The Night of the Asylum Breakers
Chapter 1
I wasn't ill; it was only my fun
(Mr Punch)
It was afternoon when James West left his hotel room, grinning from ear to ear. Ignoring the greeting from the desk clerk, in the lobby, he walked straight into the middle of the street, where he removed his hat and jacket and tossed them onto the ground. He looked at the surrounding buildings and picked out the general store. Running toward it, he grabbed the underside of the overhanging porch and swung himself neatly up onto the hitching post. There he performed a parody of a tight-rope walk, pirouetting at the end and jumping to the ground. He now had the attention of the public, most of them leaping back in panic and several women screaming, as he proceeded to run at them, shouting.
West laughed hysterically and executed a series of back flips down the middle of the street. Now standing several yards from the nearest bystanders, West drew his gun from its holster and fired at the lights, presently unlit, on the roof of the theatre, blasting each one from its mounting. When he had finished, he fell face first into the dirt and was motionless except for a certain amount of twitching.
"That young man must be drunk," was the observation of one man in the crowd.
"Then how come his aim was so straight?" asked another.
"He's stark raving mad," was the conclusion of yet another, which seemed to form a consensus among the onlookers.
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," said a voice of authority. A bespectacled man, in a top hat, carrying a black bag, broke through the crowd and approached the prone man. "I'm Doctor Bertram Ellington and I'm well acquainted with this young man," he said. "He has a history of doing this sort of thing."
On hearing his voice, West rose from the ground and, gun still in hand, waved his arms at the doctor, yelling at the top of his voice.
Despite the danger, Doctor Ellington bravely drew close to West and grabbed his flailing arms. "Mr West, you know very well you have been forbidden to handle a gun," he said, removing the weapon from West's grasp.
The doctor gave a signal with his hand and a carriage drew up beside them. The fight had gone out of West by this time and he surrendered himself to the doctor's authority, allowing himself to be placed in the vehicle. The carriage drove away from town, leaving behind a crowd of bemused and bewildered spectators.
The two men in the carriage turned to each other. "Well, how did I do, Artie?"
"To anyone, who doesn't know you, you appeared quite mad, Jim."
"I think there's an insult in there somewhere."
"I shouldn't think if I were you, too taxing on the old noggin. We have to get you to the lunatic asylum. I've instructed the driver where to go. Oh, by the way, I retrieved your hat and jacket. I gave instructions for them to be put with the rest of your luggage at the hotel. It'll be shipped back to the Wanderer, along with your horse. You won't need any of it where you're going."
"Thanks for that, Artie, the sooner I'm admitted, the quicker we can get to the bottom of the mystery."
The mystery to which West referred was one which had caught the attention of the President of the United States himself. Over the last month, three senators had displayed symptoms of insanity. They had been placed, by their families, in private asylums, in different towns. But that wasn't the end of the story. Within a few days, each of them had disappeared from the asylum, with no clue as to where they had gone and who had taken them.
The day before, yet another senator had been afflicted and had been admitted to a private mental asylum just outside of Denver. West and Gordon had been tasked with keeping an eye on him without anyone knowing they were doing so and, if he was removed, they were to follow the kidnappers.
As Gordon would make a better job of playing the part of the doctor, it had fallen to West's lot to be the one admitted to the asylum as a patient. They had decided that a public display of insanity would be best as this would be more convincing to anyone taking an interest in who was admitted to the hospital. Besides that, Gordon suspected that West had enjoyed his little performance.
Gordon had already contacted the asylum and told them to expect a new patient, James West, rich playboy and bon viveur. Gordon was to play the trusted family physician so that he could ensure that West was free to move about the hospital and not be bothered too much by the staff.
On arrival at the asylum, the carriage drew up to the main entrance and instantly two orderlies, in white, appeared and, taking West by the arms, removed him from the vehicle and marched him into the building. Gordon was waylaid by a member of the medical staff who wished to discuss West's medical background and symptoms. There was also the task of completing paperwork connected with his admittance.
"I want to make it clear from the outset that Mr West is to be under my care for the entire time he is here," Gordon said, in a perfect, clipped English accent. "Now I'd like to see him and make sure he's comfortable."
An orderly was summoned to show Gordon the way. As they walked through the building Gordon saw a well-appointed dining room and beautifully decorated accommodations. Each patient had their own, well-furnished room, in contrast to the long open wards that Gordon knew existed in state facilities up and down the country. It was obviously a place for the wealthy, more like a fancy hotel than a hospital. Gordon reckoned that most of the patients here could probably have lived just as easily at home, with their families. It amazed him to think that this far into the nineteenth century people with mental problems could still be seen as threats or embarrassments to be hidden away. Eventually they passed through the main building and into the secure annexe. Heavy, metal doors had to be locked and unlocked and the difference to the building he had just passed through was stark. Here there were no carpets, the floor was painted concrete, and the walls were white-washed. Patients still had their own rooms but the doors were of metal, with bars in, and the peace was rent by the groans and whimpers of mental suffering. Eventually, they arrived at the room where West was being kept.
The orderly unlocked the door and then left. Once inside the room, Gordon was shocked to find his friend restrained on an iron chair by manacles round his arms, legs and neck. He was dressed in a pair of loose-fitting pyjamas and had an indignant look on his face. As he took in his friend's expression and the thoroughly ruffled hair, Gordon had to jam his lips together in order to stop himself from grinning. West reminded him of a very angry kitten.
"You can wipe that smirk off your face," West said, "and get me out of this."
"I'm guessing this was the result of your having fought with the orderlies," Gordon said. "Tut! Tut!"
"Artemus!" West warned.
Actually, Gordon was disgusted that mental patients should be treated this way but it was not unusual and there wasn't much alternative when dealing with violent inmates, a mixture of the deranged, the demented, and the deficient.
"At least they didn't put you in an iron utica crib," he said. "Don't worry, Jim, I'll fetch some orderlies and sort this out."
There were four orderlies on duty and Gordon commandeered two of them to release his partner.
"I won't have my patient kept under these barbaric conditions," he told them. "I work on the European principle; no restraints unless absolutely necessary, not just to make the orderlies' job easier for them. Release him immediately!" Gordon knew he was being hard on them but he needed to establish that he was in charge.
The orderlies weren't happy about it. "It took four of us to get him undressed and into that thing," one of them complained.
Gordon didn't doubt it. "Don't worry," he assured them, "I'll make it easier for you." So saying, he opened his black bag and removed a hypodermic needle and a small phial. Having filled the one from the other, he made sure there were no air bubbles in the liquid and then approached his patient.
West took the hint and struggled to move his arm out of the way. Gordon grabbed it firmly and injected him. At first West continued to struggle but this slowed after a few seconds and, eventually, he was lolling quietly in the chair, his mouth gaping. Gordon motioned the orderlies forward and they set themselves to releasing West. They did so warily, not quite believing that he wouldn't suddenly leap up and start fighting with them.
Once West was lying on the bed, Gordon dismissed the orderlies and closed the door behind them. He heard it being locked; obviously they were taking no chances, and moved forward to lean over his friend.
"What was in the injection?" West asked.
"Sterile water," was the reply. "You put on a great performance by the way; I really thought you were going to start drooling."
"It might come to that yet."
"Well let's hope our villains make their move tonight then," Gordon said. "In the meantime, I think you had better stash these under the mattress."
He delved into his black bag and produced a knife, a small gun, a lock-pick and a small pouch filled with powder, which had a string attached that could be tied around the waist.
"No explosives?" West queried.
"It would make too much noise. We don't want any interference from the staff.
West nodded. "Do you know what they did with my clothes?" he asked. "I'd rather not wander too far in these pyjama bottoms. Despite the buttons on them, I have this feeling that they're going to fall down.
"Sorry, Jim, can't help you there but let's have a look at those buttons." Gordon lifted West's pyjama top, which was in one piece and had no fastenings, to take a look at the buttons. "If you promise not to use it except in an emergency, I could replace one of these with an exploding version."
"Do it!" West said.
Always prepared, Gordon produced a button, from his bag, and a needle and weak thread. He removed one of the buttons and expertly sewed the replacement onto the material. It would act as a normal button but would be easy to remove with a sharp tug.
Gordon replaced the needle and thread and closed his black bag. "Well, James, my boy, looks like my work here is done. I'll tell the orderlies that the injection I gave you lasts for twenty-four hours. That way, they won't be tempted to restrain you again. Remember not to fight with them when they bring you your dinner and settle you for the night."
"I'll remember."
"Good-bye then." Gordon knocked on the door and an orderly opened it, let him out, and locked it behind him.
Once his friend was gone, West was left alone to ponder his situation. He wasn't looking forward to any ministrations from the staff as he guessed they would be pretty humiliating. He decided to take Artie's advice; he would simply lie back and think of his country.
There was no lighting in the patients' rooms in the secure annexe so, as the sun went down, West found he was in darkness, apart from the light from the corridor which came through the bars on the door.
Dinner was a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of water. Obviously they thought that feeding meat to the more deranged inmates would excite them too much, so he could expect only the blandest of food. The orderlies left him to eat it on his own but he kept up the pretence that he was under the influence of a sedative, eating slowly and clumsily. He knew he had to stay in character. One of the orderlies must have been keeping an eye on him because, as soon as he had finished, they returned.
"Come on, we're taking you to the bathroom," one of them announced.
"Why are you telling him? He don't understand what's going on," the other one said.
"How do you know? Don't cost nothing to treat them like humans," was the reply, for which West was grateful.
Pulling him off the bed, the two men half walked, half dragged West out of his room and into the bathroom opposite. He had agreed not to fight with the staff but Artie had said nothing about actually cooperating.
Even though he was being watched, West took the opportunity to relieve himself, after which he found himself stripped of his pyjamas and forced into a hot bath. He didn't object to having a bath, in fact he welcomed the opportunity to be clean. However he preferred to bathe alone and was not happy to find that he was soaped and scrubbed by two strangers, just about managing to keep their hands away from his more intimate areas.
Thankfully, they'd dressed him in the same pyjamas afterwards so he retained the explosive button if not his dignity. 'The things I do for Uncle Sam,' he thought.
They had combed his hair for him and, even without a mirror, he could tell it was not to his liking. He ran his hands through it, partly restyling it and partly mussing it, in the process, so that it now had a tousled appearance.
When he heard the night-shift orderlies taking over, West decided it was time to do a little exploring. He used the lock-pick to open the door and tip-toed, barefoot, into the corridor. His investigations took him past three more secure rooms; the senator wasn't in any of them. The corridor then branched out to the right and ended in a secure side entrance. Peering through a window in the door, he saw a courtyard beyond, with high walls and a gate wide enough to bring a carriage through. West retraced his steps and turned right. The first door on his left turned out to be the senator's. He tried the door; it was locked and the senator was sleeping soundly. West spotted an alcove a few feet away and hid from view, waiting.
West's feet were becoming unbearably cold by the time he heard the noise, issuing from the corridor leading to the side door. Someone was using an acetylene torch on the outer door and, as he listened, he heard the door open and muffled footsteps headed in his direction. Two men appeared and they used the torch to deal quickly with the door lock on the senator's room. 'This is it', thought West. There was the sound of a struggle, then silence, and the two men reappeared, one of them with the senator over his shoulder. They were both dressed in orderlies' uniforms but not the same as the ones worn at the asylum. West followed them at a distance and watched them put the unconscious man into a carriage. As it turned toward the open gate, West jumped onto the back and clung on. As he did so, the gun he had tucked into the waist of his pyjama bottoms fell out onto the ground. He looked at it, frustrated, as the carriage drove away, and he was left with just the knife he had clasped between his teeth. Once he was comfortable, he used the knife to pierce a small hole in the bag around his waist, hoping that Artie would be close behind him.
Artemus Gordon had seen the carriage arrive and, knowing his partner's plan, had followed at a safe distance, on horse-back, searching out the trail of powder that was slowly trickling from the bag West wore around his waist. The journey lasted almost an hour and ended when Gordon found himself outside a pair of chained-up gates, leading onto a long driveway. Now he knew where his partner was, he could rest until daylight. He said a short prayer for West's safety and settled down for the night among some nearby bushes.
(Sorry this chapter is a bit short. The following chapters may be a while as I have a talk to write on the Chaldeans and the new Castle Box Set has just arrived)