Dark Matter

Seeing that we were about to take our leave of him, Mister Twistleton became quickly agitated: his humour became more frantic, and within less than a minute he was raving and foaming at the mouth. This seemed infectious, for at once other lunatics began to rant and rave, and they had soon set up such a chorus of Pandemonium as would have put Hell in an uproar, with Satan himself fit to complain to the Steward about the damned noise. Immediately several nurse-warders descended upon the inmates with whips, which was a piteous sight to behold, and which prompted my master and me to advance swiftly toward Bedlam’s exit, eager to be out of that festering air.

Walking through the portico under the melancholy eyes of Mister Cibber’s statues, Newton shook his head and sighed with relief.

“Of all things, I most fear the loss of my mind,” he said. “During my last year at Cambridge I got a distemper that much seized my head and kept me awake for several weeks so that my thinking was much discomposed.”

These symptoms were becoming increasingly familiar to me, for my ague seemed to be worsening; and yet I said nothing to my master beyond enquiring if it were indeed possible for a man to be put out of his wits by seeing a ghost, as Sergeant Rohan had told me.

“There’s no question of a ghost,” said Newton. “Mister Twistleton has the pox. Did you not see the ulcerated lesions on his legs? You might also have noted his atrophied eyes, his trembling lips and tongue, and his partial paralysis. These are most symptomatic of advanced syphilis.”

“I think,” I said weakly, “that I should like to wash my hands.”

“Oh, there’s no time for that,” said Newton. “We have to go and see some hatmakers.”

“Hatmakers?” I sighed wearily. “Unless you do think to have yourself a new hat, sir—although I must confess I do think you the least hat-minded man I ever met—why on earth should we want to visit some hatmakers?”

To which Newton replied, “What? ‘Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks? or wings and feathers unto the ostrich?’” And seeing me frown, he added, “Job, chapter thirty-nine, verse thirteen.”

In the coach, Newton patted my leg and, exuding some delight, showed me the letter Mister Twistleton had given to him. To my tired eyes, the paper, which showed a familiar but disorderly mixture of letters—tqbtqeqhhnuquczrpsvxwkxfklevqtogkxzzlalcsulixpdmctz xlzlbizgtpajpdnfpadykforlfbpfoxlduyxwmilldsdlnriieoerx qxnuiaebpaaafyagfokseicrlexuxtjplttlcgvvmmuqluzgvyqs swncebkmyetybohlckuasyfkthyizmhzbkvzhydumtksrnpjl yxdloqmhnfyczeszrvepnbrvhyleedufuivdehfgdrwdeeuh mmonheybbiktaopigbojcxdgcuouvmnkibhvonxnlzsiefzw krrvsfdedzhmmnsheasgdtpyhriwqupnefiogzrirpmjpnqc dlnxqtpfydgmpluynicsbmkhwvsqtexgzidypjtndgizfkkmb kaoprtdsxyhlmwfflxxaeaklrdcsnnyuouflurtqtnnwzbxyjg wdkcwxylkiajmcykakxkhziqimunavbolltadvfwpfmgwcmz uszpdqaktiemptpcyvkeygeyffhskntduvnfykrshmorrvuok gnbuutclafcpnwwekrkcezaxbpluaezgt’edqwbypuufzqxdziifs kszrktncnuljdvfedpgnohprzdoosyskxshdkdgwktgqwtavd hrusmocxiipiyrlmwopohkdz

—yielded no obvious meaning, but Newton declared that he discerned the same pattern that he had beheld in the previous messages we had discovered.

“But Mister Twistleton is a lunatic,” I objected.

“Without question,” agreed Newton.

“Then I fail to see why you are taking his letter so seriously.”

“For the simple reason that Mister Twistleton did not write it.”

“But how can you tell?”

“For several years I have made it my amusement to try and infer a person’s character, dispositions and aptitude from the peculiarities of his handwriting,” explained Newton. “One may even determine the state of a man’s health: for example, whether or not he is suffering from some defect in his eyes, or whether he is afflicted with some kind of paralysis.

“Considering the bold strong hand of these letters and the obvious ill health of Mister Twistleton, it is evident that the author of this message was anything but mad. There is a further point of subtler interest, which is that the author of this particular letter has studied Latin.”

“How on earth do you determine that?”