The Man on the Train Read online

  ‘He can’t possibly mean to swim across,’ said Mrs. Marchmont to herself, as she watched him pick his way along the bank.

  Further upstream, close to the water, was a tree whose roots had been exposed by the rushing swell, and which was leaning across, half-fallen, as though reaching out towards the other side of the river. Mrs. Marchmont’s eyes widened as she saw what William meant to do.

  ‘He’s going to drown,’ she murmured, as she watched him step out carefully onto the trunk of the tree. It was almost horizontal, and it shook dangerously as he dropped to his hands and feet and felt his way across. The torrent was not four feet below him, and at any second it looked as though the tree would be swept away. On the far side of the river a willow tree trailed its boughs low into the water, close to the nearly-fallen trunk. Surely he was not intending to try and swing up into it, she thought. The lower branches could not possibly hold him. He continued to inch his way across as the police picked their way down the slippery river bank towards him. The half-fallen tree lurched under his weight and he closed his eyes momentarily. He was nearly across now, and just able to reach the first fronds of the willow tree. He grasped them and used them to pull himself to his feet as he picked his way through the branches of the makeshift bridge. The police had now reached the edge of the water and Mrs. Marchmont heard another gunshot. The stronger branches of the willow tree were just out of William’s reach. He strained forward, balancing precariously on his toes, trying to get purchase so he could pull himself into the willow and to safety. For several agonizing seconds Mrs. Marchmont was sure he would do it, but just then disaster struck as a great pile of debris detached itself from the bank further upstream, was propelled twenty yards at great speed, and slammed into the falling tree, which finally gave up any effort to remain upright and, with a great crack and a groan, lowered itself almost delicately into the water with William still clinging to it. The topmost branches of the treacherous tree slowly swung inwards towards the near bank, and William was swept helplessly towards the waiting police and their guns. Soaking wet and bedraggled, he was pulled out roughly, handcuffed and conducted to the police car, which drove away.

  ‘They got him,’ said the Pullman conductor cheerfully, coming in just then. ‘I guess he won’t be leaving Wynnsville for a while.’

  ‘So it seems,’ said Angela Marchmont thoughtfully.

  ‘How long do you plan to stay in Wynnsville, Mrs. Marchmont?’ said Flora Winterson. She was a pretty girl of twenty-four or five, who had taken a great fancy to the smart English lady, and was making mental notes about her dress and her way of doing her hair. ‘And shall you come to see the show? Howard and I have been working on a new routine, and if you come you’ll be one of the first people to see it. There are some fine dances coming out of New York lately, and we have to keep things fresh or people won’t come to see us. We’ve worked up a darling little tango, too—oh, I know people think the tango is old hat these days, but I think we’ve made something rather original out of it. We tried it out in Peoria and the audience went just wild for it!’

  Her husband and dancing partner, Howard Winterson, nodded in agreement next to her at the breakfast-table.

  ‘I don’t know quite how long I’m staying, but I’d certainly like to see the show,’ said Angela Marchmont. ‘Is it still going ahead? I gather one of your troupe was arrested yesterday.’

  Flora’s usually animated face fell.

  ‘Oh, yes, poor William!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d never have believed it. I’m sure there must have been some terrible mistake. He’s just the sweetest boy, and always so kind and cheerful. But Mr. Owens said the money was certainly taken while he was at breakfast, and there’s no doubt that some of it was found in William’s room, so it doesn’t look good for him. Mr. Owens told us that part of the money was for our wages, and said we have William to thank if we don’t get paid, so everyone’s a little glum just at the moment.’

  ‘It was Mr. Owens himself who conducted the search, was it?’ said Angela.

  ‘Yes. He’s terribly strict, and insisted on looking through everybody’s things. He went to William’s room first, and found the money straightaway.’

  ‘Was William’s room the nearest? Is that why he searched it first? Or did he have a particular reason to suspect him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Flora. ‘Mr. Owens and Daisy are on the third floor and we’re all on the second, so I don’t know why he picked on William particularly. But he was right, because that’s where the money was, it seems—or some of it, at least.’

  ‘Who is Daisy?’

  ‘Daisy Owens. Mr. Owens’ wife. Look, there they are, at the table in the corner. She’s a dear girl, and has been awfully upset by the whole thing. She’s very fond of William.’

  Mrs. Marchmont looked across the room and saw the imposing back of a huge, balding hulk of a man, dressed in a jacket that stretched tightly across his shoulders and seemed ready to burst at the seams. His face was not visible from where she was sitting, but from what she could see, he did not look like a man to be trifled with. Next to him sat a girl of perhaps nineteen or twenty. She was small and delicate-looking, with wide, soulful grey eyes, a cloud of fair hair and a perfect pink rosebud of a mouth.

  ‘I see,’ said Angela, whose mind was jumping rapidly to a series of involuntary conclusions based on the beauty of Mrs. Owens and one or two half-formed remarks from William the day before. ‘She looks rather younger than he. Have they been married long?’

  ‘A year or so,’ replied Flora. She lowered her voice. ‘Poor thing, she’s quite terrified of him—as we all are!’

  Their view of the Owens’ was momentarily blocked by the arrival of two men who passed their table. They were both slight and dark, and walked with a loose-limbed gait. They sat down at a table as far away from anyone else as possible, and muttered morosely to one another.

  ‘That’s Jimmy and Bart Renshaw,’ said Flora, seeing Angela observing them. ‘They’re William’s brothers. They’re our acrobats. They do most of the jumping and tumbling, while William does—did—the lifts. He’s the strong one, you see.’

  ‘I reckon they’re happy to be rid of him,’ said Howard.

  ‘Oh?’ said Angela, pleased at her new friends’ inclination to gossip.

  Flora was nodding.

  ‘I guess there’s no love lost between them,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘Jealousy, I’d say,’ said Howard sagely. ‘They’re an ornery pair, and he’s a lot younger than they are. I’ll bet they weren’t any too happy when he came along and took up all their mama’s attention.’

  Mrs. Marchmont regarded the Renshaws with interest. One of them, who looked to be the younger of the two, was casting occasional glances across to the table at which the Owens’ were sitting. Angela watched as Daisy Owens caught him looking at her and gave a little haughty toss of her head.

  At the next table, another man and his wife finished their breakfast and stopped to speak to the Wintersons and be introduced to Angela.

  ‘Angela, dear—’ (Mrs. Marchmont was amused to note Flora’s rapid progression from formality to informality after only half an hour’s acquaintance) ‘—you must meet Hamilton and Pearl Maywood. Ham is quite the finest singer in America, aren’t you, Ham?’

  Hamilton Maywood disclaimed the compliment modestly and made some suitable remark. Angela wondered how she could have missed him earlier, for he was quite astonishingly handsome. His features were so regular and his complexion so smooth that he might have been made out of wax, while his thick, dark hair had such a glossy sheen to it that Angela was half-inclined to suspect it was not his own. His wife, by contrast, was mainly distinguishable by her firm mouth and a permanently suspicious expression, which deepened as she saw Angela looking at her husband with—it must be admitted—a certain degree of aesthetic appreciation. Her manner was a shade cool, and after they had
left, Flora whispered:

  ‘Don’t mind her—she’s awfully jealous, and doesn’t like it when other women talk to Ham. She tries to frighten them off if she can.’

  ‘Doesn’t Ham mind?’ said Angela.

  ‘Oh, he doesn’t notice a thing. He’s a darling, and awfully good-looking, but he’s not exactly an intellectual. She’s his manager, and he’s quite happy to let her do everything for him. She wants to get him a movie contract, and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if she did it, too. I can’t imagine him staying buried here for the rest of his life, can you?’

  Mrs. Marchmont was about to reply when they were interrupted by the arrival of the girl Daisy Owens at their table, who smiled prettily on being introduced to Angela. She was an actress and singer, it seemed, but was thinking of retiring, as Emmett didn’t like to see her making a spectacle of herself in front of a crowd. She couldn’t stop just yet, though, as they’d need to fill in now they were one short.

  ‘As a matter of fact, we were just talking about William,’ said Flora.

  At that Daisy opened her wide eyes still wider, as though she were eager to know more but was hesitant to ask.

  ‘Do you—is he—’ she said falteringly. ‘Are they going to find him guilty, do you suppose? I don’t think he can afford a lawyer.’

  Nothing could have been more fetching than her concerned expression. Angela hastened to reassure her.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I believe he has seen an attorney,’ she said.

  ‘Who told you that?’ said Flora in surprise.

  ‘I overheard someone talking about it in the lobby when I arrived yesterday,’ lied Angela, who had arranged for the lawyer herself.

  ‘Well, that’s good news, at any rate,’ said Flora, relieved.

  ‘What’s that?’ came a gruff voice, and they all jumped and looked up to see Emmett Owens standing by their table. His front aspect was just as intimidating as his back view, and he set his heavy jaw and darted a suspicious glance around at them all.

  ‘Oh, Mr. Owens!’ said Flora, and fell into a confused silence.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ he snapped. ‘What were you talking about just now?’

  It was most odd. Everyone seemed reluctant to say anything. Angela, who did not depend for a living upon Mr. Owens’ good humour or otherwise, was the first to speak.

  ‘We were talking of William Tibbs, one of your acrobats, and the fact that he has secured legal representation,’ she said pleasantly.

  His brow lowered and he went purple in the face, and he scowled at his wife, who cringed. Perhaps mindful that one did not bark at respectable strangers in hotel dining-rooms, however, he merely grunted and turned away. Daisy Owens followed him.

  ‘He’s a little short-tempered,’ said Flora apologetically, which seemed to Angela to be something of an understatement, for Emmett Owens looked to her to be nothing short of a boor and a bully.

  She finished her breakfast and went upstairs to her room on the second floor. It was small and dingy, not as clean as she would have liked, and lacked the amenities she was accustomed to. In addition, it overlooked the busy main street of Wynnsville, and the rumble of motor traffic drifted in through the ill-fitting window-frames. There was a much nicer hotel in the old part of town where the food was reputed to be delicious, and Angela thought of it with a sigh. She had no justifiable reason to remain in Wynnsville at all, in fact, since she had concluded her business here two days ago and might easily have hired a motor-car to take her to Chicago, from where she could catch another train to New York. But William’s plight had aroused her sympathy and her suspicions, and so if she were to get to the bottom of the matter she had no choice but to be here in the same hotel as the theatre company, in the room which had been his until yesterday.

  She left her room and went along to the stairs, but instead of going down to the lobby she ascended to the third floor corridor and glanced around. Here, a mop and pail stood against a wall, and one or two doors were open—presumably for cleaning—but the place was otherwise quite deserted. Angela listened, and heard the sound of barking and growling coming from a room nearby. A man’s voice shouted something and the barking turned suddenly to a whine, as though the dog had received a blow. Angela was about to return the way she had come when a door opened and Emmett and Daisy Owens came out, accompanied by the dogs. Angela did not like the look of them at all—great, snapping, snarling beasts they were, pulling and straining at their leads. Emmett withdrew a large bunch of keys attached to a chain from his waistcoat pocket and turned to lock the door. Just then Daisy seemed to spot something about his appearance that displeased her. Skirting warily around the dogs, she approached her husband and straightened his tie smilingly. He grunted impatiently but did not object as she brushed something from his lapel. As the little party approached, the dogs saw Angela and lunged at her, and she flattened herself hurriedly against the wall as Emmett Owens jerked the leads to pull them back. He nodded at Angela as they passed, although without seeming to recognize her. As soon as they had disappeared, an elderly maid emerged cautiously from one of the open rooms and picked up the mop and pail. She jumped as Angela approached her.

  ‘Yes’m?’ she said.

  ‘Might I have a word?’ said Angela.

  ‘I’ll get to your room right away, ma’am,’ she said. ‘But Mr. Gundersen, he done told me to do from one end of the corridor to the other so far as I can, ’cause it’s quicker that way. Or was there something wrong?’

  Her expression hovered on the brink of dismay. Angela hastened to reassure her that she had not come to complain, but merely wanted to ask the maid whether she had seen anything of the events of yesterday morning. At that, the woman bristled, bridled and drew herself up, and altogether gave every indication that she had plenty to say about that, and had only been looking for an opportunity to say it. The maid’s name was Ida, and she was warm in her dislike of Emmett Owens, who had accused her of stealing his money. This was news to Angela.

  ‘He thought you had stolen it, did he?’ she said.

  ‘Why, yes’m,’ said Ida. ‘Stood right there just where you are and flat out called me a thief. He come back to change his shirt after breakfast, ’cause he spilled half his eggs over himself, then next I know he come out and he’s screaming at me fit to bust ’bout where’d I put the three thousand dollars and how he gon’ call the police and have me fired or arrested or worse! Well I tell him straight I don’t know nothin’ about no three thousand dollars and I ain’t been in his room ’cause of them brutes, and I ain’t nohow going in there neither, not until he takes ’em away. Then his wife calmed him down and begged pardon, and they went off, but he was about fit to kill someone.’

  The memory was evidently still raw, for she was shaking indignantly as she spoke.

  ‘Were the dogs in the room, then?’ said Angela. ‘Is that why you hadn’t been in to clean?’

  ‘No, ma’am. They was in the corridor, right there in that alcove. When they went down to breakfast he brought ’em out and left ’em there, and said he’d taken the dogs out so I could go in and clean now, like it was nothing. But I’m so afraid of ’em I daren’t go past ’em, so I couldn’t do his room, nor the other ones at that end neither.’

  ‘So what did you do while Mr. and Mrs. Owens were downstairs having breakfast?’

  ‘Why, I waited right here. What else could I do? If Mr. Gundersen catch me sitting down on the job he gon’ fire me. But I can’t get on till Mr. Owens come back and take them dogs away, so I stand here with my mop and wait.’

  ‘How long did you wait?’

  ‘Until they come back after breakfast.’

  ‘You didn’t go in to clean any of the other rooms?’

  ‘No, ma’am. These ones are empty, and I couldn’t get along to the other end ’cause of the dogs. I tried to ask him to take ’em down to breakfast, but they was all in a confu
sion so I couldn’t. Mr. Owens left his handkerchief behind, then Mrs. Owens run back for an umbrella, and after that they was in such a hurry they ain’t got no time to listen to me.’

  ‘Did you see anybody come along the corridor while you were waiting?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Not the man who was arrested for the theft?’

  ‘Well they told me someone got took, but I don’t know who it was. He never come up here, anyhow. ’Least, not yesterday morning.’

  ‘And you’re quite sure you stayed here the whole time, from when Mr. and Mrs. Owens went down to breakfast to when they came back and Mr. Owens discovered the money missing?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘Do you clean the second floor, too?’ she asked as an afterthought.

  ‘No, ma’am. That’s Victoria.’

  Ida could not, then, have witnessed Emmett Owens’ search of William’s things. Angela thanked the maid and returned to her own room.

  ‘How very odd,’ she murmured to herself. If Ida had been standing in the third floor corridor the whole time then how had the money been taken? Remembering that she was now in William’s old room, she drifted across to the window, opened it and poked her head out. As far as she could judge, the Owens’ room was one floor up and three windows along from this one. But there was nothing useful to be seen. She had had half an idea of a fire escape, but if there was one it was not on this side of the building. Nor was there anything that might serve as a handhold or a foothold for anyone wanting to enter the Owens’ room from the outside. Besides, she told herself, if somebody had been clambering about up the walls, then they would have been seen from the street. One or two possibilities flitted through her mind, and she considered the matter for some few minutes, then turned to leave the room again. She wanted very much to speak to Daisy Owens.