The Madman's Room

‘Did grandfather keep you all this time?’ she asked Patrick when he entered the salon.

‘No, I had a discussion with someone at the front gate.’

‘Who was it?’ asked Meadows, frowning.

‘I don’t know.’ Patrick placed a thoughtful finger to his lips. ‘It’s odd, because when I asked him, he threw his head back with a hearty laugh.’

‘Could it have been a journalist looking for a story?’ pressed Meadows.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘A curious passer-by, then?’ Without waiting for an answer, the doctor continued, with an expression of hate on his face. ‘There ought to be a law against people like that. What did he want to know? Details of the burial, no doubt,’ he added with a nervous laugh.

‘Yes, but not in the sense you’re implying. It must have been someone from the village who knew your fiancée well, or a friend maybe. He asked me if everything had gone well.’

‘A friend? Who didn’t even express his condolences? My dear Nolan, it seems to me you’ve been tricked by a journalist. Not very bright for a professional detective!’

Clearly Meadows wasn’t himself, but nobody thought to hold it against him. Patrick looked him in the eye, thoughtfully:

‘No, I’m telling you again, it wasn’t a reporter keen to get a story. In fact, you must know him because he asked me about you and your reactions… whether you weren’t too upset.’

Meadows went white and his jaw dropped, but he quickly recovered.

‘Someone I know,’ he repeated, stroking his moustache. ‘Someone who’s worried about me… I really can’t see who… What else can you say about him? Where was he exactly, and what was he doing?’

Patrick looked surprised, but he shrugged his shoulders and continued:

‘He was behind the gate looking towards the manor. As I said before, he didn’t look like a simple passer-by. He was smoking a cigar and I think he may even have been smiling. He asked me questions about the burial, just like someone concerned about a friend. The he changed the subject and asked me who I was, whether I like it here and other banalities. I was intrigued, of course, but I assumed it was one of your friends. He did seem quite cheerful, which I found bizarre in the circumstances. He had a peculiar way of laughing: very loudly and throwing his head back. And he nodded in agreement at everything I said as if it made him happy. And he kept repeating the same thing: “All in good time, my young friend, all in good time.”’

This last remark had the effect of a bombshell, so much so that Patrick turned to Bessie for help. But his fiancée seemed dumbstruck as well.

‘What did he look like?’ Meadows managed to ask.

‘Medium height, bearded, solid without being fat. Fortyish. He was wearing a blue-checked jacket and a peaked cap pulled down over his eyes.’

‘Redheaded?’ asked Francis, turning pale.

‘Yes, redheaded,’ Patrick replied, without hesitation.

Astonishment turned to horror. Hurst wanted to step in to clarify matters, but Dr. Twist made a discreet sign for silence. Bessie was the first to speak:

‘Patrick, you’ve never met Harris Thorne, have you?’

‘No, never.’

‘And you’ve never seen a photograph of him either?’

Patrick shook his head.

Francis disappeared and returned a minute later with a photo album. He opened it and Patrick was able to see several shots taken of Sarah and her spouse at their wedding. After a few seconds of oppressive silence, he raised his head and looked at Francis with wide eyes:

‘I… I can’t be sure, but it does look like him.’

Confusion followed and Inspector Hurst had to exercise his authority to calm everyone down. He submitted the young detective to such a rigorous interrogation that at one point he turned red and threatened to leave the premises, saying he wasn’t in the habit of being treated as a liar. The man he’d seen by the manor gate looked very much like the deceased and under normal circumstances he would have confirmed as much, but he wasn’t prepared to swear it under oath. When Meadows pronounced Brian’s name, the room fell silent again.

‘You know Brian quite well, Mr. Nolan,’ hissed the doctor. ‘He’s much thinner than his brother, but about the same height. They don’t obviously look the same, but nevertheless there’s a slight resemblance. That was clear the night you first arrived in Hatton. Brian was smiling that evening and didn’t have the miserable face he normally shows to the world. Try to imagine Brian decked up with a false beard and wig, wearing one of those blue-checked jackets his brother always wore, suitably padded to complete the illusion…’ Meadows picked up the album and pointed to a photo of the two brothers together. ‘What do you think now, Mr. Nolan?’

Patrick hesitated:

‘Well, it’s not out of the question… And there was the cap as well, pulled down over the eyes, slightly to one side.’

‘Over the right eye, by any chance?’ asked Meadows in honeyed tones.

‘Yes.’