The Madman's Room

‘It’s impossible for it to have been any of these people,’ declared Louis Thurlow at the end of the inspection.

‘Absolutely impossible,’ agreed his wife.

‘Very well,’ said Redfern, obviously disappointed.

‘Are there any photographs of the late Mr. Thorne?’

The wedding album was brought out once again, this time for the Thurlows’ perusal. In an oppressive silence, they combed through every page. Then Louis Thurlow turned towards Hector Redfern:

‘Unless he has a twin brother, I’m prepared to swear that the husband here was indeed the man driving the sports car.’

‘I’m prepared to swear to that as well,’ added Mrs. Thurlow.

24

‘It’s impossible! Impossible!’ shouted Archibald Hurst, banging the table with his fist.

It was half past seven in the evening and he and Dr. Twist were dining in the Black Horse with Redfern, Bessie and Patrick. The young couple had returned from Cheltenham an hour earlier. Brian’s condition had improved, because he had even managed to smile at Bessie and his saviour. But this latest news didn’t seem to have made Hurst happy, for he continued to rage:

‘… and I don’t believe in the impossible.’

‘Meaning?’ enquired Patrick.

The inspector lowered the volume a few decibels:

‘None of the people involved in the affair could have played the part. Strictly none. The accident happened after half past one and the vehicle was seen at ten to two returning to the fold. Those who were in the manor at the time are ruled out because of their mutual alibis and the testimony of the Thurlows. So, who’s left?’ Hurst started to count on his fingers and stopped at three, with a small smile at the couple. ‘Forgive me, but I have to envisage every possibility.’

‘I see,’ replied Bessie, who didn’t appear to appreciate the inspector’s allusion. ‘But you seem to have a short memory, because we met outside the hospital at two o’clock. How do you think Patrick and I made the journey to Cheltenham in ten minutes?’

‘It’s not feasible, I agree. That leaves Brian… who was in front of us in his bed at ten to two. Twist, allow me to use your favourite maxim: “Eliminate the impossible—.”’

‘Once again, my friend, it’s not my maxim. It belongs to the celebrated—.’

‘Please,’ thundered Archibald Hurst, ‘this is no time to split hairs. So: “Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”’

A gleam of hope flickered in Redfern’s eyes. Patrick looked sceptical:

‘And what might this last, highly improbable, hypothesis be?’

Hurst allowed a short silence to elapse, then declared:

‘Harris Thorne isn’t dead. Don’t pull faces, there’s no other explanation.’

‘But,’ gasped Bessie, ‘I saw him with my own eyes when we found him at the foot of the wall… and I wasn’t the only one. Everyone saw it. He was dead, there’s no doubt about it.’

‘It’s possible to play dead, Miss, believe me,’ replied Hurst with exaggerated courtesy. ‘There are plenty of examples. Also, one can be dead for a few moments, then recover consciousness, that’s also happened.’ The chief superintendent started to protest but Hurst cut him off with a gesture. ‘Don’t say anything for the moment, Redfern, I have my own ideas and we can talk about it later.’

‘I’m starting to think you may be right, Inspector,’ declared Patrick. ‘The fellow I saw after Sarah’s funeral was indeed the same as the man in the photo I was shown, I’m certain of it. Admittedly, at the time I started to doubt myself, but now… In any case, there’s a simple way to find out where we are.’

‘I think we’re on the same track, young man,’ agreed Hurst, with a knowing look. ‘A very simple way, in truth.’

Hector Redfern, already intrigued by the cryptic interchange, sat dumbfounded before the extraordinary attitude of Dr. Twist, who had continued to dig into his meal as if he’d heard nothing. After wiping his moustache, the detective turned to him and asked:

‘By the way, have you had time to question the Hiltons and Dr. Meadows about their alibis for the time that the Blounts’ workshop caught fire?’

The chief superintendent looked at Dr. Twist’s smiling face in astonishment. How could such an eminent detective waste time on such trifles at such a moment?

‘Yes. Everyone was sleeping like a log, which isn’t all that surprising at four o’clock in the morning.’

Twist nodded in agreement, then proceeded to pose another question:

‘Have you taken a look at what was left of the workshop?’

‘One of my men looked into it. Except for a handful of tools, there are only ashes. An old carpenter’s workshop: you can imagine how quickly it caught fire.’

‘True enough,’ said Twist. ‘By the time we got there, the fire was almost out.’

‘It’s a miracle Brian got out alive,’ sighed Bessie. ‘There was nothing but sawdust and wood inside: old planks, a chest full of wood shavings and even two bales of straw… a veritable miracle. Patrick….’

‘Yes?’

‘You talked about a “simple way” before. What did you mean?’

‘Yes,’ echoed Redfern. ‘What did you mean?’