Chapter XII
Mr. Briggerland, it seemed, had some other object in life than theregeneration of the criminal classes. He was a sociologist--a loosetitle which covers a great deal of inquisitive investigation into otherpeople's affairs. Moreover, he had published a book on the subject. Hisname was on the title page and the book had been reviewed to his credit;though in truth he did no more than suggest the title, the work inquestion having been carried out by a writer on the subject who, for aconsideration, had allowed Mr. Briggerland to adopt the child of hisbrain.
On a morning when pale yellow sunlight brightened his dining-room, Mr.Briggerland put down his newspaper and looked across the table at hisdaughter. He had a club in the East End of London and his manager hadtelephoned that morning sending a somewhat unhappy report.
"Do you remember that man Talmot, my dear?" he asked.
She nodded, and looked up quickly.
"Yes, what about him?"
"He's in hospital," said Mr. Briggerland. "I fear that he and Hogginswere engaged in some nefarious plan and that in making an attempt toenter--as, of course, they had no right to enter--a block of flats inCavendish Place, poor Talmot slipped and fell from the fourth floorwindow-sill, breaking his leg. Hoggins had to carry him to hospital."
The girl reached for bacon from the hot plate.
"He should have broken his neck," she said calmly. "I suppose now thepolice are making tender inquiries?"
"No, no," Mr. Briggerland hastened to assure her. "Nobody knows anythingabout it, not even the--er--fortunate occupant of the flat they wereevidently trying to burgle. I only learnt of it because the manager ofthe club, who gets information of this character, thought I would beinterested."
"Anyway I'm glad they didn't succeed," said Jean after a while. "Thepossibility of their trying rather worried me. The Hoggins type is sucha bungler that it was almost certain they would fail."
It was a curious fact that whilst her father made the most guardedreferences to all their exploits and clothed them with garments ofeuphemism, his daughter never attempted any such disguise. Thepsychologist would find in Mr. Briggerland's reticence the embryo of aonce dominant rectitude, no trace of which remained in his daughter'smoral equipment.
"I have been trying to place this man Jaggs," she went on with a littlepuzzled frown, "and he completely baffles me. He arrives every night ina taxicab, sometimes from St. Pancras, sometimes from Euston, sometimesfrom London Bridge Station."
"Do you think he is a detective?"
"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "If he is, he has been importedfrom the provinces. He is not a Scotland Yard man. He may, of course, bean old police pensioner, and I have been trying to trace him from thatsource."
"It should not be difficult to find out all about him," said Mr.Briggerland easily. "A man with his afflictions should be prettywell-known."
He looked at his watch.
"My appointment at Norwood is at eleven o'clock," he said. He made alittle grimace of disgust.
"Would you rather I went?" asked the girl.
Mr. Briggerland would much rather that she had undertaken thedisagreeable experience which lay before him, but he dare not confess asmuch.
"You, my dear? Of course not! I would not allow you to have such anexperience. No, no, I don't mind it a bit."
Nevertheless, he tossed down two long glasses of brandy before he left.
His car set him down before the iron gates of a squat and ugly stuccobuilding, surrounded by high walls, and the uniformed attendant, havingexamined his credentials, admitted him. He had to wait a little whilebefore a second attendant arrived to conduct him to the medicalsuperintendent, an elderly man who did not seem overwhelmed with joy atthe honour Mr. Briggerland was paying him.
"I'm sorry I shan't be able to show you round, Mr. Briggerland," hesaid. "I have an engagement in town, but my assistant, Dr. Carew, willconduct you over the asylum and give you all the information yourequire. This, of course, as you know, is a private institution. Ishould have thought you would have got more material for your book inone of the big public asylums. The people who are sent to Norwood, youknow, are not the mild cases, and you will see some rather terriblesights. You are prepared for that?"
Mr. Briggerland nodded. He was prepared to the extent of two fullnoggins of brandy. Moreover, he was well aware that Norwood was theasylum to which the more dangerous of lunatics were transferred.
Dr. Carew proved to be a young and enthusiastic alienist whose heart andsoul was in his work.
"I suppose you are prepared to see jumpy things," he said with a smile,as he conducted Mr. Briggerland along a stone-vaulted corridor.
He opened a steel gate, the bars of which were encased with thick layersof rubber, crossed a grassy plot (there were no stone-flagged paths atNorwood) and entered one of the three buildings which constituted theasylum proper.
It was a harrowing, heart-breaking, and to some extent, a disappointingexperience for Mr. Briggerland. True, his heart did not break, becauseit was made of infrangible material, and his disappointment wascounter-balanced by a certain vague relief.
At the end of two hours' inspection they were standing out on the bigplaying fields, watching the less violent of the patients wanderingaimlessly about. Except one, they were unattended by keepers, but in thecase of this one man, two stalwart uniformed men walked on either sideof him.
"Who is he?" asked Briggerland.
"That is rather a sad case," said the alienist cheerfully. He hadpointed out many "sad cases" in the same bright manner. "He's a doctorand a genuine homicide. Luckily they detected him before he did anymischief or he would have been in Broadmoor."
"Aren't you ever afraid of these men escaping?" asked Mr. Briggerland.
"You asked that before," said the doctor in surprise. "No. You see, aninsane asylum is not like a prison; to make a good get-away from prisonyou have to have outside assistance. Nobody wants to help a lunaticescape, otherwise it would be easier than getting out of prison, becausewe have no patrols in the grounds, the wards can be opened from theoutside without a key and the night patrol who visits the wards everyhalf-hour has no time for any other observation. Would you like to talkto Dr. Thun?"
Mr. Briggerland hesitated only for a second.
"Yes," he said huskily.
There was nothing in the appearance of the patient to suggest that hewas in any way dangerous. A fair, bearded man, with pale blue eyes, heheld out his hand impulsively to the visitor, and after a momentaryhesitation, Mr. Briggerland took it and found his hand in a grip like avice. The two attendants exchanged glances with the asylum doctor andstrolled off.
"I think you can talk to him without fear," said the doctor in a lowvoice, not so low, however, that the patient did not hear it, for helaughed.
"Without fear, favour or prejudice, eh? Yes, that was how they swore theofficers at my court martial."
"The doctor was the general who was responsible for the losses atCaperetto," explained Dr. Carew. "That was where the Italians lost soheavily."
Thun nodded.
"Of course, I was perfectly innocent," he explained to Briggerlandseriously, and taking the visitor's arm he strolled across the field,the doctor and the two attendants following at a distance. Mr.Briggerland breathed a little more quickly as he felt the strength ofthe patient's biceps.
"My conviction," said Dr. Thun seriously, "was due to the fact thatwomen were sitting on the court martial, which is, of course, againstall regulations."
"Certainly," murmured Mr. Briggerland.
"Keeping me here," Thun went on, "is part of the plot of the Italiangovernment. Naturally, they do not wish me to get at my enemies, who Ihave every reason to believe are in London."
Mr. Briggerland drew a long breath.
"They are in London," he said a little hoarsely. "I happen to know wherethey are."
"Really?" said the other easily, and then a cloud passed over his faceand he shook his head.
"They are safe from my
vengeance," he said a little sadly. "As long asthey keep me in this place pretending that I am mad, there is nopossible chance for me."
The visitor looked round and saw that the three men who were followingwere out of ear shot.
"Suppose I came to-morrow night," he said, lowering his voice, "andhelped you to get away? What is your ward?"
"No. 6," said the other in the same tone. His eyes were blazing.
"Do you think you will remember?" asked Briggerland.
Thun nodded.
"You will come to-morrow night--No. 6, the first cubicle on the left,"he whispered, "you will not fail me? If I thought you'd fail me----" Hiseyes lit up again.
"I shall not fail you," said Mr. Briggerland hastily. "When the clockstrikes twelve you may expect me."
"You must be Marshal Foch," murmured Thun, and then with all a madman'scunning, changed the conversation as the doctor and attendants, who hadnoticed his excitement, drew nearer. "Believe me, Mr. Briggerland," hewent on airily, "the strategy of the Allies was at fault until I took upthe command of the army...."
Ten minutes later Mr. Briggerland was in his car driving homeward, alittle breathless, more than a little terrified at the unpleasant taskhe had set himself; jubilant, too, at his amazing success.
Jean had said he might have to visit a dozen asylums before he found hisopportunity and the right man, and he had succeeded at the firstattempt. Yet--he shuddered at the picture he conjured--that climb overthe high wall (he had already located the ward, for he had followed theGeneral and the attendants and had seen him safely put away), themidnight association with a madman....
He burst in upon Jean with his news.
"At the first attempt, my dear, what do you think of that?" His darkface glowed with almost childish pride, and she looked at him with ahalf-smile.
"I thought you would," she said quietly. "That's the rough work done, atany rate."
"The rough work!" he said indignantly.
She nodded.
"Half the difficulty is going to be to cover up your visit to theasylum, because this man is certain to mention your name, and it willnot all be dismissed as the imagination of a madman. Now I think I willmake my promised call upon Mrs. Meredith."
The Angel of Terror Page 12
