But suppose there wasn't any pressure; suppose there was nothing to remove; suppose.... And in my mind I saw the plot with the little wooden crosses; in my mind I heard the express for somewhere booming sullenly overhead. And I wondered ... shuddered.

Hugh met us at the door; dear old Hugh, looking as well as he ever did.

"Splendid, Ginger, old man! So glad you managed the leave all right."

"Not a hitch, Hugh. You're looking very fit."

"I am. Fit as a flea. You ask Elsie what she thinks."

His wife smiled. "You're just wonderful, old boy, except for your sleeplessness at night. I want him to see Sir William Cremer, Ginger, but he doesn't think it worth while."

"I don't," said Hugh shortly. "d.a.m.n that old sawbones."

In another man the remark would have pa.s.sed unnoticed; but the chauffeur was there, and a maid, and his wife--and the expression was quite foreign to Hugh.

But I am bound to say that except for that one trifling thing I noticed absolutely nothing peculiar about him all the evening. At dinner he was perfectly normal; quite charming--his own brilliant self. When he was in the mood, I have seldom heard his equal as a conversationalist, and that night he was at the top of his form. I almost managed to persuade myself that my fears were groundless....

"I want to have a buck with Ginger, dear," he said to his wife after dinner was over. "A talk over the smells and joys of Flanders."

"But I should like to hear," she answered. "It's so hard to get you men to talk."

"I don't think you would like to hear, my dear." His tone was quite normal, but there was a strange note of insistence in it. "It's shop, and will bore you dreadfully." He still stood by the door waiting for her to pa.s.s through. After a moment's hesitation she went, and Hugh closed the door after her. What suggested the a.n.a.logy to my mind I cannot say, but the way in which he performed the simple act of closing the door seemed to be the opening rite of some ceremony. Thus could I picture a morphomaniac shutting himself in from prying gaze, before abandoning himself to his vice; the drunkard, at last alone, returning gloatingly to his bottle. Perhaps my perceptions were quickened, but it seemed to me that Hugh came back to me as if I were his colleague in some guilty secret--as if his wife were alien to his thoughts, and now that she was gone, we could talk.... His first words proved I was right.

"Now we can talk, Ginger," he remarked. "These women don't understand."

He pushed the port towards me.

"Understand what?" I was watching him closely.

"Life, my boy, _the_ life. The life of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Gad! it was a great day that, Ginger." His eyes were fixed on me, and for the first time I noticed the red in them, and a peculiar twitch in the lids.

"Did you find the Blue Bird?" I asked quietly.

"Find it?" He laughed--and it was not a pleasant laugh. "I used to think it lay in books, in art, in music." Again he gave way to a fit of devilish mirth. "What d.a.m.ned fools we are, old man, what d.a.m.ned fools.

But you mustn't tell her." He leaned over the table and spoke confidentially. "She'd never understand; that's why I got rid of her."

He lifted his gla.s.s to the light, looking at it as a connoisseur looks at a rare vintage, while all the time a strange smile--a cruel smile--hovered round his lips. "Music--art," his voice was full of scorn. "Only we know better. Did I ever tell you about that grip I learned in Sumatra--the Death Grip?"

He suddenly fired the question at me, and for a moment I did not answer. All my fears were rushing back into my mind with renewed strength; it was not so much the question as the tone--and the eyes of the speaker.

"No, never." I lit a cigarette with elaborate care.

"Ah! Someday I must show you. You take a man's throat in your right hand, and you put your left behind his neck--like that." His hands were curved in front of him--curved as if a man's throat was in them. "Then you press and press with the two thumbs--like that; with the right thumb on a certain muscle in the neck, and the left on an artery under the ear; and you go on pressing, until--until there's no need to press any longer. It's wonderful." I can't hope to give any idea of the dreadful gloating tone in his voice.

"I got a Prussian officer like that, that day," he went on after a moment. "I saw his dirty grey face close to mine, and I got my hands on his throat. I'd forgotten the exact position for the grip, and then suddenly I remembered it. I squeezed and squeezed--and, Ginger, the grip was right. I squeezed his life out in ten seconds." His voice rose to a shout.

"Steady, Hugh," I cried. "You'll be frightening Elsie."

"Quite right," he answered; "that would never do. I haven't told her that little incident--she wouldn't understand. But I'm going to show her the grip one of these days. As a soldier's wife, I think it's a thing she ought to know."

He relapsed into silence, apparently quite calm, though his eyelids still twitched, while I watched him covertly from time to time. In my mind now there was no shadow of doubt that the doctor's fears were justified; I knew that Hugh Latimer was insane. That his loss of mental balance was periodical and not permanent was not the point; layman though I was, I could realise the danger to everyone in the house. At the moment the tragedy of the case hardly struck me; I could only think of the look on his face, the gloating, watching look--and Elsie and the boy....

At half-past nine he went to bed, and I had a few words with his wife.

"Lock your door to-night," I said insistently, "as you value everything, lock your door. I am going to see Cremer to-morrow."

"What's he been saying?" she asked, and her lips were white. "I heard him shouting once."

"Enough to make me tell you to lock your door," I said as lightly as I could. "Elsie, you've got to be brave; something has gone wrong with poor old Hugh for the time, and until he's put right again, there are moments when he's not responsible for his actions. Don't be uneasy; I shall be on hand to-night."

"I shan't be uneasy" she answered, and then she turned away, and I saw her shoulders shaking. "My Hugh--my poor old man." I caught the whispered words, and she was gone.

I suppose it was about two that I woke with a start. I had meant to keep awake the whole night, and with that idea I had not undressed, but, sitting in a chair before the fire, had tried to keep myself awake with a book. But the journey from France had made me sleepy, and the book had slipped to the floor, as has been known to happen before. The light was still on, though the fire had burned low; and I was cramped and stiff.

For a moment I sat listening intently--every faculty awake; and then I heard a door gently close, and a step in the pa.s.sage. I switched off the light and listened.

Instinctively, I knew the crisis had come, and with the need for action I became perfectly cool. Soft footsteps, like a man walking in his socks, came distinctly through the door which I had left ajar--once a board creaked. And after that sharp ominous crack there was silence for a s.p.a.ce; the nocturnal walker was cautious, cautious with the devilish cunning of the madman.

It seemed to me an eternity as I listened--straining to hear in the silent house--then once again there came the soft pad-pad of stockinged feet; nearer and nearer till they halted outside my door. I could hear the heavy breathing of someone outside, and then stealthily my door was pushed open. In the dim light which filtered in from the pa.s.sage Hugh's figure was framed in the doorway. With many pauses and very cautious steps he moved to the bed, while I pressed against the wall watching him.

His hands wandered over the pillows, and then he muttered to himself.

"Old Ginger--I suppose he hasn't come to bed yet. And I wanted to show him that little grip--that little death-grip." He chuckled horribly.

"Never mind--Elsie, dear little Elsie; I will show her first. Though she won't understand so well--only Ginger would really understand."

He moved to the door, and once again the slow padding of his feet sounded in the pa.s.sage; while he still muttered, though I could not hear what he said. Then he came to his wife's door and cautiously turned the handle....

What happened then happened quickly. He realised quickly that it was locked, and this seemed to infuriate him. He gave an inarticulate shout, and rattled the door violently; then he drew back to the other side of the pa.s.sage and prepared to charge it. And at that moment we closed.

I had followed him out of my room, and, knowing myself to be far stronger than him, I threw myself on him without a thought I hadn't reckoned on the strength of a madman, and for two minutes he threw me about as if I were a child. We struggled and fought, while frightened maids wrung their hands--and a white-faced woman watched with tearless eyes. And at last I won; when his temporary strength gave out, he was as weak as a child. Poor old Hugh! Poor old chap!...

Sir William Cremer came down the next day, and to him I told everything.

He made all the necessary wretched arrangements, and the dear fellow was taken away--seemingly quite sane--and telling Elsie he'd be back soon.

"They say I need a change, old dear, and this old tyrant says I've been restless at night." He had his hand on Sir William's shoulder as he spoke, while the car was waiting at the door.

"Jove! little girl--you do look a bit washed out Have I been worrying you?"

"Of course not, old man." Her voice was perfectly steady.

"There you are, Sir William." He turned triumphantly to the doctor.

"Still perhaps you're right. Where's the young rascal? Give me a kiss, you scamp--and look after your mother while I'm away. I'll be back soon." He went down the steps and into the car.

"And very likely he will, Mrs. Latimer. Keep your spirits up and never despair." Sir William patted her shoulder paternally, but over her bent head I saw his eyes.

"G.o.d knows," he said reverently to me as he followed Hugh. "The brain is such a wonderful thing; just a tiny speck and a genius becomes a madman.

G.o.d knows."