Howard Hilton lit a cigarette and Dr. Twist noticed his hand was shaking.
‘I… I don’t think so. They were thinking of selling the property, which couldn’t be done without Brian’s consent… and I don’t think she’d asked him. To be truthful, my wife and I didn’t like the idea. It’s a very pleasant spot and very quiet… but that’s of no importance now.’
Hurst nodded then leant towards him:
‘It seems that your daughter’s nerves were on edge recently. Do you know any particular reason for it?’
Hilton gazed at the window and took his time to answer:
‘Sarah was always a very excitable child. She was very upset by the death of her husband, much more than she showed. There was a period of calm at the beginning of the year, so to speak. … then she fell for Meadows. A happy idyll on the surface, but hardly beneficial for her nerves. I don’t want to blame Michael, but it’s a fact that after they started seeing each other, things became more intense — at least as far as she was concerned. But to answer your question, during the last two weeks she was at the end of her tether. She lost her temper about nothing and became scared if anyone so much as looked at her…As to why that was, I couldn’t tell you.’
‘One last question, Mr. Hilton. Have you any idea where to find Brian Thorne?’
‘No idea whatsoever.’
‘And what do you think of his disappearance?’
‘Strange — although Sarah’s death did affect him profoundly. He more or less predicted it.’
‘We know.’
‘Well, if you want my advice, I think he felt himself responsible in a way and that caused him to lose his head… as though he’d just realised his power, and the danger it represented.’
‘You say “power,” so do you believe in his gifts as a clairvoyant?’
‘I don’t think there can be any doubt about it.’
20
In many ways, Dr. Alan Twist was an enigma to the Scotland Yard inspector. Perhaps the biggest mystery was his ability to tuck away gargantuan quantities of food in that thin frame, twice as much as Hurst — himself no slouch in that department. Where did he put it all?
He wasn’t the only one to ask himself the question. Hector Redfern watched in astonishment as the criminologist ordered his fifth lamb cutlet. It was seven o’clock and the three men were dining in the Black Horse, where Hurst and Twist were staying. An hour earlier they had questioned Dr. Meadows, whose house was on the edge of the village.
They had learnt very little from the young doctor, but had detected a barely-contained fury behind a mask of convention. The great catch that Sarah had been was now only a memory and he hadn’t hidden the fact that he found Brian’s disappearance suspicious. He’d changed his opinion of the man as welclass="underline" the clairvoyant of dazzling powers was nothing but a harbinger of bad luck and there was no doubt in his mind that his prophecy about Sarah, by plunging her into a state of anxious hysteria, was directly responsible for the tragedy. Had he any idea where Brian could be found? No, and it would be best for him if he, Meadows, didn’t find out. Before coming to the inn, the three men had stopped by the Blount residence and Bessie had invited them to partake of coffee there after eight that evening.
‘My dear friends,’ said Hurst solemnly, after having lit a cigar, ‘I don’t know whether you realise it or not, but there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, to justify the use of the term “murder.” An anxious woman during a trying period, and with a weak heart to boot, dies from a heart attack. Except for a few drops of water found on the carpet — and can they really be considered a clue? — there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, to support the murder theory. And I know you well enough, Hector, to be certain that that damned room was searched with a fine-tooth comb.’ Redfern nodded. ‘All that’s left is Brian’s prophecy.’
‘You surprise me, my dear Archibald,’ replied Twist, looking up from his plate. ‘You talk as if nothing else happened.’
‘I haven’t forgotten anything!’ thundered the inspector, pushing the rebellious forelock back from his pink forehead. ‘I’m simply trying to pose the problem calmly and without any other distractions!’
The hubbub in the bar ceased for a moment as the locals stared at the stranger who dared to shout louder than they, then recommenced.
‘You’re right,’ said Redfern, pushing his plate away. ‘And I’m beginning to wonder whether I didn’t exaggerate the business, and whether I was right to call you in.’
‘There’s good reason to doubt it,’ growled Hurst. ‘The Yard’s not used to dealing with clairvoyance, divination and all the rest of it. And, to be honest with you, Hector, I doubt that I’ll be allowed to carry on my investigation for much longer. That said, I still have a few questions.’
‘Let’s be thankful for that,’ sighed Twist. ‘I’d have been disappointed if—.’
‘My dear friend,’ said the inspector through gritted teeth, ‘I’m going to cut the ground from under you by resuming the affair, as you’re dying to do. Only I’m going to do it impartially, without exaggerating certain aspects for the sole purpose of disorienting the audience and making them doubt their sanity, as you are wont to do.’
‘We’re all ears,’ replied the criminologist, a mischievous gleam lurking behind his pince-nez.
‘Here goes. In the last century, a certain Harvey Thorne died under strange circumstances. It must be said that he was someone not in full possession of his mental faculties and who passed his time cloistered in his room writing horrible stories of an apparently divinatory tendency, because in one of them he accurately predicted the death of his own father. He was found dying on the sill of his door, in the grip of terrifying convulsions. Before he died he made a few disconcerting utterances such as “will perish by fire,” or something like that. One peculiar detail is that the carpet was wet where it touched the hearth. And, curiously enough, several members of the family did die in a fire, which led to his den being sealed off.
‘Everything seems to suggest that his great-nephew has inherited his powers and that he, too, is able to make prophecies which become reality. Just consider those where we have tangible evidence. Early last year, he predicts to Miss Bessie Blount and Dr. Mike Meadows that they will shortly fall in love and it happens the very next day. That summer, his brother Harris, who has just moved into Hatton Manor with his in-laws, decides to reopen the sealed room and use it as a study. Brian makes a new prophecy, far more sinister than the first. It’s worth noting that unsealing the cursed room seems in itself to create an atmosphere of unease, particularly in the case of the newly-wed Thornes. And, sure enough, a few days later, Harris Thorne dies from defenestration. Half an hour after that, Sarah Thorne faints upon opening the door to the damned room, apparently terrified at what she sees when she looks towards a patch on the carpet adjacent to the hearth which, once again, turns out to be wet. We can be almost certain there was nobody in the room at the time. Questioned about what she’d seen, Sarah declares she can’t remember anything.
‘The following year, meaning this year, our clairvoyant, having predicted love and death, now turns his talents to money. The lucky beneficiary will be Sarah’s brother who, following his advice, places a big bet on the horses and wins. That’s in early September. But our soothsayer has also predicted an incident, a fall perhaps, and — just as night follows day — Sarah’s brother does indeed himself faint and fall upon opening the door to the famous study, just like his sister a year earlier. The carpet is once again wet in the same spot and, needless to say, he doesn’t remember anything. And, apparently, there was no one in the room either. Sarah, who has meanwhile become engaged to Dr. Meadow, now gets another warning from Brian: “a misfortune, a truly great misfortune.” And what must inevitably happen does: she collapses in the doorway, in the same place, with the same terrified look in the direction of the carpet as in the previous year. This time, she dies. Of a heart attack. The carpet, needless to say, is damp. It’s worth noting, however, that between the time the maid sees her collapse and the time she returns with Mostyn, a good five minutes elapse. So, if there had been someone in the room, he would have had the time to escape. That’s merely an observation, for it’s hard to imagine that the mere sight of someone could kill the viewer on the spot.