The Woman in Black

by E. C. Bentley

  CHAPTER II

  BREAKFAST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Certainly," Mr. Cupples said.

  "Well, did you ever see his wrists?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Why?" the other interjected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "And Manderson? Did he say no more?"

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

  "And this happened--?"

  "On the Sunday morning."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Admired him, I suppose," suggested Trent.

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

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

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

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

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