Trent’s Last Case. E. C. Bentley

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СКАЧАТЬ that the law allowed a measure of freedom to wives who received intolerable treatment. I made some utterly irrelevant references to his public record, and expressed the view that such men as he were unfit to live. I said these things, and others as ill-considered, under the eyes, and very possibly within earshot, of half a dozen persons sitting on this veranda. I noticed them, in spite of my agitation, looking at me as I walked up to the hotel again after relieving my mind for it undoubtedly did 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 as before. When I stopped he smiled very slightly, and at once turned away and 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 was found dead.’

      The two regarded each other in silence for a few moments. A party of guests 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 at the side of the hotel.

      ‘I have a reason for telling you all this,’ began Mr Cupples as they paced 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 your reason is, if you like.’

      Mr Cupples’s face of solemnity relaxed into a slight smile. He said nothing.

      ‘You thought it possible,’ said Trent meditatively ‘—may I say you thought it practically certain?—that I should find out for myself that there had been something deeper than a mere conjugal tiff between the Mandersons. You thought that my unwholesome imagination would begin at once to play with the idea of Mrs Manderson having something to do with the crime. Rather than that I should lose myself in barren speculations about this, you decided to tell me exactly how matters stood, and incidentally to impress upon me, who know how excellent your judgement is, your opinion of your niece. Is that about right?’

      ‘It is perfectly right. Listen to me, my dear fellow,’ said Mr Cupples earnestly, laying his hand on the other’s arm. ‘I am going to be very frank. I am extremely glad that Manderson is dead. I believe him to have done nothing but harm in the world as an economic factor. I know that he was 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 suspicion with regard to the murder. It is horrible to me to think of her delicacy and goodness being in contact, if only for a time, with the brutalities of the law. She is not fitted for it. It would mark her deeply. Many young women of twenty-six in these days could face such an ordeal, I suppose. I have observed a sort of imitative hardness about the products of the higher education of women today which would carry them through anything, perhaps.

      ‘I am not prepared to say it is a bad thing in the conditions of feminine life prevailing at present. Mabel, however, is not like that. She is as unlike that as she is unlike the simpering misses 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 it is all mixed up’—Mr Cupples waved his hands in a vague gesture—‘with ideals of refinement and reservation and womanly mystery. I fear she is not a child of the age. You never knew my wife, Trent. Mabel is my wife’s child.’

      The younger man bowed his head. They paced the length of the lawn before he 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 will usually be more or less attracted by the most successful man in her circle. Of course we cannot realise how a wilful, dominating personality like his would influence a girl whose affections were not bestowed elsewhere; especially if he laid himself out to win her. It is probably an overwhelming thing to be courted by a man whose name is known all over the world. She had heard of him, of course, as a financial great power, and she had no idea—she had lived mostly among people of artistic or literary propensities—how much soulless inhumanity that might involve. For all I know, she has no adequate idea of it to this day. When I first heard of the affair the mischief was done, and I knew better than to interpose my unsought opinions. She was of age, and there was absolutely nothing against him from the conventional point of view. Then I dare say his immense wealth would cast a spell over almost any woman. Mabel had some hundreds a year of her own; just enough, perhaps, to let her realise what millions really meant. But all this is conjecture. She certainly had not wanted to marry some scores of young fellows who to my knowledge had asked her; and though I don’t believe, and never did believe, that she really loved this man of forty-five, she certainly did want to marry him. But if you ask me why, I can only say I don’t know.’

      Trent nodded, and after a few more paces looked at his watch. ‘You’ve interested me so much,’ he said, ‘that I had quite forgotten my main business. I mustn’t waste my morning. I am going down the road to White Gables at once, and I dare say I shall be poking about there until midday. If you can meet me then, Cupples, I should like to talk over anything I find out with you, unless something detains me.’

      ‘I am going for a walk this morning,’ Mr Cupples replied. ‘I meant to have luncheon at a little inn near the golf-course, The Three Tuns. You had better join me there. It’s further along the road, about a quarter of a mile beyond White Gables. You can just see the roof between those two 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 lives prevent from luxury’s contagion, weak and vile! Till then, goodbye.’ He strode 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, clasped his hands behind his head and gazed up into the speckless blue sky. ‘He is a dear fellow,’ he murmured. ‘The best of fellows. And a terribly acute fellow. Dear me! How curious it all is!’

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