As he refashioned Maurice's words, Bennett understood now why the man could have written a brilliant play. He could not hope to reproduce the vividness with which Maurice's dry, precise inflection probed into brains and reshaped the anguish of a hurt woman. Again he saw Maurice bending forward, hands clasped on his stick, gently smiling.
"What happened to Louise, according to him," said Bennett, "you can guess. Her worked-up nerve was gone. She came back to the house in a hysterical condition at not later than a quarter to two. She did not remove her coat, or anything except her wet shoes. She lay in the dark and brooded until she was nearly insane. Then she determined, in the night, to come to you and tell you. Can you think of a more likely motive for waking up somebody at that time of the morning? On the way to your room, she lost her way in the dark — something that may have been only a shadow shattered her last shred of reason — she cried out, and when she opened her eyes both you and Willard were bending over her. She would have told you, but she couldn't tell Willard. She was again the prim, nervous Miss Carewe. But she saw the blood on her, and she instantly cried out the first thing that a girl of her type would naturally think of, a `mysterious man' beloved of the spinsters, who had accosted her. "
Katharine said quietly:
"It can't be. But that doesn't matter. It doesn't have any connection with Rainger out there at the pavilion. I know now all about the `impossible situation.' Dr. Wynne carefully explained it to me. If Rainger killed her, how did he do it?"
"It's the simplest damned trick ever worked, if it's true. Did Dr. Wynne tell you about the conditions out there? How everything looked?"
"Yes. Carry on. I want to know!"
"All right. Rainger, when it's snowing most heavily, goes out jubilantly to his tryst. She appreciates the baboon now… Well, Tait doesn't want to pitch into him until John returns with definite news; maybe she felt Rainger might still be a valuable friend, or maybe she was a little afraid of Rainger's brains and nastiness. She was very gracious and alluring to him, while John wasn't there to take her part when she did pitch in. But-time went on, things got more strained; two o'clock, half-past two, still no John.
"The blow-up must have come about three, when Rainger was gradually getting suspicious, and Marcia suddenly realized that if the news had been good John would have returned by that time. In other words, the plans had crashed and John was afraid to come and tell her. And it was Rainger's fault. It was the fault of the tubby little man pawing at her… "
"Don't!" said Katharine, and shuddered.
"I'm afraid," said Bennett uneasily, "you're only proving Maurice's point. Then can you imagine what she began to tell him? It's a funny thing, but when Rainger himself was telling us this morning of an imaginary interview between Marcia and John just before he said John killed her, Rainger used the words, `She told him for the first time what she really thought of him.'