The Madman's Room

Patrick, who was starting to feel uneasy, reached for his glass and emptied it in a single gulp. The situation was confused and becoming tiresome. Francis kept staring at him. Francis, who had a blind confidence in him because of their friendship, which he had betrayed… with Paula. Paula, in whose wide-open blue eyes he could detect fear, remorse and another sentiment whose flame seemed still to be burning… And, next to her, Bessie, his fiancée. A strange trio, all hanging on his word as if he were able, by waving a magic wand, to dispel the menaces and spells placed upon Hatton Manor. As if he could lift the veil from this absurd affair, over which hovered the shadow of a seer whose prophecies always seemed to come true… An affair which only a detective of the impossible could unravel… A detective of the impossible… a light bulb went on in his head.

‘I don’t really know what to tell you,’ he declared prudently. ‘I do happen to have investigated a criminal case — although it only concerned threats and slander — but this affair is quite out of the ordinary. And, when you get down to it, aside from Brian’s predictions and a few incidents, what is there? Nothing. Nothing that would justify an investigation, in any case, even a private one.’

Bessie and Paula started to protest, but he silenced them with a gesture.

‘I know the situation looks serious. What should we do? The more I think about it, not very much.’

‘I tend to agree, unfortunately,’ growled Francis, clenching his fists. ‘If something really is due to happen to Sarah, then she’s not going to be safe anywhere. But let’s not get carried away.’

‘I have an idea,’ announced Patrick suddenly. ‘I know someone in London who specialises in this sort of case.’

‘What do you mean by “this sort of case”?’ asked Bessie.

‘Bizarre cases which the police are unable to solve on their own, where murderers appear to have walked through walls, or on snow without leaving any footprints. Cases which appear to have no rational explanation. But the person I know always manages to solve them.’

‘He sounds like some kind of magician,’ said Francis, sceptically.

‘In a sense, yes. Needless to say, there’s no question of bringing him here. But I might go to visit him in London tomorrow, to get his opinion.’

* * *

Patrick returned from London on Monday evening at a quarter past eight and asked the taxi to drop him at the centre of Hatton village. Without knowing exactly why, he felt like walking a little before returning to the Blount residence. To reflect, perhaps, to take stock, to order his thoughts. The first part of his plan had gone well enough, but now he had the disagreeable feeling of wading in quicksand. The goal he’d set for himself was a long way from being achieved. A very long way, in fact. He had to admit he hadn’t progressed an inch. For a moment he felt like giving up. But what had he thought? That his dreams would come true just because that’s what he wanted? Bitterly, he began to foresee a fiasco. He’d never suffered one before. He had a horror of failure and, when he wanted something, he would do anything to get it.

On impulse, he took a path from the village which he’d never taken before, but which he knew went through the woods, parallel to the main road. It would eventually lead him to the back of the Blounts’ enclosure and allow him another few minutes for quiet thought. He lit a cigarette as he walked and thought about his two days in London. He’d arrived late in the afternoon on Sunday and had visited the person he’d asked to meet that evening. His host had expressed a keen interest without, unfortunately, being able to offer him any specific advice beyond being careful, because the sum of all the events seemed to him to be a bad omen. The next day Patrick had dined with his business associate and sent a message to Bessie announcing his arrival that evening. Bessie, he repeated to himself with a lump in his throat, Bessie….

The path was only illuminated by the light from the occasional rear window and progress was slow, but after nearly ten minutes he was able to make out, in the near distance, the fence around the Blounts’ property. Seeing the gate open, he approached more quietly and stopped.

What the devil?

On impulse he hid behind a bush and kept his eyes open. He had no difficulty identifying the figure that had just set foot on the path up to the manor. There was nothing extraordinary about its presence there at that hour. On the other hand, what it was doing….

Patrick, his breath taken away, watched the spectacle taking place before his eyes in amazement. No, he wasn’t seeing things. Of course, there was one thing he couldn’t see very clearly…but the shape left no doubt. He couldn’t believe it, nothing made sense.

His stupefaction was such that he was unable to react. He stood there, rooted to the spot — which was a grave error, as he was to realise later — his mind bewildered by events.

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