The Madman's Room

‘A few days earlier, she attacked me. We were out for a walk together near the woods. Suddenly she grabbed my arm and started asking me questions, pointing at the trees: “Paula, what was that?” I asked her what she was talking about. “The shadow there, behind the trees, there was someone…” I told her I’d seen nothing and we continued on our way. A quarter of an hour later, it was the same thing: she’d seen “someone” when there was clearly no one there. I was so irritated at her trying to convince me about something non-existent that I snubbed her. She wouldn’t talk to me for days.

‘Another evening, it was Brian’s turn. The fuses had blown and she’d found herself alone in the corridor. She let out a terrible scream which aroused everyone. When the lights came back on, we found her in front of her bedroom door with Brian, whose teeth were almost chattering because of the screaming. She accused him of running his fingers through her hair in the darkness, which he vigorously denied. She ranted at him for half an hour. Poor Brian, he almost went down on his knees to beg her to stop.

‘And there we are,’ she concluded with a sigh. ‘Has the great detective any ideas?’

‘None, and it’s not for want of trying.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Good lord! It’s past eleven. Bessie will be starting to get worried.’

Paula, somewhat surprised, watched him get up. She was about to say something, stood there with her mouth open for a moment, then said:

‘All right, I’ll come with you to the door.’

On the doorstep, the night cold caused Patrick to raise the collar of his overcoat and jam his hat down over his head. He smiled at Paula, who was standing in the open doorway.

‘See you soon, White Camellia, if I’m still allowed to call you that.’

Paula couldn’t help giving a small nod of agreement, and she watched him disappear into the night after one last wave to her.

Despite a light drizzle, Patrick walked slowly along the gravel, whistling Tea for Two. Halfway between the manor and the entrance gate he turned round. There was not much inviting about the silhouette of the imposing construction half hidden in the mist, but the flicker of a smile crossed his face. He crept stealthily back towards the west wing of the manor and stopped in front of the service exit. He looked up and frowned when he saw a light behind the drawn curtains of the study.

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” he grumbled to himself.

He stood there for a moment, lost in thought, looking at the door which he’d unlocked earlier under the pretext of a pressing need.

After a fatalistic shrug of the shoulders he turned the knob and pushed open the door. No creaking noise. So far, so good. He climbed the spiral staircase as quietly as he could and stopped in the corridor at the top, listening carefully. Except for the narrow strip of light under the second door to his left, the whole area was in total darkness. Not for long, because light suddenly appeared at the angle at the end of the corridor and he heard steps on the main staircase.

“That must be Paula going to her room,” he told himself, taking the precaution, nevertheless, to flatten himself against the wall.

A few seconds later, there was the sound of a door closing and the place was once more plunged into darkness. For a brief moment, Patrick’s thoughts went back to that summer night in the cove at Padstow and a smile came to his lips. Reluctantly, he put the thought out of his mind, tiptoed to the door of the study and put his eye to the keyhole.

From what he could see, the room was as he had imagined it, but his attention was caught by the sight of Francis pacing to and fro in front of the window. Someone was talking, and he recognised Sarah’s voice.

‘The truth, Francis, I want the truth.’

‘I’ve been telling you for the last half hour that—.’

‘A simple blackout? You can do better than that.’

Sarah was speaking in a low voice, but each syllable was emphasised. She repeated in the same voice, angrily:

‘Tell me what you saw. I have to know. I must!’

‘Just to let you know, Brian is sleeping next door.’

‘I want to know what you saw. Because you did see something.’

Francis’s shoulders slumped. He looked at the floor in front of the fireplace, then put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.

‘I… I don’t know. It’s been more than a month.’

Suddenly Sarah blocked Patrick’s view. She planted herself in front of her brother, eyes flashing:

‘I know what you saw. Francis, I know, do you understand?’

Her brother’s response was disjointed:

‘I… I… I must have been seeing things. It’s not possible otherwise.’

Sarah recoiled:

‘So it really was….’

Francis nodded his head slowly.

‘My God!’ moaned Sarah, hiding her face in her hands.

Francis went over to the fireplace and looked at the carpet at his feet as if it were his worst enemy, then came back to his sister: