“Yes, yes! Well?”
“How impatient you are! Well, the gallant Captain has one or two theories, not too favourable to Trent and——”
“What do you mean? What did he say?”
“Oh, he suggested that Trent had those rooms not to work in but to facilitate his amorous affairs.”
Her hands tightened convulsively, but she made no sound.
“Frazer backs his theory,” Marsden went on, “by saying that it’s the only explanation of his friends’ ignorance concerning those rooms. The Captain is very communicative, particularly if you lend him half a crown. But, all the same, I fancy he knows more than he says.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“How intense you are! I only mean that he gives you a look implying he could say more if he chose. After all, his wife was looking after Trent when he was delirious and so——”
“Did Frazer mention me?”
“Wait a minute—I must think. Oh yes, he quoted you as being one of those who knew Trent and yet was ignorant that he had those rooms. And he added that you ought to have known.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“My dear girl, I don’t know. Probably that you’d known Trent some time and that therefore it was odd. But that’s enough about Potiphar Street. Look here, I’ve got to see you again—and soon. I can’t get you out of my head, do you know that? Keep thinking about you. . . . Are you there?”
“Yes, yes. I was thinking. We’ll meet to-morrow night, if you like. Come here at about seven. Did you see Rendell?”
“No, I did not see Rendell!” Marsden exclaimed irritably. “I never cared much about him and—the last few days—I like him less than ever. What the devil is he doing at Potiphar Street, anyway?”
“But he’s reliable, isn’t he? I mean, you’d trust him, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh yes, of course! If Rendell said he’d keep his mouth shut, he’d keep it shut. I admit that—but it doesn’t make me like him.”
“Still, you’re certain of it?”
“Yes, quite certain. You are an odd person. What’s Rendell to you? I believe you’re a dark horse. Now I must get on. I’ve work to do. But I’ll come at seven to-morrow, and I want to talk to you rather seriously. I liked you a lot, you know, even the first time I saw you at Trent’s flat, but you wouldn’t look at me then. Till to-morrow.”
“Yes, to-morrow. Good-bye.”
She replaced the receiver but did not move. Several minutes passed, then, with sudden resolution, she touched the receiver—hesitated—and failed to remove it. But her thoughts evidently proved so disturbing that a moment later she snatched the receiver and rapidly dialled a number.
At last a voice responded to the summons.
“I want to speak to Mr. Rendell.”
“I’ll see if he’s in. What name shall I say?”
“It’s a private call.”
“Oh, very well. Hold the line.”
Vera waited, drumming the table with her fingers. The delay seemed interminable, then she heard:
“Rendell speaking. Who is it?”
“It’s—Vera Thornton.”
“Hullo! How are you? What can I do for you? Anything?”
“Yes, as it happens, you can. Would—would you mind coming here—now? I’m in my flat in Bloomsbury. It’s—well—important, or I wouldn’t trouble you. Do you think you could come now?”
“Yes, I’m free enough. You mean now, literally?”
“Yes, if you could.”
“Right! What’s the address?”
She gave it to him, then added:
“It’s good of you to come.”
“That’s all right.”
She put down the receiver, then passed the palms of her hands over her forehead and thick black hair. She repeated the movement several times, as if to still tumultuous thoughts. Some moments later she rose wearily and went into the bedroom to change.
Long before she expected it, the sound of the bell pealed through the flat.
“You’ve been very quick.”
“I came in a taxi. Am I too early?”
“No, please come in.”
Rendell followed her into the sitting-room, trying to appear at ease with little success.
“Do sit down,” she said abruptly, “and—and try one of these cigarettes.”
“Thanks. Are you on your own here?”
“Yes. I’ve been here for two years.”
“I see. Very central, of course.”
A long silence followed. Any attempt at small talk was ludicrous. Vera stared into the fire and Rendell sat opposite her, glancing more than once at her powerful figure and dark fanatical eyes.
“Can I trust you—really trust you?”
The deep tone of her voice, breaking the long silence, almost startled him:
“Wait!” she exclaimed, just as he was about to reply. “I’ve only met you once—in that awful house. You’ll think me mad, but—but I’ve got to confide in someone. I believe I can trust you. That’s why I asked you to come here to-night.”
Her submissive tone, and the absence of that defensive armour she had worn at their first meeting, so surprised Rendell that he hesitated before replying.
“Anything you tell me will go no further,” he said simply. “You can rely on that absolutely. But I’d like to know if you’ve told anyone else what you propose telling me.”
“No—no one. And I can’t tell you all.”
The blood invaded her cheeks so swiftly that in an instant she was scarlet.
Rendell looked away, greatly embarrassed, but almost immediately she went on:
“It’s about Ivor and myself. I’ve got to tell you. You’ll see why later.”
She passed her hand across her forehead.
“I don’t know where to begin. I’ll have to start some way back, I suppose. It will be rather long, I’m afraid.”
“Say what you want to in your own way. It won’t go an inch further.”
“I’d better begin with my family. They live in the Midlands. I’ve two brothers—one twenty-six, the other twenty-five. I’m twenty-four. And I’ve three sisters younger than I am—the youngest is twenty-one. My father is a business man, rich and—notorious.”
“In what way notorious?” Rendell asked as she broke off.
“Oh, for affairs with women—nothing more interesting than that. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and when he’s drunk he will do literally anything. More than once he’s brought one of his women to the house.”
“That’s not too good, I admit. What did your mother think about it?”
“I doubt if my mother has thought about anything for years. I imagine that her wedding night was the real date of her death—whatever the actual one may prove to be. She had six children—one a year—and after that I should think she was only too glad when my father became openly promiscuous.”
She spoke with such bitterness that Rendell could only wait for her to continue.
“I won’t go into details about my brothers and sisters. I’ll only say that they are his children—and leave it at that. Anyway, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the facts. My brothers are in my father’s business, but they do practically nothing. And my sisters concentrate on getting a good time. My father, as you can imagine, is not in a strong position to restrain them in any way. When they want money, they blackmail him for it—politely and successfully. The house is pandemonium—a good example of meaningless modern existence.”
She attempted a laugh as she took a cigarette from the box by her side.
“You’ve made it very plain to me why you cleared out,” Rendell said slowly.
“Why—and how—I cleared out may interest you. When I explain that I was a student, that I worked hard, won scholarships, and so on, you will be able to imagine what my life was like in that hell of a house. But you won’t be able to imagine what it was like when I found myself a prisoner in it with nothing to do. That happened when I was twenty.”