CHAPTER VII: The Lady in Black
The sea broke raging upon the foot of the cliff under a good breeze;the sun flooded the land with life from a dappled blue sky. In thisperfection of English weather Trent, who had slept ill, went down beforeeight o'clock to a pool among the rocks, the direction of which had beengiven him, and dived deep into clear water. Between vast grey bouldershe swam out to the tossing open, forced himself some little way againsta coast-wise current, and then returned to his refuge battered andrefreshed. 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 further 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 made certainpurchases at a chemist's shop, conferred privately for some time with aphotographer, sent off a reply-paid telegram, and made an enquiry at thetelephone exchange. He had said but little about the case to Mr. Cupples,who seemed incurious on his side, and nothing at all about the resultsof his investigation or the steps he was about to take. After theirreturn from Bishopsbridge, Trent had written a long dispatch for theRecord and sent it to be telegraphed by the proud hands of the paper'slocal representative. He had afterwards dined with Mr. Cupples, and hadspent the rest of the evening in meditative solitude on the veranda.
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 andall that he almost knew had occupied his questing brain for hours to theexclusion of sleep; and in this glorious light and air, though washedin body 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 faceof southern pallor, touched by the kiss of the wind with colour 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, which makes a conscientious mind ashamedthat it cannot help, on occasion, admiring the tip-tilted. Her hat laypinned to the grass beside her, and the lively breeze played with herthick dark hair, blowing backward the two broad bandeaux that shouldhave covered much of her forehead, and agitating a hundred tiny curlsfrom the mass gathered at her nape. Everything about this lady wasblack, from her shoes of suede to the hat that she had discarded;lustreless black covered her to her bare throat. All she wore was fineand well put on. Dreamy and delicate of spirit as her looks declaredher, it was very plain that she was long-practised as only a woman growncan be in dressing well, the oldest of the arts, and had her touch ofprimal joy in the excellence of the body that was so admirably curvednow in the attitude of embraced knees. With the suggestion of Frenchtaste in her clothes, she made a very modern figure seated there, untilone looked at her face and saw the glow and triumph of all vigorousbeings that ever faced sun and wind and sea together in the prime ofthe year. One saw, too, a womanhood so unmixed and vigorous, sounconsciously sure of itself, as scarcely to be English, still lessAmerican.
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 wasmarvellous to men of slower chemistry; the need to stare, he held,was evidence of blindness. Now the feeling of beauty was awakenedand exultant, 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,the movement 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 splendour of the day.
***
During breakfast at the hotel Mr. Cupples found Trent little inclined totalk. He excused himself on the plea of a restless night. Mr. Cupples, onthe other hand, was in a state of bird-like alertness. The prospectof the inquest seemed to enliven him. He entertained Trent with adisquisition upon the history of that most ancient and once busytribunal, the coroner's court, and remarked upon the enviable freedomof its procedure from the shackles of rule and precedent. From this hepassed to the case that was to come before it that morning.
'Young Bunner mentioned to me last night,' he said, 'when I went upthere after dinner, the hypothesis which he puts forward in regardto the crime. A very remarkable young man, Trent. His meaning isoccasionally obscure, but in my opinion he is gifted with a clearheadedknowledge of the world quite unusual in one of his apparent age. Indeed,his promotion by Manderson to the position of his principal lieutenantspeaks for itself. He seems to have assumed with perfect confidence thecontrol at this end of the wire, as he expresses it, of the complicatedbusiness situation caused by the death of his principal, and he hasadvised very wisely as to the steps I should take on Mabel's behalf,and the best course for her to pursue until effect has been given tothe provisions of the will. I was accordingly less disposed than I mightotherwise have been to regard his suggestion of an industrial vendettaas far-fetched. When I questioned him he was able to describe anumber of cases in which attacks of one sort or another--too oftensuccessful--had been made upon the lives of persons who had incurred thehostility of powerful labour organizations. This is a terrible time inwhich we live, my dear boy. There is none recorded in history, Ithink, in which the disproportion between the material and the moralconstituents of society has been so great or so menacing to thepermanence of the fabric. But nowhere, in my judgement, is the prospectso dark as it is in the United States.'
'I thought,' said Trent listlessly, 'that Puritanism was about as strongthere as the money-getting craze.'
'Your remark,' answered Mr. Cupples, with as near an approach to humouras was possib
le to him, 'is not in the nature of a testimonial to whatyou call Puritanism--a convenient rather than an accurate term; for Ineed not remind you that it was invented to describe an Anglican partywhich aimed at the purging of the services and ritual of their Churchfrom certain elements repugnant to them. The sense of your observation,however, is none the less sound, and its truth is extremely wellillustrated by the case of Manderson himself, who had, I believe, thevirtues of purity, abstinence, and self-restraint in their strongestform. No, Trent, there are other and more worthy things among the moralconstituents of which I spoke; and in our finite nature, the morewe preoccupy ourselves with the bewildering complexity of externalapparatus which science places in our hands, the less vigour have weleft for the development of the holier purposes of humanity within us.Agricultural machinery has abolished the festival of the Harvest Home.Mechanical travel has abolished the inn, or all that was best in it. Ineed not multiply instances. The view I am expressing to you,' pursuedMr. Cupples, placidly buttering a piece of toast, 'is regarded asfundamentally erroneous by many of those who think generally as Ido about the deeper concerns of life, but I am nevertheless firmlypersuaded of its truth.'
'It needs epigrammatic expression,' said Trent, rising from the table.'If only it could be crystallized into some handy formula, like "NoPopery", or "Tax the Foreigner", you would find multitudes to go to thestake for it. But you were planning to go to White Gables before theinquest, I think. You ought to be off if you are to get back to thecourt in time. I have something to attend to there myself, so we mightwalk up together. I will 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 whomhe had seen that morning, he did not wish it to come from his hand. Anexaggerated chivalry had lived in Trent 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's 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 hadseemed a halo about her head on the ledge of the cliff. She spoke theappropriate commonplace in a low and even voice. After a few words to MrCupples 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 thatthe lady 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,it was 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. 'Weknow that your husband lately drew an unusually large sum of ready moneyfrom his London bankers, and was keeping it here. It is here now, infact. Have you any idea 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. MrCupples 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 humour 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 tothe American'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 labour 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 extraordi
nary 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 had a strong streak of the national taste for dramaticproceedings. He was rather fond of his well-earned reputation forunexpected strokes and for going for his object with ruthless directnessthrough every opposing consideration. He had decided suddenly that hewanted 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 sailedon Monday. 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,every moment is of importance." Now, Mr. Marlowe, you know my businesshere. I am sent to make enquiries, and you mustn't take offence. I wantto ask you if, in the face of that sentence, you will repeat that youknow nothing 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 takinghim for 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 eversee them 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 uncle thinkswe 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 forsome indications I thought I might possibly find. I had not thought ofattending the--the court just yet.'
She looked at him with eyes of perfect candour. '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 themfrom the direction of the hotel. In his hand was the orange envelope,unmistakable afar off, of a telegram. Trent watched him with anindifferent eye as he met and passed the two others. Then he turnedto Marlowe. 'A propos 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 said. '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'veseen artists 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 envelope with an apology, and his eyes lighted upso visibly 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.'