The Madman's Room

‘Sarah, listen to me: it’s not possible, not possible! Maybe I thought about it the moment I came in here. Yes, that must be it… I’m not saying I saw… what you’re thinking about. I thought about it, it was one of those fleeting visions one has sometimes….’

‘And which caused you to faint! Ha, ha, ha!’ she sneered hysterically.

Francis caught hold of his sister’s shoulders and shook her violently:

‘That’s enough! If you continue like this, we’ll all go mad! Get a grip on yourself. It’s this house and this room which are causing us to talk nonsense… Now you’re going to go to bed, and I also.’

Without further ado, Patrick withdrew into the spiral staircase. A few moments later he heard the study door open and shut and footsteps fade away in the corridor. After the light went out, he waited a good five minutes in the dark. Should he postpone his inspection of the study to another day? The next opportunity might not come soon. There was, of course, another solution: do it in daylight with the full permission of Sarah and Brian, who could hardly refuse. For several reasons — the principal of which was undoubtedly his adventurous spirit — he rejected that last approach.

But there were other pressing questions, notably what significance to give to the enigmatic conversation between Francis and his sister. What was that curious “thing” to which they alluded? The thing which Sarah had seen and Francis had “thought he’d seen.” If only they hadn’t talked in riddles… But it wasn’t to be….

Francis’s words nagged at him: “Sarah, listen to me: it’s not possible, not possible!” What wasn’t possible, for heaven’s sake?

He pushed all thoughts of postponement out of his mind and made his way to the study. The room looked innocent enough, but there was indeed an indefinable sense of unease which seemed to weigh on his shoulders. Could it be that, by some quirk of nature — the orientation of the room, an underground source of some kind, or other phenomena — the room exerted an influence on its occupants, provoking visions or dizziness? Or was it the weighty legacy of great-uncle Harvey whose oppressive, almost palpable presence could still be felt… there, hunched over his desk, his tortured, feverish brain transmitting his sulphurous prophecies to posterity on page after page of blackened paper… the scratching of his pen… the diffused light of the lamp illuminating the brow wrinkled by the effort. What rubbish! He wasn’t about to let his imagination get carried away!

He started by examining the furniture. Next, he activated the pivoted panel and took a quick look inside the storage room. After that he examined the chimney, quickly coming to the conclusion that no one could have got in or out that way. He stood with his back to the door and scanned the floor. His gaze automatically fell on the part of the carpet in front of the fireplace. He stood there for quite some time, motionless, his mind teeming with questions. What had Sarah seen? And Francis, had he seen the same thing? Come to think of it, what had Harvey and Harris Thorne seen, standing in the same spot — because each had been found at an equal distance, but in opposite directions: the former writhing in agony on the sill and the latter outside, defenestrated. “Something wet” was probably the only detail one could be sure of. The important thing was to determine whether that wet element was — or was not — made of flesh and bone. Meadows and Bessie were sure that the circumstances of Sarah’s collapse precluded the possibility of human presence or intervention. The same went for Francis’s situation, but with less certainty. So, a “thing” but not a very big one — or, more accurately, not a very tall one — taking into account the direction of Sarah’s gaze….

Patrick gave a long sigh as he realised his attempted process of elimination wasn’t yielding results. Try as he might, he wasn’t making any progress. And, to cap it all, there were Brian’s predictions about the incidents, which left his poor brain floundering.

In one final effort, he went over to the fireplace again and examined the carpet. Once again, no traces and no clues. In fact, he’d learnt nothing from his nocturnal investigation except the conversation he’d overheard, which had only served to confuse the situation even more.

Closing the service door behind him, he thought about the unbolted door which would be discovered the next day. But he wasn’t worried: one of the servants would be accused of negligence, and that would be that.