The strange countess
hearing was a hopeless impossibility.
Soon after daybreak Mrs. Rooks took her into the kitchen, and, passing
the room which held the second prisoner, Lois saw that there was a key
in that door. If the conditions were the same in the other prison room
it was as impossible for the unknown woman to escape. Who was she, she
wondered? Some poor creature, perhaps, who had been entrusted by her
friends to the tender mercy of Dr. Tappatt. Her heart ached for the
woman, and in her pity she forgot her own danger and discomfort.
Throughout the long and weary day that followed she saw no sign of any
human being. The wood was situate on a private estate, and the
overgrown condition of the path had told her that it was not
frequented even by those who had authority to cross the land. From the
windows she could see only the trunks of beeches and the green tracery
of leaves. The oppressive loneliness told even upon the
uncommunicative Mrs. Rooks, who must have been unused to a solitary
life, for that afternoon she came into the room where Lois was
sitting. Lois had opportunity for studying her. She must have been in
the region of fifty, a harsh, sour-faced woman, with a grievance
against the world and its people.
“It’s so pesky quiet that I should go off my head if I was here long,”
she complained.
Lois wondered if she could make the woman talk about other things than
the loneliness of the wood.
“Have you been in England a long time?” she asked.
Mrs. Rooks had to master her natural repugnance to gossip before she
spoke.
“Only two years. We were in India before then. I don’t know what that
has got to do with you, anyway.”
“I heard you call your dogs by Indian names. ‘Mali’ means money,
doesn’t it?”
“Don’t you ask questions, young lady,” said the woman. “You behave
yourself, and you won’t be badly treated. Act the fool, and
you’ll----” She nodded significantly. “Of course ‘Mali’ means money.
Do you _mallum_ the _bat_?”
Lois shook her head smilingly. She guessed that she was being asked if
she spoke or understood Hindustani.
“Why am I kept here--can you tell me that?”
“Because you’re not right in your head.” The reply would have driven
Lois to a fury, but she had already guessed the excuse that would be
made for her detention. “You’ve been hearing things and seeing things.
An’ people who hear things, voices an’ all that, are batty.”
Lois laughed quietly.
“You know that I am not mad, Mrs. Rooks.”
“Nobody thinks they are mad,” said Mrs. Rooks alarmingly. “That’s one
of the symptoms. The minute a person thinks she’s sane, she’s mad! The
doctor knows: he’s the cleverest man in the world.”
She glanced back at the open door. Lois heard a steady echo of
footsteps, as though somebody was pacing the floor.
“Who is in the other room?” she asked, without expecting any very
satisfactory reply.
“A woman--she’s nutty.”
“I thought I saw her the other evening,” said the girl with affected
carelessness. “Weren’t you--talking to her in the yard?”
The woman’s shrewd eyes looked her up and down.
“You saw me quieting her with the whip. She gets fresh sometimes--most
of ’em do. You will too.” Lois shuddered at this ominous prophecy.
“Bless you, they don’t mind a licking! Lunatics ain’t human beings
anyway, they’re just animals, the doctor says, and you’ve got to treat
’em like animals. That’s the only kind of treatment they understand.”
Lois tried to veil her horror and disgust and felt that she had not
wholly succeeded.
“I hope you will not treat me like an animal,” she said, and Mrs.
Rooks sniffed.
“If you behave yourself, you’ll be treated well. All nutty people have
a good time if they don’t get fresh and obstrepulous. That’s the
doctor’s way.”
It was clear to Lois that, whatever faults this woman might have,
however brutal she might be, she had accepted without any question any
diagnosis that the doctor might make. To Mrs. Rooks she was crazy,
just as was the other woman. And if she became “obstrepulous” she
would be served in the same way.
“Why did you call her a gaolbird?”
Again that shrewd, suspicious scrutiny.
“I call her lots of things,” said Mrs. Rooks indifferently. “If you
hadn’t been spying you wouldn’t have heard. Names don’t hurt anybody.
They’re better than the whip anyway--did you know that man that came
last night?”
“Mr. Dorn?”
“Yes, who is he?”
“He’s a police officer,” said Lois.
The effect of the words upon the woman was unexpected. Her sallow skin
became a pasty white.
“A detective!”
Lois nodded, and Mrs. Rooks’ face cleared.
“That’s part of your crazy ideas,” she said calmly. “He is a man the
doctor owes money to. I know, because the doctor told me. The doctor’s
been in difficulties, and he’s not the kind of man who’d have any
trouble with the police. They told a lot of lies about him in India,
but he’s a good man, the best man in the world.”
And then a thought struck Lois, and she asked:
“What is supposed to be my delusion?”
Mrs. Rooks shot a cunning glance at the girl.
“I’m surprised at you asking that, young lady! You think you’re
somebody who you’re not!”
Lois frowned.
“You mean I am under the impression that I am somebody important?”
Mrs. Rooks nodded.
“Yes--you think you’re the Countess of Moron!” she said.
Chapter Thirty-one
Lois could hardly believe her ears.
“Me?” she said in amazement. “I think I am the Countess of Moron? How
absurd! I think nothing of the kind!”
“Yes, you do,” nodded Mrs. Rooks. “The doctor said you think you’re
the countess. You tried to murder Lady Moron because you wanted the
title!”
The suggestion was so ludicrous that Lois laughed.
“How ridiculous! Such an idea has never entered my head. Lady Moron!
Why, I am a secretary--where did you hear this?”
“The doctor told me,” said the woman stubbornly. “He never tells
lies--except to people he owes money to, but that’s natural, ain’t
it?”
She went out of the room soon after and was gone for half an hour,
apparently attending to the needs of the other prisoner, for when she
came back she had something to say about discontented people.
“She’s had all she wants to eat and all she wants to drink and still
she’s not satisfied. That shows she’s mad. I never knew a crazy woman
that was satisfied.”
Lois thought it was a weakness, not entirely confined to the crazy.
“When are we leaving here?”
“I don’t know--to-night I guess,” said the other, vaguely. “Anyway,
the doctor will be here to take my place and I’ll get some sleep. I’m
nearly dead.”
Mrs. Rooks was not disposed for further conversation and as the day
progressed she grew more taciturn and irritable. When night fell, she
seemed to be spending her time either at the door of the cottage or
outside. Lois heard her walking under her window, talking to herself.
She was dozing in her chair when she heard the doctor’s voice and was
instantly wide awake.
“You take the other, I’ll bring this one along. You can leave all the
truck here. We may want to come back. I don’t think it is likely, but
we may.”
The room was in darkness when he came stamping in and flashed his lamp
upon her.
“You’ve had an uncomfortable day, but you’ve got your friend to
blame,” he said. “You’ll be able to sleep to-night in your own bed,
which is more than he will do!”
She did not answer him; the reference to Michael’s bed was too cryptic
to follow.
“Clever fellow, Dorn, eh? Brilliant detective? He’s got all his wits
about him, don’t you think?”
Still she did not answer.
“Oh yes, he’s clever,” said Tappatt. He was in a cheerful, almost a
rollicking mood, and she guessed with a sinking heart that if Michael
Dorn had come back, he had been outwitted. “Look at this.” He flashed
his lamp on an object which lay in his palm. It was a heavy-calibred
automatic pistol and she uttered an “Oh!” of surprise.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you, my girl. We don’t kill
people, we cure ’em! That is what they are here for.”
As he patted her shoulder, she shrank back from him.
“No, I wanted to show you that, because it is Dorn’s. I took it away
from him as easily as you might take money from a child. I just took
it out of his pocket and he said nothing! And he’s clever.”
“Is he dead?” she asked, and the question tickled him.
“No, he’s not dead,” he said jovially. “Nothing so dramatic. I don’t
kill people, I tell you. I cure ’em! He’s cured! The mania for
investigation has been entirely eradicated!”
Mrs. Rooks and her prisoner had, by this time, left the house. Lois
heard them swishing through the undergrowth and saw a momentary
flicker of light through the window, as the old woman sought for the
path.
“We’ll give them a start,” said the doctor, “and then we’ll follow
them. Rooks is slow; getting old, I guess.”
“Who is the other woman?”
“A patient of mine,” said the doctor casually. “She’s got some strange
delusions.”
“Why did you tell Mrs. Rooks that I was mad?”
“Because you are,” was the calm reply. “I have diagnosed you as
suffering from delusions, with suicidal tendencies. And my diagnosis
has never been questioned, my dear. And now, if you’re ready----?”
“Why do you say that I think I’m the Countess of Moron?”
“Because you do! I’ve put that in my case book and case books are
evidence!”
And he roared with laughter as if he had made a good joke.
They returned to the other cottage, and even in her weariness Lois
looked forward to the walk across the fields, for her legs were
cramped and she ached in every limb. As they mounted the last gentle
slope, the long wall of Gallows Farm came into view. The gate was open
and they passed through. Half-way across the yard he caught her arm
and they stopped. She heard the rattle of the chained dogs and
wondered if he was about to warn her again of the dangers that
attended an escape. Instead:
“There’s a nice little place down there,” he pointed into the
darkness--“a room that has been described as airy, though it is a
little below the level of the ground. I must show it to you some
day--it has an interesting story.”
“Are you going to put me there?” she asked, her courage almost failing
her.
“You? My dear, you’re the last person in the world I should put
there.” Again the hateful encouragement of his caressing hand. “Go
ahead, your own handsome apartment is ready for you.”
He took up the lamp that was waiting in the passage and showed her to
the landing. Glancing at the room opposite, she saw that a new staple
had been fixed in the doorway and guessed that the other woman was now
her neighbour. Tappatt followed the direction of her eyes.
“You’ll have company,” he said. “The old home is filling up rapidly!
All you require in any mental establishment is a start. Satisfied
clients are the best advertisements!”
“Where is Mr. Dorn?” she asked as he was leaving the room.
“He has gone back to London with a flea in his ear. That fellow won’t
bother me again in a hurry.”
“Do you ever speak the truth?”
For some reason the question infuriated him and his manner changed in
an instant.
“I’ll tell you the truth one of these days, my young lady, and it
won’t be pleasant to hear!” he stormed.
With that he slammed the door and turned the key on her.
Chapter Thirty-two
Earlier that day somebody else had asked for the truth. As a rule,
Mr. Chesney Praye had little use for that quality, but, as he
explained to the Countess over their protracted meal, he wanted to
know “exactly where he was.” He knew a lot, more than she guessed, for
he was a keen man with an instinct for hidden facts. He was also a
professional opportunist, as she was to learn.
“You’re going to marry me, Leonora, as soon as this business is
cleared up. But before we go any further, I want all your cards on the