by Paul Halter
‘First of all, I have to make it clear that Mrs. Thorne’s fainting was genuine. Meadows is formal on that score. She regained consciousness at about the time the medical examiner arrived and he also confirmed it had been genuine.
‘What could she possibly have seen? My first thought was that she’d just seen her husband jumping out of the window, but the doctors’ testimony regarding time of death discredits that theory. A prankster wearing a carnival mask and leaving by the window? Impossible, for several reasons: Meadows and his fiancée didn’t hear any noises and they found the room empty only a couple of seconds later. Miss Blount even looked out of the window immediately and saw no one—which is confirmed by Francis and Paula Hilton, who were making their way towards that part of the manor. To cap it all, Redfern’s men examined the wall below the window and found no trace of any kind of acrobatics. On the other hand, they did find a secret passage….’
Like the adroit narrator he was, Hurst paused, and to his great delight he heard Alan Twist exclaim:
‘A secret passage! Well, well, well! I thought they only existed in novels. And where was it? In the fireplace?’
‘Just to the side. It’s effectively built in to the bookcase which spans the wall on either side of the chimney-breast. Part of the section to the right pivots open like a door and leads to an adjacent storage room containing old junk. The knob’s concealed behind a row of books. It was Brian who told us about it. ’
‘And you think that’s how the joker got out after frightening Mrs. Thorne….’
‘That’s what we thought, but our hopes went up in smoke. Once inside, we found dust everywhere, including the floorboards, but no footprints. The room hadn’t been visited for donkey’s years.
‘That leaves the testimony of Mrs. Thorne herself, you’re about to say,’ he continued, with thinly concealed irritation. ‘Dr. Meadows only authorised her to speak to us late in the afternoon. So we waited… fruitlessly. She remembered standing outside her husband’s study with Meadows and Miss Blount and knocking on the door. But after that, nothing, a black hole. Because she was still in a state of shock, we didn’t insist. Redfern has questioned her since then, but with no better result. According to Meadows, it’s quite possible—given the initial shock, followed by another in the form of the death of her husband—that she will never remember.’
Dr. Twist nodded his head in silence, then asked:
‘Did you ask her what she and her husband were quarrelling about? And why they left again so soon after coming back in?’
‘Yes, but without learning anything new. The subject of their dispute was Meadows. Thorne suspected him of making secret advances to his wife, who—according to Thorne again—did nothing to discourage him. In most people’s eyes, his suspicions were not justified. Apparently he had veritable fits of jealousy… “harder and harder to tolerate,” she confessed, with tears in her eyes. After the meal, Harris Thorne had gone up to his study and she had joined him a little later. Straight away, he reproached her for inviting Meadows and his fiancée… and they quarrelled about it until half past eight, when she finally succeeded in calming him down. She suggested they go out for some fresh air, which he didn’t object to, and they left together. But no sooner were they outside than he started again. She came back in, and you know the rest.
‘By the way, the study was thoroughly examined, without the slightest result. There was no trace of the liquid which had wet the carpet near the fireplace, so it was most likely water.’
Hurst ended his account by shrugging his shoulders and lighting a cigar.
‘The least you can say,’ said Alan Twist thoughtfully, ‘is that it’s all far from clear. If you go back to the death of Harvey Thorne, you could conclude that there’s something dormant in that room which doesn’t like to be disturbed. Secondly, that something terrifies people to the point of causing them to die on the spot, lose consciousness or jump out of the window… Thirdly, that something is invisible, or rather it evaporates immediately after showing itself… an evaporation which nevertheless leaves traces on the carpet.’
‘Are you thinking about some aquatic monster?’ thundered Hurst. ‘A creature with a body so translucent it’s not even visible?’
‘Straight out of a Scottish lake? No, my friend, that’s not what I said. I just stated the problem as it appears,’ he added, with an amused gleam behind his pince-nez.
‘Can you tell me what’s causing you to smile, Twist?’
The eminent detective regarded his friend amicably. His sparse hair—always carefully combed across his pink cranium—had a peculiar characteristic; once he began to see red, it invariably flopped down over his forehead, as it was doing now.
‘What makes me smile is your talent for getting involved in the most complicated cases. Usually, the problem is posed differently: an obvious case of murder where it is shown that nobody could have done it. Here, there’s no murder as such, but a “thing” which frightens people and disappears. A woman faints, a man throws himself out of a window… although murder can’t be excluded.’
‘It’s a possibility I’ve never ruled out,’ said Hurst in an unctuous voice. ‘The inheritance Thorne left behind is certainly food for thought, to say the least. From now on, his widow will own a fortune.’
‘It all goes to her?’
‘Every last penny. He must have thought that his brother, whose own fortune includes half the manor and a number of shares in the company, was well enough off. So he left it all to her. He made his will a few days after they were married, without telling her or anyone else. Did Brian feel frustrated? I can’t say. In any case, supposing it turns out to be murder, we can’t rule anyone out on the grounds they didn’t know they’d inherit. But if he did kill his brother, I doubt that it would have been for money. He’s… how to put it… rather special and that warning issued not long before the accident seems quite suspect. What do you think?’
Dr. Twist, whose eyes were closed, seemed to have dozed off.
‘Let’s leave that aside for the time being,’ he said suddenly. ‘Suppose there was a murder, either by pushing Harris Thorne directly out of the window or by leading him to jump himself, by whatever Machiavellian trick. Can you summarise the evening for me, with the times and movements of each individual?’
‘Of course,’ said the inspector, pulling out his notebook. ‘I’ve already done that. Here goes.’
7.30. End of meal. Mrs. Paula Hilton gets up from table and is not seen until much later. Says she “went to get some air and calm herself down, because she sensed that something was being hatched.”
7.45. Harris goes up to his study. His wife follows shortly after. Brian goes to his room.
8.00. Dr. Meadows and Miss Bessie Blount ring the door bell. Butler escorts them to salon. Mr. and Mrs. Hilton and son Francis already there. Noises of quarrel upstairs start to be heard.
8.20. Francis Hilton, who had gone to find his wife, runs into Brian upstairs. Brian, upset by his brother’s behaviour, goes down to salon.
8.30. The Hiltons leave salon. The loud noises have stopped.
8.45. The Thornes go out. They’ve hardly left when the quarrel starts again. Mrs. Thorne returns overwrought and goes to salon. Husband rushes in and goes upstairs. Brian follows him. Mrs. Thorne and Miss Blount go out for walk.
8.50. The moment when Harris Thorne is seen alive for the last time, leaning out of window, beside himself, refusing to talk. (Note that information provided by Brian, who claims to have left the study immediately.) Death of Harris confirmed as being around 8.50-9.00.
9.05. Sarah Thorne and Bessie Blount, near the front gate, surprise an unidentified person who flees.
9.15. Dr. Meadows, his fiancée and Mrs. Thorne go up to study. Mrs. Thorne faints on opening door but room is empty. Miss Blount looks out of window, sees nothing suspicious, then notices or hears Francis Hilton and wife approaching manor. They find body while opening service door.
‘Getting back to the fatal moment
, around 8.50 to 9.00. The most solid alibi is undoubtedly that of Sarah Thorne, who was out walking with Bessie Blount. It’s difficult to picture a conspiracy on their part. As far as Mr. and Mrs. Hilton are concerned, they furnish each other an alibi, but then they’re a married couple, so... Their son Francis has no alibi. He was outdoors looking for his wife, who hasn’t got an explanation for her actions either. Dr. Meadows was in the salon alone: no alibi either. The same goes for Brian, who was in his room, next to the study….’
‘Admit it. If it was murder, you think it was Brian who did it!’
Archibald Hurst gave a sly smile.
‘We questioned him for quite a long time. Gently, I can assure you. A few questions about his supposed powers… What I can certify to you is that he isn’t a charlatan in the proper sense of the term, meaning that he really believes in his powers of prediction. He confirmed the prophetic warning to his brother. “It was inevitable,” he said repeatedly. I don’t say he’s a murderer, but he made a curious impression… Anyway, what do you make of it all? Murder or suicide?’
Dr. Twist didn’t reply straight away. He puffed inscrutably on his pipe.
‘Apart from that,’ he said suddenly, ‘didn’t anything else strike you as strange?’
Hurst squinted at him.
‘It seems to me there are already enough strange things.’
‘Of course, but I was talking about the actions and movements of all the parties that night. And I can assure you, something’s not right!’
Second Part
10
A year passed without much of note happening. Harris Thorne lay in peace next to his ancestors beneath the chapel. Mr. and Mrs. Hilton led a peaceful existence in Hatton Manor and Brian had not changed his habits one iota. Sarah had replaced her late husband as head of the enterprise, even though her role was more to supervise the new director she’d chosen, Curtin, the previous right hand man. She’d also arranged for more favourable working hours for her brother, with the result that he only went two or three days a week to Coventry. During that time, however, the flame which had animated the romantic sentiments of Bessie Blount and Mike Meadows appeared to have died out, although nobody seemed to know why.
Nonetheless, they were both present at Hatton Manor that Saturday evening in June when the discussion turned to great-uncle Harvey and the mysterious glass forever standing on the table.
Paula—who, after many circumlocutions, had steered the conversation round to the subject—observed Brian out of the corner of her eye. The glimmer of a smile appeared on his face and he turned towards her.
‘My dear Paula, I notice you’re very interested in the subject….’
Paula, who still vividly recalled that famous night when, peering through the keyhole, she had observed Brian contemplating that same object, feigned an indifference denied by eyes burning with curiosity.
‘Yes, because I can’t really see an explanation… supposing there is one.’
‘And nobody has explained to you what it’s about?’ asked Brian in astonishment.
The question was met with astonished silence.
‘And are you in a position to tell us, Brian?’
Still smiling, Brian said only one word, but one which had an instant effect.
‘Yes.’
Dr. Meadows lit a cigarette, followed by Francis. Howard Hilton served himself another port, under his wife’s disapproving eye.
‘You see,’ continued Brian, ‘wherever you go in space or time, people are always the same. When they hear talk of prophecy they adopt a superior air and shrug their shoulders, but… Let’s take an example, the very first, which goes back to Genesis. Adam and Eve, though warned, took no notice of the terrible menace, tasted the forbidden fruit, and were chased from the earthly paradise… and we’re the ones who suffer the consequences. Harris didn’t listen either. Nobody can say I didn’t warn him. Yet he still opened up that room….
‘Before getting back to great-uncle Harvey, I’d like to tell you about certain events which have punctuated history, and whose authenticity is not in doubt. In fact, there have been quite a number of prophecies which have turned out to be accurate. The most well-known, needless to say, are those about illustrious individuals who must have kicked themselves later for turning a deaf ear. Remember Cassandra, whom the Trojans mocked. Does the term “Trojan Horse” ring a bell? Remember Julius Caesar also, and the celebrated “beware of the Ides of March.” He heard his wife having a nightmare in which she was holding his corpse in her arms, and the next day she begged him to postpone the senate meeting. He ignored her and was stabbed to death beneath the statue of Pompey, his enemy.’
He stopped and looked into the distance. His audience, shaken, could see the atrocious scene in his clear blue eyes.
‘I’ll skip over the prophecies of Nostradamus and other well-known figures, and take the case of Marie-Madeleine de Pazzi, one of the most significant and troubling. An astonishing young woman who, at the age of fifteen, declared that she belonged to no one other than Jesus Christ, and would die rather than marry. She flagellated herself regularly to defend her chastity from diabolical temptation, and was occasionally seen writhing on the ground, fighting off an invisible enemy and in the grip of atrocious convulsions.
‘One of her most remarkable predictions occurred during a ceremony to elect a new prior, which the cardinal was supposed to attend. Marie-Madeleine, then aged twenty, was overcome by lethargy during communion. An attempt was made to lift her from the pew and carry her to her cell, but she was lifeless and as stiff as a board; even though she only weighed just over a hundred pounds, she couldn’t be lifted from the bench. When the cardinal entered the chapel he sat down next to her. Petrified no longer, she rose up and said to his face: “You will be Pope. Yes, you will be Pope, but not for long, because you will die less than a month after your election!”’
Brian lowered his voice:
‘Nineteen years later, Alessandro Ottoviano de Medicis took the name of Leo XI.’
‘And did he die a month later?’ asked Paula.
‘Twenty-six days, to be precise,’ replied Brian. ‘I could cite you plenty of other examples, in particular the remarkable vision of Swedenborg, who not only announced there would be a fire in Stockholm, more than two hundred miles from where he lived, but predicted the progress of the fire and where it would end. But let’s get to the death of Louis XIV, or more precisely to the testimony of the Duc de Saint-Simon about that death… which, incidentally, explains the presence of that mysterious glass of water in my great-uncle’s room.
‘On the eve of his departure to take command of the Italian army, Philippe d’Orleans, nephew and son-in-law of Louis XIV, met Saint-Simon in Marly. The latter, as was his custom, took notes about the former’s strange adventure of the night before.
‘Philippe had invited his friends to supper. At the end of the evening, when only his mistress and a few close friends were still present, Philippe was introduced to a curious individual, supposedly a magician who claimed to be able to tell him any detail whatsoever about his past, present and future. To do so, he would need “someone young and innocent” and something else… which I’ll keep silent about for the moment. Mlle de Sery, Philippe’s mistress, had an eight-year old girl staying with her, innocent and rather backward, who had never left her domicile.
‘To begin, they asked the child to describe a scene occurring somewhere else at that very moment, which she did. The Duc d’Orleans sent one of his valets out in secret to the place described by the girl, which was quite nearby. He returned shortly thereafter and told his master what he’d seen chez Mme de Nancre, where the event had taken place. Armed with the information, Philippe asked the child for more information. Her response stupefied him: she described everyone present, their faces and what they were wearing, what they were doing, the position of the furniture… in short, she told him everything the valet had reported.
‘Whereupon, the child was asked if she could d
escribe what would happen upon the death of the king. Remember, having never left the domicile, she knew nothing about Versailles nor, obviously, anyone at court. The king’s bedroom was described in the minutest detail, as was the furniture, the bed Louis XIV was lying on and the people gathered around him. Without going into detail, let’s just say they were individuals whom Philippe d’Orleans could identify easily, but he was amazed that the little girl could not see Monseigneur the Dauphin, nor his son the Duc de Bourgogne and his young duchess, nor the Duc de Berry, the Dauphin’s brother. The response was always the same: she couldn’t see any of them.
‘That was in 1706. The four persons not visible to the girl were all in good health at the time, yet they all died before the king. And, in 1715, in front of his deathbed, the only people present were the ones she had so carefully described nine years earlier.
‘One last detail: in accordance with the magician’s wishes, and in order to help the child to “see” the scenes, a large glass of water had been placed on the table in front of her….’
Mr. Hilton nodded understandingly:
‘So your great-uncle saw the future using the same method?’
‘In all likelihood. I’d known for a long time about the anecdote reported in Saint-Simon’s Memoires, but it wasn’t until last year that I made the connection with Harvey’s glass of water. And I won’t hide the fact that I now use the same method to… let’s say, concentrate.’ A curious gleam came into his eye. ‘It’s remarkable. The perfect transparency of the water acts like a veritable mirror where one can see many things, things which….’
