CHAPTER XIV: 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; I meana sheet of note-paper not stamped with your address. Don't underestimatethe sacrifice I am making. I never felt less like correspondence in mylife.'
She rewarded him.
'What shall I say?' he enquired, 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 all is gas and gaiters." But thatwouldn't be a very good opening for a letter of strictly formal, not tosay sinister, character. I have got as far as "Dear Mr. Marlowe." Whatcomes next?'
'I am sending you a manuscript,' she prompted, 'which I thought youmight like to see.'
'Do you realize,' he said, 'that in that sentence there are only twowords of more than one syllable? This letter is meant to impress, not toput him at his ease. We must have long words.'
'I don't see why,' she answered. 'I know it is usual, but why is it? Ihave had a great many letters from lawyers and business people, andthey always begin, "with reference to our communication", or some suchmouthful, and go on like that all the way through. Yet when I see themthey don't talk like that. It seems ridiculous to me.'
'It is not at all ridiculous to them.' Trent laid aside the pen withan appearance of relief and rose to his feet. 'Let me explain. A peoplelike our own, not very fond of using its mind, gets on in the ordinaryway with a very small and simple vocabulary. Long words are abnormal,and like everything else that is abnormal, they are either very funnyor tremendously solemn. Take the phrase "intelligent anticipation", forinstance. If such a phrase had been used in any other country in Europe,it would not have attracted the slightest attention. With us it hasbecome a proverb; we all grin when we hear it in a speech or read it ina leading article; it is considered to be one of the best thingsever said. Why? Just because it consists of two long words. The ideaexpressed is as commonplace as cold mutton. Then there's "terminologicalinexactitude". How we all roared, and are still roaring, at that! Andthe whole of the joke is that the words are long. It's just the samewhen we want to be very serious; we mark it by turning to longwords. When a solicitor can begin a sentence with, "pursuant to theinstructions communicated to our representative," or some such gibberish,he feels that he is earning his six-and-eightpence. Don't laugh! Itis perfectly true. Now Continentals haven't got that feeling. They arealways bothering about ideas, and the result is that every shopkeeper orpeasant has a vocabulary in daily use that is simply Greek to the vastmajority of Britons. I remember some time ago I was dining with afriend of mine who is a Paris cabman. We had dinner at a dirty littlerestaurant opposite the central post office, a place where all theclients were cabmen or porters. Conversation was general, and it struckme that a London cabman would have felt a little out of his depth.Words like "functionary" and "unforgettable" and "exterminate" and"independence" hurtled across the table every instant. And these werejust ordinary, vulgar, jolly, red-faced cabmen. Mind you,' he went onhurriedly, as the lady crossed the room and took up his pen, 'I merelymention this to illustrate my point. I'm not saying that cab-men oughtto be intellectuals. I don't think so; I agree with Keats--happy isEngland, sweet her artless cabmen, enough their simple lovelinessfor me. But when you come to the people who make up the collectiveindustrial brain-power of the country.... Why, do you know--'
'Oh no, no, no!' cried Mrs. Manderson. 'I don't know anything at themoment, except that your talking must be stopped somehow, if we are toget any further with that letter to Mr. Marlowe. You shall not get out ofit. Come!' She put the pen into his hand.
Trent looked at it with distaste. 'I warn you not to discourage mytalking,' he said dejectedly. 'Believe me, men who don't talk are evenworse to live with than men who do. O have a care of natures thatare mute. I confess I'm shirking writing this thing. It is almost anindecency. It's mixing two moods to write the sort of letter I mean towrite, and at the same time to be sitting in the same room with you.'
She led him to his abandoned chair before the escritoire and pushed himgently into it. 'Well, but please try. I want to see what you write, andI want it to go to him at once. You see, I would be contented enough toleave things as they are; but you say you must get at the truth, and ifyou must, I want it to be as soon as possible. Do it now--you know youcan if you will--and I'll send it off the moment it's ready. Don't youever feel that--the longing to get the worrying letter into the post andoff your hands, so that you can't recall it if you would, and it's nouse fussing any 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 head witha gentle light in her eyes, and made as if to place a smoothing handupon his rather untidy crop of hair. But she did not touch it. Going insilence to the piano, she began to play very softly. It was ten minutesbefore Trent spoke.
'If he chooses to reply that he will say nothing?'
Mrs. Manderson looked over her shoulder. 'Of course he dare not take thatline. He will speak to prevent you from denouncing him.'
'But I'm not going to do that anyhow. You wouldn't allow it--you saidso; besides, I won't if you would. The thing's too doubtful now.'
'But,' she laughed, 'poor Mr. Marlowe doesn't know you won't, does he?'
Trent sighed. 'What extraordinary things codes of honour are!' heremarked abstractedly. 'I know that there are things I should do, andnever think twice about, which would make you feel disgraced if you didthem--such as giving any one who grossly insulted me a black eye, orswearing violently when I barked my shin in a dark room. And now you arecalmly recommending me to bluff Marlowe by means of a tacit threat whichI don't mean; a thing which hell's most abandoned fiend did never, inthe drunkenness of guilt--well, anyhow, I won't do it.' He resumed hiswriting, and the lady, with an indulgent smile, returned to playing verysoftly.
In a few minutes more, Trent said: 'At last I am his faithfully. Doyou want to see it?' She ran across the twilight room, and turned on areading lamp beside the escritoire. Then, leaning on his shoulder, sheread what follows:
DEAR MR MARLOWE,--YOU WILL PERHAPS REMEMBER THAT WE MET, UNDER UNHAPPYCIRCUMSTANCES, IN JUNE OF LAST YEAR AT MARLSTONE.
ON THAT OCCASION IT WAS MY DUTY, AS REPRESENTING A NEWSPAPER, TO MAKE ANINDEPENDENT INVESTIGATION OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE DEATH OF THE LATESIGSBEE MANDERSON. I DID SO, AND I ARRIVED AT CERTAIN CONCLUSIONS. YOUMAY LEARN FROM THE ENCLOSED MANUSCRIPT, WHICH WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN ASA DISPATCH FOR MY NEWSPAPER, WHAT THOSE CONCLUSIONS WERE. FOR REASONSWHICH IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO STATE I DECIDED AT THE LAST MOMENT NOT TOMAKE THEM PUBLIC, OR TO COMMUNICATE THEM TO YOU, AND THEY ARE KNOWN TOONLY TWO PERSONS BESIDE MYSELF.
At this point Mrs. Manderson raised her eyes quickly from the letter. Herdark brows were drawn together. 'Two persons?' she said with a note ofenquiry.
'Your uncle is the other. I sought him out last night and told himthe whole 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 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 eart
h upon it all.' Shecontinued her reading.
QUITE RECENTLY, HOWEVER [the letter went on], FACTS HAVE COME TO MYKNOWLEDGE WHICH HAVE LED ME TO CHANGE MY DECISION. I DO NOT MEAN THAT ISHALL PUBLISH WHAT I DISCOVERED, BUT THAT I HAVE DETERMINED TO APPROACHYOU AND ASK YOU FOR A PRIVATE STATEMENT. IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAYWHICH WOULD PLACE THE MATTER IN ANOTHER LIGHT, I CAN IMAGINE NO REASONWHY YOU SHOULD WITHHOLD IT.
I EXPECT, THEN, TO HEAR FROM YOU WHEN AND WHERE I MAY CALL UPON YOU;UNLESS YOU PREFER THE INTERVIEW TO TAKE PLACE AT MY HOTEL. IN EITHERCASE I DESIRE THAT MR. CUPPLES, WHOM YOU WILL REMEMBER, AND WHO HAS READTHE ENCLOSED DOCUMENT, SHOULD BE PRESENT ALSO.--FAITHFULLY YOURS, PHILIPTRENT.
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 envelope. 'Yes,' hesaid, 'I think it will make him sit up suddenly. Now 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 wishyou 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 favour 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.