This Was Ivor Trent полностью

“Never mind about her. She’s all right. She’s gone to the shops. Yes, Captain Frazer’s wife has gone to the shops—to haggle with tradespeople, or to cajole them to wait a little longer for their damned money! She’s not got the pride of a rat! You’re not married, I take it? Well, don’t you marry out of your class. I did, and it’s dragged me down to this—to this!”

Quivering with indignation, he took a cigarette from Rendell’s case, which was open on the table.

“But I’ll tell you something,” he raced on, coming nearer to Rendell and speaking in a significant whisper, “this show of hers will go bust soon—and a blasted good job too! The sooner the better!”

Rendell said nothing. Frazer’s exaltation at the imminence of an event which would involve his own destitution could only be witnessed in silent astonishment.

“She lies—do you know that? Take the lodgers here—will she admit the facts about them? Not she!” He laughed unpleasantly. “What about the woman in the room upstairs? Says she’s a palmist and a clairvoyante. I ask you! Four or five men come very regularly to have their fortunes told. They must know them by heart. But she believes the woman’s a palmist. Shall I tell you why?”

Rendell remained silent, so Frazer went on:

“Because she’s about the only one who pays her rent regularly. That’s why. There’s sickening stinking humbug for you!”

But Rendell had had enough.

“Look here, Frazer,” he said curtly, “I’m not too keen on discussing people in their absence——”

“I bet she discussed me in my absence! I bet she asked you not to pay your rent to me, or to lend me money. Yes or no?”

“Yes. And I said I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t want any money out of this hole—and she knows it. I left here once—and I’ll go again before long. I’ve some irons in the fire that would surprise Mrs. Basement.”

Frazer paused, in order to allow Rendell time to appreciate that Mrs. Basement was a synonym for Mrs. Frazer, then he went on:

“I’ve friends—business deals—she knows nothing about. She thinks I’m a fixture here. I’ll show her how much of a fixture I am before she’s very much older.”

“You left here once?” Rendell asked, curiosity overmastering him.

Frazer gave a shrill laugh.

“Yes I did! Well, when I say I left, it was more amusing than that. Here!” he exclaimed, seizing Rendell’s arm. “Come downstairs. I’ll show you something. You’ve time, I take it?”

Rendell allowed himself to be piloted down the basement stairs. Eventually he was ushered into a small square room which looked out on to a neglected backyard.

“My study,” Frazer announced.

Rendell looked round with some curiosity.

In a prominent position over the mantelpiece hung Frazer’s commission in a narrow black frame. Suspended above it was a sword. A case containing three medals stood in the centre of a small table near the window. The walls were almost hidden by huge photographs of regimental groups—and nearly a dozen others, depicting a uniformed Frazer in a series of martial attitudes, his hand on his sword. Festooned round several of the frames were the dust-laden scarlet poppies of many Armistice Days.

The solitary chair the room contained was in the corner furthest from the fire, but at an angle from which a comprehensive view of these trophies was obtainable.

Frazer stood like a sentinel while Rendell examined these witnesses to his former glory.

“This is what I was. And you can see what I am—thanks to Mrs. Basement.”

Rendell began to ponder the precise extent to which Mrs. Frazer could be regarded as responsible for the world war, when his speculations were interrupted by Frazer announcing:

“Well go back to your room now. No objection, I take it. She may come back any minute. Not that she ever comes in here. I won’t allow that.”

When they had returned to his room, Rendell reminded the Captain that he had not revealed the circumstances in which he had left No. 77.

“I didn’t leave—actually,” Frazer cut in. “It was a trifle more subtle than that. I was left a little money a year or so ago. Not much, you understand. Well, I took a room here—and paid for it. And I insisted on being properly looked after. There was no doubt about that. They knew they had an ex-officer for a lodger, I can tell you.”

Rendell stared so long at the gaunt emaciated figure that Frazer’s right eye suddenly began to produce a series of winks with bewildering rapidity.

“But next time,” he shouted, “next time I’m clearing out—and for good. Stay here with these nobodies for the rest of my life! Never—never! And I’ll tell you something else. She won’t, but I will. What about the great Mr. Trent, eh? What about him?”

“I don’t follow you,” Rendell replied truthfully.

“Don’t you?” He came nearer Rendell, his face distorted by a leer. “Comes here to write his books—that’s what you’re told, aren’t you?”

“That’s what you told me.”