The Madman's Room

‘Ah? That’s strange. I don’t remember seeing you. No matter, please continue.’

‘I can assure you….’

‘It’s not important. What was the object, anyway?’

Patrick had guaranteed the full attention of the others present. He said quietly:

‘A piece of wood. A small piece of wood. A minuscule piece of wood!’

Hurst and Redfern rolled their eyes, but Twist was still smiling. After a while, he declared:

‘My little finger tells me, my dear Nolan, that that minuscule piece of wood has turned a bulb on in your head which could shed light on the mystery surrounding Harris Thorne’s death.’

‘I believe so, yes.’

‘You see,’ continued Dr. Twist, with a sharp look at the young detective, ‘up to now I still had a few doubts, but what you’ve just told me has swept them away. And I congratulate myself even more for asking Archibald to keep the affair under wraps, between ourselves. Do you see what I mean, Nolan? In a way I understand you — even admire you. In my distant youth I also… but here you’ve gone a bit too far.’

As Patrick kept his eyes glued to the floor, Hurst and Redfern were bursting to hear explanations.

Twist’s amiable features took on a worried expression:

‘My friends, I’m going to have to ask you to remain patient. I — Mr. Nolan and I — will give you the solution to this whole bizarre affair soon enough.

‘All I can tell you now is that the death of Sarah Thorne was murder premeditated for a long time. A perfect murder, conceived by a Machiavellian mind, by a murderer who doesn’t even deserve the rope to hang him. The worst of it is, there’s not a shred of evidence to expose him. Negative proof, yes: by which I mean the crime can only be explained one way and that way leads to one particular individual. But the whole truth must be exposed, which won’t be good news for certain of those amongst us. In fact, the truth won’t be good news for anyone. That’s why I’m hesitating. If only fate could give us a hand!’

* * *

At that very moment, Mrs. Hilton was bustling about her room with rare gusto. If, after the death of her daughter, she seemed to have been plunged into a state of near-depression, the extraordinary news announced by Francis at breakfast had reinvigorated her.

‘Not a single day more! Do you hear me, Howard? I’m not staying here a single day more.’

Mr. Hilton hesitantly watched his wife empty the two wardrobes in their room. The three suitcases open on the bed filled at an impressive speed. He’d seldom seen Dorothy in such a state, nor pack her clothes with so little care. He thought about saying something, but his instinct warne him against it.

‘And when I say not a single day, we’re going to be on the road by half past ten at the latest.’

Howard Hilton studied his wife closely. It was the first time he’d seen her eyes betray her, flashing as they were with anger and open wider than usual.

‘Of course, darling, of course. But do you think we need to be in quite such a hurry?’

‘I know what I’m doing, Howard. In a few hours we’ll be a long way away and we’re never setting foot in here again. Never.’

‘But we can’t take everything with us today. We have to—.’

‘It’s useless to argue. I repeat, I know what I’m doing.’

‘But do we even have the right? Won’t the police want to question us?’

‘They can. But not here. And don’t stand there idle. Help me.’

‘Is it too much to ask where we’re going?’

‘To any hotel far enough away. We have the means now, don’t we? Now that I think about it, there’s a second cousin of mine who runs an excellent establishment near Rochester.’

At that moment, their son came into the room, his face ashen.

‘Francis, dear, you don’t look at all well. Do you think you’ll be able to drive us to Rochester in the next couple of hours?’

Francis nodded listlessly and looked at his mother in a manner devoid of any expression. Mrs. Hilton thought she knew what was on his mind.

‘You’d like to go as well, but Paula doesn’t want to, isn’t that it?’

‘No mother, not at all.’

‘Surely you’re not both going to stay here? After everything that’s happened? Without even talking about last night. That would be sheer madness. Sooner or later, the “other” will leave the hospital and come back here. God only knows what will happen then. I beg you, Francis, try to convince Paula.’

Howard Hilton made a discreet sign to his son not to respond.

Mrs. Dorothy Hilton interpreted her son’s silence in her own way and asked him in acid tones:

‘So Paula won’t be coming with us, is that it?’

‘No… She promised Bessie she’d go to see Brian with her this afternoon.’

An hour later, Francis loaded his parents’ luggage into the car and got into the driver’s seat. His mother sat down beside him.

‘What are you doing, Howard?’ she said in annoyance. ‘We have a long road ahead of us.’

Howard Hilton stood with his hand on the handle, taking one last look at the manor. Despite all that had happened, he had a certain amount of nostalgia on leaving. They had, after all, enjoyed some good times there. And who would look after the roses on which he had lavished so much care?