The Madman's Room

‘Dear old Brian,’ said the doctor with a ferocious smile, ‘not only has an eye for detail, but he’s very crafty into the bargain. Don’t you understand? Not only did he hide his eyes, but also his right temple where Harris Thorne had a scar.

‘I’ve been fascinated by his predictions for a long time, I must confess, but if you’re looking for someone to perpetrate a hoax, Brian’s your man. That’s the first point. Secondly, my fiancée lived in terror for the last few weeks of her life and there’s good reason to believe someone was amusing themselves by frightening her. Incidentally, she’d just changed her will in favour of her brother-in-law.

‘Mr. Policeman, don’t ask me how he killed her, nor why he pretended to be his brother’s ghost, but it’s certain that he hatched this sordid plot in order to appropriate his brother’s fortune.

‘I’m not done. If there’s one thing it’s impossible to doubt, it’s Harris’s death. We can also rule out the idea that it was sheer luck that someone resembling the deceased in such a striking fashion just happened to stumble across Mr. Nolan’s path. An impostor, therefore. Who would have the slightest motive for such a masquerade? Outside our circle, nobody. And at the time Mr. Nolan was talking to the impostor, the only one of our circle not present was Brian. Need I say more?’

Hurst, who had been nodding his head at practically everything the doctor had said, was about to step in himself when he was pre-empted by Paula.

‘Gosh! I’ve just remembered something. About a month ago, I was looking through some of Sarah’s theatre accessories. She’d stuffed them into a chest in the attic and had shown them to me proudly last summer when she told me about all the roles she’d played as an adolescent. There were three wigs in there, I’m sure of it, with assorted beards, one black, one blond and one red. I remember her putting the red one on to imitate her husband and we’d both been in stitches. And now she’s no longer with us.’

Mike Meadows, with a smile which was a mixture of triumph and fury, turned to Hurst. The inspector brought his fist down on the palm of his hand:

‘We’ll flush him out before dawn, I guarantee it!’

And he was right. But the capture of the fugitive didn’t lift the shadows from the extraordinary affair. Quite the contrary….

23

At around four o’clock in the morning Patrick was in the grip of a terrible nightmare which had taken him back three centuries in the past, to the time of the Great Fire of London. The spectacle was terrifying but magnificent. The city was just an immense brazier and the bridges were arches of fire over the Thames. He, Patrick, was standing on a hill overlooking the scene, standing behind Harvey Thorne, who was shouting: “They will perish by fire.” The face of great-uncle Harvey appeared and then disappeared again behind a curtain of flames floating towards Patrick, who screamed… and woke up bathed in perspiration.

He lay there a long time, getting his breath back and convincing himself it was only a dream. He tapped the bedside table, consulted his wristwatch, put on his dressing gown and went over to the window, which he opened wide. Breathing in the freshness of the night, he contemplated the Blount property. Despite the darkness, he could make out the wisteria, the wide hedge, the vegetable garden, Bessie’s grandfather’s workshop and even the woods beyond.

His thoughts went back to Padstow and the little cove, in the days preceding Paula’s departure. He remembered very clearly that afternoon when Paula had asked him where and when the Great Fire had started. A tender smile lingered on his lips and disappeared. “How will this all end?” he thought, evoking the extraordinary situation in which he found himself. Faces paraded in front of his eyes: Bessie, Paula, Francis, Mr. and Mrs. Hilton, Dr. Meadows, Brian, Sarah… Harris Thorne with his flamboyant beard and sonorous laugh… He had to stop thinking about the man or he would end up believing that… He dismissed that image, but now it was the shadowy figure of great-uncle Harvey which appeared in front of him, smiling. It sat at his desk, picked up his pen, dipped it in the ink and began to write: They will perish by fire….

The words flared up in front of Patrick, then became nothing more than a very small glimmer. The window of the workshop was lit up. Brilliantly lit up now. Black fumes were escaping and Pak could hear the characteristic roar. Just as he realised that the old workshop of grandfather Blount was aflame, a cry of terror rent the night.

Paralysed, Patrick watched in horror as the workshop door was flung open and a human torch staggered out.