The Madman's Room

‘Calm down, Mr. Hilton, calm down. What stories are you talking about?’

Francis shrugged his shoulders.

‘It’s so absurd… but, since you insist. Sarah was starting to lose her mind in her last few days. She thought she’d seen… her husband.’

‘Her husband! Harris Thorne?’ bristled the inspector.

‘Yes. Obviously she was having visions.’

‘So that was it!’ exclaimed Paula. ‘One evening, I remember, we were walking close to the woods, and she told me on two occasions that she’d seen someone… when there was manifestly nobody there.’

Francis gave her an eloquent look, then continued:

‘It had almost become an obsession. She wanted to convince me, too, that I’d seen him in the study the evening I’d fainted.’ He looked Hurst straight in the eye. ‘I’m telling you again, Inspector, and I’m perfectly clear about this: I just felt faint and there was nothing, absolutely nothing in the room.’

‘And the water on the carpet. How do you explain that?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’ve told you what I know. But there’s definitely a bizarre atmosphere in that study and I’m not the only one to have noticed. A sensation of calm, of tranquillity, but also of anxiety.’

‘Like a cemetery,’ observed Hurst.

Francis shivered.

‘Yes, rather like that. But I imagine it’s all to do with our imagination and our thoughts going back to the last century when Harvey Thorne wrote his novels in that very room… Where was I? Ah! Yes… Sarah was pestering me to say something that wasn’t true. It was like a cry for help; she was trying to reassure herself she wasn’t suffering from hallucinations. She insisted, she insisted and then… for a brief moment I finished up doubting. By dint of recalling my brother-in-law in that room with its peculiar atmosphere and listening to Sarah shouting in my ear, I saw his shadow pass in front of my eyes. A fleeting image, a thought mutating into an image, that was all. But I’ll say it again, she wanted to drag something out of my mouth that I didn’t want to say. She was in such a state….’

‘In short,’ interjected Dr. Twist, ‘you simply wanted to calm her down.’

Francis nodded his head. Hurst muttered to himself because the explanation, coherent though it was, shed no light on the investigation. He extinguished one cigar and lit another one straightaway:

‘We’re going round in circles. Now that I think about it, what had she seen the first time she’d fainted?’

Francis stroked his chin.

‘She pretended she couldn’t remember. Which isn’t out of the question. In fact I just don’t know.’

‘What is certain in any case,’ observed Archibald Hurst, ‘is that it wasn’t Harris Thorne. For two reasons: firstly, testimony proves there was no one in the room at that time and, secondly, Thorne was already dead, the medical examiner confirmed it. In any case, it’s hard to believe that the simple view of her husband would be enough to cause her to lose consciousness. So what did she see, if indeed she saw anything at all?’ He stopped before adding grandiloquently: ‘“To see or not to see, that is the question.”’

Hurst’s self-satisfied smile was not returned by any of those present. But Dr. Twist himself appeared to be deep in meditation, during which he repeated, in a scarcely audible murmur, the inspector’s last words. His face suddenly lit up:

‘“To see or not to see, that is the question.” Yes,’ he continued, catching his audience by surprise. ‘Because Sarah was supposed to have seen her deceased husband, the question is: “is he or is he not?” What was she afraid of? Who was she afraid of? We know the answer now: him. This afternoon we listened to Dr. Meadows. He’d also noticed his fiancée’s fear… but she never told him what she was afraid of. Which means it must have been of Harris Thorne.’

‘I don’t follow you,’ grumbled Hurst, glowering.

‘While he’s alive, Harris Thorne shows himself to be extremely jealous, particularly of Mike Meadows. Then he dies. And, not long afterwards, his widow becomes engaged to the same Mike Meadows. Don’t you understand? It would be understandable, if she had indeed seen her late husband, that he would hardly be in the mood to congratulate her. On the contrary, he would be making terrible scenes of jealousy! And even threatening her! Of course she felt guilty… and she wouldn’t confide that to her fiancé.’

Everyone’s eyes widened and Francis Thorne burst out laughing. He collected himself immediately.

‘Your reasoning is impeccable. But what are you suggesting, Dr. Twist? Harris Thorne is dead and… Ah! I’m beginning to understand: it’s what my sister would have imagined.’

The detective nodded in agreement.

Suddenly Paula stiffened and caught her husband’s arm:

‘I’ve just thought of something… Do you remember when Harris announced his intention of reopening the sealed room and Brian told him to renounce the project or a misfortune would befall him?’

‘How could we forget,’ said Francis.

‘I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about Harris’s answer: