August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  "What brought about a rupture between Lowell and his collaborators, the differences that ended in Lowell's murder —and whether Forsyth himself had a hand in it, or whether it was done by others at his behest —I leave to the Yard to discover. What seems certain is that sometime either before or after Lowell left the Tate on the day of his murder —I would venture to guess that it was after —he discovered that he was being followed, and concluded that his former collaborators were after the C6zanne they must have known he had in his possession. He conceived the plan to conceal the stolen canvas, and sought out the late John Porteous's home to exchange crutches. He most certainly knew Porteous; the circumstantial evidence permits of no other conclusion. He was fortunate enough to find no one at home, and he very probably remained hidden in the house for some time —the hiatus between the Tate's closing and the time of his murder suggests the likelihood — but his pursuers undoubtedly had the street under observation and waited on his reappearance. Lowell very probably did not anticipate being killed, certain that he was ultimately too valuable to his cronies. Put Forsyth through it, though he may remain silent and not betray any other members of the organization, which, I fancy, ranges to the Continent.

  "It seemed to me certain that the presence of a disabled art lover in the vicinity of the premises of another just prior to the former's murder was part of a design and not just an outrageous coincidence. Lowell undoubtedly hoped to recover the stolen Cezanne at some later time. Since he did not live to do so, his murderers, knowing that the painting must have been concealed after he had temporarily eluded them, narrowed their search to one of the houses in Lupus Street. They did not know precisely where to look —a canvas lends itself to many places of concealment — until my conjectural notice in this morning's papers informed them that an exchange of crutches had taken place. They were undoubtedly aware of the fact that Lowell had on occasion used his crutch in which to carry canvases.

  "Though, as Dr. Parker is wont to say, coincidences abound in life, I make it a rule to suspect the too fortuitous. I commend that course to you, Inspector."

  The Adventure of the Circular Room

  IT WAS A WILD, windy night in April of a year in the early twenties when the diabolic affair of the circular room was brought to the attention of Solar Pons. 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. Pons was at work on his since-published commentary, designed as a companion piece for Dr. Hans Cross'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 Praed Street.

  "Who could be seeking our assistance on such a night as this?" I asked, hoping I had correctly interpreted the slowing-up of the hoofbeats.

  Pons 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, Parker —oh, to be in England now that April's here! But she is coming up the steps, and her brougham waits."

  Our bell pealed insistently.

  Pons 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. Johnson 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. Johnson's heavy footsteps came creaking up the stairs, followed by lighter steps, which, however, came with no less assurance. Mrs. Johnson knocked on our door, tried it, and opened it apologetically.

  "A young lady to see you, Mr. Pons."

  "Show her in, by all means, Mrs. Johnson."

  Mrs. Johnson stepped back, and there walked into our quarters a clear-eyed young woman whose dark hair was moulded severely about her head under a small toque of an inexpensive fur. She paused just past the threshold, her mackintosh 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. Pons. 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 raincoat 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. Pons, 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. Pons, I have been out of work for some time, and quite by accident I chanced upon an advertisement in the Telegraph a fortnight ago. I have it here." She took it from a little bag she carried in her pocket, and handed it to Pons, 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."

  Pons 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 modern, set on the bank of the Thames in harmonious surroundings, and occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Wellman Davies, who had in their care Mr. Davies's 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 live 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, Parker?" Pons looked at me.

  "Yes, indeed. The woman has plainly come to accept it as part of her existence."

  "Pray go on, Miss Manahan. I fancy you have something more to tell 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 aft
er 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, labouring 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. Pons, 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. Pons, yet I know there is something wrong there."

  She was still, expecting Pons's questions. Pons sat touching the lobe of one ear with his long, bony fingers 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. Pons."

  "And afterward?"

  "She had those attacks."

  "According to your narrative, however, she also had such outbreaks on mornings which did not follow visits by her sister-in-law."

  "Yes, Mr. Pons."

  "Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Davies offered any explanation of these seizures?"

  "No, Mr. Pons. 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."

  Pons flashed a glance at me.

  "Yes, that is right. Those years are very difficult, and any untoward shock may bring about disastrous mental breakdowns."

  Pons 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 her. Once or twice she has evinced a desire to play chess, but she always tires and is unable to finish a game."

  "How does she strike you as a chess-player?"

  Miss Manahan was somewhat startled by the abruptness of Pons's question. "She is not a good player."

  "I fancy that is in part due to her mental instability, wouldn't you say so, Parker?"

  I agreed.

  Pons'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 labour under the extraordinary delusion that her room and bed, as well as her own person, are at the mercy of malefic forces?"

  "No, Mr. Pons, I have been unable to do so. My knowledge of mental cases is limited."

  "What would you say of this, Parker?" asked Pons.

  "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. Pons."

  "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 refer."

  "There was no previous record of its occurrence."

  "Ha!" exclaimed Pons, 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. Pons."

  "Yes, yes —but you yourself have grave doubts, is it not so?"

  "Yes, it is. But, Mr. Pons, 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. Pons, 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. Pons, 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. Pons, 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 Euston."

  "Very well. We shall be at the house at approximately that hour, or as soon thereafter as possible."

  Miss Manahan rose. "Thank you, Mr. Pons."

  I brought her raincoat, helped her into it, and showed her to the door.

  Pons was sitting in an attitude of deep contemplation when I returned.

  "What did you think of the young lady, Parker?"

  "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."

  Pons 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 no
t seen the patient, Pons."

  "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."

  Pons 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, Parker? 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, Parker. 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!"

  The house in Richmond was indeed an attractive one, viewed as we saw it in the early twilight of the following evening. It was a building of one storey, low and rambling, with a quaint round corner crowned by a colourful turret; clearly it had been built by someone of imagination with a good sense of harmony, for even its colour scheme in white and blue was pleasing to the eye. It was set, moreover, on a gentle slope toward the Thames, in spacious grounds which had been landscaped, and the summer- or tea-house Miss Manahan had described was placed in the midst of a scant grove halfway between the house and the river.