Trent's Last Case

by E. C. Bentley

  CHAPTER XV: 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 by some one who had brought taste to the work; but thehand of the bachelor lay heavy upon it. John Marlowe unlocked the deskand drew a long, stout envelope 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, layingthe envelope on the table. 'I have gone over it three times. I do notbelieve there is another man who could have got at as much of the truthas you have 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 envelope 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 and seatedhimself on a corner of the tall cushion-topped fender. 'I will begin asyou 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 envelope.'It is a defence 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 hadbecome so by virtue of abnormal greed, or abnormal industry, orabnormal personal 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 hisshare of luck; but what made him singular was his brainpower. In hisown country 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'm not saying Americans aren't clever; they are ten times clevererthan we are, as a nation; but I never met another who showed sucha degree of sagacity and foresight, such gifts of memory and mentaltenacity, such sheer force of intelligence, as there was behindeverything Manderson did in his money-making career. They called himthe "Napoleon of Wall Street" often enough in the papers; but few peopleknew so well as I did how much truth there was in the phrase. He seemednever to forget a fact that might be of use to him, in the first place;and he did systematically with the business facts that concerned himwhat Napoleon did, as I have read, with military facts. He studied themin special digests which were prepared for him at short intervals, andwhich he always had at hand, so that he could take up his report on coalor wheat or railways, or whatever it might be, in any unoccupied moment.Then he could make a bolder and cleverer plan than any man of them all.People got to know that Manderson would never do the obvious thing, butthey got no further; the thing he did do was almost always a surprise,and much of his success flowed from that. The Street got rattled, asthey used to put it, when it was known that the old man was out with hisgun, and often his opponents seemed to surrender as easily as ColonelCrockett's coon in the story. The scheme I am going to describe to youwould have occupied most men long enough. Manderson could have plottedthe thing, down to the last detail, while he shaved himself.

  'I used to think that his strain of Indian blood, remote as it was,might have something to do with the cunning and ruthlessness of the man.Strangely enough, its existence was unknown to any one but himself andme. It was when he asked me to apply my taste for genealogical work tohis own obscure family history that I made the discovery that he had inhim a share of the blood of the Iroquois chief Montour and his Frenchwife, a terrible woman who ruled the savage politics of the tribes ofthe Wilderness two hundred years ago. The Mandersons were active in thefur trade on the Pennsylvanian border in those days, and more than oneof them married Indian women. Other Indian blood than Montour's mayhave descended to Manderson, for all I can say, through previousand subsequent unions; some of the wives' antecedents were quiteuntraceable, and there were so many generations of pioneering before thewhole country was brought under civilization. My researches left me withthe idea that there is a very great deal of the aboriginal blood presentin the genealogical make-up of the people of America, and that it isvery widely spread. The newer families have constantly intermarried withthe older, and so many of them had a strain of the native in them--andwere often rather proud of it, too, in those days. But Manderson had theidea about the disgracefulness of mixed blood, which grew much stronger,I fancy, with the rise of the negro question after the war. He 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 tooka turn against me from that time onward. It happened about a year beforehis death.'

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

  Marlowe considered a moment. 'None that ever I 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 religiousupbringing 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 four 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 whowas at 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 wartime.'

  '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 timeI ever 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. I wasto have gone into my father's business, where I am n
ow, but my fathersuggested that I should see the world for a year or two. So I took thissecretaryship, which seemed to promise a good deal of varied experience,and I had let the year or two run on to four years before the end came.The offer came to me through the last thing in the world I should haveput forward as a qualification for a salaried post, and that was chess.'

  At the word Trent struck his hands together with a muttered exclamation.The others looked at him in surprise.

  'Chess!' repeated Trent. 'Do you know,' he said, rising and approachingMarlowe, 'what was the first thing I noted about you at our firstmeeting? It was your eye, Mr. Marlowe. I couldn't place it then, but Iknow now where I had seen your eyes before. They were in the head of noless a man than the great Nikolay Korchagin, with whom I once sat in thesame railway carriage for two days. I thought I should never forget thechess eye after that, but I could not put a name to it when I saw it inyou. I beg your pardon,' he ended suddenly, resuming marmoreal attitudein his chair.

  'I have played the game from my childhood, and with good players,' saidMarlowe simply. 'It is an hereditary gift, if you can call it a gift. Atthe University I was nearly as good as anybody there, and I gave most ofmy brains to that and the OUDS and playing about generally. At Oxford,as I dare say you know, inducements to amuse oneself at the expense ofone's education are endless, and encouraged by the authorities. Well,one day toward the end of my last term, Dr Munro of Queen's, whom I hadnever defeated, sent for me. He told me that I played a fairish gameof chess. I said it was very good of him to say so. Then he said, "Theytell me you hunt, too." I said, "Now and then." He asked, "Is thereanything else you can do?" "No," I said, not much liking the tone of theconversation--the old man generally succeeded in putting people's backsup. He grunted fiercely, and then told me that enquiries were being madeon behalf of a wealthy American man of business who wanted an Englishsecretary. Manderson was the name, he said. He seemed never to haveheard it before, which was quite possible, as he never opened anewspaper and had not slept a night outside the college for thirtyyears. If I could rub up my spelling--as the old gentleman put it--Imight have a good chance for the post, as chess and riding and an Oxfordeducation were the only indispensable points.

  'Well, I became Manderson's secretary. For a long time I liked theposition greatly. When one is attached to an active American plutocratin the prime of life one need not have many dull moments. Besides, itmade me independent. My father had some serious business reverses aboutthat time, and I was glad to be able to do without an allowance fromhim. At the end of the first year Manderson doubled my salary. "It's bigmoney," he said, "but I guess I don't lose." You see, by that time I wasdoing a great deal more than accompany him on horseback in the morningand play chess in the evening, which was mainly what he had required.I was attending to his houses, his farm in Ohio, his shooting inMaine, his horses, his cars, and his yacht. I had become a walkingrailway-guide and an expert cigar-buyer. I was always learningsomething.

  'Well, now you understand what my position was in regard to Mandersonduring the last two or three years of my connection with him. It wasa happy life for me on the whole. I was busy, my work was varied andinteresting; I had time to amuse myself too, and money to spend. Atone time I made a fool of myself about a girl, and that was not ahappy time; but it taught me to understand the great goodness of MrsManderson.' Marlowe inclined his head to Mr. Cupples as he said this.'She may choose to tell you about it. As for her husband, he had nevervaried in his attitude towards me, in spite of the change that came overhim in the last months of his life, as you know. He treated me well andgenerously in his unsympathetic way, and I never had a feeling that hewas less than satisfied with his bargain--that was the sort of footingwe lived upon. And it was that continuance of his attitude right up tothe end that made the revelation so shocking when I was suddenly shown,on the night on which he met his end, the depth of crazy hatred ofmyself that was 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 attribute it?'

  '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.I cannot 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 some one 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 an eye of impatience, and resumed his intentwatch upon the face of Marlowe. In the relief of speech it was now lesspale 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 a tone of one discussing a point of abstract science,'it may be remarked that the state of mind which you attribute toManderson--'

  'Suppose we have the story first,' Trent interrupted, gently laying ahand on Mr. Cupples's arm. 'You were telling us,' he went on, turning toMarlowe, 'how things stood between you and Manderson. Now will you tell usthe 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 Sunday evening,'he began, speaking carefully. 'It was just like other dinners at whichthe four of us had been together. Manderson was taciturn and gloomy,as we had latterly been accustomed to see him. We others kept aconversation going. We rose from the table, I suppose, about nine. MrsManderson 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 todo him an important service. There was a big thing on. It was a secretaffair. Bunner knew nothing of it, and the less I knew the better. Hewanted me to do exactly as he directed, and not bother my head aboutreasons.

  '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--attend to this. "There is a man in England now who is in this thingwith me. He was to have left tomorrow for Paris by the noon boat fromSouthampton to Havre. His name is George Harris--at least that's thename he is going by. Do you remember that name?" "Yes," I said, "when Iwent up to London a week ago you asked me to book a cabin in that nameon the boat that goes tomorrow. I gave you the ticket." "Here it is," hesaid, 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 Englandtomorrow. I find I shall want him where he is. And I want Bunner wherehe 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 dealI am 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 soonas it 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," he said, "and start for Southampton--there's no train that willfit in. You'll be driving all night. Barring accidents, you ought to getthere by six in the morning. But whenever you arrive, drive straight tothe Bedford Hotel and ask for George Harris. If he's there, tell him youare to go over instead of him, and ask him to telephone me here. It isvery important he should know that at the earliest moment possible. Butif he isn't there, that means he has got the instructions I wired today,and hasn't gone to Southampton. In that case you don't want to troubleabout him any more, but just wait for the boat. You can leave the car ata garage 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 Petersbourg. 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 gotthat all 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 waituntil you 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, as 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 mindwas in 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 shared the national fondnessfor doings 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 the carfrom 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 youshall see in a minute. I was living temporarily on borrowed money. I hadalways been careless about money while I was with Manderson, and beinga gregarious animal I had made many friends, some of them belonging toa New 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 wastoo busy 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 whenI went out of my depth. In one week I was separated from my toll, asBunner expressed it when I told him; and I owed money too. I had hadmy lesson. 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 advancedme a 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 mayhave known that I had even borrowed a little more from Bunnerfor pocket-money until my next cheque 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 under his breath. I had never heard him do this before; but Bunnerhad told me that of late he had often shown irritation in this way whenthey were alone. "Has he mislaid his note-case?" was the question thatflashed through my mind. But it seemed to me that it could not affecthis plan at all, and I will tell you why. The week before, when Ihad gone up to London to carry out various commissions, including thebooking of a berth for Mr. George Harris, I had drawn a thousand poundsfor Manderson from his bankers, and all, at his request, in notes ofsmall amounts. I did not know what this unusually large sum in cash wasfor, but I did know that the packets of notes were in his locked deskin 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 on to 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 MrsManderson'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, andas I was moving away, these words of his came to my ears--and theseat least 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 some one I knew well, in a moment of closest sympathy, hadsuddenly struck me in the face. The blood rushed to my head, and I stoodstill on the grass. I stood there until I heard his step at the frontdoor, and then I pulled myself together and stepped quickly to the car.He handed me a banker's paper bag with gold and notes in it. "There'smore than you'll want there," he said, and I pocketed it mechanically.

  'For a minute or so I stood discussing with Manderson--it was by oneof those tours de force of which one's mind is capable under greatexcitement--points about the route of the long drive before me. I hadmade the run several times by day, and I believe I spoke quite calmlyand naturally
about it. But while I spoke my mind was seething in aflood 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 upthe suggestion 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 OK," he said. "Goodbye, 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 ofthe driver, 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, no doubt, 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 vapours 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 pouredover my mind like a searchlight. I was thinking quite clearly now, andalmost coldly, for I knew what--at least I knew whom--I had to fear, andinstinct warned me that it was not a time to give room to the emotionsthat were fighting to possess me. The man hated me insanely. Thatincredible 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, anda sharp 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 whileI am on my way to Southampton. What will he tell them about me? Howaccount for his returning alone, and without the car? As I askedmyself that 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 shouldbe arrested in Paris, if I got so far, living under a false name, afterhaving left the car under a false name, disguised myself, and travelledin 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, andthat the money was there. It would easily hold the packets of notes. Butas I felt it and weighed it in my hands it seemed to me there must bemore than 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. Those 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 theleft-hand side-pocket of my overcoat. Manderson must have slipped it in,either while the coat was hanging in the hall or while he sat at my sidein the car. I might not have found the tiny thing there for weeks: asa matter of fact I did find it two days after Manderson was dead, buta police search would have found it in five minutes. And then I--Iwith the case and its contents in my pocket, my false name and my shamspectacles and the rest of it--I should have had no explanation to offerbut the highly convincing 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.

  'Touche,' 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 th
e lock of the strap. I opened the case before oneof the 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. 'Trynot to 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 youhad 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-buyingas merely 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 tellhis story 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 savour 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 withrage. My honour 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 toward WhiteGables, when I heard 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 the corner that was now about ahundred yards ahead of me. After half a minute or so, I started again,and turned the corner at a slow pace. Then I stopped again with a jar,and for a moment I sat perfectly still.

  '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, enquired,'On the golf-course?'

  'Obviously,' remarked Mr. Cupples. 'The eighth green is just there.'He had 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 nowthe truth had come to me at last, and I realized the fullness of myappalling danger. It was not only my liberty or my honour that themaniac had undermined. It was death that he had planned for me; deathwith the degradation of the scaffold. To strike me down with certainty,he had not hesitated to end his life; a life which was, no doubt,already threatened by a melancholic impulse to self-destruction; and thelast agony of the suicide had been turned, perhaps, to a devilish joy bythe thought that he dragged down my life with his. For as 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 ofa struggle 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 myselffrom heaping 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.But after all the police never suspected me. I walked that green fora quarter 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. Isaw myself 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, as far as I knew, had a word to say against me.At every 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 defence. 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 far
rago 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 shoulddo with 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 enquiries telegraphed in every direction. Thepolice would act on the possibility of there being foul play. Theywould spread 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 suspect; 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 thatI had 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 onceit struck 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 thanhis own 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 carefully reconnoitred theroad. Nothing was moving. I turned the car into the open field on theother side of the road, about twenty paces short of the little door atthe extreme corner of the grounds. I brought it to rest behind a stack.When, with Manderson's hat on my head and the pistol in my pocket, I hadstaggered with the body across the moonlit road and through that door,I left much of my apprehension behind me. With swift action and anunbroken 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. Each ofhis 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 was at themoment 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 laidthe body, 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't feelit much at the time. I was wriggling my own head out of a noose, yousee. I wish I had thought of pulling down the cuffs, and had tied theshoes more neatly. And putting the watch in the wrong pocket was a badmistake. 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. Yousay that to get to Southampton by half-past six in that car, underthe conditions, a man must, even if he drove like a demon, have leftMarlstone by twelve at latest. I had not got the body dressed in theother suit, with tie and watch-chain and so forth, until nearly tenminutes past; and then I had to get to the car and start it going. Butthen I don't suppose any other man would have taken the risks I did inthat car at night, without a headlight. It turns me cold to think of itnow.

  '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 revolverusing 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 relocked with Manderson's key. When I went upstairsit was a trying moment, for though I was safe from the eyes of Martin,as he sat in his pantry, there was a faint possibility of somebodybeing about 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 thingsI had 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,and black tie, after taking everything out of the pockets, select a suitand tie and shoes for the body, and place the dental plate i
n 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 downin the 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 Icould in the car to Southampton. The difference would have been thatI couldn't have furnished an unquestionable alibi by turning up at thehotel at 6.30. I should have made the best of it by driving straight tothe docks, and making my ostentatious enquiries there. I could in anycase have got there long before the boat left at noon. I couldn't seethat anybody could suspect me of the supposed murder in any case; but ifany one had, and if I hadn't arrived until ten o'clock, say, I shouldn'thave been able to answer, "It is impossible for me to have got toSouthampton so soon after shooting him." I should simply have had to sayI was delayed by a breakdown after leaving Manderson at half-past ten,and challenged any one to produce any fact connecting me with the crime.They couldn't have done it. The pistol, left openly in my room,might have been used by anybody, even if it could be proved that thatparticular pistol was used. Nobody could reasonably connect me withthe shooting so long as it was believed that it was Manderson who hadreturned to the house. The suspicion could not, I was confident, enterany one's mind. All the same, I wanted to introduce the element ofabsolute physical impossibility; I knew I should feel ten times assafe with that. So when I knew from the sound of her breathing thatMrs. Manderson was asleep again, I walked quickly across her room in mystocking feet, and was on the grass with my bundle in ten seconds. Idon't think I made the least noise. The curtain before the window was ofsoft, thick stuff and didn't rustle, and when I pushed the glass doorsfurther open there was not 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. I should havethought it would have been safer, after you had done what was necessaryto your plan in Manderson's room, to leave it quietly and escape throughone of those three rooms.... The fact that you went through her window,you know,' he added coldly, 'would have suggested, if it became known,various suspicions in regard to the lady herself. I think you understandme.'

  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,the idea 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 nerveto do it. I tell you, when I entered Manderson's room I shut the door ofit on more than half my terrors. I had the problem confined before me ina closed 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,for which, 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 wasconcealed, 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 bein bed might come round the corner from the other passage--I had foundCelestine 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 myselfthat I 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 sofar as 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 enquired 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 at oncethat there hadn't been a call from White Gables that night.'

  'One of the first things I did was to make that enquiry,' said Trent.'That telephone call, and the wire you sent from Southampton to thedead man to say Harris hadn't turned up, and you were returning--Iparticularly appreciated both those.'

  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?' enquired Marlowe, looking at him gravely.

  'Not at all,' said Trent, stretching his long limbs. 'Only stiffnessof the 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,or because 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 li
ke a sane man you wouldn't have hadthe hundredth 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 colour rushed into Marlowe's face, and he hesitated for words.Before he 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 some one 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 defence, 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 itwas a 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 envelope 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, goodbye.' He looked into the other's eyes. 'I am a manwho has worked hard to put a rope round your neck. Considering thecircumstances, I don't know whether you will blame me. Will you shakehands?'