Game Is Afoot, page 10
“When he reached the spot where ‘Rightfoot’ was accustomed to stand in the right garden he went down on his knees and examined the ground for several minutes with a microscope, then made for the center pasture, where he repeated the performance. Without saying a word he rushed back to the bleachers’ stand, where his dog was fastened, and after releasing the queer-looking animal rubbed the piece of leather that he had clipped from ‘Rightfoot’s’ shoe over his nose and ordered the dog to ‘go find him.’ The hound went around the bases at a modest canter, almost perfectly imitating the gait of ‘Rightfoot,’ and wound up at the players’ bench by taking a firm hold on the surplus bottom of ‘Rightfoot’s’ trousers.
“ ‘ “Rightfoot” out for batting out of his turn,’ shouted the umpire. ‘Side out and the Pickle Eaters win.’
“Not even a protest was entered to the decision. It was all done so quick and in such an amazing manner that no one thought of disputing the decision.
“The players gathered in a crowd to discuss the strange proceedings, but when they looked for the stranger both he and the dog had disappeared. No one had noticed them leave the grounds, and just how he got away is a mystery that is still being discussed by the old-timers back in the little village.
“We were asking each other who the man could possibly be when the town constable came forward and volunteered the information that the erstwhile umpire was Sherlock Holmes, who had been investigating a strange murder case in an adjoining hamlet.”
Six Classic
Pastiches
August Derleth (1909-1971) founded Arkham House, one of America’s most important genre publishing firms, in his home town of Sauk City, Wisconsin. A prolific regional novelist, Derleth also wrote well over one hundred short fantasy tales, but to Holmesians he is best remembered for his many Conan Doyle-inspired detective stories about the London sleuth Solar Pons of Praed Street, and his faithful amanuensis, Dr. Parker, stories so close in tone to Conan Doyle as to differ only in the names of the principal characters. Indeed, when “The Adventure of the Circular Room” first appeared in the July 1946 issue of The Baker Street Journal, it was a genuine Sherlock Holmes pastiche. Derleth later altered it for his 1951 collection, The Memoirs of Solar Pons, but the version offered here is the original.
The Adventure of the Circular Room
August Derleth
It was a wild, windy night in April of a year in the early nineties when the diabolic affair of the circular room was brought to the attention of Sherlock Holmes. I had been engaged in compiling my notes from which these narratives of my friend’s experiences are fashioned in an effort to elucidate his extraordinary methods, and this task had taken all the leisure moments of that day, for my medical practise had not yet grown to such a degree that I had no free time during the afternoon. Holmes was at work on his since-published commentary, designed as a companion piece for Dr. Hans Gross’s remarkable Criminal Investigation. He had just put his notes aside, and had reached for his violin upon the mantel, when he heard the sound of hoofbeats on the road beyond our lodgings in Baker Street.
“Who could be seeking our lodgings on such a night as this?” I asked, hoping I had correctly interpreted the slowing-up of the hoofbeats.
Holmes had already stepped to the window and drawn aside the curtain, to look down to where the street-lamp shone before the building.
“A young woman of great determination, to dare such weather. Wind and rain, Watson—Oh, to be in England now that April’s here!—But she is coming up the steps, and her brougham waits.”
Holmes stood with his head cocked a little to one side, listening. He had permitted the curtain to fall back over the window, and stood with his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown. “Ah, Mrs. Hudson has not yet gone to bed. She has not long since put on her bedroom slippers and her robe. There she is at the door.”
In a moment Mrs. Hudson’s heavy footsteps came creaking up the stairs, followed by lighter steps, which, however, came with no less assurance. Mrs. Hudson knocked on our door, tried it, and opened it apologetically. “A young lady to see you, Mr. Holmes.”
“Show her in, by all means, Mrs. Hudson.”
Mrs. Hudson stepped back, and there walked into our quarters a firm-eyed young woman whose dark hair was molded severely about her head under a small toque of an inexpensive fiir. She paused just past the threshold, her waterproof thrown back over her shoulders.
“Do sit down, Miss… ?”
“Manahan.”
“Miss Manahan. I trust nothing has happened to your patient?”
“So do I.” She gasped. Then she smiled, and her rather severe face broke out into most attractive features. “I have heard of your methods, Mr. Holmes. That is why I came to you.”
“It is evident that you are a trained nurse, for your cuffs show under your jacket, and there is a small iodine stain on your finger, though there is no wound there. You have come to consult me about your patient?”
Miss Manahan sat down, having given me her waterproof to hang up. She clasped her hands, bit her lip, and looked faintly uneasy.
“I do hope I am not doing the wrong thing, Mr. Holmes, but I have such a strong feeling about this that I could not put it off any longer.”
“I assure you, I have every respect for a woman’s intuition.”
“Thank you. You make me feel more right about coming here, though I am sure I do not know what Mr. and Mrs. Davies would think if they knew.”
“They need not know. But pray let us hear your story, Miss Manahan.”
Thus urged, our attractive visitor composed herself, sat thinking for a moment as if to choose a point of departure, and then began. “Mr. Holmes, I have been out of work for some time, and quite by accident I chanced upon an advertisement in the News of the World a fortnight ago. I have it here.” She took it from a little bag she carried in her pocket, and handed it to Holmes, who spread it on the table so that I, too, could read it.
Wanted: A capable young woman with professional nursing
knowledge to serve as companion for elderly lady. Applicant
should be prepared against distressing circumstances. Good
remuneration. Please apply to Mr. Wellman Davies, in care
of this paper.
Holmes handed it back without a word.
“I made application, and three days later I received a letter asking me to call at a house in Richmond, just out of London along the upper reaches of the Thames. I found the house to be of recent construction, very pleasant and rather modem, set on the shore of the river in commodious surroundings, and occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Wellman Davies, who had in their care Mr. Davies’ elderly aunt, a Mrs. Lydia Thornton, who had only recently been released from an institution for mental health, and was still in an uncertain state to the extent of needing a companion with some knowledge of professional nursing.
“Mrs. Thornton proved to be a genteel lady approaching sixty years of age. She had been confined, she confided, for seven years, during which time her nephew had very kindly managed her affairs, and finally, when her condition had improved, she had been released, so that she might come to five in the house the Davies had built for her with funds which the executor of her late husband’s estate allowed them at her request. My patient was very unsure of herself, still; following her husband’s death, she had gone through a mental breakdown not uncommon to people of middle age; she was difficult at night, but by day, generally, she was so normal that it was hard to believe in her mental state.’’
“It is often so,’’ I put in.
“Yes, and I soon discovered that she was the victim of alarming hallucinations. She was convinced, for instance, that her late husband called to her (to come to him. She heard his voice in the night, and told me about it quite matter-of-factly, as if it were nothing at all strange. That, I believe, is common enough in such cases.”
“Is it, Watson?” Holmes looked at me.
“Yes, indeed. The woman has plainly come to accept it as a part of her existence.”
“Pray go on, Miss Manahan. I fancy you have something more to tel l us.”
“The hallucination which seems to me the strangest of the lot is one which so profoundly disturbs my patient that I fear for her mind, and I am sure she will eventually need to return to confinement. I discovered it on the second morning after I came, though I was not wholly unprepared for it; both Mr. and Mrs. Davies had very considerately and delicately told me that [Mrs. Thornton might ‘break out’ at any time, and I must not be too distressed or alarmed, for her ‘seizures’ did not last long. Nevertheless, I was alarmed at Mrs. Thornton’s initial ‘seizure.’
“I occupy the adjoining room to Mrs. Thornton’s, which is a lovely, circular room at one corner of the house, constructed to afford a view of the grounds, the summer-house and the Thames there. On the morning in question, I had not yet risen, when I heard my patient scream; then my door was flung open, and she came into my room wide-eyed with fear, and trembling, laboring under the amazing hallucination that her room had been changed, that she was being preyed upon by outside forces—for she had gone to sleep with her bed facing the windows, as usual, and had awakened to find herself and her bed facing my room.
“I persuaded her to return to her room with me, and we found it just as I had last seen it when I left her on the previous night. I thought this a most amazing hallucination, and I found it recurrent—sometimes nightly for a while, and then not occurring for two or three days at a time. I could understand her auditory hallucination about her dead husband’s calling to her, since I could believe in the psychological basis for this; but the more I considered this hallucination of hers about her room, the more puzzled I became.
“At the same time, I began to be aware of something strange in the house. I cannot describe it, Mr. Holmes, but it was an impression that grew upon me. I cannot understand it, either, for I have been very well treated, not only by my patient, but also by Mr. and Mrs. Davies and their single servant, a woman who comes by the day from the vicinity. As my patient’s hallucination persisted, my own impression about the strangeness of the house grew, and several times I found myself being regarded with something akin to alarm by Mr. Davies, who looked away when I saw him looking at me. This has been going on for approximately a fortnight; I am unable to put my finger on anything wrong, Mr. Holmes, yet I know there is something wrong there.” She was still, expecting Holmes’s questions. Holmes sat touching the lobe of one ear with his long, bony Angers for a few moments in silence; then he asked whether our client had correlated any facts in the matter. “Did the occurrence of your patient’s outbreaks or ‘seizures,’ as you call them, coincide with any household event apart from them?”
“I think not. It is only that on the day before her first seizure, she was visited by her sister-in-law, who said something which upset her very badly. In the early dawn of the next day she had her first outbreak.”
“Ah! Has her sister-in-law visited her since then?”
“Three times, Mr. Holmes.”
“And afterward?”
“She had those outbreaks.”
“According to your narrative, however, she also had such outbreaks on mornings which did not follow visits by her sister-in-law.”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes.”
“Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Davies offered any explanation of these seizures?” I
“No, Mr. Holmes. They were very much distressed by them, and hoped that I would not mind too much, for they had looked forward to bringing Mrs. Thornton back to a normal existence, and wanted, at all costs, to avoid the necessity of sending their aunt back to the asylum.*’
“Do you know what form her insanity took?”
“I believe it was manic depression which came as a result of her husband’s sudden and rather shocking death; this took place during her delayed climacteric. The situation is not uncommon.”
Holmes flashed a glance at me.
“Yes, that is right. Those years are very difficult, and any untoward shock may bring about disastrous mental breakdowns.”
Holmes touched his fingertips together in a characteristic gesture, and closed his eyes. “With what does Mrs. Thornton occupy herself during the day?”
“She reads, or I read to her. She plays solitaire; sometimes I play with i her. Once or twice she has evinced a desire to play chess, but she always tires land is unable to finish a game.”
“How does she strike you as a chess player?”
Miss Manahan was somewhat startled by the abruptness of Holmes’s (question. “She is not a good player.”
“I fancy that is in part due to her mental instability, wouldn’t you say :so, Watson?”
I agreed.
Holmes’s eyes flashed open and fixed upon Miss Manahan in a long, keen stare. “Have you yourself sought any explanation of why your patient should labor under the extraordinary delusion that her room and bed, as well has her own person, are at the mercy of malefic forces?”
“No, Mr. Holmes, I have been unable to do so. My knowledge of mental cases is limited.”
“What would you say of this, Watson?” asked Holmes.
“It is highly unusual. In most such cases there is usually a well-hidden source for all hallucinations and illusions, and once it is discovered and exposed to the patient, the cure is often forthcoming. Mrs. Thornton’s illusion is most extraordinary.”
“Surely, Miss Manahan, you have your patient’s case history from the institution where she was confined?”
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes.”
“You have studied it?”
“Of course.”
“Very well. What then of her previous record?”
“In what respect?”
“Manifestly in regard to the particular hallucination to which you
“There was no previous record of its occurrence.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Holmes, sitting upright in his chair and regarding Miss Manahan with that peculiarly benevolent expression which he always bestowed upon his clients when his interest was aroused. “Surely even insanity has a pattern, Miss Manahan?”
“There are many kinds, Mr. Holmes.”
“Yes, yes—but you yourself have grave doubts, is it not so?”
“Yes, it is. But, Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Thornton is very convincing in her agitation. She struggles so hard not to believe in her hallucination, and each time we return to the room to find it as it was before, she breaks down in tears; that sorrow is genuine, Mr. Holmes, and it is most terribly distressing. I am appalled by it; I was impelled to come here by it; I cannot understand what is happening; I admit I have had little experience with mental cases— but, Mr. Holmes, if ever I saw a woman who is fighting very bravely and very hard to escape her mental prison, that woman is my patient. I admire her very much, I admire her courage, and it is heartbreaking to endure her horror and terror and her final grief, as each time she is brought to face the room unchanged in every respect.”
“You have come here on your own account, then?”
“Entirely. I want so to help her, if I can, and if somehow her sister-in-law is responsible for the pattern of events, I want to know what to do to prevent my patient’s being so dreadfully upset.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Mr. Holmes, it is Thursday, my day off. Tomorrow night Mr. and Mrs. Davies are leaving to visit some relatives in Edinburgh. If it is possible, could you come out to the house at 23 Linley Road and yourself speak to Mrs. Thornton?”
“At what time are your employers leaving?”
“They are planning to take the seven o’clock from Victoria.”
“Very well. We shall be at the house at approximately that hour, or as soon thereafter as possible.”
Miss Manahan rose. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”
I brought her waterproof, helped her into it, and showed her to th e door.
Holmes was sitting in an attitude of deep contemplation when I returned.
“What did you think of the young lady, Watson?”
“Most capable and conscientious.”
“With spirit, imagination, and level headedness, moreover. Miss Manahan clearly suspects a nasty business, and I have no doubt she is correct. Is that not a most curious hallucination of Mrs. Thornton’s?”
“I have never had any clinical experience with anything even remotely similar.”
Holmes chuckled. “Allowing for the fact that your clinical experience is somewhat limited, I fancy that states the case well enough. What explanation could you, as a medical man, have to offer?”
“I have not seen the patient, Holmes.”
“Come, come—do not stand on ceremony. I am not asking you to prescribe.”
“Well, then. I should say that some sudden dislocation in time or space could account for it.”
“If, for instance, the sister-in-law had imparted to the patient a piece of very shocking information?”
“Possibly.”
Holmes closed his eyes. “And what did you make of her dead husband’s voice calling to her?”
“Very common in such cases. The relation between the shock of his death and her initial collapse is very clear.”
“Dear me! How insistent we all are upon simplifying even the most remote aspects of human experience! It has been well said that perhaps it is we who are insane, and the so-called insane who are sane. What a proposition!— eh, Watson? And yet, how dreadfully logical! The case of Mrs. Thornton fascinates me out of all proportion to its importance, for its evidence of the depths of depravity and despair of which the human mind is capable.”
“ ‘Depravity’ is not the word.”
“I beg your pardon, Watson. Let us just settle on ‘decay,’ then. I fear poor Mrs. Thornton is close to the brink, and our client is rightfully loath to see the poor lady go over it again. Would that more young ladies in the nursing profession were possessed of such conscience!”
“ ‘ “Rightfoot” out for batting out of his turn,’ shouted the umpire. ‘Side out and the Pickle Eaters win.’
“Not even a protest was entered to the decision. It was all done so quick and in such an amazing manner that no one thought of disputing the decision.
“The players gathered in a crowd to discuss the strange proceedings, but when they looked for the stranger both he and the dog had disappeared. No one had noticed them leave the grounds, and just how he got away is a mystery that is still being discussed by the old-timers back in the little village.
“We were asking each other who the man could possibly be when the town constable came forward and volunteered the information that the erstwhile umpire was Sherlock Holmes, who had been investigating a strange murder case in an adjoining hamlet.”
Six Classic
Pastiches
August Derleth (1909-1971) founded Arkham House, one of America’s most important genre publishing firms, in his home town of Sauk City, Wisconsin. A prolific regional novelist, Derleth also wrote well over one hundred short fantasy tales, but to Holmesians he is best remembered for his many Conan Doyle-inspired detective stories about the London sleuth Solar Pons of Praed Street, and his faithful amanuensis, Dr. Parker, stories so close in tone to Conan Doyle as to differ only in the names of the principal characters. Indeed, when “The Adventure of the Circular Room” first appeared in the July 1946 issue of The Baker Street Journal, it was a genuine Sherlock Holmes pastiche. Derleth later altered it for his 1951 collection, The Memoirs of Solar Pons, but the version offered here is the original.
The Adventure of the Circular Room
August Derleth
It was a wild, windy night in April of a year in the early nineties when the diabolic affair of the circular room was brought to the attention of Sherlock Holmes. I had been engaged in compiling my notes from which these narratives of my friend’s experiences are fashioned in an effort to elucidate his extraordinary methods, and this task had taken all the leisure moments of that day, for my medical practise had not yet grown to such a degree that I had no free time during the afternoon. Holmes was at work on his since-published commentary, designed as a companion piece for Dr. Hans Gross’s remarkable Criminal Investigation. He had just put his notes aside, and had reached for his violin upon the mantel, when he heard the sound of hoofbeats on the road beyond our lodgings in Baker Street.
“Who could be seeking our lodgings on such a night as this?” I asked, hoping I had correctly interpreted the slowing-up of the hoofbeats.
Holmes had already stepped to the window and drawn aside the curtain, to look down to where the street-lamp shone before the building.
“A young woman of great determination, to dare such weather. Wind and rain, Watson—Oh, to be in England now that April’s here!—But she is coming up the steps, and her brougham waits.”
Holmes stood with his head cocked a little to one side, listening. He had permitted the curtain to fall back over the window, and stood with his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown. “Ah, Mrs. Hudson has not yet gone to bed. She has not long since put on her bedroom slippers and her robe. There she is at the door.”
In a moment Mrs. Hudson’s heavy footsteps came creaking up the stairs, followed by lighter steps, which, however, came with no less assurance. Mrs. Hudson knocked on our door, tried it, and opened it apologetically. “A young lady to see you, Mr. Holmes.”
“Show her in, by all means, Mrs. Hudson.”
Mrs. Hudson stepped back, and there walked into our quarters a firm-eyed young woman whose dark hair was molded severely about her head under a small toque of an inexpensive fiir. She paused just past the threshold, her waterproof thrown back over her shoulders.
“Do sit down, Miss… ?”
“Manahan.”
“Miss Manahan. I trust nothing has happened to your patient?”
“So do I.” She gasped. Then she smiled, and her rather severe face broke out into most attractive features. “I have heard of your methods, Mr. Holmes. That is why I came to you.”
“It is evident that you are a trained nurse, for your cuffs show under your jacket, and there is a small iodine stain on your finger, though there is no wound there. You have come to consult me about your patient?”
Miss Manahan sat down, having given me her waterproof to hang up. She clasped her hands, bit her lip, and looked faintly uneasy.
“I do hope I am not doing the wrong thing, Mr. Holmes, but I have such a strong feeling about this that I could not put it off any longer.”
“I assure you, I have every respect for a woman’s intuition.”
“Thank you. You make me feel more right about coming here, though I am sure I do not know what Mr. and Mrs. Davies would think if they knew.”
“They need not know. But pray let us hear your story, Miss Manahan.”
Thus urged, our attractive visitor composed herself, sat thinking for a moment as if to choose a point of departure, and then began. “Mr. Holmes, I have been out of work for some time, and quite by accident I chanced upon an advertisement in the News of the World a fortnight ago. I have it here.” She took it from a little bag she carried in her pocket, and handed it to Holmes, who spread it on the table so that I, too, could read it.
Wanted: A capable young woman with professional nursing
knowledge to serve as companion for elderly lady. Applicant
should be prepared against distressing circumstances. Good
remuneration. Please apply to Mr. Wellman Davies, in care
of this paper.
Holmes handed it back without a word.
“I made application, and three days later I received a letter asking me to call at a house in Richmond, just out of London along the upper reaches of the Thames. I found the house to be of recent construction, very pleasant and rather modem, set on the shore of the river in commodious surroundings, and occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Wellman Davies, who had in their care Mr. Davies’ elderly aunt, a Mrs. Lydia Thornton, who had only recently been released from an institution for mental health, and was still in an uncertain state to the extent of needing a companion with some knowledge of professional nursing.
“Mrs. Thornton proved to be a genteel lady approaching sixty years of age. She had been confined, she confided, for seven years, during which time her nephew had very kindly managed her affairs, and finally, when her condition had improved, she had been released, so that she might come to five in the house the Davies had built for her with funds which the executor of her late husband’s estate allowed them at her request. My patient was very unsure of herself, still; following her husband’s death, she had gone through a mental breakdown not uncommon to people of middle age; she was difficult at night, but by day, generally, she was so normal that it was hard to believe in her mental state.’’
“It is often so,’’ I put in.
“Yes, and I soon discovered that she was the victim of alarming hallucinations. She was convinced, for instance, that her late husband called to her (to come to him. She heard his voice in the night, and told me about it quite matter-of-factly, as if it were nothing at all strange. That, I believe, is common enough in such cases.”
“Is it, Watson?” Holmes looked at me.
“Yes, indeed. The woman has plainly come to accept it as a part of her existence.”
“Pray go on, Miss Manahan. I fancy you have something more to tel l us.”
“The hallucination which seems to me the strangest of the lot is one which so profoundly disturbs my patient that I fear for her mind, and I am sure she will eventually need to return to confinement. I discovered it on the second morning after I came, though I was not wholly unprepared for it; both Mr. and Mrs. Davies had very considerately and delicately told me that [Mrs. Thornton might ‘break out’ at any time, and I must not be too distressed or alarmed, for her ‘seizures’ did not last long. Nevertheless, I was alarmed at Mrs. Thornton’s initial ‘seizure.’
“I occupy the adjoining room to Mrs. Thornton’s, which is a lovely, circular room at one corner of the house, constructed to afford a view of the grounds, the summer-house and the Thames there. On the morning in question, I had not yet risen, when I heard my patient scream; then my door was flung open, and she came into my room wide-eyed with fear, and trembling, laboring under the amazing hallucination that her room had been changed, that she was being preyed upon by outside forces—for she had gone to sleep with her bed facing the windows, as usual, and had awakened to find herself and her bed facing my room.
“I persuaded her to return to her room with me, and we found it just as I had last seen it when I left her on the previous night. I thought this a most amazing hallucination, and I found it recurrent—sometimes nightly for a while, and then not occurring for two or three days at a time. I could understand her auditory hallucination about her dead husband’s calling to her, since I could believe in the psychological basis for this; but the more I considered this hallucination of hers about her room, the more puzzled I became.
“At the same time, I began to be aware of something strange in the house. I cannot describe it, Mr. Holmes, but it was an impression that grew upon me. I cannot understand it, either, for I have been very well treated, not only by my patient, but also by Mr. and Mrs. Davies and their single servant, a woman who comes by the day from the vicinity. As my patient’s hallucination persisted, my own impression about the strangeness of the house grew, and several times I found myself being regarded with something akin to alarm by Mr. Davies, who looked away when I saw him looking at me. This has been going on for approximately a fortnight; I am unable to put my finger on anything wrong, Mr. Holmes, yet I know there is something wrong there.” She was still, expecting Holmes’s questions. Holmes sat touching the lobe of one ear with his long, bony Angers for a few moments in silence; then he asked whether our client had correlated any facts in the matter. “Did the occurrence of your patient’s outbreaks or ‘seizures,’ as you call them, coincide with any household event apart from them?”
“I think not. It is only that on the day before her first seizure, she was visited by her sister-in-law, who said something which upset her very badly. In the early dawn of the next day she had her first outbreak.”
“Ah! Has her sister-in-law visited her since then?”
“Three times, Mr. Holmes.”
“And afterward?”
“She had those outbreaks.”
“According to your narrative, however, she also had such outbreaks on mornings which did not follow visits by her sister-in-law.”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes.”
“Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Davies offered any explanation of these seizures?” I
“No, Mr. Holmes. They were very much distressed by them, and hoped that I would not mind too much, for they had looked forward to bringing Mrs. Thornton back to a normal existence, and wanted, at all costs, to avoid the necessity of sending their aunt back to the asylum.*’
“Do you know what form her insanity took?”
“I believe it was manic depression which came as a result of her husband’s sudden and rather shocking death; this took place during her delayed climacteric. The situation is not uncommon.”
Holmes flashed a glance at me.
“Yes, that is right. Those years are very difficult, and any untoward shock may bring about disastrous mental breakdowns.”
Holmes touched his fingertips together in a characteristic gesture, and closed his eyes. “With what does Mrs. Thornton occupy herself during the day?”
“She reads, or I read to her. She plays solitaire; sometimes I play with i her. Once or twice she has evinced a desire to play chess, but she always tires land is unable to finish a game.”
“How does she strike you as a chess player?”
Miss Manahan was somewhat startled by the abruptness of Holmes’s (question. “She is not a good player.”
“I fancy that is in part due to her mental instability, wouldn’t you say :so, Watson?”
I agreed.
Holmes’s eyes flashed open and fixed upon Miss Manahan in a long, keen stare. “Have you yourself sought any explanation of why your patient should labor under the extraordinary delusion that her room and bed, as well has her own person, are at the mercy of malefic forces?”
“No, Mr. Holmes, I have been unable to do so. My knowledge of mental cases is limited.”
“What would you say of this, Watson?” asked Holmes.
“It is highly unusual. In most such cases there is usually a well-hidden source for all hallucinations and illusions, and once it is discovered and exposed to the patient, the cure is often forthcoming. Mrs. Thornton’s illusion is most extraordinary.”
“Surely, Miss Manahan, you have your patient’s case history from the institution where she was confined?”
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes.”
“You have studied it?”
“Of course.”
“Very well. What then of her previous record?”
“In what respect?”
“Manifestly in regard to the particular hallucination to which you
“There was no previous record of its occurrence.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Holmes, sitting upright in his chair and regarding Miss Manahan with that peculiarly benevolent expression which he always bestowed upon his clients when his interest was aroused. “Surely even insanity has a pattern, Miss Manahan?”
“There are many kinds, Mr. Holmes.”
“Yes, yes—but you yourself have grave doubts, is it not so?”
“Yes, it is. But, Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Thornton is very convincing in her agitation. She struggles so hard not to believe in her hallucination, and each time we return to the room to find it as it was before, she breaks down in tears; that sorrow is genuine, Mr. Holmes, and it is most terribly distressing. I am appalled by it; I was impelled to come here by it; I cannot understand what is happening; I admit I have had little experience with mental cases— but, Mr. Holmes, if ever I saw a woman who is fighting very bravely and very hard to escape her mental prison, that woman is my patient. I admire her very much, I admire her courage, and it is heartbreaking to endure her horror and terror and her final grief, as each time she is brought to face the room unchanged in every respect.”
“You have come here on your own account, then?”
“Entirely. I want so to help her, if I can, and if somehow her sister-in-law is responsible for the pattern of events, I want to know what to do to prevent my patient’s being so dreadfully upset.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Mr. Holmes, it is Thursday, my day off. Tomorrow night Mr. and Mrs. Davies are leaving to visit some relatives in Edinburgh. If it is possible, could you come out to the house at 23 Linley Road and yourself speak to Mrs. Thornton?”
“At what time are your employers leaving?”
“They are planning to take the seven o’clock from Victoria.”
“Very well. We shall be at the house at approximately that hour, or as soon thereafter as possible.”
Miss Manahan rose. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”
I brought her waterproof, helped her into it, and showed her to th e door.
Holmes was sitting in an attitude of deep contemplation when I returned.
“What did you think of the young lady, Watson?”
“Most capable and conscientious.”
“With spirit, imagination, and level headedness, moreover. Miss Manahan clearly suspects a nasty business, and I have no doubt she is correct. Is that not a most curious hallucination of Mrs. Thornton’s?”
“I have never had any clinical experience with anything even remotely similar.”
Holmes chuckled. “Allowing for the fact that your clinical experience is somewhat limited, I fancy that states the case well enough. What explanation could you, as a medical man, have to offer?”
“I have not seen the patient, Holmes.”
“Come, come—do not stand on ceremony. I am not asking you to prescribe.”
“Well, then. I should say that some sudden dislocation in time or space could account for it.”
“If, for instance, the sister-in-law had imparted to the patient a piece of very shocking information?”
“Possibly.”
Holmes closed his eyes. “And what did you make of her dead husband’s voice calling to her?”
“Very common in such cases. The relation between the shock of his death and her initial collapse is very clear.”
“Dear me! How insistent we all are upon simplifying even the most remote aspects of human experience! It has been well said that perhaps it is we who are insane, and the so-called insane who are sane. What a proposition!— eh, Watson? And yet, how dreadfully logical! The case of Mrs. Thornton fascinates me out of all proportion to its importance, for its evidence of the depths of depravity and despair of which the human mind is capable.”
“ ‘Depravity’ is not the word.”
“I beg your pardon, Watson. Let us just settle on ‘decay,’ then. I fear poor Mrs. Thornton is close to the brink, and our client is rightfully loath to see the poor lady go over it again. Would that more young ladies in the nursing profession were possessed of such conscience!”
