The Woman in Black

by E. C. Bentley

  CHAPTER VI

  THE LADY IN BLACK

  The sea broke raging upon the foot of the cliff under a good breeze; thesun flooded the land with life from a dappled blue sky. In thisperfection of English weather, Trent, who had slept ill, went downbefore eight o'clock to a pool among the rocks, the direction of whichhad been given him, and dived deep into clear water. Between vast grayboulders he swam out to the tossing open, forced himself some little wayagainst a coast-wise current, and then returned to his refuge batteredand refreshed. Ten minutes later he was scaling the cliff again, and hismind, cleared for the moment of a heavy disgust for the affair he had inhand, was turning over his plans for the morning.

  It was the day of the inquest, the day after his arrival in the place.He had carried matters not much farther after parting with the Americanon the road to Bishopsbridge. In the afternoon he had walked from theinn into the town, accompanied by Mr. Cupples, and had there madecertain purchases at a chemist's shop, conferred privately for some timewith a photographer, sent off a reply-paid telegram, and made an inquiryat the telephone-exchange. He had said but little about the case to Mr.Cupples, who seemed incurious on his side, and nothing at all about theresults of his investigation or the steps he was about to take. Aftertheir return from Bishopsbridge, Trent had written a long dispatch forthe _Record_, and sent it to be telegraphed by the proud hands of thepaper's local representative.

  This morning as he scaled the cliff he told himself that he had nevertaken up a case he liked so little, or which absorbed him so much. Themore he contemplated it in the golden sunshine of this new day, the moreevil and the more challenging it appeared. All that he suspected and allthat he almost knew had occupied his questing brain for hours to theexclusion of sleep; and in this glorious light and air, though washed inbody and spirit by the fierce purity of the sea, he only saw the moreclearly the darkness of the guilt in which he believed, and was morebitterly repelled by the motive at which he guessed. But now at leasthis zeal was awake again, and the sense of the hunt quickened. He wouldneither slacken nor spare; here need be no compunction. In the course ofthe day, he hoped, his net would be complete. He had work to do in themorning; and with very vivid expectancy, though not much serious hope,he awaited the answer to the telegram which he had shot into the sky, asit were, the day before.

  The path back to the hotel wound for some way along the top of thecliff, and on nearing a spot he had marked from the sea-level, where theface had fallen away long ago, he approached the edge and looked down,hoping to follow with his eyes the most delicately beautiful of all themovements of water, the wash of a light sea over broken rock. But norock was there. A few feet below him a broad ledge stood out, a roughplatform as large as a great room, thickly grown with wiry grass andwalled in steeply on three sides. There, close to the verge where thecliff at last dropped sheer, a woman was sitting, her arms about herdrawn-up knees, her eyes fixed on the trailing smoke of a distant liner,her face full of some dream.

  This woman seemed to Trent, whose training had taught him to live in hiseyes, to make the most beautiful picture he had ever seen. Her face ofSouthern pallor, touched by the kiss of the wind with color on thecheek, presented to him a profile of delicate regularity in which therewas nothing hard; nevertheless the black brows bending down toward thepoint where they almost met gave her in repose a look of something likeseverity, strangely redeemed by the open curves of the mouth. Trent saidto himself that the absurdity or otherwise of a lover writing sonnets tohis mistress's eyebrow depended after all on the quality of the eyebrow.Her nose was of the straight and fine sort, exquisitely escaping theperdition of too much length. Her hat lay pinned to the grass besideher, and the lively breeze played with her thick dark hair, blowingbackward the two broad bandeaux that should have covered much of herforehead, and agitating a hundred tiny curls from the mass gathered atthe nape.

  Everything about this lady was black, from her shoes of suede to the hatthat she had discarded; lusterless black covered her to her bare throat.All she wore was fine and well put on. Dreamy and delicate of spirit asher looks declared her, it was very plain that she was long-practised asonly a woman grown can be in dressing well, the oldest of the arts, andhad her touch of primal joy in the excellence of the body that was soadmirably curved now in the attitude of embraced knees. With thesuggestion of French taste in her clothes, she made a very modern figureseated there, until one looked at her face and saw the glow and triumphof all vigorous beings that ever faced sun and wind and sea together inthe prime of the year. One saw, too, a womanhood unmixed and vigorous,unconsciously sure of itself.

  Trent, who had halted only for a moment in the surprise of seeing thewoman in black, had passed by on the cliff above her, perceiving andfeeling as he went the things set down. At all times his keen vision andactive brain took in and tasted details with an easy swiftness that wasmarvelous to men of slower chemistry; the need to stare, he held, wasevidence of blindness. Now the feeling of beauty was awakened andexultant, and doubled the power of his sense. In these instants apicture was printed on his memory that would never pass away.

  As he went by unheard on the turf the woman, still alone with herthoughts, suddenly moved. She unclasped her long hands from about herknees, stretched her limbs and body with feline grace, then slowlyraised her head and extended her arms with open, curving fingers, as ifto gather to her all the glory and overwhelming sanity of the morning.This was a gesture not to be mistaken: it was a gesture of freedom, themovement of a soul's resolution to be, to possess, to go forward,perhaps to enjoy.

  So he saw her for an instant as he passed, and he did not turn. He knewsuddenly who the woman must be, and it was as if a curtain of gloom weredrawn between him and the splendor of the day.

  * * * * *

  "You were planning to go to White Gables before the inquest, I think,"remarked Trent to Mr. Cupples as they finished their breakfast. "Youought to be off, if you are to get back to the court in time. I havesomething to attend to there myself, so we might walk up together. Iwill just go and get my camera."

  "By all means," Mr. Cupples answered; and they set off at once in theever-growing warmth of the morning. The roof of White Gables, a surlypatch of dull red against the dark trees, seemed to harmonize withTrent's mood; he felt heavy, sinister and troubled. If a blow must fallthat might strike down that creature radiant of beauty and life whom hehad seen that morning, he did not wish it to come from his hand. Anexaggerated chivalry had lived in him since the first teachings of hismother; but at this moment the horror of bruising anything so lovely wasalmost as much the artist's revulsion as the gentleman's. On the otherhand, was the hunt to end in nothing? The quality of the affair was suchthat the thought of forbearance was an agony. There never was such acase; and he alone, he was confident, held the truth of it under hishand. At least, he determined, that day should show whether what hebelieved was a delusion. He would trample his compunction underfootuntil he was quite sure that there was any call for it. That samemorning he would know.

  As they entered at the gate of the drive they saw Marlowe and theAmerican standing in talk before the front door. In the shadow of theporch was the lady in black.

  She saw them, and came gravely forward over the lawn, moving as Trenthad known that she would move, erect and balanced, stepping lightly.When she welcomed him on Mr. Cupples' presentation, her eyes ofgolden-flecked brown observed him kindly. In her pale composure, worn asthe mask of distress, there was no trace of the emotion that had seemeda halo about her head on the ledge of the cliff. She spoke theappropriate commonplace in a low and even voice. After a few words toMr. Cupples she turned her eyes on Trent again.

  "I hope you will succeed," she said earnestly. "Do you think you willsucceed?"

  He made his mind up as the words left her lips. He said: "I believe Ishall do so, Mrs. Manderson. When I have the case sufficiently completeI shall ask you to let me see you and tell you about it. It may benecessary to consult you befor
e the facts are published."

  She looked puzzled, and distress showed for an instant in her eyes. "Ifit is necessary, of course you shall do so," she said.

  On the brink of his next speech Trent hesitated. He remembered that thelady had not wished to repeat to him the story already given to theinspector-or to be questioned at all. He was not unconscious that hedesired to hear her voice and watch her face a little longer, if itmight be; but the matter he had to mention really troubled his mind, itwas a queer thing that fitted nowhere into the pattern within whosecorners he had by this time brought the other queer things in the case.It was very possible that she could explain it away in a breath: it wasunlikely that any one else could. He summoned his resolution.

  "You have been so kind," he said, "in allowing me access to the houseand every opportunity of studying the case, that I am going to ask leaveto put a question or two to yourself--nothing that you would rather notanswer, I think. May I?"

  She glanced at him wearily. "It would be stupid of me to refuse. Askyour questions, Mr. Trent."

  "It's only this," said Trent hurriedly. "We know that your husbandlately drew an unusually large sum of ready money from his Londonbankers, and was keeping it here. It is here now, in fact. Have you anyidea why he should have done that?"

  She opened her eyes in astonishment. "I cannot imagine," she said. "Idid not know he had done so. I am very much surprised to hear it."

  "Why is it surprising?"

  "I thought my husband had very little money in the house. On Sundaynight, just before he went out in the motor, he came into thedrawing-room where I was sitting. He seemed to be irritated aboutsomething, and asked me at once if I had any notes or gold I could lethim have until next day. I was surprised at that, because he was neverwithout money; he made it a rule to carry a hundred pounds or so abouthim always in a note-case. I unlocked my escritoire, and gave him all Ihad by me. It was nearly thirty pounds."

  "And he did not tell you why he wanted it?"

  "No. He put it in his pocket, and then said that Mr. Marlowe hadpersuaded him to go for a run in the motor by moonlight, and he thoughtit might help him to sleep. He had been sleeping badly, as perhaps youknow. Then he went off with Mr. Marlowe. I thought it odd he should needmoney on Sunday night, but I soon forgot about it. I never remembered itagain until now."

  "It was curious, certainly," said Trent, staring into the distance. Mr.Cupples began to speak to his niece of the arrangements for the inquest,and Trent moved away to where Marlowe was pacing slowly upon the lawn.The young man seemed relieved to talk about the coming business of theday. Though he still seemed tired out and nervous, he showed himself notwithout a quiet humor in describing the pomposities of the local policeand the portentous airs of Dr. Stock. Trent turned the conversationgradually toward the problem of the crime, and all Marlowe's gravityreturned.

  "Bunner has told me what he thinks," he said when Trent referred to theAmerican's theory. "I don't find myself convinced by it, because itdoesn't really explain some of the oddest facts. But I have lived longenough in the United States to know that such a stroke of revenge, donein a secret, melodramatic way, is not an unlikely thing. It is quite acharacteristic feature of certain sections of the labor movement there.Americans have a taste and a talent for that sort of business. Do youknow 'Huckleberry Finn?'"

  "Do I know my own name?" exclaimed Trent.

  "Well, I think the most American thing in that great American epic isTom Sawyer's elaboration of an extremely difficult and romantic scheme,taking days to carry out, for securing the escape of the nigger Jim,which could have been managed quite easily in twenty minutes. You knowhow fond they are of lodges and brotherhoods. Every college club has itssecret signs and handgrips. You've heard of the Know-Nothing movement inpolitics, I dare say, and the Ku Klux Klan. Then look at Brigham Young'spenny-dreadful tyranny in Utah, with real blood. The founders of theMormon state were of the purest Yankee stock in America; and you knowwhat they did. It's all part of the same mental tendency. Americans makefun of it among themselves. For my part, I take it very seriously."

  "It can have a very hideous side to it, certainly," said Trent, "whenyou get it in connection with crime. Or with vice. Or even mere luxury.But I have a sort of sneaking respect for the determination to make lifeinteresting and lively in spite of civilization. To return to the matterin hand, however: has it struck you as a possibility that Manderson'smind was affected to some extent by this menace that Bunner believes in?For instance, it was rather an extraordinary thing to send you postingoff like that in the middle of the night."

  "About ten o'clock, to be exact," replied Marlowe. "Though mind you, ifhe'd actually roused me out of my bed at midnight I shouldn't have beenvery much surprised. It all chimes in with what we've just been saying.Manderson wasn't mad in the least, but he had a strong streak of thenational taste for dramatic proceedings; he was rather fond of hiswell-earned reputation for unexpected strokes and for going for hisobject with ruthless directness through every opposing consideration. Hehad decided suddenly that he wanted to have word from this man Harris--"

  "Who is Harris?" interjected Trent.

  "Nobody knows. Even Bunner never heard of him, and can't imagine whatthe business in hand was. All I know is that when I went up to Londonlast week to attend to various things I booked a deck-cabin, atManderson's request, for a Mr. George Harris on the boat that sailed onMonday. It seems that Manderson suddenly found he wanted news fromHarris which presumably was of a character too secret for the telegraph;and there was no train that served; so I was sent off as you know."

  Trent looked round to make sure that they were not overheard, then facedthe other gravely. "There is one thing I may tell you," he said quietly,"that I don't think you know. Martin the butler caught a few words atthe end of your conversation with Manderson in the orchard before youstarted with him in the car. He heard him say: 'If Harris is there everymoment is of importance.' Now, Mr. Marlowe, you know my business here. Iam sent to make inquiries, and you mustn't take offense. I want to askyou if, in the face of that sentence, you will repeat that you knownothing of what the business was."

  Marlowe shook his head. "I know nothing, indeed. I'm not easilyoffended, and your question is quite fair. What passed during thatconversation I have already told the detective. Manderson plainly saidto me that he could not tell me what it was all about. He simply wantedme to find Harris, tell him that he desired to know how matters stood,and bring back a letter or message from him. Harris, I was further told,might not turn up. If he did, 'every moment was of importance.' And nowyou know as much as I do."

  "That talk took place _before_ he told his wife that you were taking himfor a moonlight run. Why did he conceal your errand in that way, Iwonder."

  The young man made a gesture of helplessness. "Why? I can guess nobetter than you."

  "Why," muttered Trent as if to himself, gazing on the ground, "did heconceal it--from Mrs. Manderson?" He looked up at Marlowe.

  "And from Martin," the other amended coolly. "He was told the samething."

  With a sudden movement of his head Trent seemed to dismiss the subject.He drew from his breast-pocket a letter-case, and thence extracted twosmall leaves of clean, fresh paper.

  "Just look at these two slips, Mr. Marlowe," he said. "Did you ever seethem before? Have you any idea where they come from?" he added, asMarlowe took one in each hand and examined them curiously.

  "They seem to have been cut with a knife or scissors from a small diaryfor this year--from the October pages," Marlowe observed, looking themover on both sides. "I see no writing of any kind on them. Nobody herehas any such diary so far as I know. What about them?"

  "There may be nothing in it," Trent said dubiously. "Any one in thehouse, of course, might have such a diary without your having seen it.But I didn't much expect you would be able to identify the leaves--infact, I should have been surprised if you had."

  He stopped speaking as Mrs. Manderson came towards them. "My unclethinks we sho
uld be going now," she said.

  "I think I will walk on with Mr. Bunner," Mr. Cupples said as he joinedthem. "There are certain business matters that must be disposed of assoon as possible. Will you come on with these two gentlemen, Mabel? Wewill wait for you before we reach the place."

  Trent turned to her. "Mrs. Manderson will excuse me, I hope," he said."I really came up this morning in order to look about me here for someindications I thought I might possibly find. I had not thought ofattending the--the court just yet."

  She looked at him with eyes of perfect candor. "Of course, Mr. Trent.Please do exactly as you wish. We are all relying upon you. If you willwait a few moments, Mr. Marlowe, I shall be ready."

  She entered the house. Her uncle and the American had already strolledtowards the gate.

  Trent looked into the eyes of his companion. "That is a wonderfulwoman," he said in a lowered voice.

  "You say so without knowing her," replied Marlowe in a similar tone."She is more than that."

  Trent said nothing to this. He stared out over the fields towards thesea. In the silence a noise of hobnailed haste rose on the still air. Alittle distance down the road a boy appeared trotting towards them fromthe direction of the hotel. In his hand was the orange envelope,unmistakable afar off, of a telegram. Trent watched him with a carefullyindifferent eye as he met and passed the two others. Then he turned toMarlowe. "Apropos of nothing in particular," he said, "were you atOxford?"

  "Yes," said the young man. "Why do you ask?"

  "I just wondered if I was right in my guess. It's one of the things youcan very often tell about a man, isn't it?"

  "I suppose so," Marlowe admitted. "Well, each of us is marked in one wayor another, perhaps. I should have said you were an artist, if I hadn'tknown it."

  "Why? Does my hair want cutting?"

  "Oh, no! It's only that you look at things and people as I've seenartists do, with an eye that moves steadily from detail todetail--rather looking them over than looking at them."

  The boy came up panting. "Telegram for you, sir," he said to Trent."Just come, sir."

  Trent tore open the envelop with an apology, and his eyes lighted up sovisibly as he read the slip that Marlowe's tired face softened in asmile.

  "It must be good news," he murmured half to himself.

  Trent turned on him a glance in which nothing could be read. "Notexactly news," he said. "It only tells me that another little guess ofmine was a good one."