IV
“I see you do not quite believe me, and yet you’ve got to come to terms with the soul,
you know, young man. I can assure you that it really did strike me as very curious that such a
well-balanced and perfectly normal young man as yourself should suffer from the delusion
that he was going out of his mind.”
“I’m out of my mind, all right. Absolutely mad.”
“You will forgive me for saying so, but I don’t believe it.”
“I suffer from delusions.”
“After dinner?”
“No, in the morning.”
“Can’t be done,” said the doctor.
“I tell you I hear things that no one else hears.”
~ 99 ~
“It’s quite possible that the delusions of to-day may be the proved scientific facts of
to-morrow.”
In spite of himself, Lavington’s matter-of-fact manner was having its effect upon Jack.
He felt awfully cheered. The doctor looked at him attentively for a minute or two and then
nodded.
“That’s better,” he said. “The trouble with you young fellows is that you’re so sure
nothing can exist outside your own philosophy that you get the wind up when something
occurs that may change your opinion. Let’s hear your grounds for believing that you’re going
mad, and we’ll decide whether or not to lock you up afterwards.”
As faithfully as he could, Jack told the whole series of occurrences.
“But what I can’t understand,” he ended, “is why this morning it should come at half
past seven – five minutes late.” Lavington thought for a minute or two.
“What’s the time now by your watch” he asked.
“Quarter to eight,” replied Jack, consulting it.
“That’s simple enough, then. Mine says twenty to eight. Your watch is five minutes
fast. That’s a very interesting and important point – to me. in fact, its invaluable.”
“In what way?” Jack was beginning to get interested.
“Well, the obvious explanation is that on the first morning you did hear some such cry
– may have been a joke, may not. On the following mornings, you suggestioned yourself to
hear it at exactly the same time.”
“I’m sure I didn’t.”
“Not consciously, of course, but the subconscious plays us some funny tricks, you
know. If it were a case of suggestion, you would have heard the cry at twenty-five minutes
past seven by your watch, and you could never have heard it when the time, as you thought,
was past.”
“Well, then?”
“Well – it’s obvious, isn’t it? This cry for help occupies a perfectly definite place and
time in space.”
“Yes, but why should I be the one to hear it? I don’t believe in ghosts, spirits, and all
the rest of it. Why should I hear the damned thing?”
“Ah! that we can’t tell at present. Some people see and hear things that other people
don’t – we don’t know why. Someday, no doubt, we shall know why you hear this thing and I
and the girl don’t.”
“But what am I going to do” asked Jack.
“Well, my young friend, you are going to have a good breakfast and get off to the city
without worrying your head further about things you don’t understand. I, on the other hand,
am going to look about, and see what I can find out about that cottage back there. That’s
where the mystery centres.” Jack rose to his feet.
“Right, sir, I’m on, but I say –“
“Yes” Jack flushed awkwardly.
“ I’m sure the girls all right,” he muttered. Lavington looked amused.
“You didn’t tell me she was a pretty girl! Well, cheer up, I think the mystery started
before her time.”
V
Jack arrived home. Now he believed Lavington completely.
He found his new friend waiting for him in the hall when he came down for dinner,
and the doctor suggested that they should dine together at the same table.
“Any news, sir?” asked Jack anxiously.
“I’ve collected the life history of Heather Cottage all right. It was tenanted first by an
old gardener and his wife. The old man died, and the old woman went to her daughter. Then a
builder got it, and modernised it with great success, selling it to a city gentleman who used it
~ 100 ~
for week-ends. About a year ago, he sold it to some people called Turner – Mr. and Mrs.
Turner. They seem to have been rather a curious couple from all I can make out. They lived
very quietly, seeing no one, and hardly ever going outside the cottage garden. The local
rumour goes that they were afraid of something. And then suddenly one day they departed
and never came back. The agents here got a letter from Mr. Turner, written from London,
instructing him to sell up the place as quickly as possible. The furniture was sold off, and the
house itself was sold. The people who have it now are a French professor and his daughter.
They
have
been
there
just
ten
days.”
Jack digested this in silence.
“I don’t see that that gets us anywhere,” he said at last.
“Do you?”
“I rather want to know more about the Turners, said Lavington quietly. They left very
early in the morning, you remember. As far as I can make out, nobody actually saw them go.
Mr. Turner has been seen since – but I cant find anybody who has seen Mrs. Turner.”
Jack paled.
“It can’t be – you don’t mean.”
“Don’t excite yourself, young man. Let us drop the subject – for to-night at least,” he
suggested.
Jack agreed readily enough, but did not find it so easy to vanish the subject from his
own mind.
During the week-end, he made inquiries of his own, but succeeded in getting little
more than the doctor had done. He had definitely given up playing golf before breakfast.
On getting back one day, Jack was informed that a young lady was waiting to see him. To his
surprise it proved to be the girl of the garden – the pansy girl, as he always called her in his
own mind. She was very nervous and confused.
“You will forgive me, Monsieur, for coming to see you like this But there is
something I want to tell you –I - ” She looked round uncertainly.
“Come in here,” said Jack.
“Now, sit down, Miss, Miss…”
“Marchaud, Monsieur. Felise Marchaud.”
“Sit down, Mademoiselle Marchaud, and tell me all about it.” Felise sat down
obediently. She was dressed in dark green to-day, and the beauty and charm of the proud little
face was more evident than ever. Jacks heart beat faster as he sat down beside her.
“It is like this,” explained Felise. “We have been here but a short time, and from the
beginning we hear the house – our so sweet little house – is haunted. No servant will stay in
it.”
“This talk of ghosts, I think it is all folly – that is until four days ago. Monsieur, four
nights running, I have had the same dream. A lady stands there – she is beautiful, tall and very
f air. In her hands she holds a blue china jar. She is distressed – very distressed, and
continually she holds out her jar to me, as though asking me to do something with it. But alas!
She cannot speak, and I – I do not know what she asks. That was the dream for the first two
nights – but the night before last, there was more of it. She and the blue jar faded away, and
suddenly I heard her voice crying out – I know it is her voice, you understand – and, oh!
Monsieur, the words she says are those you spoke to me that morning.” Murder – Help!
Murder!” I awoke in terror. I say to myself – it is a nightmare, the words you heard are an
accident. But last night the dream came again. Monsieur, what is it You too have heard. What
shall
we
do?”
Felise’s face was terrified. Her small hands clasped themselves together, and she gazed at
Jack. The latter pretended to look calm.
“That’s all right, Mademoiselle Marchaud. You mustn’t worry. I tell you what Id like
you to do, if you don’t mind, repeat the whole story to a friend of mine who is staying here, a
~ 101 ~
Dr.Lavington.” Felise showed her willingness and Jack went off in search of Lavington. He
returned with him a few minutes later.
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