The Madman's Room

Young Cathy Restarick was distinctly ill at ease. The predominant expression on her plain face was that of anguish. Rubbing her hands together nervously, she looked furtively at the famous carpet. Nevertheless, the gentle, reassuring voice of Dr. Twist succeeded in eliciting a relatively clear account of what she had witnessed on Monday evening.

‘It was at about ten o’clock when I realised I’d forgotten to put my ring back on. I always take it off when I’m doing the dishes. I knew where I’d left it and that it would still be there the next day, but I decided to go downstairs anyway. My room is in the mansard attic near the spiral staircase, which leads down to the kitchen and the outside.’

‘We understand,’ said Hurst, ‘you went down that staircase to get your ring.’

‘When I reached the first floor I heard footsteps in the corridor.’ She blushed. ‘I know that’s nothing unusual, but…well, I went to take a look, I couldn’t tell you why.’

‘We understand,’ said Hurst, smiling broadly, congratulating himself on the curiosity of the domestic staff which he always claimed was one of a policeman’s principal sources of information.

‘I was still on the stairs when I heard the door creak. A few seconds later I stuck my head into the corridor. And that’s when I saw… the space isn’t very well lit, but I recognised Mrs. Thorne. In fact, I think there was light in the study, which is how I was able to see her face. She was standing on the sill, with her hand still pressed against the door which she’d just opened. She suddenly went white and her mouth opened as if to cry out… in vain. I think she also put her hands to her chest and her eyes rolled up, then she fell backwards. There was a heavy thud. She didn’t move. It was horrible… I almost fainted myself. I… I thought about all the things that had happened in that spot… and I ran back to my room. I stayed there for a few moments, then I went to tell Mr. Mostyn. We—.’

‘Just a moment,’ interrupted Hurst, with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. ‘Can you tell us where Mrs. Thorne was looking?’

‘A-At the floor,’ stammered Cathy.

‘Where the carpet was damp?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

The three men exchanged sombre looks, then Hurst continued:

‘According to you, then, Mrs. Thorne was frightened, not to say terrified by “something” in that room?’

Cathy nodded her head, shivering.

‘And after that?’

‘I went back down — with Mr. Mostyn this time — and we confirmed that Mrs. Thorne was dead. We knocked on Mr. Brian’s door but there was no answer. I ran down to the salon. Mrs. Paula was there and we went to get her husband from the game room. The door to the library opened and we saw Mr. Brian… I think he knew already before we told him the tragic news… in any case, it had a strong effect on him. We went upstairs. Mr. Hilton was kneeling next to his daughter. After that, I don’t know… I must have told him what had happened…then Mr. Francis took the car to find Dr. Meadows. Fifteen minutes later they were back. Dr. Meadows told us nothing could be done — which we knew already. He looked very upset.’

‘He’d just lost his fiancée,’ observed Hurst.

‘Yes, he was distraught… But he seemed angry as well. He said he’d phoned the police… Afterwards, Mr. Mostyn drew their attention to the carpet near the fireplace. They had a discussion and afterwards, Mr. Brian went to his room… and we haven’t seen him since.’

Cathy Restarick was excused and it was Philip Mostyn’s turn to be questioned. He confirmed the maid’s account and said he’d taken a quick look in the study after she’d gone downstairs to tell the others. The lamp was lit, the windows were closed and there was no one there at the time. Naturally, he hadn’t forgotten to examine the carpet and hadn’t been surprised to find it was wet, or rather damp, where it touched the hearth.

The testimonies of Francis and Paula did little to shed light on the circumstances of Sarah’s death. Even so, the Scotland Yard inspector and the criminologist were able to form an accurate idea of the movements of each individual on that tragic night. After the meal, at around eight o’clock, Mrs. Hilton retired to her room with a severe migraine. Brian had also left the table to go to the library — at least, that’s what he claimed — and apparently stayed there until the maid came down to announce the tragic news at around ten o’clock. Francis went up to the study and Mr. Hilton, his daughter and Paula found themselves in the salon. What was Sarah like at that moment? Slightly nervous, certainly, but no more than usual. Between a quarter past eight and a quarter to nine, Mr. Hilton went out for a walk, just as he did every night when the weather allowed it. A quarter of an hour after that, at nine o’clock, Paula took a cup of tea up to her husband. Another regular habit whenever Francis worked in the study, usually until ten o’clock. But that night he drank the tea and left the study almost immediately.