“No, don’t come out,” he went on. “You stay here. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He left her, and a moment later the front door closed behind him.
Vera buried her head in her hands and began to cry convulsively.
II
At two o’clock on the following Saturday, Denis Wrayburn walked slowly down Potiphar Street on his way to No. 77. As it was warm, he had removed his hat, thereby permitting the errant breeze to do what it would with his long black hair. This fact, and his narrow bearded face, occasioned the mirth of an errand-boy, who emitted a series of caustic comments, followed by a number of hilarious whistles. Wrayburn, however, remained unaware of these attentions and continued to walk towards his destination—slowly enough to justify the assumption that he wished the proceeding to occupy the maximum amount of time.
When he reached the front door, his actions showed that he had experienced the usual difficulty in obtaining a response to a knock. It was also evident that he had evolved a technique to deal with it, for he grasped the knocker firmly and continued to deliver a series of resounding blows until the door was opened.
On this occasion Marsden performed that function.
“Hullo, it’s you!” he exclaimed, without enthusiasm. “What the devil did you knock like that for?”
“To ensure speedy admittance,” Wrayburn replied, investing each word with significance, greatly to Marsden’s irritation.
“You don’t care who has to open it, I suppose?”
“Not in the smallest degree.”
He passed Marsden and entered Rendell’s room—where he discovered Vera Thornton.
“Only you,” was his greeting to her. Then he moved the chair Marsden had vacated nearer the fire, and sat down just as its late occupant returned.
“Well, of all the——”
But Wrayburn interrupted:
“Is Rendell expecting you two?”
“No, he isn’t. Why?”
The silence to this query continued until eventually Marsden realised that it constituted Wrayburn’s refutation of his claim to the chair. He glanced at Vera, who made a gesture expressive of her contempt for Wrayburn—which the latter intercepted.
“How are you progressing with your enquiries as to what Trent said when he was delirious?” Wrayburn asked her, with icy detachment.
Having thus gained complete psychological ascendancy over his companions, Wrayburn proceeded to ignore their presence.
But Marsden, who had obtained some sensational news, began to discuss it with Vera—hoping that Wrayburn’s curiosity would prompt him to ask questions which he would refuse to answer.
“Yes, the nurse has gone,” he said to Vera. “That’s definite. And there’s been the devil of a row between Mrs. Frazer and her husband. She’s packing him off to her sister in Ramsgate. He’s furious—but he’ll go because of the money she’s giving him. There’s no end of changes.”
But at this point he was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Frazer, who burst into the room in a state of considerable excitement.
“I’m leaving this hole,” he announced, “and for good! Everything is to be turned upside down for Trent. My wife is going to nurse him, if you please. Extra help in the house—to enable her to do it. You know that, I take it? But I’m not saying all I’ve found out—not by a long way. I’m putting two and two together—things I’ve remembered, and things I’ve heard.”
He paused, glanced at Vera, who became crimson, and was about to race on when Wrayburn extended a long thin arm towards him and demanded:
“Shut that door. There’s a draught.”
Frazer kicked the door to noisily, then went on:
“Nice thing, though, that I don’t know who’s in my own house. I find that artist’s model has been here since Monday. I thought she’d turn up. She knows more than she’ll say about our distinguished invalid——”
He got no further, for the door opened and Mrs. Frazer appeared, followed by the artist’s model.
“I’m not having this,” Mrs. Frazer announced.
“You’re not having what, my good lady?” Frazer enquired, from the eminence of his dignity.
“You coming into Mr. Rendell’s room and talking about things you know nothing about.”
“Know nothing about!” Frazer shouted. “No decent person would have a room in this house——”
“Hold your tongue! You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“I’ve let you make a fool of me. Come on! Let’s see whether you’ll lie to these people as you lie to me. Why do none of Trent’s friends know he’s had rooms here for years? Why don’t they?—why don’t they?”
“That’s his business, not yours. You’d have been in the gutter if it hadn’t been for him.”
“You hear that?” Frazer demanded, turning to the others. “Very well. All right. You’re witnesses. Now I know what to do.”
“You’ll go away, that’s what you’ll do,” his wife said in the same steady tone.
“You want me out of the way, my lady. I know too much. I know more than you think—more than any of you think. And I shall hear what goes on while I’m away. That’s all arranged. I’m off—and I’m leaving London in less than an hour.”
He flung himself out of the room, banging the door behind him.
Vera rose quickly.
“Why, where are you going?” Marsden asked.
“There’s something I want to ask Captain Frazer.”
She hurried out of the room before Marsden could reply.
Frazer was half-way up the stairs. He turned on hearing the door open, then came down slowly.
At their first meeting he had detected that Vera was frightened and had instinctively intensified her fears by making enigmatic statements to her or to Marsden, knowing that the latter would repeat them.
“Come down to my study,” he said in a confidential whisper. “We can talk there. The basement stairs are rather dark. Allow me.”
He took her arm, guided her down the stairs and into his room. Then, instead of releasing her, he took her other arm in a firm grip, turning her so that she faced him.
“Now, what is it? No secrets between us, I take it. No need to go into details perhaps——”
Her eyes flashed apprehensively, greatly to his satisfaction. He had long sought a victim on whom to inflict the spite accumulated by his daily humiliations. Of what she was frightened he had no conception. But as the merest hint concerning details clearly terrified her, his ignorance was unimportant.
He pressed her arms more tightly, but she made no protest.
“Don’t tremble. You can trust me. Lucky for you that you have to deal with an officer and a gentleman. I understand—I understand! You’re very handsome, and our friend Trent is too distinguished a person to be quite normal.”
He spoke entirely at random, but the effect on her was such that he put his arm round her, thinking she might collapse.
Possibilities—amorous and financial—raced through his mind. A sense of power thrilled him. He could put her on the rack at will.
“Hold on, or we shall have you delirious, and that won’t do.”
Her cheeks flamed and she looked away.
“Now, it’s all right,” he went on. “I’m going away, but I’m going to give you my address. I shall write to you, of course.”
He went to the table and wrote his address on a slip of paper.
“Here’s the address. And yours is?”
She told him, and he noted it carefully.
“You may have to come down to see me, Vera. That could be managed, I take it.”
“It wouldn’t be easy.” Her voice was a whisper.