She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Ah, if you knew the relief of saying that—at last! I have never dared to say that to anyone, not even to myself. I have crushed that knowledge down—down into a dungeon. I dared not admit it. I told myself that I
She gazed at him with such suffering in her eyes that Rendell looked away. But she seized his arm with sudden nervous intensity.
“Tell me this—do the dead know the
“I do not know,” Rendell replied. “How should I know?”
She looked up at him with unseeing eyes, then said slowly:
“I do not think the dead suffer. They discover our secrets, but they do not care. Perhaps, to them, life here seems very distant and infinitely small—a game of children in a nursery. They only smile at the secret which frightens us. And, anyhow, they would forgive, don’t you think? Surely the dead would forgive the living?”
“I don’t know what to say to you,” Rendell replied. “You’ve a vivid imagination. Well, all I can tell you is that I do not think I’m a coward—physically. I’ve been in danger more than once. But my imagination frightens me—and I’ve little enough of it. But, look here, we’ve got to be practical. You’re not alone, are you? You’re with friends?”
She studied him for some moments with a meditative expression.
“What a nice person you are,” she said at last. “So nice—and so stupid. Why should I come to you, a stranger, if I had friends? You see how stupid you are? I am alone. I have left his flat. It’s all just as it was, but it is locked up. The eight-day clock is still ticking in the sitting-room. I can hear it.
“But——” Rendell began, but she waved him into silence.
“His friends think I’ve gone to the country. Only his lawyer knows where I am. There’s business to be done, you see. He’s left me everything, do you know that? But I don’t want it—I have enough money without his. But I can’t stay any longer. I must go.”
“And you will come one day next week?”
“Yes, next week.”
She looked round the room, as if to convince herself of its actuality, then went slowly out, followed by Rendell.
They walked to the street in silence. A large car was waiting. She got in and drove away without saying another word.
As he returned to the house, Rendell discovered that she had not asked how Trent was.
Wrayburn had so stressed the necessity for early arrival on the Sunday that Rendell dined at seven o’clock and reached 4, Waldegrave Road, Fulham, soon after eight.
The house was the gloomiest of a gloomy row. It was tall, menacing, and few of the windows were illuminated. Opposite it, instead of houses, was an abnormally high wall—enclosing some institution—which overshadowed the pedestrian and created the atmosphere of a barracks or a prison.
Rendell pushed open a rusty gate, groped along a cobbled path, and mounted narrow steep steps. Then he pulled the bell, thereby awakening a melancholy peal in a crypt-like basement.
The door was opened by a breathless woman, resembling a barrel, who asked what he wanted.
“I have come to see Mr. Wrayburn.”
“Have you now! Well I never! Come in.”
Rendell went in. The hall was dimly lit, but, nevertheless, he gained a clearer view of the woman who was regarding him with heaving curiosity. She had a round puffy face, mottled with red patches, and black eyes like boot-buttons. Distrust had branded her features. Possibly she was unconsciously aware of the fact, for she always assumed a jovial expression.
“Come to think of it, I don’t know if he’s in.”
This remark, like those which had preceded it, was uttered in the tone of one making a joke.
“Best way to find out is to go up and see. Seeing’s believing, so they say. I’ll show you his room.”
Rendell followed her, convinced that this offer proceeded from curiosity rather than courtesy. They mounted slowly to the top of the house. A proceeding which occupied some time, and one which developed a complicated wheeze in the landlady.
She groped to a door and opened it. Darkness.
“There! He ain’t in! What did I tell you?”
She switched on the light and Rendell went into the room.
Its appearance surprised him, for it contradicted the expectations created by the exterior of the house, and those collected on the long ascent to the top of it.