The Madman's Room

‘Getting back to the fatal moment, around 8.50 to 9.00. The most solid alibi is undoubtedly that of Sarah Thorne, who was out walking with Bessie Blount. It’s difficult to picture a conspiracy on their part. As far as Mr. and Mrs. Hilton are concerned, they furnish each other an alibi, but then they’re a married couple, so… Their son Francis has no alibi. He was outdoors looking for his wife, who hasn’t got an explanation for her actions either. Dr. Meadows was in the salon alone: no alibi either. The same goes for Brian, who was in his room, next to the study….’

‘Admit it. If it was murder, you think it was Brian who did it!’

Archibald Hurst gave a sly smile.

‘We questioned him for quite a long time. Gently, I can assure you. A few questions about his supposed powers… What I can certify to you is that he isn’t a charlatan in the proper sense of the term, meaning that he really believes in his powers of prediction. He confirmed the prophetic warning to his brother. “It was inevitable,” he said repeatedly. I don’t say he’s a murderer, but he made a curious impression… Anyway, what do you make of it all? Murder or suicide?’

Dr. Twist didn’t reply straight away. He puffed inscrutably on his pipe.

‘Apart from that,’ he said suddenly, ‘didn’t anything else strike you as strange?’

Hurst squinted at him.

‘It seems to me there are already enough strange things.’

‘Of course, but I was talking about the actions and movements of all the parties that night. And I can assure you, something’s not right!’

Second Part

10

A year passed without much of note happening. Harris Thorne lay in peace next to his ancestors beneath the chapel. Mr. and Mrs. Hilton led a peaceful existence in Hatton Manor and Brian had not changed his habits one iota. Sarah had replaced her late husband as head of the enterprise, even though her role was more to supervise the new director she’d chosen, Curtin, the previous right hand man. She’d also arranged for more favourable working hours for her brother, with the result that he only went two or three days a week to Coventry. During that time, however, the flame which had animated the romantic sentiments of Bessie Blount and Mike Meadows appeared to have died out, although nobody seemed to know why.

Nonetheless, they were both present at Hatton Manor that Saturday evening in June when the discussion turned to great-uncle Harvey and the mysterious glass forever standing on the table.

Paula — who, after many circumlocutions, had steered the conversation round to the subject — observed Brian out of the corner of her eye. The glimmer of a smile appeared on his face and he turned towards her.

‘My dear Paula, I notice you’re very interested in the subject….’

Paula, who still vividly recalled that famous night when, peering through the keyhole, she had observed Brian contemplating that same object, feigned an indifference denied by eyes burning with curiosity.

‘Yes, because I can’t really see an explanation… supposing there is one.’

‘And nobody has explained to you what it’s about?’ asked Brian in astonishment.

The question was met with astonished silence.

‘And are you in a position to tell us, Brian?’

Still smiling, Brian said only one word, but one which had an instant effect.

‘Yes.’

Dr. Meadows lit a cigarette, followed by Francis. Howard Hilton served himself another port, under his wife’s disapproving eye.

‘You see,’ continued Brian, ‘wherever you go in space or time, people are always the same. When they hear talk of prophecy they adopt a superior air and shrug their shoulders, but… Let’s take an example, the very first, which goes back to Genesis. Adam and Eve, though warned, took no notice of the terrible menace, tasted the forbidden fruit, and were chased from the earthly paradise… and we’re the ones who suffer the consequences. Harris didn’t listen either. Nobody can say I didn’t warn him. Yet he still opened up that room….

‘Before getting back to great-uncle Harvey, I’d like to tell you about certain events which have punctuated history, and whose authenticity is not in doubt. In fact, there have been quite a number of prophecies which have turned out to be accurate. The most well-known, needless to say, are those about illustrious individuals who must have kicked themselves later for turning a deaf ear. Remember Cassandra, whom the Trojans mocked. Does the term “Trojan Horse” ring a bell? Remember Julius Caesar also, and the celebrated “beware of the Ides of March.” He heard his wife having a nightmare in which she was holding his corpse in her arms, and the next day she begged him to postpone the senate meeting. He ignored her and was stabbed to death beneath the statue of Pompey, his enemy.’

He stopped and looked into the distance. His audience, shaken, could see the atrocious scene in his clear blue eyes.