Trent Intervenes and Other Stories

by E. C. Bentley

  ‘You are looking fine this morning, Mrs Ashley,’ the Colonel said. He knew that an allusion to her appearance was what this lady expected from every man, and he wanted to get it over, for the subject bored him.

  Mrs Ashley blinked her sandy eyelashes at him, taking no notice of what she regarded as an observation forced from him by the spectacle of herself. She was fully satisfied with the two hours’ work which she and her maid had lately completed at her toilet; and she believed that insolent manners were a mark of social distinction.

  ‘How is your father this morning?’ the Colonel asked.

  ‘Bad,’ Mrs Ashley said briefly. ‘Something has upset him again – I don’t know what. He is more shaky and depressed than ever, and I have phoned for Dr Cole to see him again. He may be here any minute.’

  Colonel White fingered his neat black moustache. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘I ought not to butt in, but as a friend of your father’s I may perhaps ask if you are quite satisfied with Dr Cole.’

  ‘Well, I ought to be,’ Mrs Ashley said, a little sharply. ‘I’ve known him for years, and he is wonderful with nervous cases. It was great luck his being here when father had this trouble. Oh! Here he is.’

  A robustly handsome man, who looked as if his study of nervous disorder had been entirely unassisted by personal experience, came up the steps and joined them on the veranda. ‘I was sorry to get your message, Mrs Ashley,’ he said. ‘Morning, Colonel. Mrs Ashley has told you, I suppose, that she thinks her father is not so well today.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me that,’ Colonel White answered. ‘She told me he was worse than ever.’ Something in his tone brought a flush to the doctor’s face, but he turned to Mrs Ashley coolly enough.

  ‘I met someone you know on my way here,’ he said. ‘Philip Trent – he’s staying with friends at the Cluny. He knew you were here, and he was going to call, but he hadn’t heard of Mr Somerton being ill, of course. I told him it would do your father nothing but good to see him, and the sooner the better – he wants taking out of himself as much as anything. So Trent is coming this afternoon. Shall I go up to Mr Somerton now? He is in your sitting-room, I suppose.’

  Mrs Ashley rose, and the doctor followed her to the hotel entrance. As they reached it, Colonel White heard Dr Cole say, in a tone of contempt obviously intended to reach his ears, ‘Your American friend is very polite this morning.’

  The Colonel smiled. ‘Like hell he is!’ he murmured to the landscape.

  When Trent was shown up to Mr Somerton’s suite that afternoon, he was astonished at the change in his appearance. Somerton, a few months ago, had been carrying his sixty-odd years lightly. With his short, thick-set figure and square, snub-nosed countenance, he had never been a beauty; but he had been the picture of health and vitality. Now he looked an old man and a sick one. His face was white and drawn, his eyes were tragic, he was stoop-shouldered, his whole being bespoke distress and haunting fear.

  ‘I am devilish glad to see you, Trent,’ he said. ‘You may be able to help me – this breakdown of my health has come at an awkward time. I am in a fix, my boy. Here, have a cigar.’ He pushed over a box. ‘I’ve had to give them up myself, but even the smell of a good cigar will be something.’

  Trent helped himself, and through the blue haze looked thoughtfully at Somerton. ‘What do you mean by being in a fix?’ he asked. ‘You aren’t being haunted by mad cannibals in an African jungle. There are doctors enough in Monte Carlo to sink a battleship. You’ve got your daughter here to look after you. And that American colonel I met just now would be a useful friend, I should think.’

  ‘Yes, White is a good fellow,’ Somerton said. ‘I don’t know what I should have done without him. I met him here last year, and we got very friendly then; but since this trouble of mine began he has been kindness itself.’

  ‘He is young for a colonel,’ Trent observed.

  ‘Oh, he’s not a soldier; it’s only an honorary title, he told me. He is immensely rich, and when he began life he hadn’t a shilling. As for Jo being here to look after me – well, I’m sorry to say that is why the position is so bad. You see, when my – my nerves began to go wrong, a week ago, she sent for this man Cole. She knew he was staying here, and she believes in him. Well, I think he’s a fool, and I know he has done me no good at all.’

  ‘Then why not get rid of him? You’ve never been afraid of telling people what you thought of them.’

  ‘It isn’t that, it’s Jo. Look here, Trent, if I want you to help me I must tell you the truth. Jo is an only child and a spoilt one, she is hard and selfish, but I’m devoted to her and can’t bear to give her any cause for resentment. I couldn’t, even if she was sweet-tempered, but the fact is she gets furious if she is crossed in anything, and in the state I am in now I simply dare not face one of her scenes. I can’t suggest going home before she wants to. I can’t tell her Cole is no use to me. On the contrary, I’m expected to like him.’ Somerton wiped his forehead with a shaking hand, then resumed, ‘You may as well know it all. I believe she’s in love with him. They are always about together. It was Cole who attended Hugh Ashley when he went to pieces; and since his death she and Cole have been bosom friends.’

  Trent reflected over his cigar. ‘You don’t think Cole is a wrong ’un, do you?’ he asked at length.

  ‘Oh no, nothing of the sort. After being a beak for nearly twenty years, and having had half the rascals in London up before me, I know dishonesty when I see it. Cole doesn’t understand me, that’s all, and he won’t realise it. Now, Trent, can’t you do something for me? You see how it is. You might say a word to Jo about getting another opinion, perhaps. She might listen to you; and anyhow she can’t make you suffer as she can make me. White has dropped a hint or two, he tells me, but she pays no attention.’

  ‘I will do anything I can, of course,’ Trent said. ‘But, Somerton, what exactly is the matter with you? You speak of your nerves going wrong; that might mean anything. You certainly don’t look well; but how does it take you?’

  Somerton held up a weary hand. ‘For God’s sake, don’t tell me I don’t look well! I’m sick of hearing that. People I’ve never met come up to me in the street and tell me I look ill, and ask if they can do anything. How does it take me?’ Somerton leaned forward in his chair and stared miserably into Trent’s eyes. ‘I’ll tell you. I believe I’m going out of my mind – dying at the top.’

  Trent showed nothing of the shock he felt. ‘Oh, come!’ he said with a smile. ‘You’re as sane as I am, Somerton. You haven’t said a word yet that wasn’t perfectly rational.’

  ‘All the same, there’s something desperately wrong. I’ll tell you how it began. One evening, about a week ago, Jo suggested we might run over to Mentone and take the mountain railway to Sospel, which we’d never seen, and come back by Nice. We made up a small party in the hotel, to go next day. Well, next morning I was down before the others, and Gaston, the head porter, came up to me and said he had got the time-table I asked for, with the service to Sospel. I was astounded, because I could have taken my dying oath I had never asked him for any time-table, or even thought of doing so.

  ‘I said nothing about this to the others, because, of course, they would have thought I had simply forgotten asking for the time-table; but it kept coming back into my mind all day. Then in the evening, when I was dressing in my room here, there was a knock at the door, and a man came in saying he was the valet. I said I hadn’t rung for the valet, or for anybody. The fellow looked surprised. He said the bell had rung in the valets’ room; and the little blue light over the bedroom door, which goes on when you ring, had been showing when he knocked, and he had only that moment switched it off. I said there must be something wrong with the electrical arrangements, and he went off, looking at me queerly. After what had happened that morning, I didn’t like this. I hadn’t rung, or wanted anything to ring for – but could I have rung all the same? I felt worried; and at dinner Jo asked me what I had got on my mind. Of course, I said
there was nothing; and I worried all the more, and slept badly afterwards.

  ‘The next morning, when I was shaving, exactly the same thing happened. The valet knocked, asked what monsieur desired; and do you know, Trent, rather than have him look at me again as if I was crazy, I told him I wanted some cigarettes. That shows you how shaken I was; for I hadn’t the faintest recollection of having rung, and I felt by now that there must be something wrong mentally.

  ‘The following day some of us went down to the front to watch a regatta, and I had a bet with a man on a crew I fancied in a boat race. I lost, and found I was short of money to pay him; so I went on to the Lyonnais where I have a credit, and drew ten milles and some smaller notes. I rejoined our party, and we had a few more bets. When I took out my case to settle what I owed, I found I had twenty milles in it.

  ‘I said nothing about it, I was too much upset. I went back to the bank and asked how much I had drawn. The cashier showed me my cheque – 10,500 francs. I said they had given me twenty milles, and produced my case to show him. There were only ten milles in it. The man looked at me as the valet had done. I could have screamed.

  ‘The next day White and I were out for a stroll, and we stopped at Madame Joubin’s stall, as we often did, to buy papers. I got The Times of the day before – Tuesday, February 2nd; it was too early for that day’s issue. When we sat down to look at our papers, I caught sight of the date on the front page of mine, which I hadn’t unfolded. It was The Times for Monday, February 2nd – of last year!

  ‘I said to White, “Here’s a curious thing. Look at the date on my paper.” He took it and said, “Why, what’s wrong with it?” I said, “Can’t you see? It’s a year old.” White stared at me, with that look I had got to dread so much. He only said, “No, it’s yesterday’s paper all right”; and when I looked again, it was so.

  ‘As soon as we got back to the hotel, I told Jo I must see a doctor at once, that for the first time in my life my nerves had gone wrong. I didn’t say anything about mental trouble. She said she was sure it would be wise, that I had been looking queer for some days past; and she sent off for this fellow Cole. Well, you know what I think of him. I told him all that I’ve told you – I’ve never told anyone else until now. He wagged his head and thought a little; then he asked me if I hadn’t been in Monte Carlo about this time. Then Cole said that probably I had done last year all these things which I had done again unconsciously this year, or imagined myself doing this year; that I had got a kink in my memory, or something like that; that I had drawn 20,000 francs one day a year ago, and bought a Times on February 2nd a year ago, and so on. Well, I couldn’t say it wasn’t so; but you can imagine that it didn’t altogether relieve my mind. It’s not a good sign when your memory takes to turning somersaults. Besides, it didn’t explain the time-table incident. Well, Cole said I must take a sedative, which he prescribed, and on no account let myself get tired, and give up smoking and stimulants.’

  Trent, who had listened in silence while Somerton set out all these strange facts, or fancies, in their due order, now crushed out his cigar-butt and spoke. ‘I don’t know anything about it, but I agree it looks as if nerve trouble, in the ordinary sense, hardly covers the facts. And yet, you know, Somerton, you’re not a bit like a mental case, as far as my small experience goes.’

  Somerton uttered an impatient exclamation. ‘That’s just it! I feel absolutely sane – and all the same there’s the fact that I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes. And you haven’t heard the worst, either – the thing that bowled me over this morning. You see, a week ago I sent my wife a birthday present. She is at our flat in Brook Street just now; she hates Monte Carlo. I sent her a small Chinese statuette in white jade – got it at Grangette’s little shop in the Rue de la Scala, and wrote down the name and address for him to send it to.

  ‘This morning I had a letter from Mary thanking me warmly for the present, but at the same time asking whether the address I had sent it to was some sort of joke. Fortunately the people at that address knew where we live now, but even so it had taken three days to reach her. She enclosed the label with the address typed on it. Have a look at it, will you?’

  Trent took the paper from Somerton’s quivering hand, and read what follows:

  Mrs J L Somerton.

  23 Talford Street,

  London, SW7.

  Angleterre.

  ‘I don’t wonder she was puzzled,’ Trent observed, looking up at the other. ‘What is this address?’

  ‘23 Talfourd Street – there ought to be a U after the O – is the house where we lived from the time we were married. We left it in 1912 – fourteen years ago.’ Somerton lay back in his chair with closed eyes. ‘I’ve never seen it since, or given it a thought during most of that time. So there you are. A nice thing to be faced with when I was already afraid–’ he left the sentence unfinished and covered his face with his hands.

  Trent looked at him in silence a few moments, then stared again at the label. He rose and took it to the window, where he studied it with his back to the stricken figure in the chair. Then, looking out over the sunlit Escalier des Fleurs, he began to whistle almost inaudibly.

  ‘And you had no thought of this address in your mind when you were giving Grangette his instructions?’

  Somerton looked up irritably. ‘I told you. Why, I had almost forgotten I had ever lived there until I read that label this morning. You see how it fits in with the rest. But my mind going back to a year ago, without my being conscious of it, is one thing; fourteen years is another.’

  Trent left the window and laid a hand on Somerton’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you lose heart,’ he said. ‘It seems bad, I know, but I believe I may be able to help you. In fact, I am quite confident you can be put right if you’ll leave it to me.’ And Trent, slipping the label into his pocket, took a hasty leave of his friend.

  An hour later Trent found Colonel White in his favourite seat on the veranda, turning the lively pages of the New Yorker.

  ‘I have just been having an interesting talk, Colonel,’ he said without preliminary, leaning back on the railing as he faced the other. ‘I have been to Grangette’s little antique shop – you know the place.’

  Colonel White laid aside his paper. ‘Sure I know it,’ he said. ‘I have done business with Grangette a few times.’

  ‘Yes, I know you have done business with him,’ Trent said with an acrid smile. He drew from a pocket the label which he had taken away from Somerton’s room, and tossed it on the small table at the Colonel’s elbow.

  ‘That is a pretty good address, as they go,’ Trent went on. ‘There are only two things wrong with it. The name of the street is spelt the way an American would spell it. It ought to be T-A-L-F-O-U-R-D.’

  The Colonel, inspecting the label with languid interest, nodded. ‘Pronounced T-A-L-F-O-R-D,’ he remarked. ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘Also,’ Trent continued, ‘that postal direction, “SW7”, is a little too modern. The Post Office didn’t begin putting a numeral after the district letters until long after Somerton had left that address. I am not sure when they started doing so, but I know it was during the War.’

  Colonel White sighed. ‘Now isn’t that just too bad?’ he commented.

  ‘I took that label to Grangette,’ Trent went on, ‘and I told him I was making inquiries on behalf of Somerton, and I wanted to know how his packet came to be sent to that address. I said that it was a situation grave. Grangette is not a reliable tool, Colonel. He began to go to pieces at once. He swore Somerton had given him the address; but the next moment he was declaring that he hadn’t meant any harm, and that anyhow there was nothing illegal. So I said that was a matter for the Correctional Court to decide. I think Grangette must have been in trouble before, because as soon as I mentioned the Court he broke down and began to beg to be let off, and told me the whole thing. He even told me how much you paid him to address the packet wrongly. What I should like to know is how you got hold of that address.’

/>   The Colonel smiled amiably. ‘Anything else you would like to know?’ he inquired.

  ‘I can imagine,’ Trent said, ‘how some of this malicious persecution was carried out. It was easy to bribe the porter and the floor-valet to pretend that Somerton had asked for a time-table and that he had rung his bedroom bell. It was easy to pay people to speak sympathetically to him in the street about how ill he was looking. But I don’t see how the trick with the newspaper was done; and that business of changing the banknotes in Somerton’s note-case puzzles me. Not that it matters very much; because the thing is going to stop now, and Somerton is going to be told that all this trouble of his was due to a heartless fraud. What he will do about it is for him to say. Probably he will prosecute you, for Somerton can be a very hard man when he likes.’

  Colonel White rose from his chair and approached Trent. ‘I know he can. I know he can.’ He stared into Trent’s eyes and tapped him lightly on the chest. ‘You don’t have to tell me that. And I can be hard too, when I like. Now, Mr Trent, I am not sorry you have found all this out. I wanted it to be known; it was part of my plan that it should be known. You have speeded matters up by a day or two, that’s all. I had very nearly finished with Somerton, and my intention was to go away suddenly, without a word to him, leaving a letter for him in which I reminded him of certain matters between ourselves. What I am now going to do is this. I shall write you a letter about this heartless fraud of mine – I have no objection to that way of putting it – because since you have found out so much, I should prefer you to know just why I did it. You shall have the letter today, and you can show it to Somerton when you’ve read it. But I will tell you one thing now – the way the banknote trick was worked.’ The Colonel paused a moment, then asked, ‘Have you a cigarette?’