Rendell obtained this graphic account of the lodgers from the servant, Mary, whose faculty for observation impressed him by its breadth and penetration. Subsequent experience only confirmed the facts as narrated by her. Nevertheless, two minor problems, and a major one, presented themselves to Rendell. Why did the withered old lady with the cat, and the faded angular Civil Servant, live in such surroundings? These were the minor problems, but Mary solved them instantly by explaining that the old lady could hear nothing, and that the Civil Servant loved noise. “He’d be lonely without it,” she added disparagingly.
The major problem was Ivor Trent’s presence in such a house—but Rendell did not mention this to Mary. He gave her five shillings, however, thereby obtaining the first claim on her services.
Soon after his conversation with her, Rendell went to luncheon, returning at about three o’clock. He encountered Captain Frazer in the hall, who made it clear in a number of staccato sentences that in future he would deal with inquirers about Trent. He implied that his object in so doing was to spare Rendell the irritation of continual interruptions, but the latter was not deceived. Frazer’s curiosity had been quickened by the discovery that Marsden did not know that Trent had had rooms in the house for years, and the Captain was now determined to ascertain whether all Trent’s friends were equally ignorant. Their brief conversation revealed to Rendell that Frazer had always disliked Trent and was jealous of him, and that therefore any circumstances unfavourable to him gave Frazer an underground satisfaction.
But the number of callers diminished rapidly. Every post brought a pile of letters for Trent, but callers at No. 77 became less and less, greatly to Frazer’s annoyance.
In fact that afternoon only Marsden appeared. He arrived at about five o’clock, brushed Frazer aside, and made his way to Rendell’s room in a state of considerable excitement.
After the briefest of greetings, and with no reference to the manner in which he had contradicted Rendell’s statements the evening before—statements which Marsden’s subsequent inquiries had established as facts—he shot a number of questions at Rendell with great volubility.
“Well, what do you think about all this? Is he better? Have you talked to any of the people who have called to inquire? Has he asked to see me? I’ve been thinking about this all day and can make nothing of it. I resent his deceiving me. I tell you that—flat! There’s a mystery behind all this, and I doubt if it’s a pleasant one.”
“And I’ll tell you something else too,” Marsden raced on, as Rendell remained silent, “I dined with Vera Thornton last night. She’s known Trent about three years and saw a lot of him till just recently. Well, she knew nothing about his being here. But that’s not the point. Trent never told me how well he knew her, although I met her once at his flat.”
“Why the devil should he?” Rendell asked mildly.
“Because I’m an old friend of his. That’s why. You seem to forget that he and I have been friends for years.”
“I’ve not forgotten,” Rendell said slowly, “that you told me last Sunday that you didn’t know much about him.”
“Damn what I said last Sunday. The night before I’d had a talk with that Denis Wrayburn, and he’d muddled me. Incidentally, I loathe and detest Wrayburn more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Is that why you described me to him, told him my movements, and then let him go to look for me?”
“Yes, it was—if you want to know.”
“I did want to know, that’s why I asked the question.”
“Wanted to see what you’d make of him,” Marsden said quickly. “Did he find you?”
“He did, and we dined together.”
“Well, and what did you make of him? Had he a theory about Trent being here? He’s a theory about most things.”
“He wasn’t in the least interested.”
Marsden gave an indignant shout.
“He wouldn’t be! He’s an inhuman icy little egotist! God! I can’t stand him! Sometimes he impresses you when you’re with him, but—later—you find that everything he said was pretentious rubbish. Vera loathes him. You did too, I’ll bet.”
Rendell hesitated.
“I’d find it difficult to say just what I do think of him,” he said at last. “But he’s not a negligible person.”
“Oh well, never mind him! Look here—I may as well tell you everything—though this is between ourselves, mind! I like Vera. I like her a lot after our talk last night. But I’ve made a discovery about her.”
“And what’s that?” Rendell asked, as Marsden suddenly became silent.
“She’s afraid of something. I’m certain of it. And I believe it’s something to do with Trent. Of course I may be wrong, but she seemed odd. And—and——”
Again Marsden broke off, but almost immediately he went on:
“Well—this really is between ourselves, mind!—she wanted to come back here at ten o’clock to see if Trent was quieter. That struck me as damned peculiar. Why, we didn’t leave this place till after seven! Also, from something she said I gathered that she didn’t think Trent had many women friends—lot of acquaintances, of course, but not many women friends. And she seemed damned anxious to know just what sort of a person you were.”
“Did you enlighten her?”
“I told her that you were a well-known consulting mining engineer, who’d been all over the place, and made a good deal of money. And I explained that, till last Sunday, I hadn’t seen you for years. But what the hell did she want to know about you for?”
“All very mysterious, Marsden, I agree.”
“Anyway, she’s very intelligent. She knows several languages and has a job in the foreign department of a bank. Did you know? And she reads a lot. She knew my work quite well. She really is very intelligent—attractive too. I’m seeing her again tomorrow. In fact, I mean to see her pretty often.”
A long silence, then Marsden suddenly exclaimed:
“Look here, Rendell! I’d like to ask you a straight question.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Do you know Trent?”
“No.”
“Never seen him?”
“No.”
Marsden hesitated, then risked it.
“And your story as to why you came here is a true one and omits nothing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, all I can say is that the whole damned thing from first to last is the most extraordinary business I’ve ever run into.”
He rose, collected his crutches, then announced with great emphasis:
“But one thing is certain. I’m going to get to the bottom of all this. I’m going to find out why Trent’s been here for years and told none of his friends. I’ve made up my mind about that. I’m going to find out.”
Rendell rose and got Marsden’s overcoat.
“Well, I don’t want to discourage you,” he said slowly, “but I’ve a feeling that you won’t find it an easy job. Still, I wish you luck. I’ll be seeing you before long, I expect.”
XI
When Marsden had gone, Rendell looked round the room, surprised to find himself alone. Soon, however, he found he was restless and irritable, and in a manner hitherto unknown.
Sentences from the many conversations he had had since his arrival at No. 77, nearly forty-eight hours ago, shot across his memory. Then, one after another, he seemed to see Rosalie Vivian, Vera Thornton, and Denis Wrayburn. He felt that each was a character from a different drama, in each of which he was destined to become involved. Yet, from another angle, the whole situation was fantastic. These people were strangers to him. He had met them owing to a sudden interest in Ivor Trent—a man he did not know and had not seen—a man who was lying ill upstairs in this impossible house.