The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [252]
The colour rushed into Marlowe's face, and he hesitated for words. Before he could speak Mr Cupples arose with a dry cough.
'For my part,' he said, 'I never supposed you guilty for a moment.' Marlowe turned to him in grateful amazement, Trent with an incredulous stare. 'But,' pursued Mr Cupples, holding up his hand, 'there is one question which I should like to put.'
Marlowe bowed, saying nothing.
'Suppose,' said Mr Cupples, 'that some one else had been suspected of the crime and put upon trial. What would you have done?'
'I think my duty was clear. I should have gone with my story to the lawyers for the defence, and put myself in their hands.'
Trent laughed aloud. Now that the thing was over, his spirits were rapidly becoming ungovernable. 'I can see their faces!' he said. 'As a matter of fact, though, nobody else was ever in danger. There wasn't a shred of evidence against any one. I looked up Murch at the Yard this morning, and he told me he had come round to Bunner's view, that it was a case of revenge on the part of some American black-hand gang. So there's the end of the Manderson case. Holy, suffering Moses! What an ass a man can make of himself when he thinks he's being preternaturally clever!' He seized the bulky envelope from the table and stuffed it into the heart of the fire. 'There's for you, old friend! For want of you the world's course will not fail. But look here! It's getting late--nearly seven, and Cupples and I have an appointment at half-past. We must go. Mr Marlowe, goodbye.' He looked into the other's eyes. 'I am a man who has worked hard to put a rope round your neck. Considering the circumstances, I don't know whether you will blame me. Will you shake hands?'
CHAPTER XVI: The Last Straw
'What was that you said about our having an appointment at half-past seven?' asked Mr Cupples as the two came out of the great gateway of the pile of flats. 'Have we such an appointment?'
'Certainly we have,' replied Trent. 'You are dining with me. Only one thing can properly celebrate this occasion, and that is a dinner for which I pay. No, no! I asked you first. I have got right down to the bottom of a case that must be unique--a case that has troubled even my mind for over a year--and if that isn't a good reason for standing a dinner, I don't know what is. Cupples, we will not go to my club. This is to be a festival, and to be seen in a London club in a state of pleasurable emotion is more than enough to shatter any man's career. Besides that, the dinner there is always the same, or, at least, they always make it taste the same, I know not how. The eternal dinner at my club hath bored millions of members like me, and shall bore; but tonight let the feast be spread in vain, so far as we are concerned. We will not go where the satraps throng the hall. We will go to Sheppard's.'
'Who is Sheppard?' asked Mr Cupples mildly, as they proceeded up Victoria Street. His companion went with an unnatural lightness, and a policeman, observing his face, smiled indulgently at a look of happiness which he could only attribute to alcohol.
'Who is Sheppard?' echoed Trent with bitter emphasis. 'That question, if you will pardon me for saying so, Cupples, is thoroughly characteristic of the spirit of aimless enquiry prevailing in this restless day. I suggest our dining at Sheppard's, and instantly you fold your arms and demand, in a frenzy of intellectual pride, to know who Sheppard is before you will cross the threshold of Sheppard's. I am not going to pander to the vices