MR. TRING TRIES IT ON
The morning following the arrival of Mr. Rushton Tring, Mr. Benson
sent word to Lady Evenden that he and a colleague wished to see her
most particularly, and at once. She agreed immediately, and looked in
some surprise as the great psycho-analyst entered in the wake of the
lawyer.
Mr. Benson managed the introduction with an easy grace, and Mr. Tring
put out his hand, which Lady Evenden took in a rather puzzled, almost
reluctant grasp. She could not understand this man with the curiously
quiet, humorous, but penetrating eyes.
“You have had a very restless night, Lady Evenden,” observed Mr.
Tring, and the lady nodded. “Mr. Benson and I have to drive over the
country for a few miles this morning,” went on the specialist. “You
had better come with us; the air will do you a power of good.”
“Thank you very much, but I am afraid I must excuse myself,” said Lady
Evenden. “I have not been out recently, and I have no desire to go. I
think I will try to rest presently. It may be that the sleep denied me
in the night may be coaxed this morning with the aid of a draught my
medical adviser prepares for me.”
“I am a medical man,” said Mr. Rushton Tring. “May I please see the
draught?”
“Well,” said Lady Evenden, after some hesitation, “I really don’t know
that it matters, Mr. Tring, does it? I can assure you that I am quite
satisfied with it. It does me good.”
“All the same, I think I would like to see it, if you don’t mind.” The
words were spoken quietly enough, but Mr. Benson noticed that as the
specialist spoke his eyes were fixed upon those of the lady of the
Priory, and, though he also noticed a little color of resentment rise
in her cheeks, in a moment her eyes seemed to drop before the magnetic
eyes fixed so quietly, and yet so keenly, upon her. She raised her
eyes again, and seemed upon the point of refusing.
“Please!” Mr. Tring only spoke the one word, but it was sufficient.
“Very well,” said Lady Evenden resignedly, almost dreamily, as she
rose to leave the room.
“Please don’t trouble to go for it,” said Mr. Tring. “Send.”
“I can get it quite easily, thank you,” she replied, moving towards
the door.
“Please send.” Mr. Tring walked beside her, and, apparently
accidentally, placed himself between her and the door. Again the
lawyer watched with fascinated eyes the battle of will, and again he
saw the specialist triumphant.
“Very well,” she replied again, and slowly walked back to her seat,
looking with puzzled eyes on this strange man whom to hear seemed to
mean to obey. Mr. Tring rang the bell, and, when a servant appeared,
he turned expectantly to Lady Evenden.
“Ask Miss Kilby to give you my sleeping-draught,” said the latter, and
the servant withdrew. In silence the three remained in the room until
the maid returned with a bottle containing a brown mixture. Mr.
Rushton Tring smelt it carefully when he had withdrawn the cork; his
eyebrows contracted, and he smelt it again--longer the second time. He
threw a quick glance at Lady Evenden; then he looked for a moment at
the lawyer.
“I think you had better have something rather different,” he said,
and, as she looked in annoyance at him, he met her gaze, smelt again,
and said: “Rather stronger.”
“Now, my dear lady,” he continued, corking and pocketing the bottle,
“you will go and put on your outdoor things and accompany Mr. Benson
and me for a drive in the car. You will not be long. Don’t think about
it at all--just go and get ready, will you?” She stared at him for a
second, vacantly. “Will you, please?” he repeated, and, though he
asked a question, the question was a command. Without a word she
arose, looked at Mr. Benson for a second; then, after momentary
hesitation, looked again at the specialist and obeyed him. Mr. Rushton
Tring never took his eyes off her until the door had closed behind
her; then he turned to Mr. Benson.
“This becomes exceedingly interesting,” he observed. “Now there are
one or two points I want you to understand--quickly. The first is, I
can in no circumstances undertake any responsibility for this
kidnaping venture of yours. You must, in the remote chance of any
trouble arising, say that I was not informed of that. The second is,
you had better allow me to supply you with a specially-trained nurse
for Lady Evenden. I will recommend one. Unless I am very seriously
mistaken, the stuff that I have in this bottle contains a dangerous
amount of heroin. I do not like to voice the suspicions at present
very virile in my mind, but I tell you this much now: I am
interested--keenly interested.”
Mr. Benson had not time to ask anything further; for, at that moment
Lady Evenden appeared, wrapped in a fur coat and carrying a pair of
gloves.
“Driver discreet?” whispered Mr. Tring, and the lawyer nodded his
assurance.
Within a few minutes they were being driven along the road that led to
the marshes by the same young chauffeur, who had shown his intimate
knowledge of the dangerous marsh road two nights before.
Lady Evenden remarked that she had only twice before been over the
part of the district they were covering, and then upon some expedition
to try to see some specimen of the bittern’s nest which had been
reported by gamekeepers.
Mr. Rushton Tring immediately manifested interest, and spoke of the
various authorities on the habits and life of the rare bird. Soon the
marsh was crossed, and they approached Swinerigmire. The car halted at
the front door of the farm and was met by Joe Litt, looking very
worried and anxious. He drew Mr. Benson to one side immediately he
alighted, and it was evident that something was wrong. The old lawyer
seemed on the verge of having an apoplectic fit as he expressed his
extreme disapproval of something to Joe Litt, who seemed exceedingly
crestfallen. Mr. Tring and Lady Evenden remained standing beside the
car.
When the lawyer rejoined them, he took Mr. Tring to one side and said:
“This is terrible. The little scoundrel has got away.”
Mr. Tring raised his eyebrows.
“Yes,” repeated Mr. Benson, “he’s outwitted us. Listen to what Joe
Litt says; he’ll tell you in his own words. Get her ladyship to go
back into the car, and come here.”
Mr. Tring said something to Lady Evenden, whereupon she reseated
herself in the car as the wondering psychologist accompanied Mr.
Benson to where Joe Litt was standing.
“Tell this gentleman all there is to tell,” said the lawyer, and Joe
Litt, after casting an appraising glance at Mr. Tring, said:
“Well, sir, last night I had two of my lads watching him, and they had
a mug of beer each and some bread and cheese by way of supper, but
both were fast asleep when I looked round before turning in--and the
little man had gone! They had not drunk all their beer, so I thought
maybe he had poisoned them. Later on they came to, but they both had
very bad heads, and I kept the beer just as it was, in case they had
been poisoned, because they are the last lads in the world to leave
good beer.”
“Let me have a look at the beer,” said Mr. Tring, and Joe led the way
into the farm kitchen. He took from the cupboard two half-full mugs of
beer. Mr. Tring looked at one of them, smelt it, looked at Mr. Benson,
and smiled.
“Give me an empty bottle, will you, please?” he asked Joe, and
immediately the man left to get one. While he was away, Mr. Tring said
to the lawyer:
“Doped, my dear chap! The little man is evidently a master hand at
poisoning, in various degrees.” Mr. Benson looked extremely
worried--too greatly worried, indeed, to be vexed--and after a pause
said, quite mildly:
“Then I suppose, after all, I have failed.”
“I wouldn’t say that yet,” said Mr. Tring. “I wouldn’t say that yet.
We might get some very valuable information from the lady, yet. All
the same, I am extremely sorry that the little chap has eluded you.”
Joe Litt came back with an empty bottle, and Mr. Tring emptied the
contents of one of the mugs into it.
“We will see what the analysis of this brings forth,” he said.
“Have you made any search for the little scoundrel?” asked Mr. Benson.
“Four of the men are out now, searching the marsh,” replied Joe Litt.
“You will let me know immediately if you hear anything,” the lawyer
instructed him, and, having got Joe’s assurance, he and Mr. Tring
rejoined Lady Evenden in the car. Mr. Benson during the ride home was
unusually silent; for indeed, he was exceedingly disappointed, and
looked it. Very greatly had he built upon the result of the visit of
Mr. Rushton Tring, and now it seemed as if all was useless. The doctor
had won.
On Mr. Tring’s features, however, disappointment was the last thing
indicated. He chatted with Lady Evenden of all sorts of topics, and by
the time they reached the Priory, she had got quite to like the
strange man whom she could scarcely understand, and yet who seemed to
have such a curious power over her.
When the car arrived at the Priory, Lady Evenden went straight to her
room, and Mr. Benson and Mr. Rushton Tring to the library.
“I want to make one or two experiments,” announced the specialist.
“Can you arrange for me to be undisturbed in a bath room for about two
hours?”
Mr. Benson agreed, and immediately Mr. Tring adjourned to a large bath
room on the first floor of the house. He took with him a hand-bag, and
shut the door securely.
Long before the two hours had expired he presented himself to Mr.
Benson in the library.
“It is as I thought,” he said. “Lady Evenden has been taking terrific
quantities of heroin. Probably she has been gradually accustomed to
the doses, which have steadily increased. The amount that she is
capable of taking now, however, is dangerous in the extreme, and
frightfully demoralizing. As far as the beer is concerned, the cunning
little doctor must have managed to secrete a substantial dose of an
opium product in his watchers’ drink, with the result that they would
certainly go off for a couple of hours and awaken with bad heads. The
doctor has gone--you can reconcile yourself to that, my friend. Now,
the thing that remains is for us to see what we can do with our
charming hostess, Lady Evenden.”
“The whole thing is terrible, terrible,” said Mr. Benson. “I can’t
express how disappointed I am. I don’t know what to do.”
“You can’t help it,” said Mr. Tring philosophically. “You certainly
were not in the least to blame. Indeed, I think you are much to be
congratulated on the steps you have taken. You have shown wisdom and
discretion in all your movements in this extraordinary business. I am
not sure but that, so long as we take measures to see that the doctor
does not reach Lady Evenden, we will get more out of her in his
absence than we would have done in his presence.”
“When do you intend to see her?” asked the lawyer.
“In the next hour or so,” replied Mr. Tring.
The lawyer and the psychologist lunched together, and then, without
advising her of their coming, they went to Lady Evenden’s apartments.
She admitted them at once, and Mr. Tring lost no time in coming to the
object of his visit.
“Lady Evenden,” he said, “in your own interest, and in the interest of
your son, I have come down to straighten one or two matters out. Now,
I am sorry for occasioning you the distress that reference to
unpleasant subjects must cause you; but again I assure you that I am
here, and asking these questions, in your own, and your son’s,
interest. Now tell me, Lady Evenden, who killed your stepson?”
The effect of the question was pitiful to witness. Lady Evenden’s eyes
dilated; she clutched the arms of her chair with her hands, and
trembled as with an ague. Fully a minute passed before she replied:
“You--you--ask me--who killed Jack? How can I tell you? Not my
son--not my son.”
“I know that,” said Mr. Tring. “Come now, Lady Evenden, I am a friend,
and will remain a friend, but I must know. Tell me now, who killed
your stepson?”
Lady Evenden looked as if she were about to faint.
“I don’t know,” she said, between great gasping breaths. “I cannot
tell.”
“You were there.” The voice of Mr. Tring was definite--accusative
even, Mr. Benson thought.
“Yes--I was there,” came the reply, slowly, deliberately.
“Dr. Laidlaw was there also.” Mr. Tring bent his head forward, and the
old lawyer thought the amount of force he managed to concentrate into
his gaze amounted to positive cruelty; nevertheless, he did not
interfere.
There was a pause, then Lady Evenden replied: “Yes, Dr. Laidlaw was
there, also.” Her eyes were fixed upon the eyes of her remorseless
questioner. She seemed to have forgotten the very presence of Mr.
Benson. Her eyes never left the psychologist’s face.
“What did you see?”
She blanched, then looked more earnestly than ever into Mr. Tring’s
eyes. She seemed to make a gigantic effort to look away, but failed,
and looked back again.
“I saw him--dead,” she replied in husky tones and seemed in imminent
danger of fainting. Indeed, so distressed did she appear that Mr.
Benson moved forward to assist, but Rushton Tring waved him
impatiently back.
“Who did it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, wearily but apparently truthfully.
“Why did Dr. Laidlaw do it?” Tring asked the question with great
precision, weighing carefully every word, and giving expression to
every syllable.
“I don’t know,” she replied absently, dreamily.
“Did he do it?” The question was asked more sharply, but the reply
came in the same dreamy accents:
“I don’t know.”
“You do know,” Tring looked coercive power incarnate as he pressed his
head forward. Her eyes opened wider still; she gasped, as if for air.
Mr. Benson held his breath. A full minute elapsed:
“No. I--no, I don’t know.” Then she fainted.
“My God! This is awful!” exclaimed Mr. Benson running forward.
“Shall----”
“Be quiet, man.” Mr. Tring held up an authoritative hand, and his eyes
glowed with determined purpose. “Leave this to me; she will be all
right in a moment. Remember, we must get the truth--we are on the
verge of getting it.”
In silence they sat and watched. Mr. Benson was on the point of
interfering several times, but always he was waved back by the
specialist. At last Lady Evenden opened her eyes.
“Now tell me,” said Mr. Tring. “Why do you say Laidlaw murdered him?”
She looked dazed for several moments, then answered:
“He did not murder him.”
“You and he were there,” Mr. Tring declared.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why did you murder him?” The question was unexpected, and Mr. Benson
nearly collapsed. But the effect upon Lady Evenden was not nearly so
startling as the previous ones had been.
“I did not murder him,” she said.
“Tell me all you know! Tell me all you know! You must tell me all you
know!” Strength, determination, and inexpressible power were charged
in the words of Mr. Rushton Tring as he made his final command. She
met his gaze, hesitated, then said slowly:
“He said I do not know, and I do not know. I do not want to know. I do
not know.”
Again there was a complete silence for several minutes. Mr. Tring kept
his eyes fixed upon Lady Evenden, while she looked vacantly and
dreamily back at him.
“Well, now.” Mr. Tring completely changed his tone. He sounded quite
cheerful--almost frivolous--as he arose. “My dear Lady Evenden, you
really must take a little rest. You will go to bed now and sleep for
three hours. For three hours.” As he repeated the words “three hours”
he resumed his seriousness of voice and expression, but immediately
lost it again as he went on. “Then you will wake up a new
person--completely refreshed. I will see you later. In the meanwhile,
good-day, Lady Evenden.” She bade him good-day, and, accompanied by
Mr. Benson, who also paid his compliments to the lady, he left the
room.
When they got into the corridor, Mr. Benson, unable to control his
curiosity any longer, said:
“Well? What do you think. What, in heaven’s name, is the truth of this
terrible business?”
“Well,” replied the specialist quietly, “the whole position remains in
doubt and open to speculation. Only one or two things can be stated
with assurance. One is that Dr. Laidlaw has an absolute control of
her. She does not know who murdered her stepson for the simple reason
that Laidlaw has superimposed his will upon hers, and has ordered her
not to know. The truth is that probably she does know; but, we will
have to keep her separated from Laidlaw for some considerable time to
wear down the effect of his control.”
Mr. Tring coughed, then continued:
“Again, another thing that is clear is that she needs Laidlaw. He has
supplied her with drugs that require increasing quantities to be of
any use. She is beginning to feel the need of more already. If we
manage to keep her separated from him for the next few days, we may be
able to get from her all we need. I shall probably be able to take the
place of Laidlaw in her scheme of things, in a day or so.”
They walked on to the library.
“The whole thing is very troublesome--very terrible,” said Mr. Benson.
“I wonder whether----”
He was interrupted by the butler.
“Mr. Joe Litt to see you, sir, and another little man that he has got
fastened to a piece of rope.”