Trent Intervenes

by E. C. Bentley

  All charm, all personal force had departed. It needed an effort to recall her quaint, vivacious talk of an hour ago, now that she sat looking vaguely at the table before her, and uttering occasionally a blank monosyllable in reply to the discourse that Mr Scheffer poured into her ear. She helped herself from the dishes handed to her; some she refused; she made a fairly good dinner in a lifeless way. It was not, Trent told himself, that anything abnormal was done. It was the staring fact that Lady Bosworth was not herself, but someone wholly of another kind, that opened a new and unknown spring of revulsion in the recesses of his heart.

  Mrs Stone, with whom he had been talking uninterruptedly as he watched, caught his eye.

  ‘We don’t notice it,’ she murmured, quickly.

  An hour later Mrs Lancey carried Trent off to a garden seat facing the lake.

  ‘Well?’ she said, quietly, glancing back into the drawing-room.

  ‘It’s very strange and rather ghastly,’ he answered, nursing his knee. ‘But if you hadn’t told me it puzzled you, I should have thought it was easy to find an explanation.’

  ‘Drugs, you mean?’ He nodded. ‘Of course everybody must think so. George does, I know. It’s horrible!’ declared Mrs Lancey, with a thump on the arm of the seat. ‘Agatha Stone began hinting at it after the first few days. I told her it was a sort of nervous attack Isabel had been subject to from a child, which was a lie, and of course she didn’t believe it. Gossiping cat! She loathes Isabel, and she’ll spread it round everywhere that my sister is a drug fiend. How I hate her!’

  ‘But you do believe it isn’t that?’

  ‘Philip, I don’t know what to believe. Listen, now! The morning after the second time it happened, I asked her what was the matter with her. She said she didn’t know; she began to feel stupid and strange soon after dinner began. It had never happened to her before until she came to us here. It wasn’t either a pleasant or an unpleasant feeling, she said; she just felt indifferent to everything, and completely lazy. Then I asked her point blank if she was taking anything that could account for it. She was much offended at that; told me I had known her long enough to know she never had done and never would do such a thing. And it is certain that it would be utterly against all I ever knew of her. Besides, she denied it; and, though Isabel has her faults, she’s absolutely truthful.’

  Trent looked on the ground. ‘Yes, but you may have heard—’

  ‘Oh, I know! They say that kind of habit makes people lie and deceive who never did before. But you see, she is so completely herself, except just at this time. I simply couldn’t make up my mind to disbelieve her. And besides, why should she ever start such a practice? I don’t see how she would have been drawn into it. If Bella is peculiar about anything, it’s clean, wholesome, hygienic living. She was always that way as a girl, but she was studying to be a doctor, you know, when she met her husband, and that made her ever so much worse. She has every sort of carbolicky idea. She never uses scent or powder or any kind of before-and-after stuff, never puts anything on her hair; she is washing herself from morning till night, but she always uses ordinary yellow soap. She never touches anything alcoholic, or tea, or coffee. You wouldn’t think she had that kind of fad to look at her and her clothes, but she has; and I can’t think of anything in the world she would despise more than dosing herself with things.’

  ‘Not any kind of cosmetic whatever? That is surprising. Well, it seems to suit her,’ Trent remarked. ‘When she isn’t like this, she is one of the most radiant creatures I ever saw.’

  ‘I know, and that’s what makes it so irritating for women like myself, who look absolute hags if they don’t assist nature a little. She’s always been as strong as a horse and bursting with vitality, and her looks have never shown the slightest sign of going off. And now this thing has come to her, absolutely suddenly and without warning.’

  ‘How long has it been going on?’

  ‘This is the seventh evening. I entreated her to see a doctor, but she hates the idea of being doctored. She says it’s sure to pass off and that it doesn’t make any difference to her general health. It’s true that she is quite well and lively all the rest of the time; but even if that is so, of course you can see how serious it is for a woman. It means that people shun her. She hasn’t realized it yet, but I can see our friends are revolted by the sight of these fits of hers, which they naturally account for in the obvious way. And Bella hasn’t any pleasure in life without society—especially men’s. But it’s come to this, that George, who has always been devoted to her, only talks to her now with an effort. Randolph Stone is just the same; and two days before you arrived the Illingworths and Captain Burrows both went earlier than they had intended—I’m certain, because this change in Isabel was spoiling their visit for them.’

  ‘She seems to get on remarkably well with Scheffer,’ remarked Trent.

  ‘I know—it’s extraordinary, but he seems more struck with her than ever.’

  ‘Well, he is, but in a lizard-hearted way of his own. He and I were talking just now after you left the dining-room. I had said something about the art of primitive peoples, and he took me aside soon afterwards and gave me more ideas on the subject in ten minutes than I’d ever heard in all my life. Then he began suddenly to speak of Lady Bosworth in a queer, semi-scientific sort of way, saying she was the nearest approach to a perfect female physiology he had ever seen among civilized and educated woman; and he went on to ask if I had noticed her strangeness during dinner. I said: “Yes,” of course; and he said it was very interesting to a medical man like himself. You didn’t tell me he was one.’

  ‘I didn’t know. George calls him an anthropologist, and disagrees with him about the races of Farther India. George says it’s the one thing he does know something about, having lived there twelve years governing the poor things. They took to each other at once when they met last year, and when I asked him to stay here he was quite delighted. He only begged to be allowed to bring his cockatoo, as it could not live without him.’

  ‘Strange pet for a man,’ Trent observed. ‘He was showing off its paces to me this afternoon. It’s a mischievous fowl, and as clever as a monkey. Well, it seems he’s greatly interested in these attacks of hers. He has seen nothing quite like them. But he is convinced the thing is due to what he calls a toxic agent of some sort. As to what, or how, or why, he is absolutely at a loss.’

  ‘Then you must find out what, and how, and why, Philip. I’m glad Scheffer isn’t so easily upset as the other men; it’s so much better for Isabel. She finds him very interesting, of course; not only because he’s the only man here who pays her a lot of attention but because he really is a wonderful person. He’s lived for years among the most appalling savages in Dutch New Guinea, doing scientific work for his government, and according to George they treat him like a sort of god; he’s somehow got the reputation among them that he can kill a man by pointing his finger at him, and he can manage the natives as nobody else can. He’s most attractive and quite kind really, I think, but there’s something about him that makes me afraid of him.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I think it is the frosty look in his eyes,’ replied Mrs Lancey, drawing her shoulders together in a shiver.

  ‘You share the public opinion of Dutch New Guinea, in fact,’ said Trent. ‘Did you tell me, Edith, that your sister began to be like this the very first evening she came here?’

  ‘Yes. And it had never happened before, she declares.’

  ‘She came out from England with the Stones, didn’t she?’

  ‘Only the last part of the journey. They got on the train at Lucerne.’

  Trent looked back into the drawing-room at the wistful face of Mrs Stone, who was playing piquet with her host. She was slight and pretty, with large, appealing eyes that never lost their melancholy, though she was always smiling.

  ‘You say she loathes Lady Bosworth,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s mainly Bella’s own fault,�
�� confessed Mrs Lancey, with a grimace. ‘You may as well know, Philip—you’ll soon find out, anyhow—the truth is she will flirt with any man that she doesn’t actively dislike. She’s so brimful of life she can’t hold herself in—or she won’t, rather; she says there’s no harm in it, and she doesn’t care if there is. Before her marriage she didn’t go on in that way, but since it turned out badly she has been simply uncivilized on that point. And her being perfectly clear-headed about it makes it seem so much worse. Several times she has practised on Randolph, and, although he’s a perfectly safe old donkey if there ever was one, Agatha can’t bear the sight of her.’

  ‘She seems quite friendly with her,’ Trent observed.

  Mrs Lancey produced through her delicate nostrils a sound that expressed a scorn for which there were no words. There was a short silence.

  ‘Well, what do you make of it, Philip?’ his hostess asked at length. ‘Myself, I simply don’t know what to think. These queer fits of hers frighten me horribly. There’s one dreadful idea, you see, that keeps occurring to me. Could it, perhaps, be’—Mrs Lancey lowered her already low tone—‘the beginning of insanity?’

  He spoke reassuringly. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t cherish that fancy. There are other things much more likely and much less terrible. And there are some things we can do, too, and do at once. Look here, Edith, you know I hate explaining my own ideas until I’m sure there’s something in them. Will you try to arrange certain things for tomorrow, without asking me why? And don’t let anybody know I asked you to do it—not even George. Until later on, at least. Will you?’

  ‘How exciting!’ Mrs Lancey breathed. ‘Yes, of course, mystery-man. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Do you think you could manage things tomorrow so that you and I and Lady Bosworth could go out in the motorboat on the lake for an hour or two in the evening, getting back in time to change for dinner—just the three of us and the engineer? Could that be worked quite naturally?’

  She pondered. ‘It might be. George and Randolph are playing golf at Cadenabbia tomorrow. I might arrange an expedition in the afternoon for Agatha and Mr Scheffer, and let Bella know I wanted her to stay with me. You could lose yourself after breakfast with your sketching things, I dare say, and return for tea. Then the three of us could run down in the boat to San Marmette—it’s a lovely little place—and be back before seven. In this weather it’s really the best time of day for the lake.’

  ‘That would do admirably, if you could work it. And one thing more—if we do go as you suggest, I want you privately to tell your engineer to do just what I ask him to do—no matter what it is. He’s an Italian, isn’t he? Yes, then he’ll be deeply interested.’

  Mrs Lancey worked it without difficulty. At five o’clock the two ladies and Trent, with a powerful young man of superb manners at the steering-wheel, were gliding swiftly southward, mile after mile, down the long lake. They landed at the most picturesque, and perhaps the most dilapidated and dirtiest, of all the lakeside villages, where in the tiny square above the landing-place a score of dusky infants were treading the measures and chanting the words of one of the immemorial games of childhood. While Mrs Lancey and her sister watched them in delight Trent spoke rapidly to the young engineer, whose gleaming eyes and teeth flashed understanding.

  Soon afterward they strolled through San Marmette, and up the mountain road to a little church, half a mile away, where a curious fresco could be seen.

  It was close on half past six when they returned, to be met by Giuseppe, voluble in excitement and apology. It appeared that while he had been fraternizing with the keeper of the inn by the landing-place a certain triste individue had, unseen by anyone, been tampering maliciously with the engine of the boat, and had poured handfuls of dust into the delicate mechanism. Mrs Lancey, who had received a private nod from Trent, reproved him bitterly for leaving the boat, and asked how long it would take to get the engine working again.

  Giuseppe, overwhelmed with contrition, feared that it might be a matter of hours. Questioned, he said that the public steamer had arrived and departed twenty minutes since; the next one, the last of the day, was not due until after nine. Their excellencies could at least count on getting home by that, if the engine was not ready sooner. Questioned further, he said that one could telephone from the post office, and that food creditably cooked was to be had at the trattoria.

  Lady Bosworth was delighted. She declared that she would not have missed this occasion for anything. She had come to approve highly of Trent, who had made himself excellent company, and she saw her way to being quite admirable, for she was in dancing spirits. In ten minutes she was on the best of terms with the fat, vivacious woman of the inn. Trent, who had been dispatched to telephone their plight to George Lancey, and had added that they were enjoying it very much, returned to find Lady Bosworth in the little garden behind the inn, with her skirts pinned up, peeling potatoes and singing ‘Il segreto per esse felice,’ while her sister beat up something in a bowl, and the landlady, busy with cooking, laughed and screamed cheerful observations from the kitchen. Seeing himself unemployable, Trent withdrew; sitting on a convenient wall, he took a leaf from his sketchbook and began to devise and decorate a menu of an absurdity suited to the spirit of the hour.

  It was a more than cheerful dinner that they had under a canopy of vine-leaves on a tiny terrace overlooking the lake. Twilight came on unnoticed. It was already dark when Trent, returning from an inspection of the boat, advised that they should return by the steamer if they would make sure of getting home that night; it would take an hour, but it would be safer. And presently there was a long-drawn hoot from down the lake, and a great black mass crowned with a galaxy of yellow lights came moving smoothly through the darkness.

  It was as they sought for places on the crowded upper deck that Mrs Lancey put her hand on Trent’s arm. ‘There hasn’t been a sign of it all evening,’ she whispered. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means,’ murmured Trent, ‘that we got her away from the cause at the critical time, without anybody knowing we were going to do it.’

  ‘Whom do you mean by “anybody”?’

  ‘How on earth should I know? Here comes your sister.’

  It was not until the following afternoon that Trent found an opportunity of being alone with his hostess in the garden.

  ‘She is perfectly delighted at having escaped it last night,’ said Mrs Lancey. ‘She says she knew it would pass off, but she hasn’t the least notion how she was cured. Nor have I.’

  ‘She isn’t,’ replied Trent. ‘Last night was only a beginning and we can’t get her unexpectedly stranded for the evening every day. The next move can be made now, if you consent to it. Lady Bosworth will be out until this evening, I believe?’

  ‘She’s gone shopping in the town. What do you want to do?’

  ‘I want you to take me up to her room, and there I want you to look very carefully through everything in the place—in every corner of every box and drawer and bag and cupboard—and show me anything you find that might—’

  ‘I should hate to do that!’ Mrs Lancey interrupted him, her face flushing.

  ‘You would hate much more to see your sister again this evening as she was every evening before last night. Look here, Edith, the position is simple enough. Every day, about seven, Lady Bosworth goes into that room in her normal state to dress for dinner. Every day she comes out of it apparently as she went in, but turns queer a little later. Now is there any other place than that room where the mischief, whatever it is, could happen?’

  Mrs Lancey frowned dubiously. ‘Her maid is with her always.’

  ‘I suppose so; but it doesn’t make any difference to the argument. That room is the only place where Lady Bosworth isn’t with the rest of us, doing what we do, eating the same food, breathing the same air, exposed to all the same influences as we are. Does anything take place in that room to account for those strange seizures?’

  Mrs Lancey threw out her hands. ‘I c
annot bear to think that Isabel should be deceiving me. And yet I know—it’s a dreadful thing—and what else could happen there?’

  ‘That is what we may find out, if we do as I say. You must decide. But remember that you must think of Lady Bosworth as one whom you are trying to save from a subtle evil. You can’t shrink from a step merely because you wouldn’t dream of taking it in the ordinary way.’

  For a few moments she stood carefully boring a hole in the gravel with one heel. Then: ‘Come along,’ she said, and led the way toward the house.

  ‘Unless we take the floor up,’ said Mrs Lancey, seating herself emphatically on the bed in her sister’s room twenty minutes later, ‘there’s nowhere else to look. I’ve taken everything out and pried into every hole and corner. There isn’t a single lockable thing that is locked. There isn’t a bottle or phial or pillbox of any sort to be found. So much for your suspicions. And all the time I have been working like a Negro slave you have done nothing but stare about you, and play with brushes and combs and manicure-things. What interests you about that nail-polishing pad? You must have seen one before, surely?’

  ‘This ornamental design on hammered silver is very beautiful and original,’ replied Trent, abstractedly. ‘I have never seen anything quite like it.’

  ‘The same design is on the whole of the toilet set,’ Mrs Lancey observed tartly, ‘and it shows to least advantage on the manicure-things. You are talking rubbish, Philip. Put the pad away and shut the case as you found it. We shall do no good here, I am sure; you will have to guess again. And yet,’ she added, slowly, ‘you are looking rather pleased with yourself.’