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 as this time. I simply couldn't make up my mind to disbelieve her. And, besides, if Bella is peculiar about anything, it's clean, wholesome, hygienic living. 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."
"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. 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 Illingsworths 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. He spoke of Lady Bosworth in a queer, semi-scientific sort of way, saying she 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. It's the one thing George 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. 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."
"Mr. Scheffer really is a wonderful person,” the lady said. “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 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.
"Perhaps that is the feeling about him in Dutch New Guinea,” 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 a 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. 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.
"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. Look here, Edith, 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 motor-boat 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?"
She pondered. “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."
* * * *
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 fraternising with the keeper of the inn by the landing-place certain triste individui 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 farther, 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.
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, and soon afterwards appeared the passenger-boat, by which, Giuseppe advising it, they decided to return. 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 the evening,” she whispered. “What does that mean?"
"It means,” murmured Trent, “that Lady Bosworth was prevented, by the merest accident, from dining at home in the ordinary way."
* * * *
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 could happen?"
Mrs. Lancey frowned furiously. 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 pill-box or any sort to be found. So much for your suspicions. 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; and yet,” she added slowly, “you are looking rather pleased with yourself."
Trent turned round slowly. “I'm only thinking. Whose are the rooms on each side of this, Edith?"
"This side, the Stones's; that side, Mrs. Scheffer's."
"Then I will go for a walk all alone and think some more. Good-bye."
* * * *
Trent was not in the house when, three hours later, a rousing tumult broke out on the upper floor. Those below in the loggia heard first a piercing scream, then a clatter of feet on parquet flooring, then more sounds of feet, excited voices, other screams of harsh, inhuman quality, and a lively scuffling and banging. Mr. Scheffer, with a volley of gutteral words of which it was easy to gather the general sense, headed the rush of the company upstairs.
"Gisko! Gisko!” he shouted, at the head of the stairway. There was another ear-splitting screech, and the cockatoo came scuttling and fluttering out of Lady Bosworth's room, pursued by three vociferating women servants. The bird's yellow crest was erect and quivering with agitation; it screeched furious defiance again as it leapt upon its master's outstretched wrist.
"Silence, devil!” exclaimed Mr. Scheffer, seizing it by the head and shaking it violently. “I know not how to apologise, Lancey,” he declared. “The accursed bird has somehow slipped from his chain away. I left him in my room secure just before we had tea."
"Never mind, never mind!” replied his host, who seemed rather pleased than otherwise with this small diversion. “I don't suppose he's done any harm beyond frightening the women. Anything wrong, Edith?” he asked, as they approached the open door of the bedroom, to which the ladies had already hurried. Lady Bosworth's maid was telling a voluble story.
"When she came in just now to get the room ready for Isabel to dress,” Mrs. Lancey summarised, “she suddenly heard a voice say something, and saw the bird perched on top of the mirror, staring at her. It gave her such a shock that she dropped the water-can and fled; then the two other girls came and helped her, trying to drive it out. They hadn't the sense to send for Mr. Scheffer."
"Apologise, carrion!” commanded Gisko's master. The cockatoo uttered a string of Dutch words in a subdued croak. “He says he asks one thousand pardons, and he will sin no more,” Mr. Scheffer translated. “Miserable brigand! Traitor!"
Lady Bosworth hurried out of her room.
"I won't hear the poor thing scolded like that,” she protested. “How was he to know my maid would be frightened? He looks so wretched! Take him away, Mr. Scheffer, and cheer him up."
It was half an hour later that Mrs. Lancey came to her husband in his dressing-room.
"I must say Bella was very decent about Scheffer's horrid bird,” she began. “Do you know what the little fiend had done?"
"No, my dear. I thought he had confined himself to frightening the maid out of her skin."
"Not at all. He had been having the time of his life. Bella saw at once that he had been up to mischief, but she pretended there was nothing. Now it turns out he has bitten the buttons off two pairs of gloves, chewed up a lot of hair-pins, and spoiled her pretty little manicure set. He's torn the lining out of the case, the silver handles are covered with beak-marks, two or three of the things he seems to have hidden somewhere, and the polishing-pad is a ruin."
"It's too bad!” declared Mr. Lancey, bending over a shoe.
"I believe you're laughing, George,” said his wife coldly.
He began to do so audibly. “You must admit it's funny to think of the bird going solemnly through a programme of mischief like that. I wish I could have seen the little beggar at it. Well, we shall have to get Bella a new nail-outfit. I'm glad she held her tongue about it just now."
"Why?"
"Because, my dear, we don't ask people to the house to make them feel uncomfortable—especially foreigners."
"Bella wasn't thinking of your ideal of hospitality. She held her tongue because she's taken a fancy to Scheffer. But, George, how do you suppose the little pest got in? The window was shut, and Hignett declares the door was too, when she went to the room."
"Then I expect Hignett deceives herself. Anyway, what does it matter? What I am anxious about is your sister's little peculiarity. As I've told you, I don't at all like the look of her having been quite normal yesterday evening, the one evening when she was away from the house by accident. I really am feeling miserably depressed, Edith. What I'm dreading now is a repetition of the usual ghastly performance tonight."
But neither that night, nor any night after, was that performance repeated. Lady Bosworth, free now of all apprehension, renewed and redoubled the life of the little company. And the lips of Trent were obstinately sealed.
* * * *
Three weeks later Trent was shown into the consulting-room of Sir Peregrine Bosworth. The famous physician was a tall, stooping man of exaggerated gauntness, narrow-jawed, and high-nosed. He was courteous of manner and smiled readily; but his face was set in unhappy lines.
"Will you sit down, Mr. Trent?” said Sir Peregrine. “You wrote that you wished to see me upon a private matter concerning myself. I am at a loss to imagine what it can be, but, knowing your name, I had no hesitation in making an appointment."
Trent inclined his head. “I am obliged to you, Sir Peregrine. The matter is really important, and also quite private—so private that no person whatever knows the material facts besides myself. I won't waste words. I have lately been staying with the Lanceys, whom you know, in Italy. Lady Bosworth was also a guest there. For some days before my arrival she had suffered each evening from a curious attack of lassitude and vacancy of mind. I don't
know what it was. Perhaps you do."
Sir Peregrine, immovably listening, smiled grimly. “The description of symptoms is a little vague. I have heard nothing of this, I may say, from my wife."
"It always came on at a certain time of the day, and only then. That time was a few minutes after eight, at the beginning of dinner. The attack passed off gradually after two hours or so."
The physician laid his clenched hand on the table between them. “You are not a medical man, Mr. Trent, I believe. What concern have you with all this?” His voice was coldly hostile now.
"Lots,” answered Trent briefly. Then he added, as Sir Peregrine got to his feet with a burning eye, “I know nothing of medicine, but I cured Lady Bosworth."
The other sat down again suddenly. His open hands fell upon the table and his dark face became very pale. “You—” he began with difficulty.
"I and no other, Sir Peregrine. And in a curiously simple way. I found out what was causing the trouble, and without her knowledge I removed it. It was—oh, the devil!” Trent exclaimed in a lower tone. For Sir Peregrine Bosworth, with a brow gone suddenly white and clammy, had first attempted to rise and then sunk forward with his head on the table.
Trent, who had seen such things before, hurried to him, pulled his chair from the table, and pressed his head down to his knees. Within a minute the stricken man was leaning back in his chair. He inspired deeply from a small bottle he had taken from his pocket.
"You have been overworking, perhaps,” Trent said. “Something is wrong. I think I had better not—"
Sir Peregrine had pulled himself together. “I know very well what is wrong with me, sir,” he interrupted brusquely. “It is my business to know. That will not happen again. I wish to hear what you have to say before you leave this house."
AHMM, March 2007 Page 16
