mention one single thing against Mrs. Charlock? Here is a woman married
to a boor, who is supposed to ill-treat her because he can't have his
own way; he sells the house over her head, and says she can remain if
she please. A woman ought to be able to get rid of a man for less than
that. Upon my word, I think it was one of the most chivalrous things I
ever heard of. Then there is Arnold Rent, whom we all regard as a
clever fellow, who, apart from his science, is living entirely for
himself. I have heard it said that he has no heart and no feeling. And
yet he makes a deliberate sacrifice for the sake of a woman who
apparently cares nothing for him. Really, in these prosaic times, for a
man to go out of his way to offer a suffering woman the shelter of his
mother's roof is touching. This kind of thing an author might make into
a book. I suppose nobody has heard anything of Rent?"
"Indeed, they have," a voice interrupted. "It is my turn now to
contribute to the harmony of the evening. Our charming hostess has
given us the first act of the comedy. Now I can proceed to write up the
second. What the third act will be like is a matter for speculation.
Anyway, as I was coming here to-night, I saw Rent going along the shore
to his offices. He wouldn't allow me to stop him; he would hardly allow
me to speak to him. At any rate, he is back again, and the
Charlock-Rent romance is at an end. I am sorry to spoil sport in this
way, but I am bound to speak the truth. It looks to me as if the story
had a commonplace ending, after all. Probably Mrs. Rent threw a cold
douche of common sense upon her son's argument, and Mrs. Charlock has
made the best of it by coming back to her husband. That is my
conclusion."
"I don't believe a word of it," Mrs. Bromley-Martin cried. "I refuse to
have my illusions scattered in this way. If I had only known Arnold
Rent was here I would have asked him to come round this evening. His
appearance would have created a sensation. And sensations in these
times----"
The speaker paused, conscious that there was something wrong. Her back
was to the door. She did not see that someone had come into the room.
That everything was not quite in order she could gather by the
expression on the faces of her guests. No one was sneering or smiling.
Most of them were looking blank, and one or two decidedly uncomfortable.
"What is the matter?" Mrs. Bromley-Martin asked. "Have I said anything
so very _outre_, or have you all suddenly become----"
"It is a pure matter of conscience," a cold, clear voice said. "You
have every right to your own opinion. But on this occasion, gracious
lady, you are absolutely wrong, much as it grieves me to tell you so."
A little spurt of colour flamed to Mrs. Bromley-Martin's face. Possibly
it was the first time she had blushed for years. She forced her voice
to a higher pitch as she recognised Rent.
"Talk of an angel and you hear his wings," she cackled. "How dare you
stand there and listen to what I was saying! Why, bless my soul, a set
like ours, if we all knew what our neighbours thought of us, would be
deadly enemies in a week. Still, my dear boy, I forgive you, because it
was so thoughtful of you to come round this evening to make my party a
success. But did you hear what I was saying?"
"Every word," Rent said gravely.
"In that case, it would be foolish of me to apologise. We were talking
of Mrs. Charlock and yourself. I believe it was under this roof that
you met her for the first time. It was here that the tender romance had
its initiation. It was here, also, that John Charlock behaved in such a
brutish way and played into the hands of his wife. I daresay you
recollect the occasion."
"Perfectly well."
"What a sphinx it is!" Mrs. Bromley-Martin remarked, with a shrug of her
shoulders. "Why don't you try to help me out? You must know what
conclusion we came to. We all give you credit for acting the part of
the cavalier without fear and without reproach. But when both parties
came back in this prosaic fashion, why, naturally----"
"One moment," Rent said coldly. "Loth as I am to spoil your recreation,
I must speak. You are all mistaken. It is true that chance gave me the
opportunity of befriending Mrs. Charlock when she was badly in need of
advice, but there the thing begins and ends. I might have been wrong in
offering Mrs. Charlock a temporary home with my mother; I am not
prepared to say that I had given the matter due consideration. However,
Mrs. Charlock has thought the matter over and come to the conclusion
that she cannot do better than fall in with her husband's wishes. That
is why she is here, and you can guess why I have returned, also. It
will be just as well in future to drop this subject."
There was something so cool and self-possessed in the speaker's words
that no one in the group round the fireplace ventured even to smile.
Rent flashed a challenge from one to the other, but no one offered to
take it up. There were one or two murmurs of approval, and Mrs.
Bromley-Martin thought it wise to change her ground.
"I am sure, I beg your pardon," she said. "I had no idea you would take
it in this way. You see, it is so seldom that anybody in our set is
serious that one forgets that there are real responsibilities in life.
Now let us go back to the tables and devote ourselves to the business of
the evening."
Rent bowed gravely. Mrs. Bromley-Martin had gone as far in the way of
an apology as she was likely to go. Before he could say anything there
was a further commotion at the door, and another man entered, apparently
bursting to relate some item of news. Mrs. Bromley-Martin heralded the
intrusion at once as a godsend. Here was a speedy and graceful escape
from the position she had taken up, and she hastened across the room.
"Well, colonel, what is it? What fresh scandal is afoot? Positively,
we are so dull here that anything, even if it is deliberately untrue,
will be welcomed."
"Oh, this is true enough," the man replied. "I was coming past
Charlock's house just now, and I met that fellow Grey coming out of the
gate in a hurry. You know the man I mean--he is staying with that
clever Italian, Tanza, on his yacht. At first, I could not make out
what was the matter with him. It appeared he was asking me to fetch a
policeman, as something terrible had happened in Charlock's grounds.
Mrs. Charlock had fallen into a fountain, or something of that kind. At
any rate, when Grey and Charlock found her she was lying there quite
dead."
A sudden exclamation broke from Rent's lips. He turned a white, set face
towards the speaker.
"In the fountain?" he asked hoarsely. "By the sundial, do you mean?
Oh, the thing is incredible."
"All the same, it is quite true," the newcomer said. "I saw it for
myself before I went off for the police. And the strange part of the
whole thing is that mistress and maid perished in the same way. There
seems to be a fatality about that sundial."
*CHAPTER XXIX*
*A LAPSE OF MEMORY*
Arnold Rent seemed to be striving for words to express his feelings. He
pressed his hand to his throat, as if something had risen and choked
him. There was a deadly pallor on his face, too, which some of the
guests did not fail to notice. They were quiet now, for this
_denouement_ was calculated to suppress the frivolous spirits even of
Mrs. Bromley-Martin's guests.
"Tell us some more," the hostess murmured.
"There is very little to say," the man who was telling the story went
on. "I met a policeman within a few yards of Charlock's lodge gate and
sent him off headlong to bring his inspector and a doctor. Then I went
back to the scene of the tragedy to see if I could do anything. I heard
voices in the garden and went down towards that now famous sundial. I
had heard of the thing before; in fact, I remember reading a paragraph
or two in the papers when Charlock bought it. At any rate, there it
was, looking pale and ghostly in the gloom, and by the side of it stood
Charlock and Grey bending over an object on the grass. As a matter of
fact, they had no business to disturb the body at all. Still, the thing
was done, and I helped to carry the poor creature into the house. I came
away as soon as I decently could, because it was no place for an
outsider."
"Dreadful!" Mrs. Bromley-Martin shuddered. "What a fate for a beautiful
creature! And what did John Charlock say? How did he seem to take it?"
The man who was telling the story shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't ask me," he murmured. "Charlock is not like other people. You
see, he is a genius, and geniuses are allowed to express their feelings
in their own way. So far as I could see, the discovery made not the
slightest difference to him; excepting that he lives and breathes like
most of us, he might have been carved out of stone. There was no
expression whatever on his features, not one word escaped his lips. I
was glad to get away."
Arnold Rent listened to this recital with the air of a man who dreams.
More than once he appeared as if desirous of asking a question. Then he
changed his mind. By this time it had already reached those who were
deeply immersed in cards. As the various rubbers were finished people
began to gather by the fireplace and discuss the tragedy. The first
feeling of awe had passed away and everybody was talking at once.
Rent was unnoticed. He seemed to have fallen into the background, and
before anyone was aware of the fact, he had slipped out of the
drawing-room into the hall, where he donned his coat and hat. Then,
without the formality of saying good-night to Mrs. Bromley-Martin, he
walked down the spacious drive into the road. He came presently to the
lodge gate of Charlock's house, where he paused. Now and again he
passed his handkerchief over his forehead to wipe away the beads of
moisture which had gathered. The night was warm, but not sufficiently
so to account for the water trickling down his face.
"I've got to do it," he groaned. "Lord, what a coward I am!"
The last words came with an accent of bitter self-reproach. It seemed
as if Rent were taking hold of himself and impelling his feet
unwillingly forward. He came at length to the house, where the lights
were still burning in the front room, where he could see John Charlock
and Grey standing facing each other across the table. There were other
shadows in the background, but of these Rent took no notice. He would
have liked to knock at the door and make inquiries, but even his
audacity shrank from going so far. It was not the time to face John
Charlock. The only thing was to wait until Grey came out.
The young scientist emerged presently and closed the door behind him.
He turned very coldly, almost offensively, to Rent when the latter
accosted him.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"I have just heard the news," Rent said hoarsely. "I had gone as far as
Mrs. Bromley-Martin's when Colonel Suffield came in and told us. He was
the man you sent for the police. It seems incredible. It seemed all
the more impossible to grasp because it was told before that frivolous
lot yonder. I could not wait a moment. Suffield told me you were here.
Of course, I could not ask for Charlock in the circumstances."
"That would be playing the blackguard," Grey remarked pointedly.
"You are altogether unjust," Rent murmured. "If you knew the whole story
you would not blame me in the least. I only acted on Mrs. Charlock's
behalf as any other man would have done. Surely, a good and pure woman
is above scandal. But I am not going to discuss that. I want to know
what has happened."
"There is very little to tell you," Grey said. "I came here by
appointment to see Mr. Charlock. He wanted me to be present because his
wife was coming back, and he deemed it best to have a third party at the
interview. We heard a cry of distress from the bottom of the garden and
immediately proceeded in that direction. To make a long story short, we
found Mrs. Charlock's dead body lying in the fountain by the sundial,
precisely in the same way as her late maid's was discovered. Beyond that
I can tell you nothing. What more would you know?"
It appeared as if Rent could have known a great deal more, but he
restrained his feelings and walked silently down the drive by Grey's
side. The two parted at a turning in the road, and Rent made his way
across the foreshore to his offices. There was no light, so far as he
could see, and this seemed to fill him with relief.
"I suppose Swift is away to-night," he muttered. "Well, perhaps it is
for the best. And yet I told him particularly that I wanted him at
eleven. That accursed drink again, I suppose! I shall have to get rid
of him."
Rent struck a match and fumbled with his key in the lock. He left the
front door open on the off-chance of Swift coming back. Then he
proceeded to the inner office and switched on the electric lights. From
a safe let in the wall he proceeded to take out some electrical
appliances, and with these in his hand he turned rapidly towards the
door. Then he stepped back with an oath and a cry of vexation as he saw
someone standing there. The intruder's face wore a wide grin, but his
dark eyes were set in stern determination. Ephraim Bark was not
pleasant to look at.
"What the devil are you doing here?" Rent demanded.
By way of reply Bark closed the door and took a seat. Then he produced
a cigarette, which he lighted coolly.
"What is the good of talking that rot to me?" he said. "I have been
looking for you for the past week, and you have been keeping out of the
way because you were afraid to meet me. Oh, it is all very well to
smile, but if you weren't afraid, why didn't you toe the scratch like a
man?"
"I have been away on business," Rent said, lamely enough.
"Business be hanged! Now, look here, I am not going to waste words with
you. After that little affair in Paris you promised me two hundred
pounds, not a penny of which I have had yet. Why should I be walking
about on my uppers while you are rolling in money? A rich man like
yourself----"
"I am not a rich man," Rent protested. "As a matter of fact, I have an
allowance which is quite insufficient for me, and, apart from that, I am
dependent for every penny upon my mother, who can leave it all away from
me if she pleases. Yes, and she would do it, too, if she knew the sort
of life I have been leading."
"I know all about that," Bark grinned. "I make every allowance. But
you must have something to spare. I tell you, I am penniless, desperate
almost, and I am going to have a hundred pounds or its equivalent before
I leave you to-night."
Rent burst out into furious epithets.
"I tell you, I haven't got it," he protested. "I have never been so
hard up as I am now. There are particular reasons why I cannot appeal
to my mother just now. In the course of a fortnight or so I may be able
to accommodate you."
Bark laughed insultingly. He made use of expressions which brought the
blood flaming to Rent's cheeks, but he dared not retaliate openly. He
was in this man's power, as he reflected bitterly. A murderous instinct
rose within him. He reached out and grasped a heavy ruler, and ere he
knew what he was doing he was holding the weapon threateningly over
Bark's head. There was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes. There was
no time for further argument, as Bark saw. He closed at once with Rent.
He crooked his foot dexterously behind the latter's heel and Rent fell
heavily to the ground. He staggered as he fell, so that his head came
in violent contact with the corner of the iron fender of the fireplace.
He lay still and motionless, with Bark bending over him.
"Lord, I've done it now," the latter said ruefully. "I believe I've
killed the beggar. Well, if I have----"
Bark paused suddenly and lifted up his head like a hare. He seemed to
hear footsteps coming closer. If he had dealt Rent a fatal blow, he had
no mind to be caught red-handed. And no one had seen him come. He
darted from the room like a flash and raced across the sands as if the
Powers of Darkness were after him.
*CHAPTER XXX*
*"THOU ART THE MAN"*
It was some time before Rent came to himself and sat up, wondering what
had happened. His brain was dizzy and confused. His head was aching
violently. In some vague way he was haunted with an idea that he had
come down to the office on some important errand which had life or death
behind it. But, cudgel his brain as he might, he could not recollect
what it was. There was no mark of violence on his forehead. He could
not remember how he got there. He would have found it difficult,
indeed, to put a name to the man who had brought this catastrophe about.
He sank down into his chair, a profuse perspiration breaking out on his
brow. He had utterly forgotten the past up to a few minutes ago. Yet
all the time he was haunted with an insistent feeling that he had
something to do, that he had something to obliterate, or suffer
consequences disastrous to himself.
"I suppose it will pass off presently," he muttered. "Let me see,
wasn't there somebody with me? Was Bark here, or did I dream it? Yes,
he certainly was here. But what happened? Why did I come to myself
lying in the fireplace? And what was it I had to do? Perhaps Swift can
tell me."
But, though Rent sat there with his head in his hands for half an hour,
his treacherous memory did not come back to him. He looked up eagerly
as he heard a step in the passage and Swift came in. With a certain
feeling of thankfulness he recognised Swift. But all that had taken
place during the past week was a blank complete and absolute. Swift
gazed into the face of his employer with uneasy surprise. He had not
been drinking to-night. His faculties were clear.
"What on earth is the matter?" he asked. "You look so white and wild.
What have you been doing?"
"Oh, I don't know," Rent groaned. "I came for a special purpose a
little time ago, but what brought me I haven't the remotest idea. I
suppose I had a fainting fit or something of that kind, for when I came
to myself I was lying in the fender, and now I can recollect nothing
that has taken place during the last few days. I have heard of brain
lapses of that kind, but I have never believed in them before."
"Did you come alone?" Swift asked.
"That I can't tell you. And I don't know how long I have been here,
either. Oh, my head is dreadful!"
Swift shrugged his shoulders indifferently. He had his own idea as to
what had taken place, but saw that it would be a waste of time to
cross-examine Rent further. He glanced about him. The man smiled
cynically as he saw the end of a cheap cigarette in a saucer on the
table. It was not the sort of cigarette that Rent would smoke.
Possibly that kind of tobacco might appeal to a man like Bark. Swift
did not require to be told any more. He had reconstructed the whole
scene in his mind's eye.
"I am very sorry," he said. "Unfortunately, I can do nothing to help
you. If you take my advice, you will go back to your hotel without
delay and send for a doctor. It is uncommonly awkward for a man who
leads your sort of life to forget all that happens for the best part of
a week. An accident like that might lead to unpleasant consequences.
Now let me take you back."
Rent raised no objection. He was too thoroughly frightened and broken
down to heed his assistant's sarcasm. And all the time he was filled
with a haunting dread that he was leaving some work unfinished, some
task which, if neglected, might involve him in a veritable catastrophe.
He submitted quietly to follow Swift. No words passed as they walked
through the deserted town. Near the harbour they met Malcolm Grey on his
way to the yacht, but neither seemed to observe him, though he
recognised them plainly enough.
"I wonder what these two fellows are up to?" Grey mused. "I would give
something to see into the back of Rent's mind at the present moment.
But, still, I know how to act now."
When he reached the yacht he found Tanza awaiting him, the little man's
eyes sparkling, as usual. He appeared to be on excellent terms with
himself.
"So you have been busy?" he exclaimed. "Well, I have not been idle,
either. But tell me all about this extraordinary accident to Mrs.
Charlock. You needn't be surprised to find that I know, because, for
the last hour or so, I have been at the police station. Is this another
case of suicide?"
"Pure accident, I should say," Grey replied. "But one can never tell.
You are going your way and I am going mine, but it is odd if we can't
arrive at the truth between us."
"And how did Charlock take it?" Tanza asked.
"Well, he didn't take it at all," Grey replied, "if I may put it in that
way. For all the emotion and feeling he displayed we might have fished
a dog out of the reservoir instead of his wife. But his feelings are so
keen and intense that he keeps an extra tight hold upon them. I am to
see him in the morning. I want an excuse for going over his house, and,
if I am not mistaken, I shall make a sensational discovery or two in the
course of to-day or to-morrow. I'll have one of your cigarettes, after
which I'll go to bed."
There was no change in Charlock when Grey reached the house on the
following morning. He found the artist in the same quiet,
self-contained mood. There was nothing to show that his feelings had
been played upon, except for certain hollow rings under his eyes.
"I am glad you have come," he said. "It is dreadful being here alone.
I have got a few things in the house and furnished a sitting-room for
the time being. They tell me the inquest is at ten o'clock. I shall be
glad when it is over, for the police are worrying me with all sorts of
questions more or less impertinent. I have the greatest difficulty in
keeping my hands off some of them. Ah, here is another. It is the
inspector this time. He rather wants to see you. Meanwhile, I'll get
out of the way till he is finished."
Charlock slipped quietly out of the room as the inspector came in. He
was a pompous little man with a heavy manner, who appeared to think that
he had the care of the universe on his shoulders. Nevertheless, when he
began to speak his questions were very much to the point.
"I don't want to bother you, Mr. Grey," the inspector said, "but I think
you can give me certain information. I have been talking the matter
over with Mr. Charlock and he has shown me his wife's letter. It
appears that the lady came here last night at her own suggestion. It
was Mr. Charlock's idea that you should be present at the interview. Of
course, we don't want to go into the details of a domestic quarrel, but
it must be admitted that the relationship between husband and wife was
exceedingly strained. I suppose you know that?"
"You are stating it fairly," Grey said cautiously.
"Exactly. Mr. Charlock was inclined to be harsh, and the lady, I
understand, was terribly extravagant. There had been a serious quarrel
before Mrs. Charlock made overtures for reconciliation. It doesn't
matter why Mr. Charlock decided to call you in, seeing that you were
here. Now, have you any reason to believe that Mrs. Charlock was in the
house alone with her husband before you came? Did you see any evidence
of it?"
The question startled Grey.
"Indeed, I didn't!" he said. "I understood from Mr. Charlock that he
had not seen his wife. He put it plainly to me that I had been asked to
go round an hour before Mrs. Charlock was expected, so that in the first
place he could explain to me why I had been sent for. I feel sure I am
right."
By way of reply the inspector produced a light dustcoat, which he held
out for Grey's inspection.
"I think I shall prove that you are wrong," he said. "I traced Mrs.
Charlock's movements all yesterday, and I am prepared to show that the
lady was wearing this dustcoat at the very time that she left her hotel
last night. She was seen by several people to whom she is personally
known. You will perceive for yourself that this cloak is quite dry, and
that it is not in the least stained, as it would be had it been immersed
in water. Now, last night, after I came here at your suggestion, I went
all over the house, and in the drawing-room, by the side of one of the
French windows, I found this cloak. The window was unfastened, so that
anybody could get in who liked, and I came to the conclusion that Mrs.
Charlock was either in the house when you came or she had been here
before. As a matter of fact, the cloak proves it."
"I am afraid it does," Grey was fain to admit.
"Thank you," the inspector said. "But I have not done yet. I have been
examining the lawn for footmarks, and I find traces of a pair of boots,
or rather of tennis-shoes, which go right round the side of the lawn to
the back of the sundial. These shoes were worn by Mr. Charlock and
yield distinctly the same impressions as were given by the shoes which
marched side by side with yours when you were on your way to the
fountain last night. Now, can you explain this?"
"It is very awkward for Charlock," Grey murmured.
*CHAPTER XXXI*
*AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND*
Inspector Battley nodded his head gravely.