The Madman's Room

‘They’ve been fighting for more than a quarter of an hour,’ declared Brian uneasily. ‘They’re in Harris’s study.’

Francis understood full well what he meant by that last piece of information. Brian’s room being adjacent to the study, he’d been able to follow every detail of the row between Sarah and Harris, whose echoes even reached the floor below.

‘I’m going downstairs,’ announced Brian in a weary voice.

‘I understand,’ replied Francis. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t have seen Paula, by any chance?’

‘Paula,’ repeated Brian, absent-mindedly. ‘No, I haven’t seen her since dinner.’

So saying, he went on his way. Thoughtfully, Francis watched him go down the stairs.

Mr. and Mrs. Hilton left the salon at around half past eight, bidding goodnight to Brian, Meadows and his fiancée.

The three of them couldn’t help noticing how upset Sarah’s mother seemed to be. It was about the same time that there was a sudden silence upstairs. A quarter of an hour later, Mike Meadows suggested to his fiancée that they leave. She was about to reply when her eyes wandered to the open entrance leading to the hall.

‘Sarah and Harris,’ she murmured in amazement.

The three remaining occupants of the salon watched the couple walk, arm in arm, towards the front door, which shut firmly behind them.

‘Incredible!’ exclaimed Brian. ‘A moment ago, they were ready to kill each other and now there they are going out for a stroll, as if nothing had happened.’

‘Love is a funny thing,’ said Mike Meadows quietly, as he was lighting a cigarette. ‘It’s an extraordinary force which—.’

He didn’t get any further. Through the open window they could hear Sarah’s almost hysterical voice which didn’t mince her words, nor apparently spare the person to whom they were addressed. Then the door opened suddenly on a deathly pale Mrs. Thorne who rushed into the salon, threw herself into an armchair, took a cigarette out of the first packet which came to hand, and lit it.

Everything about her indicated a state of extreme emotion. Hardly had she taken a puff when the door opened again, just as suddenly as before. Three pairs of eyes — Sarah, staring at the ground, hadn’t moved — watched the familiar figure of Harris Thorne stride towards the staircase. Once he had disappeared from sight, Brian turned to his sister-in-law, thought for a moment, and left the salon.

Mike Meadows and Bessie Blount watched him go up the staircase in his turn. Once the sound of his footsteps could no longer be heard, Sarah asked in a hoarse voice:

‘My dear Bessie, would you care to take a stroll outside with me?’

‘Of course,’ Bessie replied hastily. Turning to her fiancé, she asked: ‘Are you going to stay here, Mike? We won’t be long.’

Meadows, ensconced in an armchair, nodded his agreement. The two women stood up, Bessie took Sarah’s arm and they went out.

Mike Meadows allowed a few seconds to pass, then went over to one of the open windows. He leant on the sill, inhaling the balsamic fragrance of the woods in the fading twilight.

The lights of the salon cast a beam across the lawn, revealing the silhouettes of the two young women receding along the gravel path. He couldn’t help comparing them, with an auctioneer’s eye that was, at the same time, lecherous.

Bessie’s beauty came principally from her long, blonde hair, although her curves were pleasing enough. But, next to her, the supple and graceful Sarah, with her swan-like neck and feminine allure, made Bessie suddenly seem drab.

The clock was striking a quarter past nine when Sarah and Bessie returned. Back in his armchair, Mike Meadows smiled at them:

‘I think we can consider our bridge evening over.’

Sarah stopped, looking thoughtful. Bessie ignored her fiancé’s remark and announced:

‘It’s a pity you didn’t come with us, Mike. We surprised a prowler.’

‘A prowler?’

‘Someone with something on his conscience, at least. We’d hardly been out there five minutes when we heard a branch crack behind one of the bushes, followed by the noise of someone running back into the woods. But it was too dark to see who it was.’

‘No, our bridge evening isn’t over,’ declared Sarah suddenly, with grim determination.

Meadow and Bessie looked at her, surprised and slightly uneasy.

‘Come on,’ she continued, ‘we’re going to start by finding Harris.’

Bessie and Meadows followed her upstairs without a word. They watched apprehensively as she knocked on the study door. In vain.

That part of the upstairs floor was badly lit, the only light coming from the wall lights in the main corridor, which ran at right angles to the wing where the little group was standing, meaning that it was an indirect light which shone on the anxious faces. After knocking again without result, Sarah opened the door.

At that moment, Mike Meadows and Bessie were standing back, slightly embarrassed, fearing the predictable reaction from Harris, whose strange silence did not bode well. They were watching Sarah’s face, as if it were a mirror reflecting the mood of the master of the house.