The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [237]
CHAPTER XV: Double Cunning
An old oaken desk with a deep body stood by the window in a room that overlooked St James s Park from a height. The room was large, furnished and decorated by some one who had brought taste to the work; but the hand of the bachelor lay heavy upon it. John Marlowe unlocked the desk and drew a long, stout envelope the back of the well.
'I understand,' he said to Mr Cupples, 'that you have read this.'
'I read it for the first time two days ago,' replied Mr Cupples, who, seated on a sofa, was peering about the room with a benignant face. 'We have discussed it fully.'
Marlowe turned to Trent. 'There is your manuscript,' he said, laying the envelope on the table. 'I have gone over it three times. I do not believe there is another man who could have got at as much of the truth as you have set down there.'
Trent ignored the compliment. He sat by the table gazing stonily at the fire, his long legs twisted beneath his chair. 'You mean, of course, he said, drawing the envelope towards him, 'that there is more of the truth to be disclosed now. We are ready to hear you as soon as you like. I expect it will be a long story, and the longer the better, so far as I am concerned; I want to understand thoroughly. What we should both like, I think, is some preliminary account of Manderson and your relations with him. It seemed to me from the first that the character of the dead man must be somehow an element in the business.'
'You were right, Marlowe answered grimly. He crossed the room and seated himself on a corner of the tall cushion-topped fender. 'I will begin as you suggest.'
'I ought to tell you beforehand, said Trent, looking him in the eyes, 'that although I am here to listen to you, I have not as yet any reason to doubt the conclusions I have stated here.' He tapped the envelope. 'It is a defence that you will be putting forward--you understand that?'
'Perfectly.' Marlowe was cool and in complete possession of himself, a man different indeed from the worn-out, nervous being Trent remembered at Marlstone a year and a half ago. His tall, lithe figure was held with the perfection of muscular tone. His brow was candid, his blue eyes were clear, though they still had, as he paused collecting his ideas, the look that had troubled Trent at their first meeting. Only the lines of his mouth showed that he knew himself in a position of difficulty, and meant to face it.
'Sigsbee Manderson was not a man of normal mind,' Marlowe began in his quiet voice. 'Most of the very rich men I met with in America had become so by virtue of abnormal greed, or abnormal industry, or abnormal personal force, or abnormal luck. None of them had remarkable intellects. Manderson delighted too in heaping up wealth; he worked incessantly at it; he was a man of dominant will; he had quite his share of luck; but what made him singular was his brainpower. In his own country they would perhaps tell you that it was his ruthlessness in pursuit of his aims that was his most striking characteristic; but there are hundreds of them who would have carried out his plans with just as little consideration for others if they could have formed the plans.
'I'm not saying Americans aren't clever; they are ten times cleverer than we are, as a nation; but I never met another who showed such a degree of sagacity and foresight, such gifts of memory and mental tenacity, such sheer force of intelligence, as there was behind everything Manderson did in his money-making career. They called him the "Napoleon of Wall Street" often enough in the papers; but few people knew so well as I did how much truth there was in the phrase. He seemed never to forget a fact that might be of use to him, in the first place; and he did systematically with the business facts that concerned him what Napoleon did, as I have read, with military facts. He studied them in special digests which were prepared for