibility have had a direct hand in the murder. It isa question of the distance between Marlstone and Southampton. If he hadleft Marlstone in the car at the hour when he is supposed to have doneso--between ten and ten-thirty--with a message from Manderson, the runwould be quite an easy one to do in the time. But it would be physicallyimpossible for the car--a fifteen horse-power four-cylinderNorthumberland, an average medium-power car--to get to Southampton byhalf-past six unless it left Marlstone by midnight at latest. Motoristswho will examine the road-map and make the calculations required, as Idid in Manderson's library that day, will agree that on the facts asthey appeared there was absolutely no case against Marlowe. 

But even if they were not as they appeared; if Manderson was dead byeleven o'clock, and if at about that time Marlowe impersonated him atWhite Gables; if Marlowe retired to Manderson's bedroom--how can allthis be reconciled with his appearance next morning at Southampton? _Hehad to get out of the house, unseen and unheard, and away in the car bymidnight. _ And Martin, the sharp-eared Martin, was sitting up untiltwelve-thirty in his pantry, with the door open, listening for thetelephone bell. Practically he was standing sentry over the foot of thestaircase, the only staircase leading down from the bedroom floor. 

With this difficulty we arrive at the last and crucial phase of myinvestigation. Having the foregoing points clearly in mind, I spent therest of the day before the inquest in talking to various persons and ingoing over my story, testing it link by link. I could only find the oneweakness which seemed to be involved in Martin's sitting up untiltwelve-thirty; and since his having been instructed to do so wascertainly a part of the plan, meant to clinch the alibi for Marlowe, Iknew there must be an explanation somewhere. If I could not find thatexplanation my theory was valueless. I must be able to show that at thetime Martin went up to bed, the man who had shut himself in Manderson'sbedroom might have been many miles away on the road to Southampton. 

I had, however, a pretty good idea already--as perhaps the reader ofthese lines has by this time, if I have made myself clear--of how theescape of the false Manderson before midnight had been contrived. But Idid not want what I was now about to do to be known. If I had chanced tobe discovered at work, there would have been no concealing the directionof my suspicions. I resolved not to test them on this point until thenext day, during the opening proceedings at the inquest. This was to beheld, I knew, at the hotel, and I reckoned upon having White Gables tomyself so far as the principal inmates were concerned. 

So in fact it happened. By the time the proceedings at the hotel hadbegun, I was hard at work at White Gables. I had a camera with me. Imade search, on principles well known to and commonly practised by thepolice, and often enough by myself, for certain indications. Withoutdescribing my search, I may say at once that I found and was able tophotograph two fresh finger-prints, very large and distinct, on thepolished front of the right-hand top drawer of the chest of drawers inManderson's bedroom; five more (among a number of smaller and lessrecent impressions made by other hands) on the glasses of the Frenchwindow in Mrs. Manderson's room, a window which always stood open atnight with a curtain before it; and three more upon the glass bowl inwhich Manderson's dental plate had been found lying. 

I took the bowl with me from White Gables. I took also a few articleswhich I selected from Marlowe's bedroom, as bearing the most distinct ofthe innumerable finger-prints which are always to be found upontoilet-articles in daily use. I already had in my possession, made uponleaves cut from my pocket diary, some excellent finger-prints ofMarlowe's, which he had made in my presence without knowing it. I hadshown him the leaves, asking if he recognized them; and the few secondsduring which he had held them in his fingers had sufficed to leaveimpressions which I was afterward able to bring out. 

By six o'clock in the evening, two hours after the jury had brought intheir verdict against a person or persons unknown, I had completed mywork, and was in a position to state that two of the five large printsmade on the window-glasses, and the three on the bowl, were made by theleft hand of Marlowe; that the remaining three on the window and the twoon the drawer were made by his right hand. 

By eight o'clock I had made at the establishment of Mr. H. T. Copper, photographer, of Bishopsbridge, and with his assistance, a dozenenlarged prints of the finger-marks of Marlowe, clearly showing theidentity of those which he unknowingly made in my presence and thoseleft upon articles in his bedroom, with those found by me as I havedescribed, and thus establishing the facts that Marlowe was recently inManderson's bedroom, where he had in the ordinary way no business, andin Mrs. Manderson's room, where he had still less. I hope it may bepossible to reproduce these prints for publication with this despatch. 

At nine o'clock I was back in my room at the hotel and sitting down tobegin this manuscript. I had my story complete. 

I bring it to a close by advancing these further propositions: that onthe night of the murder the impersonator of Manderson, being inManderson's bedroom, told Mrs. Manderson, as he had already told Martin, that Marlowe was at that moment on his way to Southampton; that havingmade his dispositions in the room, he switched off the light, and lay inthe bed in his clothes; that he waited until he was assured that Mrs. Manderson was asleep; that he then arose and stealthily crossed Mrs. Manderson's bedroom in his stocking feet, having under his arm thebundle of clothing and shoes for the body; that he stepped behind thecurtain, pushing the doors of the window a little further open with hishands, strode over the iron railing of the balcony, and let himself downuntil only a drop of a few feet separated him from the soft turf of thelawn. 

All this might very well have been accomplished within half an hour ofhis entering Manderson's bedroom, which according to Martin he did atabout half-past eleven. 

What followed your readers and the authorities may conjecture forthemselves. The corpse was found next morning clothed--rather untidily. Marlowe in the car appeared at Southampton by half-past six. 

 * * * * *

I bring this manuscript to an end in my sitting-room at the hotel atMarlstone. It is four o'clock in the morning. I leave for London by thenoon train from Bishopsbridge. By this evening these pages will be inyour hands, and I ask you to communicate the substance of them to theCriminal Investigation Department. 

PHILIP TRENT. 

CHAPTER XI

EVIL DAYS

"I am returning the check you sent for what I did on the Mandersoncase, " Trent wrote to Sir James Molloy from Munich, whither he had goneimmediately after handing in at the _Record_ office a brief despatchbringing his work on the case to an unexciting close. "What I sent youwasn't worth one-tenth of the amount; but I should have no scruple aboutpocketing it, if I hadn't taken a fancy--never mind why--not to touchany money at all for this business. I should like you, if there is noobjection, to pay for the stuff at your ordinary space-rate, and handthe money to some charity which does not devote itself to bullyingpeople, if you know of any such. I have come to this place to see someold friends and arrange my ideas, and the idea that comes out upper-mostis that for a little while I want some employment with activity in it. Ifind I can't paint at all; I couldn't paint a fence. Will you try me asyour Own Correspondent somewhere? If you can find me a good adventure Iwill send you good accounts. After that I could settle down and work. "

Sir James sent him instructions by telegram to proceed at once toKurland and Livonia, where Citizen Browning was abroad again, and townand country-side blazed in revolt. It was a roving commission, and fortwo months Trent followed his luck. It served him not less well thanusual. He was the only correspondent who saw General Dragilew killed inthe street at Volmar by a girl of eighteen. He saw burnings, lynchings, fusillades, hangings; each day his soul sickened afresh at theimbecilities born of misrule. Many nights he lay down in danger. Manydays he went fasting. But there was never an evening or a morning whenhe did not see the face of the woman whom he hopelessly loved. 

He discovered in himself an unhappy pride at the lasting force of thisinfatuation. It interested him as a phenomenon; it amazed andenlightened him. Such a thing had not visited him before; it confirmedso much that he had found dubious in the recorded experience of men. 

It was not that, at thirty-two, he could pretend to ignorance of thisworld of emotion. About his knowledge, let it be enough to say that whathe had learned had come unpursued and unpurchased, and was withoutintolerable memories; broken to the realities of sex, he was stilltroubled by its inscrutable history; he went through life full of astrange respect for certain feminine weakness and a very simple terrorof certain feminine strength. He had held to a rather lukewarm faiththat something remained in him to be called forth, and that the voicethat should call would be heard in its own time, if ever, and notthrough any seeking. 

But he had not thought of the possibility that, if this proved true someday, the truth might come in a sinister shape. The two things that hadtaken him utterly by surprise in the matter of his feeling towards MabelManderson were the insane suddenness of its uprising in full strengthand its extravagant hopelessness. Before it came, he had been muchdisposed to laugh at the permanence of unrequited passion as a generousboyish delusion. He knew now that he had been wrong, and he was livingbitterly in the knowledge. 

Before the eye of his fancy the woman always came just as she was whenhe had first had sight of her, with the gesture which he had surprisedas he walked past unseen on the edge of the cliff; that great gesture ofpassionate joy in her new liberty which had told him more plainly thanspeech that her widowhood was a release from torment, and had confirmedwith terrible force the suspicion, active in his mind before, that itwas her passport to happiness with a man whom she loved. He could notwith certainty name to himself the moment when he had first suspectedthat it might be so. The seed of the thought must have been sown, hebelieved, at his first meeting with Marlowe; his mind would have notedautomatically that such evident strength and grace, with the sort oflooks and manners that the tall young man possessed, might go far withany woman of unfixed affections. And the connection of this with whatMr. Cupples had told him of the Mandersons' married life must haveformed itself in the unconscious depths of his mind. Certainly it hadpresented itself as an already established thing when he began, aftersatisfying himself of the identity of the murderer, to cast about forthe motive of the crime. Motive, motive! How desperately he had soughtfor another, turning his back upon that grim thought, thatMarlowe--obsessed by passion like himself, and privy perhaps tomaddening truths about the wife's unhappiness--had taken a leaf, theguiltiest, from the book of Bothwell. But in all his investigations atthe time, in all his broodings on the matter afterwards, he had beenable to discover nothing else that could prompt Marlowe to such adeed--nothing but that temptation, the whole strength of which he couldnot know, but which if it had existed must have pressed urgently upon abold spirit in which scruple had been somehow paralyzed. If he couldtrust his senses at all, the young man was neither insane nor by natureevil. But that could not clear him. Murder for a woman's sake, hethought, was not a rare crime, Heaven knew! If the modern feebleness ofimpulse in the comfortable classes, and their respect for the modernapparatus of detection, had made it rare among them, it was yet far fromimpossible; it only needed a man of equal daring and intelligence, hissoul drugged with the vapors of an intoxicating intrigue, to plan andperform such a deed. 

A thousand times, with a heart full of anguish, he had sought to reasonaway the dread that Mabel Manderson had known too much of what had beenintended against her husband's life. That she knew all the truth afterthe thing was done, he could not doubt; her unforgettable collapse inhis presence when the question about Marlowe was suddenly and bluntlyput had swept away his last hope that there was no love between thepair, and had seemed to him, moreover, to speak of dread of discovery. In any case, she knew the truth after reading what he had left with her;and it was certain that no public suspicion had been cast upon Marlowesince. She had destroyed his manuscript, then, and taken him at his wordto keep the secret that threatened her lover's life. 

But it was the monstrous thought that she might have known murder wasbrewing, and guiltily kept silence, that haunted Trent's mind. She mighthave suspected, have guessed something; was it conceivable that she wasaware of the whole plot, that she connived? He could never forget thathis first suspicion of Marlowe's motive in the crime had been roused bythe fact that his escape was made through the lady's room. At that time, when he had not yet seen her, he had been ready enough to entertain theidea of her equal guilt and her coöperation. He had figured to himselfsome passionate _hystérique_, merciless as a tiger in her hate and herlove, a zealous abettor, perhaps even the ruling spirit in the crime. 

Then he had seen her, had spoken with her, had helped her in herweakness; and such suspicions, since their first meeting, had seemed thevilest of infamy. He had seen her eyes and her mouth; he had breathedthe woman's atmosphere. Trent was one of those who fancy they can scenttrue wickedness in the air. In her presence he had felt an inwardcertainty of her ultimate goodness of heart; and it was nothing againstthis, that she had abandoned herself a moment, that day on the cliff, tothe sentiment of relief at the ending of her bondage, of her years ofstarved sympathy and unquickened motherhood. That she had turned toMarlowe in her destitution he believed; that she had any knowledge ofhis deadly purpose he did not believe. 

And yet, morning and evening, the sickening doubts returned, and herecalled again that it was almost in her very presence that Marlowe hadmade his preparations in the bedroom of the murdered man, that it wasfrom the window of her own chamber that he had escaped from the house. Had he forgotten his cunning and taken the risk of telling her then? Orhad he, as Trent thought more likely, still played his part with herthen, and stolen off while she slept? He did not think she had known ofthe masquerade when she gave evidence at the inquest; it read likehonest evidence. Or--the question would never be silenced, though hescorned it--had she lain expecting the footstep in the room and thewhisper that should tell her it was done? Among the foul possibilitiesof human nature, was it possible that black ruthlessness and blackdeceit as well were hidden behind that good and straight and gentleseeming?

These thoughts would scarcely leave him when he was alone. 

 * * * * *

Trent served Sir James, well earning his pay, for six months, and thenreturned to Paris, where he went to work again with a better heart. Hispowers had returned to him, and he began to live more happily than hehad expected among a tribe of strangely-assorted friends, French, English and American, artists, poets, journalists, policemen, hotel-keepers, soldiers, lawyers, business men and others. His oldfaculty of sympathetic interest in his fellows won for him, just as inhis student days, privileges seldom extended to the Briton. He enjoyedagain the rare experience of being taken into the bosom of a Frenchman'sfamily. He was admitted to the momentous confidence of _les jeunes_, andfound them as sure that they had surprised the secrets of art and lifeas the departed _jeunes_ of ten years before had been. 

One morning in June, as he descended the slope of the Rue des Martyrs, he saw approaching a figure that he remembered. He glanced quicklyround, for the thought of meeting Mr. Bunner again was unacceptable. Forsome time he had recognized that his wound was healing under the spellof creative work; he thought less often of the woman he loved, and withless pain. He would not have the memory of those three days re-opened. 

But the straight and narrow thoroughfare offered no refuge, and theAmerican saw him almost at once. 

His unforced geniality made Trent ashamed, for he had liked the man. They sat long over a meal, and Mr. Bunner talked. Trent listened to him, now that he was in for it, with genuine pleasure, now and thencontributing a question or remark. Besides liking his companion, heenjoyed his conversation for its own sake. 

Mr. Bunner was, it appeared, resident in Paris as the chief Continentalagent of the Manderson firm, and fully satisfied with his position andprospects. He discoursed on these for some twenty minutes. This subjectat length exhausted, he went on to tell Trent, who confessed that he hadbeen away from England for a year, that Marlowe had shortly after thedeath of Manderson entered his father's business, which was now again ina flourishing state, and had already come to be virtually in control ofit. They had kept up their intimacy, and were even now planning aholiday for the summer. Mr. Bunner spoke with generous admiration of hisfriend's talent for affairs. "Jack Marlowe has a natural big head, " hedeclared, "and if he had more experience, I wouldn't want to have him upagainst me. He would put a crimp in me every time. "

As the American's talk flowed on, Trent listened with growing surpriseand anxiety. It became more and more plain that something was very wrongin his theory of the situation; there was no mention of its centralfigure. Presently Mr. Bunner mentioned that Marlowe was engaged to bemarried to an Irish girl, whose charms he celebrated with nativeenthusiasm. 

Trent clasped his hands savagely together beneath the table. What couldhave happened? His ideas were sliding and shifting. At last he forcedhimself to put a direct question. 

Mr. Bunner was not very fully informed. He knew that Mrs. Manderson hadleft England immediately after the settlement of her husband's affairs, and had lived for some time in Italy. She had returned not long ago toLondon, where she had decided not to live in the house in Mayfair, andhad bought a smaller one in the Hampstead neighborhood; also, heunderstood, one somewhere in the country. She was said to go but littleinto society. "And all the good hard dollars just waiting for someone tospraddle them around!" said Mr. Bunner with a note of pathos in hisvoice. "Why, she has money to burn--money to feed to the birds--andnothing doing! The old man left her more than half his wad. And think ofthe figure she might make in the world! She is beautiful, and she is thebest woman I ever met, too. But she couldn't ever seem to get the habitof spending money the way it ought to be spent. "

His words now became a soliloquy: Trent's thoughts were occupying allhis attention. He pleaded business soon, and the two men parted withcordiality. 

Half an hour later Trent was in his studio, swiftly and mechanically"cleaning up. " He wanted to know what had happened; somehow he must findout. He could never approach herself, he knew; he would never bring backto her the shame of that last encounter with him; it was scarcely likelythat he would even set eyes on her. But he must know!. .. Cupples was inLondon, Marlowe was there. .. . And anyhow he was sick of Paris. 

Such thoughts came, and went; and below them all strained the fibers ofan unseen cord that dragged mercilessly at his heart, and that he cursedbitterly in the moments when he could not deny to himself that it wasthere. .. . The folly, the useless, pitiable folly of it!

In twenty-four hours his feeble roots in Paris had been torn out. He waslooking over a leaden sea at the shining fortress-wall of the Dovercliffs. 

 * * * * *

But though he had instinctively picked out the lines of a set purposefrom among the welter of promptings in his mind, he found it delayed atthe very outset. 

He had decided that he must first see Mr. Cupples, who would be in aposition to tell him much more than the American knew. But Mr. Cuppleswas away on his travels, not expected to come back for a month; andTrent had no reasonable excuse for hastening his return. Marlowe hewould not confront until he had tried at least to reconnoiter theposition. He constrained himself not to commit the crowning folly ofseeking out Mrs. Manderson's house in Hampstead; he could not enter it, and the thought of the possibility of being seen by her lurking in itsneighborhood brought the blood to his face. 

He stayed at a hotel, took a studio, and while he awaited Mr. Cupples'return attempted vainly to lose himself in work. 

At the end of a week he had an idea that he acted upon with eagerprecipitancy. She had let fall some word, at their last meeting, of ataste for music. Trent went that evening, and thenceforward regularly, to the opera. He might see her; and if, in spite of his caution, shecaught sight of him, they could be blind to each other'spresence--anybody might happen to go to the opera. 

So he went alone each evening, passing as quickly as he might throughthe people in the vestibule; and each evening he came away knowing thatshe had not been in the house. It was a habit that yielded him a sort ofsatisfaction along with the guilty excitement of his search; for he tooloved music, and nothing gave him so much peace while its magic endured. 

 * * * * *

One night as he entered, hurrying through the brilliant crowd, he felt atouch on his arm. Flooded with an incredible certainty at the touch, heturned. 

It was she: so much more radiant in the absence of grief and anxiety, inthe fact that she was smiling, and in the allurement of evening dress, that he could not speak. She, too, breathed a little quickly, and therewas a light of daring in her eyes and cheeks as she greeted him. 

Her words were few. "I wouldn't miss a note of _Tristan_, " she said, "nor must you. Come and see me in the interval. " She gave him the numberof the box. 

CHAPTER XII

ERUPTION

The following two months were a period in Trent's life that he has neversince remembered without shuddering. He met Mrs. Manderson half a dozentimes, and each time her cool friendliness, a nicely calculated meanbetween mere acquaintance and the first stage of intimacy, baffled andmaddened him. At the opera he had found her, to his further amazement, with a certain Mrs. Wallace, a frisky matron whom he had known fromchildhood. Mrs. Manderson, it appeared, on her return from Italy, hadsomehow wandered into circles to which he belonged by nurture anddisposition. It came, she said, of her having pitched her tent in theirhunting-grounds; several of his friends were near neighbors. 

He had a dim but horrid recollection of having been on that occasionunlike himself, ill at ease, burning in the face, talking with idiotloquacity of his adventures in the Baltic provinces, and finding fromtime to time that he was addressing himself exclusively to Mrs. Wallace. The other lady, when he joined them, had completely lost the slightappearance of agitation with which she had stopped him in the vestibule. She had spoken pleasantly to him of her travels, of her settlement inLondon and of people whom they both knew. 

During the last half of the opera, which he had stayed in the box tohear, he had been conscious of nothing, as he sat behind them, but theangle of her cheek and the mass of her hair, the lines of her shoulderand arm, her hand upon the cushion. The black hair had seemed at last aforest, immeasurable, pathless and enchanted, luring him to a fataladventure. At the end he had been pale and subdued, parting with themrather formally. 

The next time he saw her--it was at a country house where both wereguests--and the subsequent times, he had had himself in hand. He hadmatched her manner and had acquitted himself, he thought, decently, considering . .. Considering that he lived in an agony of bewildermentand remorse and longing. He could make nothing, absolutely nothing, ofher attitude. That she had read his manuscript, and understood thesuspicion indicated in his last question to her at White Gables, wasbeyond the possibility of doubt. Then how could she treat him thusamiably and frankly, as she treated all the world of men who had doneher no injury?

For it had become clear to his intuitive sense, for all the absence ofany shade of differentiation in her outward manner, that an injury hadbeen done, and that she had felt it. Several times, on the rare andbrief occasions when they had talked apart, he had warning from the samesense that she was approaching this subject; and each time he had turnedthe conversation with the ingenuity born of fear. Two resolutions hemade. The first was that when he had completed a commissioned work whichtied him to London he would go away, and stay away. The strain was toogreat. He no longer burned to know the truth; he wanted nothing toconfirm his fixed internal conviction by faith, that he had blundered, that he had misread the situation, misinterpreted her tears, writtenhimself down a slanderous fool. He speculated no more on Marlowe'smotive in the killing of Manderson. Mr. Cupples returned to London, andTrent asked him nothing. He knew now that he had been right in thosewords--Trent remembered them for the emphasis with which they werespoken--"So long as she considered herself bound to him . .. No power onearth could have persuaded her. " He met Mrs. Manderson at dinner at heruncle's large and tomb-like house in Bloomsbury, and there he conversedmost of the evening with a professor of archaeology from Berlin. 

His other resolution was that he would not be with her alone. 

But when, a few days after, she wrote asking him to come and see her onthe following afternoon, he made no attempt to excuse himself. This wasa formal challenge. 

 * * * * *

While she celebrated the rites of tea, and for some little timethereafter, she joined with such natural ease in his slightly feveredconversation on matters of the day that he began to hope she had changedwhat he could not doubt had been her resolve, to corner him and speak tohim gravely. She was to all appearances careless now, smiling so that herecalled, not for the first time since that night at the opera, what waswritten long ago of a Princess of Brunswick: "Her mouth has ten thousandcharms that touch the soul. " She made a tour of the beautiful room whereshe had received him, singling out this treasure or that from the spoilsof a hundred bric-à-brac shops, laughing over her quests, discoveriesand bargainings. And when he asked if she would delight him again with afavorite piece of his which he had heard her play at another house, sheconsented at once. 

She played with a perfection of execution and feeling that moved him nowas it had moved him before. "You are a musician born, " he said quietlywhen she had finished, and the last tremor of the music had passed away. "I knew that before I first heard you play. "

"I have played a great deal ever since I can remember. It has been agreat comfort to me, " she said simply, and half-turned to him smiling. "When did you first detect music in me? Oh, of course! I was at theopera. But that wouldn't prove much, would it?"

"No, " he said, abstractedly, his sense still busy with the music thathad just ended. "I think I knew it the first time I saw you. " Thenunderstanding of his own words came to him, and turned him rigid. Forthe first time the past had been invoked. 

There was a short silence. Mrs. Manderson looked at Trent, then hastilylooked away. Color began to rise in her cheeks, and she pursed her lipsas if for whistling. Then with a defiant gesture of the shoulders whichhe remembered she rose suddenly from the piano and placed herself in achair opposite to him. 

"That speech of yours will do as well as anything, " she began slowly, looking at the point of her shoe, "to bring us to what I wanted to say. I asked you here to-day on purpose, Mr. Trent, because I couldn't bearit any longer. Ever since the day you left me at White Gables I havebeen saying to myself that it didn't matter what you thought of me inthat affair; that you were certainly not the kind of man to speak toothers of what you believed about me, after what you had told me of yourreasons for suppressing your manuscript. I asked myself how it couldmatter. But all the time, of course, I knew it did matter. It matteredhorribly. Because what you thought was not true. " She raised her eyesand met his gaze calmly. Trent, with a completely expressionless face, returned her look. 

"Since I began to know you, " he said, "I have ceased to think it. "

"Thank you, " said Mrs. Manderson; and blushed suddenly and deeply. Then, playing with a glove, she added: "But I want you to know what _was_true. "

"I did not know if I should ever see you again, " she went on in a lowervoice, "but I felt that if I did I must speak to you about this. Ithought it would not be hard to do so, because you seemed to me anunderstanding person, and besides, a woman who has been married isn'texpected to have the same sort of difficulty as a young girl in speakingabout such things when it is necessary. And then we did meet again, andI discovered that it was very difficult indeed. You made it difficult. "

"How?" he asked quietly. 

"I don't know, " said the lady. "But yes--I do know. It was just becauseyou treated me exactly as if you had never thought or imagined anythingof that sort about me. I had always supposed that if I saw you again youwould turn on me that hard, horrible sort of look you had when you askedme that last question--do you remember?--at White Gables. Instead ofthat you were just like any other acquaintance. You were just"--shehesitated and spread her hands--"nice. You know. After that first timeat the opera when I spoke to you I went home positively wondering if youhad really recognized me. I mean, I thought you might have recognized myface without remembering who it was. "

A short laugh broke from Trent in spite of himself, but he said nothing. 

She smiled deprecatingly. "Well, I couldn't remember if you had spokenmy name; and I thought it might be so. But the next time, at theWallaces', you did speak it, so I knew; and a dozen times during thosefew days I almost brought myself to tell you, but never quite. I beganto feel that you wouldn't let me, that you would slip away from thesubject if I approached it. Wasn't I right? Tell me, please. " He nodded. "But why?" He remained silent. 

"Well, " she said, "I will finish what I had to say, and then you willtell me, I hope, why you had to make it so hard. When I began tounderstand that you wouldn't let me talk of the matter to you, it mademe more determined than ever. I suppose you didn't realize that I wouldinsist on speaking even if you were quite discouraging. I dare say Icouldn't have done it if I had been guilty, as you thought. You walkedinto my parlor to-day, never thinking I should dare. Well, now you see. "

Mrs. Manderson had lost all her air of hesitancy. She had, as she waswont to say, talked herself enthusiastic, and in the ardor of herpurpose to annihilate the misunderstanding that had troubled her so longshe felt herself mistress of the situation. 

"I am going to tell you the story of the mistake you made, " shecontinued, as Trent, his hands clasped between his knees, still lookedat her enigmatically. "You will have to believe it, Mr. Trent; it is soutterly true to life, with its confusions and hidden things andcross-purposes and perfectly natural mistakes that nobody thinks twiceabout taking for facts. Please understand that I don't blame you in theleast, and never did, for jumping to the conclusion you did. You knewthat I had no love for my husband, and you knew what that so oftenmeans. You knew before I told you, I expect, that he had taken up aninjured attitude towards me; and I was silly enough to try and explainit away. I gave you the explanation of it that I had given myself atfirst, before I realized the wretched truth; I told you he wasdisappointed in me because I couldn't take a brilliant lead in society. Well, that was true. He was so. But I could see you weren't convinced. You had guessed what it took me much longer to see, because I knew howirrational it was. Yes; my husband was jealous of John Marlowe; you haddivined that. 

"Then I behaved like a fool when you let me see you had divined it; itwas such a blow, you understand, when I had supposed all the humiliationand strain was at an end, and that his delusion had died with him. Youpractically asked me if my husband's secretary was not my lover, Mr. Trent--I _have_ to say it, because I want you to understand why I brokedown and made a scene. You took that for a confession; you thought I wasguilty of that, and I think you even thought I might be a party to thecrime, that I had consented. .. . That did hurt me; but perhaps youcouldn't have thought anything else--I don't know. "

Trent, who had not hitherto taken his eyes from her face, hung his headat the words. He did not raise it again as she continued. "But really itwas simple shock and distress that made me give way, and the memory ofall the misery that mad suspicion had meant to me. And when I pulledmyself together again you had gone. "

She rose and went to an escritoire beside the window, unlocked a drawer, and drew out a long, sealed envelop. 

"This is the manuscript you left with me, " she said. "I have read itthrough again and again. I have always wondered, as everybody does, atyour cleverness in things of this kind. " A faintly mischievous smileflashed upon her face and was gone. "I thought it was splendid, Mr. Trent--I almost forgot that the story was my own, I was so interested. And I want to say now, while I have this in my hand, how much I thankyou for your generous, chivalrous act in sacrificing this triumph ofyours rather than put a woman's reputation in peril. If all had been asyou supposed, the facts must have come out when the police took up thecase you put in their hands. Believe me, I understood just what you haddone, and I never ceased to be grateful even when I felt most crushed byyour suspicion. "

As she spoke her thanks her voice shook a little, and her eyes werebright. Trent perceived nothing of this. His head was still bent. He didnot seem to hear. She put the envelop into his hand as it lay open, palmupwards, on his knee. There was a touch of gentleness about the actwhich made him look up. 

"Can you--" he began slowly. 

She raised her hand as she stood before him. "No, Mr. Trent, let mefinish before you say anything. It is such an unspeakable relief to meto have broken the ice at last, and I want to end the story while I amstill feeling the triumph of beginning it. " She sank down into the sofafrom which she had first risen. "I am telling you a thing that nobodyelse knows. Everybody knew, I suppose, that something had come betweenus, though I did everything in my power to hide it. But I don't thinkany one in the world ever guessed what my husband's notion was. Peoplewho know me don't think that sort of thing about me, I believe. And hisfancy was so ridiculously opposed to the facts. I will tell you what thesituation was. Mr. Marlowe and I had been friendly enough since he cameto us. For all his cleverness--my husband said he had a keener brainthan any man he knew--I looked upon him as practically a boy. You know Iam a little older than he is, and he had a sort of amiable lack ofambition that made me feel it the more. One day my husband asked me whatI thought was the best thing about Marlowe, and not thinking much aboutit I said, 'His manners. ' He surprised me very much by looking black atthat, and after a silence he said, 'Yes, Marlowe is a gentleman, that'sso'--not looking at me. 

"Nothing was ever said about that again until about a year ago, when Ifound that Mr. Marlowe had done what I always expected and hoped hewould do--fallen desperately in love with an American girl. But to mydisgust he had picked out the most worthless girl, I do believe, of allthose whom we used to meet. She was the daughter of wealthy parents, andshe did as she liked with them; very beautiful, well-educated, very goodat games--what they call a woman-athlete--and caring for nothing onearth but her own amusement. She was one of the most unprincipled flirtsI ever knew, and quite the cleverest. Everyone knew it, and Mr. Marlowemust have heard it; but she made a complete fool of him, brain andall. .. . I don't know how she managed it, but I can imagine. .. . She likedhim, of course; but it was quite plain to me that she was playing withhim. The whole affair was so idiotic, I became perfectly furious. Oneday I asked him to row me in a boat on the lake--all this happened atour house by Lake George. We had never been alone together for anylength of time before. In the boat I talked to him. I was very kindabout it, I think, and he took it admirably, but he didn't believe me abit. He had the impudence to tell me that I misunderstood Alice'snature. When I hinted at his prospects--I knew he had scarcely anythingof his own--he said that if she loved him he could make himself aposition in the world. I dare say that was true, with his abilities andhis friends; he is rather well-connected, you know, as well as popular. But his enlightenment came very soon after that. 

"My husband helped me out of the boat when we came back. He joked withMr. Marlowe about something, I remember; for through all that followedhe never once changed in his manner to him, and that was one reason whyI took so long to realize what he thought about him and myself. But tome he was reserved and silent that evening--not angry. He was alwaysperfectly cold and expressionless to me after he took this idea into hishead. After dinner he only spoke to me once. Mr. Marlowe was telling himabout some horse he had bought for the farm in Kentucky, and my husbandlooked at me and said, 'Marlowe may be a gentleman, but he seldom quitsloser in a horse trade. ' I was surprised at that, but at that time--andeven on the next occasion when he found us together--I didn't understandwhat was in his mind. That next time was the morning when Mr. Marlowereceived a sweet little note from the girl asking for hiscongratulations on her engagement. It was in our New York house. Helooked so wretched at breakfast that I thought he was ill, andafterwards I went to the room where he worked, and asked what was thematter. He didn't say anything, but just handed me the note, and turnedaway to the window. I was very glad that was all over, but terriblysorry for him too, of course. I don't remember what I said, but Iremember putting my hand on his arm as he stood there staring out on thegarden; and just then my husband appeared at the open door with somepapers. He just glanced at us, and then turned and walked quietly backto his study. I thought he might have heard what I was saying to comfortMr. Marlowe, and that it was rather nice of him to slip away. Mr. Marlowe neither saw nor heard him. My husband left the house thatmorning for the West while I was out. Even then I did not understand. Heused often to go off suddenly like that, if some business project calledhim. 

"It was not until he returned a week later that I grasped the situation. He was looking white and strange, and as soon as he saw me he asked mewhere Mr. Marlowe was. Somehow the tone of his question told meeverything in a flash. 

"I almost gasped. I was wild with indignation. You know, Mr. Trent, Idon't think I should have minded at all if any one had thought mecapable of openly breaking with my husband and leaving him for somebodyelse. I dare say I might have done that. But that coarse suspicion . .. Aman whom he trusted . .. And the notion of concealment. It made me seescarlet. Every shred of pride in me was strung up till I quivered, and Iswore to myself on the spot that I would never show by any word or signthat I was conscious of his having such a thought about me. I wouldbehave exactly as I always had behaved, I determined--and that I did, upto the very last. Though I knew that a wall had been made between us nowthat could never be broken down--even if he asked my pardon and obtainedit--I never once closed the door between our rooms at night. 

"And so it went on. I never could go through such a time again. Myhusband showed silent and cold politeness to me always when we werealone--and that was only when it was unavoidable. He never once alludedto what was in his mind; but I felt it, and he knew that I felt it. Bothof us were stubborn in our different attitudes. To Mr. Marlowe he wasmore friendly, if anything, than before--heaven only knows why. Ifancied he was planning some sort of revenge; but that was only a fancy. Certainly Mr. Marlowe never knew what was suspected of him. He and Iremained good friends, though we never spoke of anything intimate afterthat disappointment of his; but I made a point of seeing no less of himthan I had always done. Then we came over to England and to WhiteGables, and after that followed--my husband's dreadful end. "

She threw out her right hand in a gesture of finality. "You know aboutthe rest--so much more than any other man, " she added; and glanced up athim with a quaint expression. 

Trent wondered at that look. But the wonder was only a passing shadow onhis thought. Inwardly his whole being was possessed by thankfulness. Allthe vivacity had returned to his face. Long before Mrs. Manderson endedher story he had recognized the certainty of its truth, as from thefirst days of their renewed acquaintance he had doubted the story thathis imagination had built up at White Gables, upon foundations thatseemed so good to him. 

He said: "I don't know how to begin the apologies I have to make. Thereare no words to tell you how ashamed and disgraced I feel when I realizewhat a crude, cock-sure blundering at a conclusion my suspicion was. Yes, I suspected--you! I had almost forgotten that I was ever such afool. Almost; not quite. Sometimes when I have been alone I haveremembered that folly, and poured contempt on it. I have tried toimagine what the facts were. I have tried to excuse myself. "

She interrupted him quickly. "What nonsense. Do be sensible, Mr. Trent. You had only seen me on two occasions in your life before you came to mewith your solution of the mystery. " Again the quaint expression came andwas gone. "If you talk of folly, it really is folly for a man like youto pretend to a woman like me that I had innocence written all over mein large letters--so large that you couldn't believe very strongevidence against me after seeing me twice. " Mrs. Manderson laughed, andher laugh carried him away with it. He knew well by this time thatsudden rush of cascading notes of mirth, the perfect expression ofenjoyment; he had many times tried to amuse her merely for his delightin the sound of it. "And now it's all over, and you know--and we'llnever speak of it any more. "

"I hope not, " Trent said in sincere relief. "If you're resolved to be sokind as this about it, I am not high-principled enough to insist on yourblasting me with your lightnings. And now, Mrs. Manderson, I had bettergo. Changing the subject after this would be like playingpuss-in-the-corner after an earthquake. " He rose to his feet. 

"You are right, " she said. "But no! Wait. There is another thing--partof the same subject; and we ought to pick up all the pieces now while weare about it. Please sit down. " She took the envelop containing Trent'smanuscript despatch from the table where he had laid it. "I want tospeak about this. "

His brows bent, and he looked at her questioningly. "So do I, if youdo, " he said slowly. "I want very much to know one thing. "

"Tell me. "

"Since my reason for suppressing that information was all a fantasy, whydid you never make any use of it? When I began to realize that I hadbeen wrong about you, I explained your silence to myself by saying thatyou could not bring yourself to do a thing that would put a rope round aman's neck, whatever he might have done. I can quite understand thatfeeling. Was that what it was? Another possibility I thought of was thatyou knew of something that was by way of justifying or excusingMarlowe's act. Or I thought you might have a simple horror, quite apartfrom humanitarian scruples, of appearing publicly in connection with amurder trial. Many important witnesses in such cases have to bepractically forced into giving their evidence. They feel there isdefilement even in the shadow of the scaffold. "

Mrs. Manderson tapped her lips with the envelop without quite concealinga smile. "You didn't think of another possibility, I suppose, Mr. Trent, " she said. 

"No. " He looked puzzled. 

"I mean the possibility of your having been wrong about Mr. Marlowe aswell as about me. No, no; you needn't tell me that the chain of evidenceis complete. I know it is. But evidence of what? Of Mr. Marlowe havingimpersonated my husband that night, and having escaped by way of mywindow, and built up an alibi. I have read your despatch again andagain, Mr. Trent, and I don't see that those things can be doubted. "

Trent gazed at her with narrowed eyes. He said nothing to fill the briefpause that followed. Mrs. Manderson smoothed her skirt with apreoccupied air, as one collecting her ideas. 

"I did not make any use of the facts found out by you, " she slowly saidat last, "because it seemed to me very likely that they would be fatalto Mr. Marlowe. "

"I agree with you, " Trent remarked in a colorless tone. 

"And, " pursued Mrs. Manderson, looking up at him with a mildreasonableness in her eyes, "as I knew that he was innocent I was notgoing to expose him to that risk. "

There was another little pause. Trent rubbed his chin, with anaffectation of turning over the idea. Inwardly he was telling himself, somewhat feebly, that this was very right and proper; that it was quitefeminine, and that he liked her to be feminine. It was permitted toher--more than permitted--to set her loyal belief in the character of afriend above the clearest demonstrations of the intellect. Nevertheless, it chafed him. He would have had her declaration of faith a little lesspositive in form. It was too irrational to say she "knew. " In fact (heput it to himself bluntly) it was quite unlike her. If to beunreasonable when reason led to the unpleasant was a specially femininetrait, and if Mrs. Manderson had it, she was accustomed to wrap it upbetter than any woman he had known. 

"You suggest, " he said at length, "that Marlowe constructed an alibi forhimself, by means which only a desperate man would have attempted, toclear himself of a crime he did not commit. Did he tell you he wasinnocent?"

She uttered a little laugh of impatience. "So you think he has beentalking me round! No, that is not so. I am merely sure he did not do it. Ah! I see you think that absurd. But see how unreasonable you are, Mr. Trent! Just now you were explaining to me quite sincerely that it wasfoolishness in you to have had a certain suspicion of me. " Trent startedin his chair. She glanced at him, and went on: "Now I know a great dealmore about Mr. Marlowe than you know about me even now. I saw himconstantly for several years. I don't pretend to know all about him; butI do know that he is incapable of a crime of bloodshed. The idea of hisplanning a murder is as unthinkable to me as the idea of your picking apoor woman's pocket, Mr. Trent. I can imagine you killing a man, youknow . .. If the man deserved it and had an equal chance of killing you. I could kill a person myself in some circumstances. But Mr. Marlowe wasincapable of doing it. I don't care what the provocation might be. Hehad a temper that nothing could shake, and he looked upon human naturewith a sort of cold magnanimity that would find excuses for absolutelyanything. It wasn't a pose; you could see it was a part of him. He neverput it forward, but it was there always. It was quite irritating attimes. .. . He really loathed and hated physical violence. He was a verystrange man in some ways, Mr. Trent. He gave one a feeling that he mightdo unexpected things--do you know that feeling one has about somepeople?. .. What part he really played in the events of that night I havenever been able to guess. But nobody who knew anything about him couldpossibly believe in his deliberately taking a man's life. " Again themovement of her head expressed finality, and she leaned back in thesofa, calmly regarding him. 

"Then, " said Trent, who had followed this with earnest attention, "weare forced back on two other possibilities, which I had not thoughtworth much consideration until this moment. Accepting what you say, hemight still conceivably have killed in self-defense; or he might havedone so by accident. "

The lady nodded. "Of course I thought of those two explanations when Iread your manuscript. "

"And I suppose you felt, as I did myself, that in either of those casesthe natural thing, and obviously the safest thing, for him to do was tomake a public statement of the truth, instead of setting up a series ofdeceptions which would certainly stamp him as guilty in the eyes of thelaw, if anything went wrong with them. "

"Yes, " she said wearily, "I thought over all that until my head ached. And I thought somebody else might have done it, and that he was somehowscreening the guilty person. But that seemed wild. I could see no lightin the mystery, and after a while I simply let it alone. All I was clearabout was that Mr. Marlowe was not a murderer, and that if I told whatyou had found out, the judge and jury would probably think he was. Ipromised myself that I would speak to you about it if we should meetagain; and now I've kept my promise. "

Trent, his chin resting on his hand, was staring at the carpet. Theexcitement of the hunt for the truth was steadily rising in him. He hadnot in his own mind accepted Mrs. Manderson's account of Marlowe'scharacter as unquestionable. But she had spoken forcibly; he could by nomeans set it aside, and his theory was much shaken. 

"There is only one thing for it, " he said, looking up. "I must seeMarlowe. It worries me too much to have the thing left like this. I willget at the truth. Can you tell me, " he broke off, "how he behaved afterthe day I left White Gables?"

"I never saw him after that, " said Mrs. Manderson simply. "For some daysafter you went away I was ill, and didn't go out of my room. When I wasabout again he had left and was in London, settling things with thelawyers. He did not come down to the funeral. Immediately after that Iwent abroad. After some weeks a letter from him reached me, saying hehad concluded his business and given the solicitors all the assistancein his power. He thanked me very nicely for what he called all mykindness, and said good-by. There was nothing in it about his plans forthe future, and I thought it particularly strange that he said not aword about my husband's death. I didn't answer. Knowing what I knew, Icouldn't. In those days I shuddered whenever I thought of thatmasquerade in the night. Rather than face him, I was ready to go on inignorance of what had really happened. I never wanted to see or hear ofhim again. "

"Then you don't know what has become of him?"

"No: but I dare say Uncle Burton--Mr. Cupples, you know--could tell you. Some time ago he told me that he had met Mr. Marlowe in London, and hadsome talk with him. I changed the conversation. " She paused and smiledwith a trace of mischief. "I rather wonder what you supposed hadhappened to Mr. Marlowe, after you withdrew from the scene of the dramathat you had put together so much to your satisfaction. "

Trent flushed. "Do you really want to know?" he said. 

"I ask you, " she retorted quietly. 

"You ask me to humiliate myself again, Mrs. Manderson. Very well. I willtell you what I thought I should most likely find when I returned toLondon this year: that you had married Marlowe and gone to live abroad. "

She heard him with unmoved composure. "We certainly couldn't have livedvery comfortably in England on his money and mine, " she observedthoughtfully. "He had practically nothing then. "

He stared at her--"gaped, " she told him some time afterwards. At themoment she laughed with a little embarrassment. "Dear me, Mr. Trent!Have I said anything dreadful? You surely must know . .. I thoughteverybody understood by now . .. I'm sure I've had to explain it oftenenough . .. If I marry again I lose everything that my husband left me. "

The effect of this speech upon Trent was curious. For an instant hisface was flooded with the emotion of surprise. As this passed away hegradually drew himself together as he sat into a tense attitude. Helooked, she thought as she saw his knuckles grow white on the arms ofthe chair, like a man prepared for pain under the hand of the surgeon. But all he said, in a voice lower than his usual tone, was: "I had noidea of it. "

"It is so, " she said calmly, trifling with a ring on her finger. "Really, Mr. Trent, it is not such a very unusual thing. .. . I think I amglad of it. For one thing, it has secured me--at least since it becamegenerally known--from a good many attentions of a kind that a woman inmy position has to put up with as a rule. "

"No doubt, " he said gravely. "And . .. The other kind?"

She looked at him questioningly. "Ah!" she laughed. "The other kindtrouble me even less. I have not yet met a man silly enough to want tomarry a widow with a selfish disposition, and luxurious habits andtastes, and nothing but the little my father left me. "

She shook her head slowly, and something in the gesture shattered thelast remnants of Trent's self-possession. "Haven't you, by God!" heexclaimed, rising with a violent movement and advancing a step towardsher. "Then I am going to show you that human passion is not alwaysstifled by the smell of money. I am going to end the business--mybusiness. I am going to tell you what I dare say scores of better menhave wanted to tell you, but couldn't summon up what I have summonedup--the infernal cheek to do it. They were afraid of making fools ofthemselves. I am not. You have accustomed me to the feeling thisafternoon. " He laughed aloud in his rush of words, and spread out hishands. "Look at me! It is the sight of the century! It is the one whosays he loves you, and would ask you to give up very great wealth tostand at his side. "

She was hiding her face in her hands. He heard her say brokenly:"Please . .. Don't speak in that way. "

He answered: "It will make a great difference to me if you will allow meto say all I have to say before I leave you. Perhaps it is in bad taste, but I will risk that--I want to relieve my soul, it needs openconfession. This is the truth. You have troubled me ever since the firsttime I saw you--and you did not know it--as you sat under the edge ofthe cliff at Marlstone and held out your arms to the sea. It was onlyyour beauty that filled my mind then. As I passed by you it seemed as ifall the life in the place were crying out a song about you in the windand the sunshine. And the song stayed in my ears; but even your beautywould be no more than an empty memory to me by now if that had been all. It was when I led you from the hotel there to your house, with your handon my arm, that--what was it that happened? I only knew that yourstronger magic had struck home, and that I never should forget that day, whatever the love of my life should be. Till that day I had admired as Ishould admire the loveliness of a still lake; but that day I felt thespell of the divinity of the lake. And next morning the waters weretroubled, and she rose--the morning when I came to you with myquestions, tired out with doubts that were as bitter as pain, and when Isaw you without your pale, sweet mask of composure--when I saw you movedand glowing, with your eyes and your hands alive, and when you made meunderstand that for such a creature as you there had been emptiness andthe mere waste of yourself for so long. Madness rose in me then, and myspirit was clamoring to say what I say at last now--that life wouldnever seem a full thing again because you could not love me, that I wastaken forever in the nets of your black hair and by the incantation ofyour voice--"

"Oh, stop!" she cried, suddenly throwing back her head, her face flamingand her hands clutching the cushions beside her. She spoke fast anddisjointedly, her breath coming quick. "You shall not talk me intoforgetting common sense. What does all this mean? Oh! I do not recognizeyou at all--you seem another man. We are not children--have youforgotten that? You speak like a boy in love for the first time. It isfoolish, unreal--I know that if you do not. I will not hear it. What hashappened to you?" She was half sobbing. "How can these sentimentalitiescome from a man like you? Where is your self-restraint?"

"Gone!" exclaimed Trent with an abrupt laugh. "It has got right away! Iam going after it in a minute. " He looked gravely down into her eyes. "Idon't care so much now. I never could declare myself to you under thecloud of your great fortune. It was too great. There's nothingcreditable in that feeling, as I look at it; as a matter of simple fact, it was a form of cowardice--fear of what you would think, and verylikely say--fear of the world's comment too, I suppose. But the cloudbeing rolled away I have spoken, and I don't care so much. I can facethings with a quiet mind now that I have told you the truth in its ownterms. You may call it sentimentality or any other nickname you like. Itis quite true that it was not intended for a scientific statement. Sinceit annoys you, let it be extinguished. But please believe that it wasserious to me if it was comedy to you. I have said that I love you andhonor you and would hold you dearest of all the world. Now give me leaveto go. "

But she held out her hands to him. 

CHAPTER XIII

WRITING A LETTER

"If you insist, " Trent said, "I suppose you will have your way. But Ihad much rather write it when I am not with you. However, if I must, bring me a tablet whiter than a star, or hand of hymning angel. Don'tunderestimate the sacrifice I am making. I never felt less likecorrespondence in my life. "

She rewarded him. 

"What shall I say?" he inquired, his pen hovering over the paper. "ShallI compare him to a summer's day? What _shall_ I say?"

"Say what you want to say, " she suggested helpfully. 

He shook his head. "What I want to say--what I have been wanting for thepast twenty-four hours to say to every man, woman, and child I met--is'Mabel and I are betrothed, and joy is borne on burning wheels. ' Butthat wouldn't be a very good opening for a letter of strictly formal, not to say sinister character. I have got as far as 'Dear Mr. Marlowe. 'What comes next?"

"I am sending you a manuscript which I thought you might like to see, "she prompted as she came to his chair before the escritoire. "Somethingof that kind. Please try. I want to see what you write, and I want it togo to him at once. You see, I would be contented enough to leave thingsas they are; but you say you must get at the truth, and if you must, Iwant it to be as soon as possible. Do it now--you know you can if youwill--and I'll send it off the moment it is ready. Don't you ever feelthat?--the longing to get the worrying letter into the post and off yourhands, so that you can't recall it if you would, and it's no use fussingany more about it. "

"I will do as you wish, " he said, and turned to the paper, which hedated as from his hotel. Mrs. Manderson looked down at his bent headwith a gentle light in her eyes, and made as if to place a smoothinghand upon his rather untidy crop of hair. But she did not touch it. Going in silence to the piano, she began to play very softly. It was tenminutes before Trent spoke. 

"At last I am his faithfully. Do you want to see it?"

She ran across the twilight room, and turned on a reading lamp besidethe escritoire. Then, leaning on his shoulder, she read what follows:

 Dear Mr. Marlowe:

 You will perhaps remember that we met, under unhappy circumstances, in June of last year at Marlstone. 

 On that occasion it was my duty, as representing a newspaper, to make an independent investigation of the circumstances of the death of the late Sigsbee Manderson. I did so, and I arrived at certain conclusions. You may learn from the enclosed manuscript, which was originally written as a despatch for my newspaper, what those conclusions were. For reasons which it is not necessary to state I decided at the last moment not to make them public, or to communicate them to you, and they are known to only two persons beside myself. 

At this point Mrs. Manderson raised her eyes quickly from the letter. Her dark brows were drawn together. "Two persons?" she said with a noteof inquiry. 

"Your uncle is the other. I sought him out last night and told him thewhole story. Have you anything against it? I always felt uneasy atkeeping it from him as I did, because I had led him to expect I shouldtell him all I discovered, and my silence looked like mystery-making. Now that it is to be cleared up finally, and there is no question ofshielding you, I wanted him to know everything. He is a very shrewdadviser, too, in a way of his own; and I should like to have him with mewhen I see Marlowe. I have a feeling that two heads will be better thanone on my side of the interview. "

She sighed. "Yes, of course, uncle ought to know the truth. I hope thereis nobody else at all. " She pressed his hand. "I so much want all thathorror buried--buried deep. I am very happy now, dear, but I shall behappier still when you have satisfied that curious mind of yours andfound out everything, and stamped down the earth upon it all. " Shecontinued her reading. 

 Quite recently, however, (the letter went on) facts have come to my knowledge which have led me to change my decision. I do not mean that I shall publish what I discovered, but that I have determined to approach you and ask you for a private statement. If you have anything to say which would place the matter in another light, I can imagine no reason why you should withhold it. 

 I expect, then, to hear from you when and where I may call upon you; unless you would prefer the interview to take place at my hotel. In either case I desire that Mr. Cupples, whom you will remember, and who has read the enclosed document, should be present also. 

 Faithfully yours, PHILIP TRENT. 

"What a very stiff letter!" she said. "Now I am sure you couldn't havemade it any stiffer in your own rooms. "

Trent slipped the letter and enclosure into a long envelop. "This thingmustn't run any risk of going wrong. It would be best to send a specialmessenger with orders to deliver it into his own hands. If he's away itoughtn't to be left. "

She nodded. "I can arrange that. Wait here for a little. "

When Mrs. Manderson returned, he was hunting through the music-cabinet. She sank on the carpet beside him in a wave of dark brown skirts. "Tellme something, Philip, " she said. 

"If it is among the few things that I know. "

"When you saw uncle last night, did you tell him about--about us?"

"I did not, " he answered. "I remembered you had said nothing abouttelling any one. It is for you--isn't it?--to decide whether we take theworld into our confidence at once or later on. "

"Then will you tell him?" She looked down at her clasped hands. "I wish_you_ to tell him. Perhaps if you think you will guess why. There! thatis settled. " She lifted her eyes again to his, and for a time there wassilence between them. 

He leaned back at length in the deep chair. "What a world!" he said. "Mabel, will you play something on the piano that expresses mere joy, the genuine article, nothing feverish or like thorns under a pot, butjoy that has decided in favor of the universe. It's a mood that can'tlast altogether, so we had better get all we can out of it. "

She went to the instrument and struck a few chords while she thought. Then she began to work with all her soul at the theme in the lastmovement of the Ninth Symphony which is like the sound of the opening ofthe gates of Paradise. 

CHAPTER XIV

DOUBLE CUNNING

An old oaken desk with a deep body stood by the window in a room thatoverlooked St. James's Park from a height. The room was large, furnishedand decorated in the mode by someone who had brought taste to the work;but the hand of the bachelor lay heavy upon it. John Marlowe unlockedthe desk and drew a long, stout envelop from the back of the well. 

"I understand, " he said to Mr. Cupples, "that you have read this. "

"I read it for the first time two days ago, " replied Mr. Cupples, who, seated on a sofa, was peering about the room with a benignant face. "Wehave discussed it fully. "

Marlowe turned to Trent. "There is your manuscript, " he said, laying theenvelop on the table. "I have gone over it three times. I do not believethere is another man who could have got at as much of the truth as youhave set down there. "

Trent ignored the compliment. He sat by the table gazing stonily at thefire, his long legs twisted beneath his chair. "You mean, of course, " hesaid, drawing the envelop towards him, "that there is more of the truthto be disclosed now. We are ready to hear you as soon as you like. Iexpect it will be a long story, and the longer the better, so far as Iam concerned; I want to understand thoroughly. What we should both like, I think, is some preliminary account of Manderson and your relationswith him. It seemed to me from the first that the character of the deadman must be somehow an element in the business. "

"You were right, " Marlowe answered grimly. He crossed the room andseated himself on a corner of the tall cushion-topped fender. "I willbegin as you suggest. "

"I ought to tell you beforehand, " said Trent, looking him in the eyes, "that although I am here to listen to you, I have not as yet any reasonto doubt the conclusions I have stated here. " He tapped the envelop. "Itis a defense that you will be putting forward--you understand that?"

"Perfectly. " Marlowe was cool and in complete possession of himself, aman different indeed from the worn-out, nervous being Trent rememberedat Marlstone a year and a half ago. His tall, lithe figure was held withthe perfection of muscular tone. His brow was candid, his blue eyes wereclear, though they still had, as he paused collecting his ideas, thelook that had troubled Trent at their first meeting. Only the lines ofhis mouth showed that he knew himself in a position of difficulty, andmeant to face it. 

"Sigsbee Manderson was not a man of normal mind, " Marlowe began in hisquiet voice. "Most of the very rich men I met with in America had becomeso by virtue of abnormal greed, or abnormal industry, or abnormalpersonal force, or abnormal luck. None of them had remarkableintellects. Manderson delighted too in heaping up wealth; he workedincessantly at it; he was a man of dominant will; he had quite his shareof luck; but what made him singular was his brain-power. In his owncountry they would perhaps tell you that it was his ruthlessness inpursuit of his aims that was his most striking characteristic; but thereare hundreds of them who would have carried out his plans with just aslittle consideration for others if they could have formed the plans. 

"I used to think that his strain of Indian blood, remote as it was, might have something to do with the cunning and pitilessness of the man. Strangely enough, the existence of that strain was unknown to anyone buthimself and me. It was when he asked me to apply my taste forgenealogical work to his own obscure family history that I made thediscovery that he had in him a share of the blood of the Iroquois chiefMontour and his French wife, a terrible woman who ruled the savagepolitics of the tribes of the Wilderness two hundred years ago. TheMandersons were active in the fur trade on the Pennsylvania border inthose days, and more than one of them married Indian women. Other Indianblood than Montour's may have descended to Manderson, for all I can say, through previous and subsequent unions; some of the wives' antecedentswere quite untraceable, and there were so many generations of pioneeringbefore the whole country was brought under civilization. Manderson wasthunderstruck at what I told him, and was anxious to conceal it fromevery soul. Of course I never gave it away while he lived, and I don'tthink he supposed I would; but I have thought since that his mind took aturn against me from that time onward. It happened about a year beforehis death. "

"Had Manderson, " asked Mr. Cupples, so unexpectedly that the otherstarted, "any definable religious attitude?"

Marlowe considered a moment. "None that I ever heard of, " he said. "Worship and prayer were quite unknown to him, so far as I could see, and I never heard him mention religion. I should doubt if he had anyreal sense of God at all, or if he was capable of knowing God throughthe emotions. But I understood that as a child he had had a religiousup-bringing with a strong moral side to it. His private life was, in theusual limited sense, blameless. He was almost ascetic in his habits, except as to smoking. I lived with him five years without ever knowinghim to tell a direct verbal falsehood, constantly as he used to practisedeceit in other forms. Can you understand the soul of a man who neverhesitated to take steps that would have the effect of hoodwinkingpeople, who would use every trick of the markets to mislead, and who wasat the same time scrupulous never to utter a direct lie on the mostinsignificant matter? Manderson was like that, and he was not the onlyone. I suppose you might compare the state of mind to that of a soldierwho is personally a truthful man, but who will stick at nothing todeceive the enemy. The rules of the game allow it; and the same may besaid of business as many business men regard it. Only with them it isalways war-time. "

"It is a sad world, " observed Mr. Cupples. 

"As you say, " Marlowe agreed. "Now I was saying that one could alwaystake Manderson's word if he gave it in a definite form. The first time Iever heard him utter a downright lie was on the night he died; andhearing it, I believe, saved me from being hanged as his murderer. "

Marlowe stared at the light above his head, and Trent moved impatientlyin his chair. "Before we come to that, " he said, "will you tell usexactly on what footing you were with Manderson during the years youwere with him. "

"We were on very good terms from beginning to end, " answered Marlowe. "Nothing like friendship--he was not a man for making friends--but thebest of terms as between a trusted employee and his chief. I went to himas private secretary just after getting my degree at Oxford. For a longtime I liked the position greatly. When one is attached to an activeAmerican plutocrat in the prime of life one need not have many dullmoments. Besides, it made me independent. My father had some seriousbusiness reverses about that time, and I was glad to be able to dowithout an allowance from him. At the end of the first year Mandersondoubled my salary. 'It's big money, ' he said, 'but I guess I don'tlose. '

"You see, by that time I was doing a great deal more than accompany himon horseback in the morning and play chess in the evening, which wasmainly what he had required. I was attending to his houses, his farm inOhio, his shooting in Maine, his horses, his cars and his yacht. I hadbecome a walking railway-guide and an expert cigar-buyer. I was alwayslearning something. 

"Well, now you understand what my position was in regard to Mandersonduring the last few years of my connection with him. It was a happy lifefor me on the whole. I was busy, my work was varied and interesting. Ihad time to amuse myself, too, and money to spend. At one time I made afool of myself about a girl, and that was not a happy time; but ittaught me to understand the great goodness of Mrs. Manderson. " Marloweinclined his head to Mr. Cupples as he said this. "She may choose totell you about it. As for her husband, he had never varied in hisattitude towards me, in spite of the change that came over him in thelast months of his life, as you know. He treated me well and generouslyin his unsympathetic way, and I never had a feeling that he was lessthan satisfied with his bargain--that was the sort of footing we livedupon. And it was that continuance of his attitude right up to the endthat made the revelation so shocking when I was suddenly shown, on thenight on which he met his end, the depth of crazy hatred of myself thatwas in Manderson's soul. "

The eyes of Trent and Mr. Cupples met for an instant. 

"You never suspected that he hated you before that time?" asked Trent, and Mr. Cupples asked at the same moment: "To what did you attributeit?"

"I never guessed until that night, " answered Marlowe, "that he had thesmallest ill-feeling toward me. How long it had existed I do not know. Icannot imagine why it was there. I was forced to think, when Iconsidered the thing in those awful days after his death, that it was acase of a madman's delusion, that he believed me to be plotting againsthim, as they so often do. Some such insane conviction must have been atthe root of it. But who can sound the abysses of a lunatic's fancy? Canyou imagine the state of mind in which a man dooms himself to death withthe object of delivering someone he hates to the hangman?"

Mr. Cupples moved sharply in his chair. "You say Manderson wasresponsible for his own death?" he asked. Trent glanced at him with aneye of impatience, and resumed his intent watch upon the face ofMarlowe. In the relief of speech it was now less pale and drawn. 

"I do say so, " Marlowe answered concisely, and looked his questioner inthe face. Mr. Cupples nodded. 

"Before we proceed to the elucidation of your statement, " observed theold gentleman, in the tone of one discussing a point of abstractscience, "it may be remarked that the state of mind which you attributeto Manderson--"

"Suppose we have the story first, " Trent interrupted, gently laying ahand on Mr. Cupples' arm. "You were telling us, " he went on, turning toMarlowe, "how things stood between you and Manderson. Now will you tellus the facts of what happened that night?"

Marlowe flushed at the barely perceptible emphasis which Trent laid uponthe word "facts. " He drew himself up. 

"Bunner and myself dined with Mr. And Mrs. Manderson that Sundayevening, " he began, speaking carefully. "It was just like other dinnersat which the four of us had been together. Manderson was taciturn andgloomy, as we had latterly been accustomed to see him. We others kept aconversation going. We rose from the table, I suppose, about nine. Mrs. Manderson went to the drawing-room, and Bunner went up to the hotel tosee an acquaintance. Manderson asked me to come into the orchard behindthe house, saying he wished to have a talk. We paced up and down thepathway there, out of earshot from the house, and Manderson, as hesmoked his cigar, spoke to me in his cool, deliberate way. He had neverseemed more sane, or more well-disposed to me. 

"He said he wanted me to do him an important service. There was a bigthing on. It was a secret affair. Bunner knew nothing of it, and theless I knew the better. He wanted me to do exactly as he directed, andnot bother my head about reasons. 

"This, I may say, was quite characteristic of Manderson's method ofgoing to work. If at times he required a man to be a mere tool in hishand, he would tell him so. He had used me in the same kind of way adozen times. I assured him he could rely on me, and said I was ready. 'Right now?' he asked. I said, of course I was. 

"He nodded, and said--I tell you his words as well as I can recollectthem--'Well, attend to this. There is a man in England now who is inthis thing with me. He was to have left to-morrow for Paris by the noonboat from Southampton to Havre. His name is George Harris--at leastthat's the name he is going by. Do you remember that name?' 'Yes, ' Isaid, 'when I went up to London a week ago you asked me to book a cabinin that name on the boat that goes to-morrow. I gave you the ticket. ''Here it is, ' he said, producing it from his pocket. 

"'Now, ' Manderson said to me, poking his cigar-butt at me with eachsentence in a way he used to have, 'George Harris cannot leave Englandto-morrow. I find I shall want him where he is. And I want Bunner where_he_ is. But somebody has got to go by that boat and take certain papersto Paris. Or else my plan is going to fall to pieces. Will you go?' Isaid, 'Certainly. I am here to obey orders. '

"He bit his cigar, and said: 'That's all right: but these are not justordinary orders;--not the kind of thing one can ask of a man in theordinary way of his duty to an employer. The point is this. The deal Iam busy with is one in which neither myself nor any one known to beconnected with me must appear as yet. That is vital. But these people Iam up against know your face as well as they know mine. If my secretaryis known in certain quarters to have crossed to Paris at this time andto have interviewed certain people--and that would be known as soon asit happened--then the game is up. ' He threw away his cigar-end andlooked at me questioningly. 

"I didn't like it much, but I liked failing Manderson at a pinch stillless. I spoke lightly. I said I supposed I should have to conceal myidentity, and I would do my best. I told him I used to be pretty good atmake-up. 

"He nodded in approval. He said: 'That's good. I judged you would notlet me down. ' Then he gave me my instructions--'You take the car rightnow and start for Southampton--there's no train that will fit in. You'llbe driving all night. Barring accidents, you ought to get there by sixin the morning. But whenever you arrive, drive straight to the GrandHotel and ask for George Harris. If he's there, tell him you are to goover instead of him, and ask him to telephone me here. It is veryimportant he should know that at the earliest moment possible. But if heisn't there, that means he has got the instructions I wired to-day, andhasn't gone to Southampton. In that case you don't want to trouble abouthim any more, but just wait for the boat. You can leave the car at agarage under a fancy name--mine must not be given. See about changingyour appearance--I don't care how, so you do it well. Travel by the boatas George Harris. Let on to be anything you like, but be careful, anddon't talk much to anybody. When you arrive, take a room at the HotelSt. Petersburg. You will receive a note or message there, addressed toGeorge Harris, telling you where to take the wallet I shall give you. The wallet is locked, and you want to take good care of it. Have you gotall that clear?'

"I repeated the instructions. I asked if I should return from Parisafter handing over the wallet. 'As soon as you like, ' he said. 'And mindthis--whatever happens, don't communicate with me at any stage of thejourney. If you don't get the message in Paris at once, just wait untilyou do--days, if necessary. But not a line of any sort to me. Understand? Now get ready as quick as you can. I'll go with you in thecar a little way. Hurry!'

"That is, so far as I can remember, the exact substance of whatManderson said to me that night. I went to my room, changed into dayclothes, and hastily threw a few necessaries into a kit-bag. My mind wasin a whirl, not so much at the nature of the business as at thesuddenness of it. I think I remember telling you the last time wemet"--he turned to Trent--"that Manderson had rather a fondness fordoing things in a story-book style. Other things being equal, hedelighted in a bit of mystification and melodrama, and I told myselfthat this was Manderson all over. I hurried downstairs with my bag andrejoined him in the library. He handed me a stout leather letter-case, about eight inches by six, fastened with a strap with a lock on it. Icould just squeeze it into my side-pocket. Then I went to get out thecar from the garage behind the house. 

"As I was bringing it round to the front a disconcerting thought struckme. I remembered that I had only a few shillings in my pocket. 

"For some time past I had been keeping myself very short of cash, andfor this reason--which I tell you because it is a vital point, as youwill see in a minute. I was living temporarily on borrowed money. I hadalways been careless about money while I was with Manderson, and being agregarious animal I had made many friends, most of them belonging to aNew York set that had little to do but get rid of the large incomesgiven them by their parents. Still, I was very well paid, and I was toobusy even to attempt to go very far with them in that amusingoccupation. I was still well on the right side of the ledger until Ibegan, merely out of curiosity, to play at speculation. It's a very oldstory--particularly in Wall Street. I thought it was easy; I was luckyat first; I would always be prudent--and so on. Then came the day when Iwent out of my depth. In one week I was separated from my roll, asBunner expressed it when I told him; and I owed money, too. I had had mylesson. Now in this pass I went to Manderson and told him what I haddone and how I stood. He heard me with a very grim smile, and then, withthe nearest approach to sympathy I had ever found in him, he advanced mea sum on account of my salary that would clear me. 'Don't play themarkets any more, ' was all he said. 

"Now on that Sunday night Manderson knew that I was practically withoutany money in the world. He knew that Bunner knew it, too. He may haveknown that I had even borrowed a little more from Bunner forpocket-money until my next check was due, which, owing to myanticipation of my salary, would not have been a large one. Bear thisknowledge of Manderson's in mind. 

"As soon as I had brought the car round I went into the library andstated the difficulty to Manderson. 

"What followed gave me, slight as it was, my first impression ofsomething odd being afoot. As soon as I mentioned the word 'expenses'his hand went mechanically to his left hip-pocket, where he always kepta little case containing notes to the value of about a hundred pounds inour money. This was such a rooted habit in him that I was astonished tosee him check the movement suddenly. Then, to my greater amazement, heswore viciously under his breath. I had never heard him do this before;but Bunner had told me that of late he had often shown irritation inthis way when they were alone. 'Has he mislaid his note-case?' was thequestion that flashed through my mind. But it seemed to me that it couldnot affect his plan at all, and I will tell you why. The week before, when I had gone up to London to carry out various commissions, includingthe booking of a berth for Mr. George Harris, I had drawn a thousandpounds for Manderson from his bankers; and all, at his request, in notesof small amounts. I did not know what this unusually large sum in cashwas for; but I did know that the packets of notes were in his lockeddesk in the library, or had been earlier in the day, when I had seen himfingering them as he sat at the desk. 

"But instead of turning to the desk, Manderson stood looking at me. There was fury in his face, and it was a strange sight to see himgradually master it until his eyes grew cold again. 'Wait in the car, 'he said slowly. 'I will get some money. ' We both went out, and as I wasgetting into my overcoat in the hall I saw him enter the drawing-room, which, you remember, was on the other side of the entrance hall. 

"I stepped out onto the lawn before the house and smoked a cigarette, pacing up and down. I was asking myself again and again where thatthousand pounds was; whether it was in the drawing-room; and if so, why. Presently, as I passed one of the drawing-room windows, I noticed Mrs. Manderson's shadow on the thin silk curtain. She was standing at herescritoire. The window was open, and as I passed I heard her say: 'Ihave not quite thirty pounds here. Will that be enough?' I did not hearthe answer, but next moment Manderson's shadow was mingled with hers, and I heard the chink of money. Then, as he stood by the window, and asI was moving away, these words of his came to my ears--and these atleast I can repeat exactly, for astonishment stamped them on mymemory--'I'm going out now. Marlowe has persuaded me to go for amoonlight run in the car. He is very urgent about it. He says it willhelp me to sleep, and I guess he is right. '

"I have told you that in the course of four years I had never once heardManderson utter a direct lie about anything great or small. I believedthat I understood the man's queer skin-deep morality, and I could havesworn that if he was firmly pressed with a question that could not beevaded he would either refuse to answer or tell the truth. But what hadI just heard? No answer to any question. A voluntary statement, precisein terms, that was utterly false. The unimaginable had happened. It wasalmost as if one's dearest friend, in a moment of closest sympathy, hadsuddenly struck one in the face. The blood rushed to my head, and Istood still on the grass. I stood there until I heard his step at thefront-door, and then I pulled myself together and stepped quickly to thecar. He handed me a banker's paper bag with gold and notes in it. 'There's more than you'll want there, ' he said, and I pocketed itmechanically. 

"For a minute or so I stood discussing with Manderson--it was by one ofthose _tours de force_ of which one's mind is capable under greatexcitement--certain points about the route of the long drive before me. I had made the run several times by day, and I believe I spoke quitecalmly and naturally about it. But while I spoke my mind was seething ina flood of suddenly-born suspicion and fear. I did not know what Ifeared. I simply felt fear, somehow--I did not know how--connected withManderson. My soul once opened to it, fear rushed in like an assaultingarmy. I felt--I knew--that something was altogether wrong and sinister, and I felt myself to be the object of it. Yet Manderson was surely noenemy of mine. Then my thoughts reached out wildly for an answer to thequestion why he had told that lie. And all the time the blood hammeredin my ears: 'Where is that money?' Reason struggled hard to set up thesuggestion that the two things were not necessarily connected. Theinstinct of a man in danger would not listen to it. As we started, andthe car took the curve into the road, it was merely the unconscious partof me that steered and controlled it, and that made occasional emptyremarks as we slid along in the moonlight. Within me was a confusion andvague alarm that was far worse than any definite terror I ever felt. 

"About a mile from the house, you remember, one passed on one's left agate on the other side of which was the golf-course. There Mandersonsaid he would get down, and I stopped the car. 'You've got it allclear?' he asked. With a sort of wrench I forced myself to remember andrepeat the directions given me. 'That's O. K. , ' he said. 'Good-by, then. Stay with that wallet. ' Those were the last words I heard him speak asthe car moved gently away from him. "

Marlowe rose from his chair and pressed his hands to his eyes. He wasflushed with the excitement of his own narrative, and there was in hislook a horror of recollection that held both the listeners silent. Heshook himself with a movement like a dog's, and then, his hands behindhim, stood erect before the fire as he continued his tale. 

"I expect you both know what the back-reflector of a motor-car is. "

Trent nodded quickly, his face alive with anticipation; but Mr. Cupples, who cherished a mild but obstinate prejudice against motor-cars, readilyconfessed to ignorance. 

"It is a small round or more often rectangular mirror, " Marloweexplained, "rigged out from the right side of the screen in front of thedriver, and adjusted in such a way that he can see, without turninground, if anything is coming up behind to pass him. It is quite anordinary appliance, and there was one on this car. As the car moved on, and Manderson ceased speaking behind me, I saw in that mirror a thingthat I wish I could forget. "

Marlowe was silent for a moment, staring at the wall before him. 

"Manderson's face, " he said in a low tone. "He was standing in the road, looking after me, only a few yards behind, and the moonlight was full onhis face. The mirror happened to catch it for an instant. 

"Physical habit is a wonderful thing. I did not shift hand or foot onthe controlling mechanism of the car. Indeed, I dare say it steadied meagainst the shock to have myself braced to the business of driving. Youhave read in books, I dare say, of hell looking out of a man's eyes, butperhaps you don't know what a good metaphor that is. If I had not knownManderson was there, I should not have recognized the face. It was thatof a madman, distorted, hideous in the imbecility of hate, the teethbared in a simian grin of ferocity and triumph, the eyes--! In thelittle mirror I had this glimpse of the face alone; I saw nothing ofwhatever gesture there may have been as that writhing white mask glaredafter me. And I saw it only for a flash. The car went on, gatheringspeed, and as it went, my brain, suddenly purged of the vapors of doubtand perplexity, was as busy as the throbbing engine before my feet. Iknew. 

"You say something in that manuscript of yours, Mr. Trent, about theswift, automatic way in which one's ideas arrange themselves about somenew, illuminating thought. It is quite true. The awful intensity ofill-will that had flamed after me from those straining eyeballs hadpoured over my mind like a search-light. I was thinking quite clearlynow, and almost coldly, for I knew what--at least I knew whom--I had tofear, and instinct warned me that it was not a time to give room to theemotions that were fighting to possess me. The man hated me insanely. That incredible fact I suddenly knew. But the face had told me--it wouldhave told anybody--more than that. It was a face of hatred gratified, itproclaimed some damnable triumph. It had gloated over me driving away tomy fate. This too was plain to me. And to what fate?

"I stopped the car. It had gone about two hundred and fifty yards, and asharp bend of the road hid the spot where I had set Manderson down. Ilay back in the seat and thought it out. Something was to happen to me. In Paris? Probably--why else should I be sent there, with money and aticket? But why Paris? That puzzled me, for I had no melodramatic ideasabout Paris. I put the point aside for a moment. I turned to the otherthings that had roused my attention that evening. The lie about my'persuading him to go for a moonlight run. ' What was the intention ofthat? Manderson, I said to myself, will be returning without me while Iam on my way to Southampton. What will he tell them about me? Howaccount for his returning alone and without the car? As I asked myselfthat sinister question there rushed into my mind the last of mydifficulties: 'Where are the thousand pounds?' And in the same instantcame the answer: 'The thousand pounds are in my pocket. '

"I got up and stepped from the car. My knees trembled and I felt verysick. I saw the plot now--as I thought. The whole of the story about thepapers and the necessity of their being taken to Paris was a blind. WithManderson's money about me, of which he would declare I had robbed him, I was to all appearance attempting to escape from England, with everyprecaution that guilt could suggest. He would communicate with thepolice at once, and would know how to put them on my track. I should bearrested in Paris--if I got so far--living under a false name, afterhaving left the car under a false name, disguised myself, and traveledin a cabin which I had booked in advance, also under a false name. Itwould be plainly the crime of a man without money, and for some reasondesperately in want of it. As for my account of the affair, it would betoo preposterous. 

"As this ghastly array of incriminating circumstances rose up before me, I dragged the stout letter-case from my pocket. In the intensity of themoment I never entertained the faintest doubt that I was right, and thatthe money was there. It would easily hold the packets of notes. But as Ifelt it and weighed it in my hands it seemed to me there must be morethan this. It was too bulky. What more was to be laid to my charge?After all, a thousand pounds was not much to tempt a man like myself torun the risk of penal servitude. In this new agitation, scarcely knowingwhat I did, I caught the surrounding strap in my fingers just above thefastening and tore the staple out of the lock. These locks, you know, are pretty flimsy as a rule. "

Here Marlowe paused and walked to the oaken desk before the window. Opening a drawer full of miscellaneous objects, he took out a box of oddkeys, and selected a small one distinguished by a piece of pink tape. 

He handed it to Trent. "I keep that by me as a sort of morbid memento. It is the key to the lock I smashed. I might have saved myself thetrouble if I had known that this key was at that moment in the left-handside-pocket of my overcoat. Manderson must have slipped it in, eitherwhile the coat was hanging in the hall or while he sat at my side in thecar. I might not have found the tiny thing there for weeks--as a matterof fact I did find it two days after Manderson was dead--but a policesearch would have found it in five minutes. And then I--I with the caseand its contents in my pocket, my false name and my sham spectacles andthe rest of it--I should have had no explanation to offer but the highlyconvincing one that I didn't know the key was there. "

Trent dangled the key by its tape idly. Then--"How do you know this isthe key of that case?" he asked quickly. 

"I tried it. As soon as I found it I went up and fitted it to the lock. I knew where I had left the thing. So do you, I think, Mr. Trent. Don'tyou?" There was a faint shade of mockery in Marlowe's voice. 

"Touché!" Trent said, with a dry smile. "I found a large emptyletter-case with a burst lock lying with other odds and ends on thedressing-table in Manderson's room. Your statement is that you put itthere. I could make nothing of it. " He closed his lips. 

"There was no reason for hiding it, " said Marlowe. "But to get back tomy story. I burst the lock of the strap. I opened the case before one ofthe lamps of the car. The first thing I found in it I ought to haveexpected, of course; but I hadn't. " He paused and glanced at Trent. 

"It was--" began Trent mechanically; and then stopped himself. "Try notto bring me in any more, if you don't mind, " he said, meeting theother's eye. "I have complimented you already in that document on yourcleverness. You need not prove it by making the judge help you out withyour evidence. "

"All right, " agreed Marlowe. "I couldn't resist just that much. If _you_had been in my place you would have known before I did that Manderson'slittle pocket case was there. As soon as I saw it, of course, Iremembered his not having had it about him when I asked for money, andhis surprising anger. He had made a false step. He had already fastenedhis note-case up with the rest of what was to figure as my plunder, andplaced it in my hands. I opened it. It contained a few notes as usual--Ididn't count them. 

"Tucked into the flaps of the big case in packets were the other notes, just as I had brought them from London. And with them were two smallwash-leather bags, the look of which I knew well. My heart jumpedsickeningly again, for this too was utterly unexpected. In those bagsManderson kept the diamonds in which he had been investing for some timepast. I didn't open them; I could feel the tiny stones shifting underthe pressure of my fingers. How many thousands of pounds' worth therewere there I have no idea. We had regarded Manderson's diamond-buying asmerely a speculative fad. I believe now that it was the earliestmovement in the scheme for my ruin. For any one like myself to berepresented as having robbed him there ought to be a strong inducementshown. That had been provided with a vengeance. 

"Now, I thought, I have the whole thing plain, and I must act. I sawinstantly what I must do. I had left Manderson about a mile from thehouse. It would take him twenty minutes, fifteen if he walked fast, toget back to the house, where he would of course immediately tell hisstory of robbery, and probably telephone at once to the police inBishopsbridge. I had left him only five or six minutes ago--for all thatI have just told you was as quick thinking as I ever did. It would beeasy to overtake him in the car before he neared the house. There wouldbe an awkward interview--I set my teeth as I thought of it, and all myfears vanished as I began to savor the gratification of telling him myopinion of him. There are probably few people who ever positively lookedforward to an awkward interview with Manderson; but I was mad with rage. My honor and my liberty had been plotted against with detestabletreachery. I did not consider what would follow the interview. Thatwould arrange itself. 

"I had started and turned the car--I was already going fast--when Iheard the sound of a shot in front of me, to the right. 

"Instantly I stopped the car. My first wild thought was that Mandersonwas shooting at me. Then I realized that the noise had not been close athand. I could see nobody on the road, though the moonlight flooded it. Ihad left Manderson at a spot just round a corner that was now some fiftyyards ahead of me. I started again, and turned the corner at a slowpace. Then I stopped again with a jar, and for a moment I sat perfectlystill. 

"Manderson lay dead a few steps from me on the turf within the gate, clearly visible to me in the moonlight. "

Marlowe made another pause, and Trent, with a puckered brow, inquired:"On the golf-course?"

"Obviously, " remarked Mr. Cupples. "The eighth green is just there. " Hehad grown more and more interested as Marlowe went on, and was nowplaying feverishly with his thin beard. 

"On the green, quite close to the flag, " said Marlowe. "He lay on hisback, his arms were stretched abroad, his jacket and heavy overcoat wereopen; the light shone hideously on his white face and his shirt-front;it glistened on his bared teeth and one of the eyes. The other . .. Yousaw it. The man was certainly dead. As I sat there stunned, unable forthe moment to think at all, I could even see a thin dark line of bloodrunning down from the shattered socket to the ear. Close by lay his softblack hat, and at his feet a pistol. 

"I suppose it was only a few seconds that I sat helplessly staring atthe body. Then I rose and moved to it with dragging feet; for now thetruth had come to me at last, and I realized the fullness of myappalling danger. It was not only my liberty or my honor that the maniachad undermined. It was death that he had planned for me; death with thedegradation of the scaffold. To strike me down with certainty he had nothesitated to end his life--a life which was, no doubt, alreadythreatened by a melancholic impulse to self-destruction; and the lastagony of the suicide had been turned, perhaps, to a devilish joy by thethought that he dragged down my life with his. For, so far as I couldsee at the moment, my situation was utterly hopeless. If it had beendesperate on the assumption that Manderson meant to denounce me as athief, what was it now that his corpse denounced me as a murderer?

"I picked up the revolver and saw, almost without emotion, that it wasmy own--Manderson had taken it from my room, I suppose, while I wasgetting out the car. At the same moment I remembered that it was byManderson's suggestion that I had had it engraved with my initials, todistinguish it from a precisely similar weapon which he had of his own. 

"I bent over the body and satisfied myself that there was no life leftin it. I must tell you here that I did not notice, then or afterwards, the scratches and marks on the wrists which were taken as evidence of astruggle with an assailant. But I have no doubt that Mandersondeliberately injured himself in this way before firing the shot; it wasa part of his plan. 

"Though I never perceived that detail, however, it was evident enough asI looked at the body that Manderson had not forgotten, in his last acton earth, to tie me tighter by putting out of court the question ofsuicide. He had clearly been at pains to hold the pistol at arm'slength, and there was not a trace of smoke or of burning on the face. The wound was absolutely clean, and was already ceasing to bleedoutwardly. I rose and paced the green, reckoning up the points in thecrushing case against me. 

"I was the last to be seen with Manderson. I had persuaded him--so hehad lied to his wife and, as I afterwards knew, to the butler--to gowith me for the drive from which he never returned. My pistol had killedhim. It was true that by discovering his plot I had saved myself fromheaping up further incriminating facts--flight, concealment, thepossession of the treasure. But what need of them, after all? As Istood, what hope was there? What could I do?"

Marlowe came to the table and leaned forward with his hands upon it. "Iwant, " he said very earnestly, "to try to make you understand what wasin my mind when I decided to do what I did. I hope you won't be bored, because I must do it. You may both have thought I acted like a fool. Butafter all the police never suspected me. I walked that green for aquarter of an hour, I suppose, thinking the thing out like a game ofchess. I had to think ahead and think coolly; for my safety depended onupsetting the plans of one of the longest-headed men who ever lived. Andremember that, for all I knew, there were details of the scheme stillhidden from me, waiting to crush me. 

"Two plain courses presented themselves at once. Either of them, Ithought, would certainly prove fatal. I could, in the first place, dothe completely straightforward thing: take back the dead man, tell mystory, hand over the notes and diamonds, and trust to the saving powerof truth and innocence. I could have laughed as I thought of it. I sawmyself bringing home the corpse and giving an account of myself, boggling with sheer shame over the absurdity of my wholly unsupportedtale as I brought a charge of mad hatred and fiendish treachery againsta man who had never, so far as I knew, had a word to say against me. Atevery turn the cunning of Manderson had forestalled me. His carefulconcealment of such a hatred was a characteristic feature of thestratagem; only a man of his iron self-restraint could have done it. Youcan see for yourselves how every fact in my statement would appear, inthe shadow of Manderson's death, a clumsy lie. I tried to imagine myselftelling such a story to the counsel for my defense. I could see the facewith which he would listen to it; I could read in the lines of it histhought, that to put forward such an impudent farrago would mean merelythe disappearance of any chance there might be of a commutation of thecapital sentence. 

"True, I had not fled; I had brought back the body; I had handed overthe property. But how did that help me? It would only suggest that I hadyielded to a sudden funk after killing my man, and had no nerve left toclutch at the fruits of the crime; it would suggest, perhaps, that I hadnot set out to kill but only to threaten, and that, when I found that Ihad done murder, the heart went out of me. Turn it which way I would, Icould see no hope of escape by this plan of action. 

"The second of the obvious things that I might do was to take the hintoffered by the situation, and to fly at once. That too must prove fatal. There was the body. I had no time to hide it in such a way that it wouldnot be found at the first systematic search. But whatever I should dowith the body, Manderson's not returning to the house would causeuneasiness in two or three hours at most. Martin would suspect anaccident to the car, and would telephone to the police. At daybreak theroads would be scoured and inquiries telegraphed in every direction. Thepolice would act on the possibility of there being foul play. They wouldspread their nets with energy in such a big business as thedisappearance of Manderson. Ports and railway termini would be watched. Within twenty-four hours the body would be found, and the whole countrywould be on the alert for me--all Europe scarcely less; I did notbelieve there was a spot in Christendom where the man accused ofManderson's murder could pass unchallenged, with every newspaper cryingthe fact of his death into the ears of all the world. Every strangerwould be suspected; every man, woman and child would be a detective. Thecar, wherever I should abandon it, would put people on my track. If Ihad to choose between two utterly hopeless courses, I decided, I wouldtake that of telling the preposterous truth. 

"But now I cast about desperately for some tale that would seem moreplausible than the truth. Could I save my neck by a lie? One afteranother came into my mind; I need not trouble to remember them now. Eachhad its own futilities and perils; but every one split upon the fact--orwhat would be taken for fact--that I had induced Manderson to go outwith me, and the fact that he had never returned alive. Notion afternotion I swiftly rejected as I paced there by the dead man, and doomseemed to settle down upon me more heavily as the moments passed. Then astrange thought came to me. 

"Several times I had repeated to myself half-consciously, as a sort ofrefrain, the words in which I had heard Manderson tell his wife that Ihad induced him to go out. 'Marlowe has persuaded me to go for amoonlight run in the car. He is very urgent about it. ' All at once itstruck me that, without meaning to do so, I was saying this inManderson's voice. 

"As you found out for yourself, Mr. Trent, I have a natural gift ofmimicry. I had imitated Manderson's voice many times so successfully asto deceive even Bunner, who had been much more in his company than hisown wife. It was, you remember, "--Marlowe turned to Mr. Cupples--"astrong, metallic voice, of great carrying power, so unusual as to makeit a very fascinating voice to imitate, and at the same time very easy. I said the words carefully to myself again, like this--" he utteredthem, and Mr. Cupples opened his eyes in amazement--"and then I struckmy hand upon the low wall beside me. 'Manderson never returned alive?' Isaid aloud. 'But Manderson _shall_ return alive!'

"In thirty seconds the bare outline of the plan was complete in my mind. I did not wait to think over details. Every instant was precious now; Ilifted the body and laid it on the floor of the car, covered with a rug. I took the hat and the revolver. Not one trace remained on the green, Ibelieve, of that night's work. As I drove back to White Gables my designtook shape before me with a rapidity and ease that filled me with a wildexcitement. I should escape yet! It was all so easy if I kept my pluck. Putting aside the unusual and unlikely, I should not fail. I wanted toshout, to scream! Nearing the house I slackened speed, and carefullyreconnoitered the road. Nothing was moving. I turned the car into theopen field on the other side of the road, about twenty paces short ofthe little door at the extreme corner of the grounds. I brought it torest behind a stack. When, with Manderson's hat on my head and thepistol in my pocket, I had staggered with the body across the moonlitroad and through that door, I left much of my apprehension behind me. With swift action and an unbroken nerve, I thought I ought to succeed. "

With a long sigh Marlowe threw himself into one of the deep chairs atthe fireside, and passed his handkerchief over his damp forehead. Eachof his hearers, too, drew a deep breath, but not audibly. 

"Everything else you know, " he said. He took a cigarette from a boxbeside him and lighted it. Trent watched the very slight quiver of thehand that held the match, and privately noted that his own at the momentwas not so steady. 

"The shoes that betrayed me to you, " pursued Marlowe after a shortsilence, "were painful all the time I wore them, but I never dreamedthat they had given anywhere. I knew that no footstep of mine mustappear by any accident in the soft ground about the hut where I laid thebody, or between the hut and the house, so I took the shoes off andcrammed my feet into them as soon as I was inside the little door. Ileft my own shoes, with my own jacket and overcoat, near the body, readyto be resumed later. I made a clear footmark on the soft gravel outsidethe French window, and several on the drugget round the carpet. Thestripping off of the outer clothing of the body and the dressing of itafterwards in the brown suit and shoes, and putting the things into thepockets, was a horrible business; and getting the teeth out of the mouthwas worse. The head . .. But you don't want to hear about it. I didn'tfeel it much at the time. I was wriggling my own head out of a noose, you see. I wish I had thought of pulling down the cuffs, and had tiedthe shoes more neatly. And putting the watch in the wrong pocket was abad mistake. It had all to be done so hurriedly. 

"You were wrong, by the way, about the whisky. After one stiffish drinkI had no more; but I filled up a flask that was in the cupboard, andpocketed it. I had a night of peculiar anxiety and effort in front ofme, and I didn't know how I should stand it. I had to take some once ortwice during the drive. Speaking of that, you give rather a generousallowance of time in your document for doing that run by night. You saythat to get to Southampton by half-past six in that car under theconditions, a man must, even if he drove like a demon, have leftMarlstone by twelve at latest. I had not got the body dressed inthe other suit, with tie and watch-chain and so forth, until nearlyten minutes past; and then I had to get to the car and start itgoing. .. . But then I don't suppose any demon would have taken the risksI did in that car at night, without a head-light. It turns me cold tothink of it now. 

"There's nothing much to say about what I did in the house. I spent thetime after Martin had left me in carefully thinking over the remainingsteps in my plan, while I unloaded and thoroughly cleaned the revolver, using my handkerchief and a penholder from the desk. I also placed thepackets of notes, the note-case and the diamonds in the roll-top desk, which I opened and re-locked with Manderson's key. When I went upstairsit was a trying moment, for though I was safe from the eyes of Martin ashe sat in his pantry, there was a faint possibility of somebody beingabout on the bedroom floor. I had sometimes found the French maidwandering about there when the other servants were in bed. Bunner, Iknew, was a deep sleeper. Mrs. Manderson, I had gathered from things Ihad heard her say, was usually asleep by eleven; I had thought itpossible that her gift of sleep had helped her to retain all her beautyand vitality in spite of a marriage which we all knew was an unhappyone. Still, it was uneasy work mounting the stairs and holding myselfready to retreat to the library again at the least sound from above. Butnothing happened. 

"The first thing I did on reaching the corridor was to enter my room andput the revolver and cartridges back in the case. Then I turned off thelight and went quietly into Manderson's room. 

"What I had to do there you know. I had to take off the shoes and putthem outside the door, leave Manderson's jacket, waistcoat, trousers andblack tie, after taking everything out of the pockets, select a suit andtie and shoes for the body, and place the dental plate in the bowl, which I moved from the washing-stand to the bedside, leaving thoseruinous finger-marks as I did so. The marks on the drawer must have beenmade when I shut it after taking out the tie. Then I had to lie down inthe bed and tumble it. You know all about it--all except my state ofmind, which you couldn't imagine, and I couldn't describe. 

"The worst came when I had hardly begun my operations; the moment whenMrs. Manderson spoke from the room where I supposed her asleep. I wasprepared for it happening; it was a possibility; but I nearly lost mynerve all the same. However. .. . 

"By the way, I may tell you this: in the extremely unlikely contingencyof Mrs. Manderson remaining awake and so putting out of the question myescape by way of her window, I had planned simply to remain where I wasa few hours, and then, not speaking to her, to leave the house quicklyand quietly by the ordinary way. Martin would have been in bed by thattime. I might have been heard to leave, but not seen. I should have donejust as I had planned with the body, and then made the best time I couldin the car to Southampton. The difference would have been that Icouldn't have furnished an unquestionable alibi by turning up at thehotel at six-thirty. I should have made the best of it by drivingstraight to the docks and making my ostentatious inquiries there. Icould in any case have got there long before the boat left at noon. Icouldn't see that anybody could suspect me of the supposed murder in anycase; but if any one had, and if I hadn't arrived until ten o'clock, say, I shouldn't have been able to answer: 'It is impossible for me tohave got to Southampton so soon after shooting him. ' I should simplyhave had to say I was delayed by a break-down after leaving Manderson athalf-past ten, and challenged any one to produce any fact connecting mewith the crime. They couldn't have done it. The pistol, left openly inmy room, might have been used by anybody, even if it could be provedthat that particular pistol was used. Nobody could reasonably connect mewith the shooting so long as it was believed that it was Manderson whohad returned to the house. The suspicion could not, I was confident, enter any one's mind. All the same, I wanted to introduce the element ofabsolute physical impossibility; I knew I should feel ten times as safewith that. 

"So when I knew from the sound of her breathing that Mrs. Manderson wasasleep again I walked quickly across her room in my stocking feet andwas on the grass with my bundle in ten seconds. I don't think I made theleast noise. The curtain before the window was of soft, thick stuff anddidn't rustle, and when I pushed the glass doors further open there wasnot a sound. "

"Tell me, " said Trent as the other stopped to light a new cigarette, "why you took the risk of going through Mrs. Manderson's room to escapefrom the house? I could see when I looked into the thing on the spot whyit had to be on that side of the house; there was a danger of being seenby Martin or by some servant at a bedroom window if you got out by awindow on one of the other sides. But there were three unoccupied roomson that side: two spare bedrooms and Mrs. Manderson's sitting-room. Ishould have thought it would have been safer, after you had done whatwas necessary to your plan in Manderson's room, to leave it quietly andescape through one of those three rooms. .. . The fact that you wentthrough her window, you know, " he added coldly, "might have suggested, if it became known, a certain suspicion in regard to the lady herself. Ithink you understand me. "

Marlowe turned upon him with a glowing face. "And I think you willunderstand me, Mr. Trent, " he said in a voice that shook a little, "whenI say that if such a possibility had occurred to me then, I would havetaken any risk rather than make my escape by that way. .. . Oh, well!" hewent on more coolly, "I suppose that to any one who didn't know her theidea of her being privy to her husband's murder might not seem soindescribably fatuous. Forgive the expression. " He looked attentively atthe burning end of his cigarette, studiously unconscious of the red flagthat flew in Trent's eyes for an instant at his words and the tone ofthem. 

That emotion, however, was conquered at once. "Your remark is perfectlyjust, " Trent said with answering coolness. "I can quite believe, too, that at the time you didn't think of the possibility I mentioned. Butsurely, apart from that, it would have been safer to do as I said: go bythe window of an unoccupied room. "

"Do you think so?" said Marlowe. "All I can say is I hadn't the nerve todo it. I tell you, when I entered Manderson's room I shut the door of iton more than half my terrors. I had the problem confined before me in aclosed space, with only one danger in it, and that a _known_ danger: thedanger of Mrs. Manderson. The thing was almost done: I had only to waituntil she was certainly asleep after her few moments of waking up, forwhich, as I told you, I was prepared as a possibility. Barringaccidents, the way was clear. But now suppose that I, carryingManderson's clothes and shoes, had opened that door again and gone in myshirt-sleeves and socks to enter one of the empty rooms. The moonlightwas flooding the corridor through the end-window. Even if my face wereconcealed, nobody could mistake my standing figure for Manderson's. Martin might be going about the house in his silent way. Bunner mightcome out of his bedroom. One of the servants who were supposed to be inbed might come round the corner from the other passage--I had foundCélestine prowling about quite as late as it was then. None of thesethings was very likely; but they were all too likely for me. They wereuncertainties. Shut off from the household in Manderson's room I knewexactly what I had to face. As I lay in my clothes in Manderson's bedand listened for the almost inaudible breathing through the open door Ifelt far more ease of mind, terrible as my anxiety was, than I had feltsince I saw the dead body on the turf. I even congratulated myself thatI had had the chance, through Mrs. Manderson's speaking to me, oftightening one of the screws in my scheme by repeating the statementabout my having been sent to Southampton. "

Marlowe looked at Trent, who nodded as who should say that his point wasmet. 

"As for Southampton, " pursued Marlowe, "you know what I did when I gotthere, I have no doubt. I had decided to take Manderson's story aboutthe mysterious Harris and act it out on my own lines. It was a carefullyprepared lie, better than anything I could improvise. I even went so faras to get through a trunk call to the hotel at Southampton from thelibrary before starting, and ask if Harris was there. As I expected, hewasn't. "

"Was that why you telephoned?" Trent inquired quickly. 

"The reason for telephoning was to get myself into an attitude in whichMartin couldn't see my face or anything but the jacket and hat, yetwhich was a natural and familiar attitude. But while I was about it, itwas obviously better to make a genuine call. If I had simply pretendedto be telephoning, the people at the exchange could have told you atonce that there hadn't been a call from White Gables that night. "

"One of the first things I did was to make that inquiry, " said Trent. "That telephone call, and the wire you sent from Southampton to the deadman, to say Harris hadn't turned up and you were returning--both thoseappealed to me. "

A constrained smile lighted Marlowe's face for a moment. "I don't knowthat there's anything more to tell. I returned to Marlstone, and facedyour friend the detective with such nerve as I had left. The worst waswhen I heard you had been put on the case--no, that wasn't the worst. The worst was when I saw you walk out of the shrubbery the next day, coming away from the shed where I had laid the body. For one ghastlymoment I thought you were going to give me in charge on the spot. NowI've told you everything, you don't look so terrible. "

He closed his eyes, and there was a short silence. Then Trent gotsuddenly to his feet. 

"Cross-examination?" inquired Marlowe, looking at him gravely. 

"Not at all, " said Trent, stretching his long limbs. "Only stiffness ofthe legs. I don't want to ask any questions. I believe what you havetold us. I don't believe it simply because I always liked your face, orbecause it saves awkwardness, which are the most usual reasons forbelieving a person, but because my vanity will have it that no man couldlie to me steadily for an hour without my perceiving it. Your story isan extraordinary one; but Manderson was an extraordinary man, and so areyou. You acted like a lunatic in doing what you did; but I quite agreewith you that if you had acted like a sane man you wouldn't have had thehundredth part of a dog's chance with a judge and jury. One thing isbeyond dispute on any reading of the affair: you are a man of courage. "

The color rushed into Marlowe's face, and he hesitated for words. Beforehe could speak Mr. Cupples arose with a dry cough. 

"For my part, " he said, "I never supposed you guilty for a moment. "Marlowe turned to him in grateful amazement, Trent with an incredulousstare. "But, " pursued Mr. Cupples, holding up his hand, "there is onequestion which I should like to put. "

Marlowe bowed, saying nothing. 

"Suppose, " said Mr. Cupples, "that someone else had been suspected ofthe crime and put upon trial. What would you have done?"

"I think my duty was clear. I should have gone with my story to thelawyers for the defense, and put myself in their hands. "

Trent laughed aloud. Now that the thing was over his spirits wererapidly becoming ungovernable. "I can see their faces!" he said. "As amatter of fact, though, nobody else was ever in danger. There wasn't ashred of evidence against any one. I looked up Murch at the Yard thismorning, and he told me he had come round to Bunner's view, that it wasa case of revenge on the part of some American black-hand gang. Sothere's the end of the Manderson case. Holy, suffering Moses! _What_ anass a man can make of himself when he thinks he's being preternaturallyclever!" He seized the bulky envelop from the table, and stuffed it intothe heart of the fire. "There's for you, old friend! For want of you theworld's course will not fail. But look here! It's getting late--nearlyseven, and Cupples and I have an appointment at half-past. We must go. Mr. Marlowe, good-by. " He looked into the other's eyes. "I am a man whohas worked hard to put a rope round your neck. Considering thecircumstances I don't know whether you will blame me. Will you shakehands?"

CHAPTER XV

THE LAST STRAW

"What was that you said about our having an appointment at half-pastseven?" asked Mr. Cupples as the two came out of the great gateway ofthe pile of flats. "Have we such an appointment?"

"Certainly we have, " replied Trent. "You are dining with me. Only onething can properly celebrate this occasion, and that is a dinner forwhich I pay. No, no! I asked you first. I have got right down to thebottom of a case that must be unique, a case that has troubled even mymind for over a year, and if that isn't a good reason for standing adinner, I don't know what is. Cupples, we will not go to my club. Thisis to be a festival, and to be seen in a London club in a state ofpleasurable emotion is more than enough to shatter any man's career. Besides that, the dinner there is always the same, or at least theyalways make it taste the same, I know not how. The eternal dinner at myclub hath bored millions of members like me, and shall bore; butto-night let the feast be spread in vain, so far as we are concerned. Wewill not go where the satraps throng the hall. We will go toSheppard's. "

"Who is Sheppard?" asked Mr. Cupples mildly, as they proceeded upVictoria Street. His companion went with an unnatural lightness, and apoliceman observing his face, smiled indulgently at a look of happinesswhich he could only attribute to alcohol. 

"Who is Sheppard?" echoed Trent with bitter emphasis. "That question, ifyou will pardon me for saying so, Cupples, is thoroughly characteristicof the spirit of aimless inquiry prevailing in this restless day. Isuggest our dining at Sheppard's and instantly you fold your arms anddemand, in a frenzy of intellectual pride, to know who Sheppard isbefore you will cross the threshold of Sheppard's. I am not going topander to the vices of the modern mind. Sheppard's is a place where onecan dine. I do not know Sheppard. It never occurred to me that Sheppardexisted. Probably he is a myth of totemistic origin. All I know is thatyou can get a bit of saddle of mutton at Sheppard's that has made manyan American visitor curse the day that Christopher Columbus wasborn. .. . Taxi!"

A cab rolled smoothly to the curb, and the driver received hisinstruction with a majestic nod. 

"Another reason I have for suggesting Sheppard's, " continued Trent, feverishly lighting a cigarette, "is that I am going to be married tothe most wonderful woman in the world. I trust the connection of ideasis clear. "

"You are going to marry Mabel!" cried Mr. Cupples. "My dear friend, whatgood news this is! Shake hands, Trent; this is glorious! I congratulateyou both from the bottom of my heart. And may I say--I don't want tointerrupt your flow of high spirits, which is very natural indeed, and Iremember being just the same in similar circumstances long ago--but mayI say how earnestly I have hoped for this? Mabel has seen so muchunhappiness, yet she is surely a woman formed in the great purpose ofhumanity to be the best influence in the life of a good man. But I didnot know her mind as regarded yourself. _Your_ mind I have known forsome time, " Mr. Cupples went on, with a twinkle in his eye that wouldhave done credit to the worldliest of creatures. "I saw it at once whenyou were both dining at my house, and you sat listening to ProfessorPeppmüller and looking at her. Some of us older fellows have our witsabout us still, my dear boy. "

"Mabel says she knew it before that, " replied Trent with a slightlycrestfallen air. "And I thought I was acting the part of a person whowas not mad about her to the life. Well, I never was any good atdissembling. I shouldn't wonder if even old Peppmüller noticed somethingthrough his double convex lenses. But however crazy I may have been asan undeclared suitor, I am going to be much worse now. Here's theplace, " he broke off, as the cab rushed down a side-street and swunground a corner into a broad and populous thoroughfare. "We're therealready. " The cab drew up. 

"Here we are, " said Trent as he paid the man and led Mr. Cupples into along paneled room set with many tables and filled with a hum of talk. "This is the house of fulfilment of craving, this is the bower with theroses around it. I see there are three bookmakers eating pork at myfavorite table. We will have that one in the opposite corner. "

He conferred earnestly with a waiter, while Mr. Cupples, in a pleasantmeditation, warmed himself before the great fire. "The wine here, " Trentresumed, as they seated themselves, "is almost certainly made out ofgrapes. What shall we drink?"

Mr. Cupples came out of his reverie. "I think, " he said, "I will havemilk and soda-water. "

"Speak lower!" urged Trent. "The head-waiter has a weak heart, and hemight hear you. Milk and soda-water! Cupples, you may think you have astrong constitution, and I don't say you have not, but I warn you thatthis habit of mixing drinks has been the death of many a robuster manthan you. Be wise in time. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine; leavesoda to the Turkish hordes. Here comes our food. " He gave another orderto the waiter, who ranged the dishes before them and darted away. Trentwas, it seemed, a respected customer. "I have sent, " he said, "for winethat I know, and I hope you will try it. If you have taken a vow, thenin the name of all the teetotal saints drink water, which stands at yourelbow, but don't seek a cheap notoriety by demanding milk and soda. "

"I have never taken any pledge, " said Mr. Cupples, examining his muttonwith a favorable eye. "I simply don't care about wine. I bought a bottleonce and drank it to see what it was like, and it made me ill. But verylikely it was bad wine. I will taste some of yours, as it is yourdinner, and I do assure you, my dear Trent, I should like to dosomething unusual to show how strongly I feel on the present occasion. Ihave not been so delighted for many years. To think, " he reflected aloudas the waiter filled his glass, "of the Manderson mystery disposed of, the innocent exculpated, and your own and Mabel's happiness crowned--allcoming upon me together! I drink to you, my dear friend. " And Mr. Cupples took a very small sip of the wine. 

"You have a great nature, " said Trent, much moved. "Your outwardsemblance doth belie your soul's immensity. I should have expected assoon to see an elephant conducting at the opera as you drinking myhealth. Dear Cupples! May his beak retain ever that delicaterose-stain!--No, curse it all!" he broke out, surprising a shade ofdiscomfort that fitted over his companion's face as he tasted the wineagain. "I have no business to meddle with your tastes. I apologize. Youshall have what you want, even if it causes the head-waiter to perish inhis pride. "

When Mr. Cupples had been supplied with his monastic drink, and thewaiter had retired, Trent looked across the table with significance. "Inthis babble of many conversations, " he said, "we can speak as freely asif we were on a bare hill-side. The waiter is whispering soft nothingsinto the ear of the young woman at the pay-desk. We are alone. What doyou think of that interview of this afternoon?" He began to dine with anappetite. 

Without pausing in the task of cutting his mutton into very small piecesMr. Cupples replied: "The most curious feature of it, in my judgment, was the irony of the situation. We both held the clue to that mad hatredof Manderson's which Marlowe found so mysterious. We knew of his jealousobsession; which knowledge we withheld, as was very proper, if only inconsideration of Mabel's feelings. Marlowe will never know of what hewas suspected by that person. Strange! Nearly all of us, I venture tothink, move unconsciously among a network of opinions, often quiteerroneous, which other people entertain about us. With regard toMarlowe's story, it appeared to me entirely straightforward, and not, inits essential features, especially remarkable, once we have admitted, aswe surely must, that in the case of Manderson we have to deal with amore or less disordered mind. It was Mr. Bunner, I think you said, whotold you of his rooted and apparently hereditary temper of suspiciousjealousy. When the pressure of his business labors brought on mentalderangement, that abnormality increased until it dominated himentirely. "

Trent laughed loudly. "Not especially remarkable!" he said. "I confessthat the affair struck me as a little unusual. "

"Only in the development of the details, " argued Mr. Cupples. "What isthere abnormal in the essential facts? A madman conceives a crazysuspicion; he hatches a cunning plot against his fancied injurer; itinvolves his own destruction. Put thus, what is there that any man withthe least knowledge of the ways of lunatics would call remarkable? Turnnow to Marlowe's proceedings. He finds himself in a perilous positionfrom which, though he is innocent, telling the truth will not save him. Is that an unheard-of situation? He escapes by means of a bold andingenious piece of deception. That seems to me a thing that might happenevery day and probably does so. " He attacked his now unrecognizablemutton. 

"I should like to know, " said Trent after an alimentary pause in theconversation, "whether there is anything that ever happened on the faceof the earth that you could not represent as quite ordinary andcommonplace, by such a line of argument as that. You may say what youlike, but the idea of impersonating Manderson in those circumstances wasan extraordinarily ingenious idea. "

"Ingenious--certainly!" replied Mr. Cupples. "Extraordinarily so--no! Inthose circumstances (your own words) it was really not strange that itshould occur to a clever man. It lay almost on the surface of thesituation. Marlowe was famous for his imitation of Manderson's voice; hehad a talent for acting; he knew the ways of the establishmentintimately. I grant you that the idea was brilliantly carried out; buteverything favored it. As for the essential idea, I do not place it, asregards ingenuity, in the same class with, for example, the idea ofutilizing the force of recoil in a discharged firearm to actuate themechanism of ejecting and reloading. I do, however, admit, as I did atthe outset, that in respect of details the case had unusual features. Itdeveloped a high degree of complexity. "

"Did it really strike you in that way?" inquired Trent with desperatesarcasm. 

"The affair became complicated, " proceeded Mr. Cupples quite unmoved, "because after Marlowe's suspicions were awakened a second subtle mindcame in to interfere with the plans of the first. That sort of dueloften happens in business and politics, but less frequently, I imagine, in the world of crime. One disturbing reflection was left on my mind bywhat we learned to-day. If Marlowe had suspected nothing and walked intothe trap, he would almost certainly have been hanged. Now how often maynot a plan to throw the guilt of murder on an innocent person have beenpractised successfully? There are, I imagine, numbers of cases in whichthe accused, being found guilty on circumstantial evidence, have diedprotesting their innocence. I shall never approve again of adeath-sentence imposed in a case decided upon such evidence. "

"I never have done so, for my part, " said Trent. "To hang in such casesseems to me flying in the face of the perfectly obvious and soundprinciple expressed in the saying that 'you never can tell. ' I agreewith the American jurist who lays it down that we should not hang ayellow dog for stealing jam on circumstantial evidence, not even if hehas jam all over his nose. As for attempts being made by malevolentpersons to fix crimes upon innocent men, of course it is constantlyhappening. "

Mr. Cupples mused a few moments. "We know, " he said, "from the thingsMabel and Mr. Bunner told you what may be termed the spiritual truthunderlying this matter: the insane depth of jealous hatred whichManderson concealed. We can understand that he was capable of such ascheme. But as a rule it is in the task of penetrating to the spiritualtruth that the administration of justice breaks down. Sometimes thattruth is deliberately concealed, as in Manderson's case. Sometimes, Ithink, it is concealed because simple people are actually unable toexpress it, and nobody else divines it. "

"The law certainly does not shine when it comes to a case requiring muchdelicacy of perception, " said Trent. "It goes wrong easily enough overthe commonplace criminal. As for the people with temperaments who getmixed up in legal proceedings, they must feel as if they were in aforest of apes, whether they win or lose. Well, I dare say it's good forthem and their sort to have their noses rubbed in reality now and again. But what would twelve red-faced realities in a jury-box have done toMarlowe? His story would, as he says, have been a great deal worse thanno defense at all. It's not as if there were a single piece of evidencein support of his tale. Can't you imagine how the prosecution would tearit to rags? Can't you see the judge simply taking it in his stride whenit came to the summing up? And the jury--you've served on juries, Iexpect--in their room, snorting with indignation over the feebleness ofthe lie, telling each other it was the clearest case they ever heard of, and that they'd have thought better of him if he hadn't lost his nerveat the crisis, and had cleared off with the swag as he intended. Imagineyourself on that jury, not knowing Marlowe, and trembling withindignation at the record unrolled before you--cupidity, murder, robbery, sudden cowardice, shameless, impenitent, desperate lying! Why, you and I believed him to be guilty until--"

"I beg your pardon! I beg your pardon!" interjected Mr. Cupples, layingdown his knife and fork. "I was most careful, when we talked it all overthe other night, to say nothing indicating such a belief. _I_ was alwayscertain that he was innocent. "

"You said something of the sort at Marlowe's just now. I wondered whaton earth you could mean. Certain that he was innocent! How can you becertain? You are generally more careful about terms than that, Cupples. "

"I said 'certain, '" Mr. Cupples repeated firmly. 

Trent shrugged his shoulders. "If you really were, after reading mymanuscript and discussing the whole thing as we did, " he rejoined, "thenI can only say that you must have totally renounced all trust in theoperations of the human reason; an attitude which, while it is badChristianity and also infernal nonsense, is oddly enough bad Positivismtoo, unless I misunderstand that system. Why, man--"

"Let me say a word, " Mr. Cupples interposed again, folding his handsabove his plate. "I assure you I am far from abandoning reason. I amcertain he is innocent, and I always was certain of it, because ofsomething that I know, and knew from the very beginning. You asked mejust now to imagine myself on the jury at Marlowe's trial. That would bean unprofitable exercise of the mental powers, because I know that Ishould be present in another capacity. I should be in the witness box, giving evidence for the defense. You said just now, 'If there were asingle piece of evidence in support of his tale. ' There is, and it is myevidence. And, " he added quietly, "it is conclusive. " He took up hisknife and fork and went contentedly on with his dinner. 

The pallor of excitement had turned Trent to marble while Mr. Cupplesled laboriously up to this statement. At the last word the blood rushedto his face again and he struck the table with an unnatural laugh. "Itcan't be!" he exploded. "It's something you fancied, something youdreamed after one of those debauches of soda-and-milk. You can't reallymean that all the time I was working on the case down there you knewMarlowe was innocent. "

Mr. Cupples, busy with his last mouthful, nodded brightly. He made anend of eating, wiped his sparse mustache, and then leaned forward overthe table. "It's very simple, " he said. "I shot Manderson myself. "

 * * * * *

"I am afraid I startled you, " Trent heard the voice of Mr. Cupples say. He forced himself out of his stupefaction like a diver striking upwardfor the surface, and with a rigid movement raised his glass. But half ofthe wine splashed upon the cloth, and he put it carefully down againuntasted. He drew a deep breath, which was exhaled in a laugh whollywithout merriment. "Go on, " he said. 

"It was not murder, " began Mr. Cupples, slowly measuring off inches witha fork on the edge of the table. "I will tell you the whole story. Onthat Sunday night I was taking my before-bedtime constitutional, havingset out from the hotel about a quarter past ten. I went along thefield-path that runs behind White Gables, cutting off the great curve ofthe road, and came out on the road nearly opposite that gate that isjust by the eighth hole on the golf-course. Then I turned in there, meaning to walk along the turf to the edge of the cliff, and go backthat way. I had only gone a few steps when I heard the car coming, andthen I heard it stop near the gate. I saw Manderson at once. Do youremember my telling you I had seen him once alive after our quarrel infront of the hotel? Well, this was the time. You asked me if I had, andI did not care to tell a falsehood. "

A slight groan came from Trent. He drank a little wine, and saidstonily: "Go on, please. "

"It was, as you know, " pursued Mr. Cupples, "a moonlight night; but Iwas in shadow under the trees by the stone wall, and anyhow they couldnot suppose there was any one near them. I heard all that passed just asMarlowe has narrated it to us, and I saw the car go off towardsBishopsbridge. I did not see Manderson's face as it went, because hisback was to me, but he shook his left hand at the car with extraordinaryviolence, greatly to my amazement. Then I waited for him to go back toWhite Gables, as I did not want to meet him again. But he did not go. Heopened the gate through which I had just passed, and he stood there onthe turf of the green, quite still. His head was bent, his arms hung athis sides, and he looked somehow . .. Rigid. For a few moments heremained in this tense attitude; then all of a sudden his right armmoved swiftly, and his hand was at the pocket of his overcoat. I saw hisface raised in the moonlight, the teeth bared and the eyes glittering, and all at once I knew that the man was mad. Almost as quickly as thatflashed across my mind, something else flashed in the moonlight. He heldthe pistol before him, pointing at his breast. 

"Now I may say here I shall always be doubtful whether Mandersonintended to kill himself then. Marlowe naturally thinks so, knowingnothing of my intervention. But I think it quite likely he only meant towound himself, and to charge Marlowe with attempted murder and robbery. 

"At that moment, however, I assumed it was suicide. Before I knew what Iwas doing I had leapt out of the shadows and seized his arm. He shook meoff with a furious snarling noise, giving me a terrific blow in thechest, and presented the revolver at my head. But I seized his wristsbefore he could fire, and clung with all my strength--you remember howbruised and scratched they were. I knew I was fighting for my own lifenow, for murder was in his eyes. We struggled like two beasts, withoutan articulate word, I holding his pistol-hand down and keeping a grip onthe other. I never dreamed that I had the strength for such anencounter. Then, with a perfectly instinctive movement--I never knew Imeant to do it--I flung away his free hand and clutched like lightningat the weapon, tearing it from his fingers. By a miracle it did not gooff. I darted back a few steps, he sprang at my throat like a wild cat, and I fired blindly in his face. He would have been about a yard away, Isuppose. His knees gave way instantly, and he fell in a heap on theturf. 

"I flung the pistol down, and bent over him. The heart's motion ceasedunder my hand. I knelt there staring, struck motionless; and I don'tknow how long it was before I heard the noise of the car returning. 

"Trent, all the time that Marlowe paced that green, with the moonlighton his white and working face, I was within a few yards of him, crouching in the shadow of the furze by the ninth tee. I dared not showmyself. I was thinking. My public quarrel with Manderson the samemorning was, I suspected, the talk of the hotel. I assure you that everyhorrible possibility of the situation for me had rushed across my mindthe moment I saw Manderson fall. I became cunning. I knew what I mustdo. I must get back to the hotel as fast as I could, get in somehowunperceived, and play a part to save myself. I must never tell a word toany one. Of course I was assuming that Marlowe would tell everyone howhe had found the body. I knew he would suppose it was suicide; I thoughteveryone would suppose so. 

"When Marlowe began at last to lift the body, I stole away down the walland got out into the road by the club-house, where he could not see me. I felt perfectly cool and collected. I crossed the road, climbed thefence, and ran across the meadow to pick up the field-path I had comeby, that runs to the hotel behind White Gables. I got back to the hotelvery much out of breath. "

"Out of breath, " repeated Trent mechanically, still staring at hiscompanion as if hypnotized. 

"I had had a sharp run, " said Mr. Cupples. "Well, approaching the hotelfrom the back I could see into the writing-room through the open window. There was nobody in there, so I climbed over the sill, walked to thebell and rang it, and then sat down to write a letter I had meant towrite the next day. I saw by the clock that it was a little past eleven. When the waiter answered the bell I asked for a glass of milk and apostage-stamp. Soon afterwards I went up to bed. But I could not sleep. "

Mr. Cupples, having nothing more to say, ceased speaking. He looked inmild surprise at Trent, who now sat silent, supporting his bent head inhis hands. 

"He could not sleep!" murmured Trent at last in a hollow tone. "Afrequent result of over-exertion during the day. Nothing to be alarmedabout. " He was silent again, then looked up with a pale face. "Cupples, I am cured. I will never touch a crime-mystery again. The Mandersonaffair shall be Philip Trent's last case. His high-blown pride at lengthbreaks under him. " Trent's smile suddenly returned. "I could have borneeverything but that last revelation of the impotence of human reason. Cupples, I have absolutely nothing left to say, except this: you havebeaten me. I drink your health in a spirit of self-abasement. And _you_shall pay for the dinner. "

THE END