The Madman's Room

“Even if I were to die, I wouldn’t necessarily be dead.”’

It was Hurst’s turn to laugh. A terse, hearty laugh, utterly devoid of mirth. His rebellious forelock flopped down over his forehead. He declared with thinly veiled anger:

‘Deaths and disappearances, the inexplicable appearance of water, prophets… and now ghosts. We’ve had our fill. Is there anything else? No? Good. My patience does have its limits, and I’m beginning to think that everything we’ve heard so far is just a tissue of lies, a collective crisis of hysteria, a parade of testimonies each more absurd than the other and….’ His furious look settled on Paula. ‘Do you still insist that what you said was true?’

Francis cleared his throat.

‘What my wife said is correct, but I think I need to explain what Harris meant. Brian made frequent allusion to great-uncle Harvey’s ghost, haunting, according to him, the site of his death. By the way, the Thornes are of Scottish descent. I don’t know whether Brian was joking or speaking seriously. Maybe both at once. But Harris’s reply was definitely a joke, an allusion to that ghost suggesting that the Thornes were immortal. Harris was a practical joker who liked making outrageous statements in a serious manner, so there was always an element of doubt about his pronouncements. I recall very well the tone in which he pronounced those words… He was teasing Brian, it was obvious!’

‘I prefer that,’ replied Hurst, reassured. ‘See how, with a little good faith, we can get to the right answer.’

Dr. Twist and the inspector took their leave at eleven o’clock. The main street of the village was deserted and the illuminated windows could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

‘If our clairvoyant is sleeping under the stars,’ proclaimed Hurst, who had regained his good humour, ‘he hasn’t got much to complain about. It’s not all that warm, agreed, but for an October night, it’s not so bad. The sky is with him, for the moment at least. I must say, Twist, that your reasoning about Sarah Thorne being afraid of her husband wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Particularly since it fits well with her visit to the solicitor. I wanted to tell you that earlier, but I preferred to keep quiet because of the will. The fact that she left half her fortune to Brian and nothing to her fiancé …do you see what I mean? She acted as if she were in the grip of a terrible fear, as if her husband were still watching her.’

‘That was the basis of my reasoning.’

‘The poor girl must have lost her marbles. It doesn’t surprise me, what with the lugubrious manor and her brother-in-law who thinks he’s the Messiah. Yes, that’s the only explanation.’

‘Tell me, old friend, didn’t you notice some strange things tonight? Certain attitudes?’

‘Well yes… The way Francis Hilton behaved in particular. He seemed very upset when I told him someone had overheard his conversation with his sister.’

‘Actually, I thought he was the only one who behaved more or less normally. Look, Archibald, I know you consider me a confirmed bachelor living the life of a monk — which is not entirely true — but I wasn’t born yesterday. Two couples were present tonight. One couple married for less than a year, the other recently engaged. Well, I tell you that three quarters of them didn’t behave the way they should have done.’

‘Twist,’ exclaimed Hurst, trying to remain calm, ‘what are you talking about?’

‘Well, let’s start with young Mrs. Hilton, Paula. Her comportment with her husband was “normal,” so to speak, but her furtive looks at Patrick Nolan whenever he got too close to his fiancée certainly were not. Nothing much, just a flicker in those blue eyes, but she seemed upset. And you could see the same kind of look from Nolan when Paula got close to her husband, but far more noticeably. And I have an advantage over you because I know the young man. When he came to see me on Sunday to tell me about the case, I noticed he spoke about Paula with a certain reticence, as if he had something to hide.’

‘To be blunt about it, do you think the two of them are carrying on?’

‘I wouldn’t swear to it, one way or the other. But that’s not the worst of it. When Nolan came to see me on Sunday, he was passionate about the case like any self-respecting detective — which he is, by the way — with fervour, eyes gleaming with excitement and dying to know the outcome. Did you notice him tonight? He sat in his armchair, hardly saying a word, like a sleeping cat. How do you explain such a complete change in a case that’s becoming more and more baffling? He must have learnt something between Sunday and today. Don’t ask me what, I don’t know. Something he doesn’t want to talk about. That bothers me, Hurst, and more than you might think.