CHAPTER XVII.

MR. TRING TRIES IT ON

The morning following the arrival of Mr. Rushton Tring, Mr. Benson sent word to Lady Evenden that he and a colleague wished to see her most particularly, and at once. She agreed immediately, and looked in some surprise as the great psycho-analyst entered in the wake of the lawyer.

Mr. Benson managed the introduction with an easy grace, and Mr. Tring put out his hand, which Lady Evenden took in a rather puzzled, almost reluctant grasp. She could not understand this man with the curiously quiet, humorous, but penetrating eyes.

“You have had a very restless night, Lady Evenden,” observed Mr. Tring, and the lady nodded. “Mr. Benson and I have to drive over the country for a few miles this morning,” went on the specialist. “You had better come with us; the air will do you a power of good.”

“Thank you very much, but I am afraid I must excuse myself,” said Lady Evenden. “I have not been out recently, and I have no desire to go. I think I will try to rest presently. It may be that the sleep denied me in the night may be coaxed this morning with the aid of a draught my medical adviser prepares for me.”

“I am a medical man,” said Mr. Rushton Tring. “May I please see the draught?”

“Well,” said Lady Evenden, after some hesitation, “I really don’t know that it matters, Mr. Tring, does it? I can assure you that I am quite satisfied with it. It does me good.”

“All the same, I think I would like to see it, if you don’t mind.” The words were spoken quietly enough, but Mr. Benson noticed that as the specialist spoke his eyes were fixed upon those of the lady of the Priory, and, though he also noticed a little color of resentment rise in her cheeks, in a moment her eyes seemed to drop before the magnetic eyes fixed so quietly, and yet so keenly, upon her. She raised her eyes again, and seemed upon the point of refusing.

“Please!” Mr. Tring only spoke the one word, but it was sufficient.

“Very well,” said Lady Evenden resignedly, almost dreamily, as she rose to leave the room.

“Please don’t trouble to go for it,” said Mr. Tring. “Send.”

“I can get it quite easily, thank you,” she replied, moving towards the door.

“Please send.” Mr. Tring walked beside her, and, apparently accidentally, placed himself between her and the door. Again the lawyer watched with fascinated eyes the battle of will, and again he saw the specialist triumphant.

“Very well,” she replied again, and slowly walked back to her seat, looking with puzzled eyes on this strange man whom to hear seemed to mean to obey. Mr. Tring rang the bell, and, when a servant appeared, he turned expectantly to Lady Evenden.

“Ask Miss Kilby to give you my sleeping-draught,” said the latter, and the servant withdrew. In silence the three remained in the room until the maid returned with a bottle containing a brown mixture. Mr. Rushton Tring smelt it carefully when he had withdrawn the cork; his eyebrows contracted, and he smelt it again--longer the second time. He threw a quick glance at Lady Evenden; then he looked for a moment at the lawyer.

“I think you had better have something rather different,” he said, and, as she looked in annoyance at him, he met her gaze, smelt again, and said: “Rather stronger.”

“Now, my dear lady,” he continued, corking and pocketing the bottle, “you will go and put on your outdoor things and accompany Mr. Benson and me for a drive in the car. You will not be long. Don’t think about it at all--just go and get ready, will you?” She stared at him for a second, vacantly. “Will you, please?” he repeated, and, though he asked a question, the question was a command. Without a word she arose, looked at Mr. Benson for a second; then, after momentary hesitation, looked again at the specialist and obeyed him. Mr. Rushton Tring never took his eyes off her until the door had closed behind her; then he turned to Mr. Benson.

“This becomes exceedingly interesting,” he observed. “Now there are one or two points I want you to understand--quickly. The first is, I can in no circumstances undertake any responsibility for this kidnaping venture of yours. You must, in the remote chance of any trouble arising, say that I was not informed of that. The second is, you had better allow me to supply you with a specially-trained nurse for Lady Evenden. I will recommend one. Unless I am very seriously mistaken, the stuff that I have in this bottle contains a dangerous amount of heroin. I do not like to voice the suspicions at present very virile in my mind, but I tell you this much now: I am interested--keenly interested.”

Mr. Benson had not time to ask anything further; for, at that moment Lady Evenden appeared, wrapped in a fur coat and carrying a pair of gloves.

“Driver discreet?” whispered Mr. Tring, and the lawyer nodded his assurance.

Within a few minutes they were being driven along the road that led to the marshes by the same young chauffeur, who had shown his intimate knowledge of the dangerous marsh road two nights before.

Lady Evenden remarked that she had only twice before been over the part of the district they were covering, and then upon some expedition to try to see some specimen of the bittern’s nest which had been reported by gamekeepers.

Mr. Rushton Tring immediately manifested interest, and spoke of the various authorities on the habits and life of the rare bird. Soon the marsh was crossed, and they approached Swinerigmire. The car halted at the front door of the farm and was met by Joe Litt, looking very worried and anxious. He drew Mr. Benson to one side immediately he alighted, and it was evident that something was wrong. The old lawyer seemed on the verge of having an apoplectic fit as he expressed his extreme disapproval of something to Joe Litt, who seemed exceedingly crestfallen. Mr. Tring and Lady Evenden remained standing beside the car.

When the lawyer rejoined them, he took Mr. Tring to one side and said:

“This is terrible. The little scoundrel has got away.”

Mr. Tring raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” repeated Mr. Benson, “he’s outwitted us. Listen to what Joe Litt says; he’ll tell you in his own words. Get her ladyship to go back into the car, and come here.”

Mr. Tring said something to Lady Evenden, whereupon she reseated herself in the car as the wondering psychologist accompanied Mr. Benson to where Joe Litt was standing.

“Tell this gentleman all there is to tell,” said the lawyer, and Joe Litt, after casting an appraising glance at Mr. Tring, said:

“Well, sir, last night I had two of my lads watching him, and they had a mug of beer each and some bread and cheese by way of supper, but both were fast asleep when I looked round before turning in--and the little man had gone! They had not drunk all their beer, so I thought maybe he had poisoned them. Later on they came to, but they both had very bad heads, and I kept the beer just as it was, in case they had been poisoned, because they are the last lads in the world to leave good beer.”

“Let me have a look at the beer,” said Mr. Tring, and Joe led the way into the farm kitchen. He took from the cupboard two half-full mugs of beer. Mr. Tring looked at one of them, smelt it, looked at Mr. Benson, and smiled.

“Give me an empty bottle, will you, please?” he asked Joe, and immediately the man left to get one. While he was away, Mr. Tring said to the lawyer:

“Doped, my dear chap! The little man is evidently a master hand at poisoning, in various degrees.” Mr. Benson looked extremely worried--too greatly worried, indeed, to be vexed--and after a pause said, quite mildly:

“Then I suppose, after all, I have failed.”

“I wouldn’t say that yet,” said Mr. Tring. “I wouldn’t say that yet. We might get some very valuable information from the lady, yet. All the same, I am extremely sorry that the little chap has eluded you.”

Joe Litt came back with an empty bottle, and Mr. Tring emptied the contents of one of the mugs into it.

“We will see what the analysis of this brings forth,” he said.

“Have you made any search for the little scoundrel?” asked Mr. Benson.

“Four of the men are out now, searching the marsh,” replied Joe Litt.

“You will let me know immediately if you hear anything,” the lawyer instructed him, and, having got Joe’s assurance, he and Mr. Tring rejoined Lady Evenden in the car. Mr. Benson during the ride home was unusually silent; for indeed, he was exceedingly disappointed, and looked it. Very greatly had he built upon the result of the visit of Mr. Rushton Tring, and now it seemed as if all was useless. The doctor had won.

On Mr. Tring’s features, however, disappointment was the last thing indicated. He chatted with Lady Evenden of all sorts of topics, and by the time they reached the Priory, she had got quite to like the strange man whom she could scarcely understand, and yet who seemed to have such a curious power over her.

When the car arrived at the Priory, Lady Evenden went straight to her room, and Mr. Benson and Mr. Rushton Tring to the library.

“I want to make one or two experiments,” announced the specialist. “Can you arrange for me to be undisturbed in a bath room for about two hours?”

Mr. Benson agreed, and immediately Mr. Tring adjourned to a large bath room on the first floor of the house. He took with him a hand-bag, and shut the door securely.

Long before the two hours had expired he presented himself to Mr. Benson in the library.

“It is as I thought,” he said. “Lady Evenden has been taking terrific quantities of heroin. Probably she has been gradually accustomed to the doses, which have steadily increased. The amount that she is capable of taking now, however, is dangerous in the extreme, and frightfully demoralizing. As far as the beer is concerned, the cunning little doctor must have managed to secrete a substantial dose of an opium product in his watchers’ drink, with the result that they would certainly go off for a couple of hours and awaken with bad heads. The doctor has gone--you can reconcile yourself to that, my friend. Now, the thing that remains is for us to see what we can do with our charming hostess, Lady Evenden.”

“The whole thing is terrible, terrible,” said Mr. Benson. “I can’t express how disappointed I am. I don’t know what to do.”

“You can’t help it,” said Mr. Tring philosophically. “You certainly were not in the least to blame. Indeed, I think you are much to be congratulated on the steps you have taken. You have shown wisdom and discretion in all your movements in this extraordinary business. I am not sure but that, so long as we take measures to see that the doctor does not reach Lady Evenden, we will get more out of her in his absence than we would have done in his presence.”

“When do you intend to see her?” asked the lawyer.

“In the next hour or so,” replied Mr. Tring.

The lawyer and the psychologist lunched together, and then, without advising her of their coming, they went to Lady Evenden’s apartments. She admitted them at once, and Mr. Tring lost no time in coming to the object of his visit.

“Lady Evenden,” he said, “in your own interest, and in the interest of your son, I have come down to straighten one or two matters out. Now, I am sorry for occasioning you the distress that reference to unpleasant subjects must cause you; but again I assure you that I am here, and asking these questions, in your own, and your son’s, interest. Now tell me, Lady Evenden, who killed your stepson?”

The effect of the question was pitiful to witness. Lady Evenden’s eyes dilated; she clutched the arms of her chair with her hands, and trembled as with an ague. Fully a minute passed before she replied:

“You--you--ask me--who killed Jack? How can I tell you? Not my son--not my son.”

“I know that,” said Mr. Tring. “Come now, Lady Evenden, I am a friend, and will remain a friend, but I must know. Tell me now, who killed your stepson?”

Lady Evenden looked as if she were about to faint.

“I don’t know,” she said, between great gasping breaths. “I cannot tell.”

“You were there.” The voice of Mr. Tring was definite--accusative even, Mr. Benson thought.

“Yes--I was there,” came the reply, slowly, deliberately.

“Dr. Laidlaw was there also.” Mr. Tring bent his head forward, and the old lawyer thought the amount of force he managed to concentrate into his gaze amounted to positive cruelty; nevertheless, he did not interfere.

There was a pause, then Lady Evenden replied: “Yes, Dr. Laidlaw was there, also.” Her eyes were fixed upon the eyes of her remorseless questioner. She seemed to have forgotten the very presence of Mr. Benson. Her eyes never left the psychologist’s face.

“What did you see?”

She blanched, then looked more earnestly than ever into Mr. Tring’s eyes. She seemed to make a gigantic effort to look away, but failed, and looked back again.

“I saw him--dead,” she replied in husky tones and seemed in imminent danger of fainting. Indeed, so distressed did she appear that Mr. Benson moved forward to assist, but Rushton Tring waved him impatiently back.

“Who did it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, wearily but apparently truthfully.

“Why did Dr. Laidlaw do it?” Tring asked the question with great precision, weighing carefully every word, and giving expression to every syllable.

“I don’t know,” she replied absently, dreamily.

“Did he do it?” The question was asked more sharply, but the reply came in the same dreamy accents:

“I don’t know.”

“You do know,” Tring looked coercive power incarnate as he pressed his head forward. Her eyes opened wider still; she gasped, as if for air. Mr. Benson held his breath. A full minute elapsed:

“No. I--no, I don’t know.” Then she fainted.

“My God! This is awful!” exclaimed Mr. Benson running forward. “Shall----”

“Be quiet, man.” Mr. Tring held up an authoritative hand, and his eyes glowed with determined purpose. “Leave this to me; she will be all right in a moment. Remember, we must get the truth--we are on the verge of getting it.”

In silence they sat and watched. Mr. Benson was on the point of interfering several times, but always he was waved back by the specialist. At last Lady Evenden opened her eyes.

“Now tell me,” said Mr. Tring. “Why do you say Laidlaw murdered him?” She looked dazed for several moments, then answered:

“He did not murder him.”

“You and he were there,” Mr. Tring declared.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why did you murder him?” The question was unexpected, and Mr. Benson nearly collapsed. But the effect upon Lady Evenden was not nearly so startling as the previous ones had been.

“I did not murder him,” she said.

“Tell me all you know! Tell me all you know! You must tell me all you know!” Strength, determination, and inexpressible power were charged in the words of Mr. Rushton Tring as he made his final command. She met his gaze, hesitated, then said slowly:

“He said I do not know, and I do not know. I do not want to know. I do not know.”

Again there was a complete silence for several minutes. Mr. Tring kept his eyes fixed upon Lady Evenden, while she looked vacantly and dreamily back at him.

“Well, now.” Mr. Tring completely changed his tone. He sounded quite cheerful--almost frivolous--as he arose. “My dear Lady Evenden, you really must take a little rest. You will go to bed now and sleep for three hours. For three hours.” As he repeated the words “three hours” he resumed his seriousness of voice and expression, but immediately lost it again as he went on. “Then you will wake up a new person--completely refreshed. I will see you later. In the meanwhile, good-day, Lady Evenden.” She bade him good-day, and, accompanied by Mr. Benson, who also paid his compliments to the lady, he left the room.

When they got into the corridor, Mr. Benson, unable to control his curiosity any longer, said:

“Well? What do you think. What, in heaven’s name, is the truth of this terrible business?”

“Well,” replied the specialist quietly, “the whole position remains in doubt and open to speculation. Only one or two things can be stated with assurance. One is that Dr. Laidlaw has an absolute control of her. She does not know who murdered her stepson for the simple reason that Laidlaw has superimposed his will upon hers, and has ordered her not to know. The truth is that probably she does know; but, we will have to keep her separated from Laidlaw for some considerable time to wear down the effect of his control.”

Mr. Tring coughed, then continued:

“Again, another thing that is clear is that she needs Laidlaw. He has supplied her with drugs that require increasing quantities to be of any use. She is beginning to feel the need of more already. If we manage to keep her separated from him for the next few days, we may be able to get from her all we need. I shall probably be able to take the place of Laidlaw in her scheme of things, in a day or so.”

They walked on to the library.

“The whole thing is very troublesome--very terrible,” said Mr. Benson. “I wonder whether----”

He was interrupted by the butler.

“Mr. Joe Litt to see you, sir, and another little man that he has got fastened to a piece of rope.”