A Case of Insanity

Chapter Ten

"Professor Bennett means to steal your work, Mr Holmes. Shoot him now!"

Having been shot once before and suffered the crippling after-effects ever since, I was in no hurry to repeat the exercise. Quite how it was to be avoided, I could not say. Sherlock Holmes is a very good shot – anyone who has witnessed his fancy for decorating walls with initials can testify to that – and, as confused as he was, I did not doubt that he was still capable of inflicting serious, possibly fatal injuries upon me. How much ire had he reserved for this unassuming professor of languages, that was the question. The answer to that would determine whether I should expect a minor wound or instantaneous death.

I was mindful too that Dr Gordon still had his own pistol trained on me. Small though it was and coward that he might have been to have another do his dirty work for him, I suspected, if pushed, he would use it. Greed can give even the most reluctant murder foul and loathsome courage.

On the whole, I fancied my chances were slightly better against Holmes's revolver and whatever remained of his sanity. That he had not shot me already was cause for hope that some remnant of his intellect was staying his hand.

"Holmes, come to your senses," I urged. "It's me, Watson. You know it is."

"Silence!" Gordon commanded. "We are not deceived by your tricks, Professor Bennett. You should not have come here. That was your mistake, sir. Mr Holmes," said he, briskly. "This man will destroy you unless you destroy him first. You must act, and quickly!"

There was nothing of the friend I had known in those wild, staring eyes. He did not recognise me; any remembrance of our former acquaintance had been obliterated. If I felt anything in those moments when I saw the skin pale to yellow around his tight knuckles, it was anger, not for what was about to happen, but at the cruelty of a disease that could steal away a man's life and leave him at the mercy of parasites like Gordon.

"For heaven's sake, do as you're told!" Gordon yelled, growing increasingly impatient at his prolonged hesitation. "Shoot the fellow and have done with it!"

The trigger inched back. A cold sweat prickled on the back of my neck. And suddenly the gun was swept round in an arc that rocked Gordon on his heels and caused him to drop his own weapon. He staggered back, clutching at the furniture for support, his eyes wide with disbelief at the horror of the thing, the mirror of my own as I stared at Holmes, in an instant returned to his former masterful state, calm, assured and utterly in control, both of himself and our situation.

"I'm afraid I cannot oblige, Dr Gordon," said Holmes in his natural voice. "Dr Watson has been of use to me in the past and to shoot him now would hardly be fair reward after years of faithful service."

Gordon gaped at him, his mouth working up and down like the dying gasps of a stranded fish. "It's not possible," he gibbered. "You were under my control."

"That is what you were supposed to believe. The hypnotic state is surprisingly easy to contrive, and you needed very little convincing. But then I dare say that you encounter very little opposition to your methods. Your patients are most unlikely to object when you profess to be helping them. Watson, do lower your hands. We have had drama enough these last few days without allowing this unpleasant scene to descend into farce. As for you, Dr Gordon, take a seat."

"No, no, you can't—"

"I said, sit down!"

Holmes's fierce expression was enough to send a shiver down the spine of the boldest man. Gordon fell obediently into the nearest chair and stared from one to the other of us with increasingly desperate eyes, his gaze finally falling on the pistol he had discarded.

"I would advise against any unwise move on your part," said Holmes, removing temptation from his reach and passing the gun to me. "I am tired and, as a result of your ministrations this last week, I hurt. It would give me the greatest pleasure to shoot you now and leave you to writhe on our hearth rug, but that privilege belongs to several others and I would not deny them their day in court."

Gordon bared his teeth in a feral snarl of contempt and gripped the arms of his chair with boiling rage. "You're mad, a danger to yourself and everyone around you," he grated. "No one will believe you. When the judge who signed the order hears of what you have done—"

"Ah, yes, Judge Fullerton." Holmes smiled with cat-like malevolence. "You do remember him? Of course you do. You treated his daughter for some slight nervous complaint several months ago. By the time you had completed your course of treatment, her mind was fatally disturbed. She took her own life, but not before handing over to you the contents of her father's safe, which included a considerable sum of money and a collection of antique coins. No one was ever caught for the theft, and Fullerton said that his daughter's last days were tormented with the conviction that she had been somehow to blame, which indeed she was, but under your influence and guidance, Dr Gordon."

"You can't prove any of this!" the fiend growled.

"But I can, for you attempted to use those self-same techniques on me. You know, Watson, he really did ask the most impertinent questions. Where I kept my valuables, did I have any money in the house, when was Mrs Hudson away – the sort of questions that do not normally come within the sphere of one's doctor. And then, when you learned that I was about to be removed from your care, you were forced to act, which is why we are here now. Ah! Before I forget, would you mind returning my emerald tie-pin, Dr Gordon? You slipped in it your pocket, I believe."

Gordon's small beady eyes held a hard gleam of spite as he took the jewel from his waistcoat pocket. He slapped it into Holmes's open palm, and then with a sudden roar of fury he leapt at him, knocking the weapon from his hand with the strength of one who sees the trap sprung around him and knows he has with very little to lose. Whether he hoped for escape or a quick death, I could not say, except that I was in no mood to accommodate his wishes in either case. I struck him on the back of his head with the butt of my pistol and Gordon went down without another word. As I stooped to check the pulse of the fallen man, Holmes darted away to his desk and soon returned brandishing a note.

"Watson, there is a lad waiting outside," said he, passing me the folded piece of paper. "Would you give him this and tell him to take it to the Diogenes Club for the attention of Judge Fullerton?"

"Am I to understand," I said, surveying this brazen display of audacity with more equanimity than I felt, "that your alleged insanity these past weeks has been nothing more than an elaborate charade?"

"I dare say there are some who would disagree with the 'alleged' part of your statement," said he with some amusement. "For my part, I am willing to accept your word in the matter. As for the second charge, well, I do not deny that a certain amount of dramatic creativity in the role was required on my part."

"Holmes, you owe me an explanation."

He made an impatient gesture with his hand. "Later, Watson, later. Let us first rid ourselves of this unspeakable wretch and then we may discuss the case at our leisure. With the price of Turkish cigarettes being what they are, it would be a travesty to waste a single one in such foul company."

As vexed as I was, I knew nothing would be gained by creating a scene. I left Holmes hauling the doctor over to the sofa while I went downstairs. I glanced out into the street to see a slim shadow detached itself from the gloom of the house opposite and came hurrying over. I recognised the boy as one of the band of urchins Holmes regularly employed from time to time to carry out tasks best suited to their particular talents. This lad clearly had a turn for speed, for no sooner I given him the message than he had scurried away into the night.

I returned upstairs to find Holmes in refulgent mood, a flush of exhilaration on his cheeks and none the worse for Gordon's impromptu attempt at strangulation. Indeed, he was improving by the minute, a condition, which, as glad I was to see it, did nothing to quell the rising sense of hectic outrage that was gnawing at my insides. In my absence, he had swept his hair back into a tidy approximation of normality, straightened his collar and was busily reassuming his ways of old as though the turmoil of the past few weeks had never happened.

"There is nothing quite like the comfort of a well-worn dressing gown to remind one of the pleasures of home," said he, emerging from his bedroom and thrusting his arms into the garment as he spoke. "It has really been most inconvenient being without it this past week."

If he thought making light of the matter in this cavalier fashion would so easily put the business to rest, he was about to be sorely mistaken. "That was your choice, I believe," I said tersely.

At my words, I fancied I saw a shadow of disappointment pass across his face. He paused by the fireplace and regarded me with an infuriating air of insouciance. "You see it like that, do you?" said he. "Watson, if I were to tell you that you were quite mistaken—"

"You would not have the bare-faced gall to do so," I interrupted him. "I have eyes to see, Holmes. Yet again, you have lied and deceived me. You have behaved in the most outrageous fashion these past few weeks, and I see that it was entirely for my benefit, in order that you might inveigle your way into Gordon's power. Deny it, if you are able."

"My dear fellow," he began in that languid manner of his, which served only to cause my blood to boil all the more.

"Whatever you have to say to me," I said, cutting him short, "I trust does not involve some half-hearted attempt to convince me that there was no other way."

Holmes at least had the decency to look abashed. "As a matter of fact, there was no other way, Watson. What Gordon said was true, there really was no proof against him. Except for Lady Bosham's suspicions, I might never have been induced to take such rash actions."

"Lady Bosham?" I echoed. "Wasn't her house burgled recently?"

"Yes, you may recall the case. The papers dubbed it the work of 'The Mayfair Phantom'."

"I thought Judge Fullerton was your client?"

"Fullerton was one link in a very long chain."

"That started with your feigning delusions and raving about the origins of the Cornish language."

"Did I say that it was feigned?"

As usual, he was being less than candid, and this questioning of my every assumption was being to grate more severely on my nerves than I cared to mention. He was entitled to feel elated for having brought Gordon's crimes to light, but it was not a victory I had any desire to share. It was time I left, before I said something that I regretted.

"Does the condemned man at least get a chance to explain?" said Holmes when I stated my intention and started for the door. "You are entitled to feel aggrieved, but you will allow that you are a little interested."

I might as well try to deny that I was not overjoyed to see him restored to health. I relented, disdained the seat I was accustomed to take on such occasions and instead settled myself at the table, a suitable distance away from him.

Holmes registered my actions with a faint smile of understanding. "Well then, the Thursday after you left for Richmond, I was approached by Lady Bosham. I use the term advisedly, for the encounter was rather more vigorous than the verb implies. I should rather say that I was accosted, and in the Reading Room of the British Museum, of all places. She is a most formidable woman, Watson, and it was a testament to her fierce Caledonian spirit that she would brook no opposition on my part, try as might to dissuade her. After the altercation, I was compelled, nay, forced to listen to her story on pain of permanent expulsion and the immediate withdrawal of my reader's ticket."

"I take it that this was in connection with her stolen jewels?"

"Quite so. I believe you tried to rouse my interest in the case."

"Unsuccessfully, as I recall."

Holmes's gaze darted briefly in my direction. "You were not as forceful as Lady Bosham, I fear."

I chose to ignore this provocative remark. "No doubt she wished you to investigate the burglary that resulted in the theft of the famed Bosham Diamond."

"No. She wished me to expose Dr Gordon as the criminal he undoubtedly was."

I stared hard at him. "She knew he had stolen her jewels?"

Holmes shook his head. "If you remember, a feature of the case was that the thief had managed to enter a secure house, open a locked safe and then leave all as he found it, including that near impossible feat of bolting a door from the inside. The police, naturally, were baffled, but not so Lady Bosham. She knew who had been responsible; indeed she had caught him in the act."

"Dr Gordon?"

"Her stepson, the Hon. Henry Devis. She was awoken by strange noises in the night – the opening of a window as it transpired – and looked out to see Devis dropping a bundle down to a man in the garden below. This other man's face she did not see, although she immediately went to confront her stepson. He was on the point of returning to his bed and seemed unable to answer her questions or indeed register her presence. 'Like a man in a trance' were her exact words. He could not be woken until the next morning, by which time Lady Bosham had discovered the theft and reported the matter to the police."

"Why did she not tell them what she had seen?"

"Because she was convinced Devis was not to blame, not willingly at least. She told me that he was horrified when he was informed of the theft, almost to the point of collapse."

"As one would expect."

"Except that in this case, Lady Bosham knew her stepson to be quite incapable of such a deed. I should explain that his father had died when he was quite young and Lady Bosham had raised the boy as her own. He was a delicate youth and with a nervous disposition that made him entirely unsuitable to lead an independent life. Lady Bosham was insistent that Devis held her in the greatest affection, and I had no reason not to believe her. She was equally insistent that the recovery of the jewels was not her primary concern, but rather that others should not fall foul of our criminally-minded doctor here as had she and her stepson."

"But why," I queried, "if she had not recognised the man outside the window, did she believe Gordon was behind the theft?"

"I have told you often," said Holmes, "that a woman's instinct should never be undervalued. Lady Bosham professed that she had found something disagreeable about Gordon from the start, but for the sake of her stepson, had overridden her concerns, even persuading the lad to undergo several sessions of deep hypnosis, which the doctor had told her might help his condition. Devis's behaviour that night convinced her that some evil impulse had been planted in his mind and it was this that had driven him to commit such a deed."

"That sounds most unlikely," I said dubiously. "From what I have read, I understand that a subject under hypnotic influence cannot perform an act that would violate their normal behaviour or principles when conscious."

"That is what I told Lady Bosham, but she would have it no other way. You do see, therefore, that proving such a charge was nigh on impossible unless one had personal experience of Gordon's methods. And, as the doctor was good enough to demonstrate before a witness, his logic in the process is impeccable. You will note that he did not tell me to shoot you, for that he knew I would never do. Professor Bennett, however, was quite another matter." Holmes chuckled. "I am afraid my expression of vehemence against that learned fellow was enough to convince Gordon that I was capable of murdering him."

"And the others, Devis and Fullerton's daughter? What did he tell them?"

"There we must venture into the realms of conjecture. If Devis would never willingly steal from his stepmother, then we must suppose that Gordon exploited his affection instead. Possibly he told the boy that Lady Bosham's jewels were threatened by thieves and that they should be removed to a place of safe-keeping. On the night of the crime, Devis is woken up – by stones thrown at window, say – a sound that causes him to undertake set pattern of actions, after which he returns to his bed and the next day has no memory of the crime."

"But Fullerton's daughter did remember. What led you to her father, by the way?"

Holmes smiled. "I do not have to tell you how complex a mechanism is the mind of man. Chief among her symptoms were manias of persecution and paranoia. Whether she convinced herself of her guilt or Gordon's technique was imperfect, we shall never know. How I knew that she too had been a victim had is easier to explain. Fullerton was an old friend of the late Lord Bosham and had continued to offer the family his support. It was his suggestion that Lady Bosham take her stepson to Lullingfield Manor Hospital – this was before his own tragedy, you understand, and he had no reason to suspect any wrong-doing on their part. I conjectured that this was not the first time Gordon had acted in this way; an afternoon browsing the newspapers at the London Library confirmed this, in terms of the mysterious circumstances of the theft. Oh, by the way, I borrowed your ticket; I hope you don't mind. I have been most remiss of late in keeping up with the news and, after the scene with Lady Bosham, I thought it wise not to tempt fate by testing the patience of the head librarian at the British Museum by returning so soon. Thus armed with certain facts, I was able to put my findings to Fullerton. He was most affected by what I had to say and pledged his help in whatever way he could."

"Convenient for you and your brother that he also happened to be a member of the Diogenes Club," I remarked.

Holmes held up his hand. "If I had an accomplice in this affair, it was Fullerton and he alone. Mycroft was quite unaware of my intentions."

I started from my seat. "Then he still doesn't know? Holmes, you must inform him without delay. He intends to have the papers publish news of your disappearance. Someone threatened to reveal the truth of your condition unless he paid them money."

He seemed untroubled by this revelation. "Yes, I know. That was my doing."

"You sent the blackmail letter?"

"No, I wrote it, Fullerton sent it for me. My dear fellow, I had no intention of spending a moment longer than was necessary in that place. I needed to force Gordon's hand, or rather I needed to spur Mycroft into action. Did he find the letter convincing?"

"He came to the conclusion it was from some common or garden criminal."

"Capital." Holmes rubbed his hands together briskly in a gesture of obvious satisfaction. "It is always agreeable to learn that one has not entirely lost that rare ability to confound one's siblings. The touch with the tobacco staining under the stamp was not wasted after all. As for enlightening him, I trust Fullerton is undertaking that task as we speak, for he knows as much about the business as you do now. Telling Mycroft of my recent exploits is not a task I relish. He will doubtless be unimpressed when he learns of my deception."

"He would not be alone in that," I said accusingly.

Holmes glanced over at me, a shade of apprehension in his eyes. "Even now, after I have explained, you still fail to understand my motives?"

"I understand, and approve. Men like Gordon are a blight on the profession. All the same, I feel entitled to question your handling of the affair. It seems to me that it is only by sheer good fortune that it has turned out for the best."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Holmes replied. "I am the most careful of planners. There has only been one incident I had not anticipated, and that was your surreptitious administrating of a sedative. I must say that that single act near caused the collapse of an otherwise sound strategy. I was quite insensible for several days."

He would have to touch upon that, I thought bitterly, the one event in this unsavoury business that had been troubling my conscience ever since. "It was at your brother's insistence," I said defensively. "Your behaviour left him no other option."

"Well, then, do not feel too badly about it," said he, offering a faint smile as a sop to my mortification. "That was my intention from the outset. I have the advantage in knowing my brother. I know how he will act in any given situation. The mere mention of insanity is enough to provoke the most extreme of reactions. He has a very poor opinion of our ancestry. You will recall our conversation at Richmond on the Sunday afternoon, I think."

"Clearly. You said that your brother would have you committed to an asylum once he learned of your condition."

"I was not wrong then. Mycroft will always take the path of least resistance. Dr Rochdale was a member of Diogenes, therefore it was natural that to him my brother would turn, as did Fullerton before him."

"And you had me inform him of your apparent deterioration."

"I fear it was necessary. Mycroft would never have roused himself to investigate my plight for himself. I needed…" He paused, and I sensed his struggle to find the right and possibly less demeaning word than the one that had come to my mind. "Forgive me for saying so, my dear fellow, but I needed a messenger. I was compelled to exaggerate my symptoms. Dr Agar would not do; it had to be the Lullingfield Manor Hospital."

As usual, now he had explained the matter, it made perfect sense. What it lacked, however, was consideration. That, and a galling sense of his faithlessness in my own abilities, conspired to leave my mind far from settled.

"You could have taken me into your confidence."

"It is well that a man knows his limitations," said he. "You have many noble traits, Watson, but in the art of dissembling I fear you fall rather short. You needed to be convinced, so that you would in turn convince my brother, who would then take the appropriate action. I did warn you that Mycroft was ruthless."

"As ruthless as you are?" I accused.

It is rare that I give Sherlock Holmes pause; rarer still are the times when I have wanted to provoke such a reaction. That he did now told me that finally found the barb to penetrate his armour against the unnecessary distraction of emotion. His eyes betrayed, albeit fleetingly, that hunted look of a dog whipped by his master, wounded and yet reproachful enough to turn my anger back upon myself and leave me smarting from the cut. Whatever my own feelings, however, I could not forget so easily. I could understand, I might even condone his actions, but forgiveness was at present beyond me.

As small as that consideration was to him, to me it mattered. It mattered that I had thought I was witnessing his very destruction and been powerless to prevent it. It mattered that I had stood by his bedside and tormented myself with the thought of indignities wrought upon such a proud individual by the march of disease. It mattered now that he had taken another into his confidence and relegated me to the role of mere messenger, as he had put. It mattered – and it rankled more than I could say.

"Watson," said he, "I must confess I thought you would be rather more pleased than you appear to be at my return to health."

This was not the reply I had expected. The effrontery of the man was intolerable and inflamed in me the worst sort of response.

"I would dispute," I said hotly, "whether it is so much of a return as a dénouement. Have you any idea where I have been today?"

"Cornwall."

"Yes, Cornwall." I did not ask him how he knew. For the moment, I was too irate to care. "The Tregennis brothers are dead."

"Yes, I am aware of that fact. I inquired as to their fate several weeks ago. A telegram works just as well as a personal visit, and is more forgiving to good shoe leather than trudging through an acre of Cornish mud."

"No doubt you wished to know the progression of the condition so that you might better perfect your 'disguise'. Well, you should not have gone to so much effort. I needed very little convincing about the state of your sanity."

"What I have done," Holmes began.

"Is unpardonable," I interjected. "When you were in that hospital—"

"That is your own fault. You were told not to visit. I remember quite clearly telling you to forget about me."

"I should not worry about that," said I with some passion. "I appear to be forgetting a good many things these days."

He stared at me, uncomprehending. Neither of us had a chance to pursue the train of thought, for on the sofa Gordon began to moan and stir into wakefulness. His face contorted into a rictus of malice when he saw Holmes and he struggled upright, only to groan and clasp his hand to his bruised head. From the street outside came the rattle of a cab, followed soon after a knock at our door.

"Dr Gordon, your timing appears to be impeccable," Holmes remarked, surveying our glaring guest with equanimity. "That, I imagine, is Judge Fullerton with the forces of law and order."

"You unspeakable devil," Gordon growled. "I shall deny everything. No one will speak against me. I know all their sordid little secrets. I shall tell all I know!"

"I would advise against that," Holmes counselled. "The courts might interpret it as the delusional ravings of a madman. Then what would become of you, Dr Gordon? I understand some of our larger public asylums are not well run. Think about it, doctor, while my friend answers the door."

In the circumstances, it seemed the logical thing to do. I obeyed, as I always did, too battered in resistance and weary of soul to do much else. Fullerton, a careworn man in his late fifties, swept past me and on up the stairs with the energy of someone half his age. Two policemen trailed in his wake and long before they reached the landing, I caught the sound of raised voices as the bereaved father finally caught up with the man who had had a hand in his daughter's tragic demise.

I had no appetite for the business and less reason to stay. I gathered up my hat and coat and turned to leave, only to find my way blocked by a formidable figure that near filled our doorway with his bulk. Never have I seen such a look of thunder as terrible as that I beheld on the face of Mycroft Holmes that day. His jaw was set as stone and our exchange of pleasantries was terse to say the least. For once I was glad that I had not been privy to Holmes's plans if only to admit as much to his brother.

We were spared the uncomfortable business of trying to make polite conversation as down the stairs came the constables with their prisoner, followed briskly by an effusive Fullerton, who managed to shake everyone's hand thrice over, repeatedly expressed his gratitude and announced that a finer day's work was never done than this. Amidst the noise and bustle, I was aware that Mycroft Holmes's attention was focused not on the crowd around us, but on where Holmes stood on the half-landing, regarding the scene with an expression of weary amusement that rapidly faded when he saw the glowering face of his brother in the hall below. The atmosphere was tense to say the least, but it was not until we three were alone that the silence was finally broken.

"Mycroft," said Holmes with false affability. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

Occasionally, as an outsider often discovers when finding himself in the middle of a family quarrel, I have the impression that I cease to exist. This was one of those moments. Certainly I had to step quickly out of the way as Mycroft Holmes advanced towards the stairs under the ever watchful and, I dare say, wary eye of his sibling.

"When Fullerton told me what you had done," said he brusquely, "I had hoped he was mistaken. I had hoped that either you or he had been deceived by this apparent recovery. In short, brother, to find you in full possession of your wits grieves me more than I can say."

The corners of Holmes's mouth lifted into a grim smile. "As rare as your visits are, Mycroft, they always serve to assure me of your continuing good wishes for my well-being."

"Don't be facetious, Sherlock. This time, you have gone too far. Twice in as many weeks have I been forced to interrupt my routine to attend to your affairs, to say nothing of the distress and inconvenience you have caused to others. And yet, here you stand, seemingly unrepentant."

"I did what had to be done."

"The devil you did! And with scant regard for anyone else. No, Sherlock, this is not to be dismissed so lightly. Dr Watson," said he, turning to me, "you are still residing in Richmond, I trust? Then, please, take my cab. It is at your disposal. The hour is late and it would be unconscionable to detain you any longer when you have already expended time enough on a cause that has been not only fruitless, but thankless. Goodnight to you, sir."

This was evidently my invitation to leave. Mycroft Holmes, like his brother, commanded authority both in stature and speech, and it would have been a foolish man who thought to ignore or contradict him. Discretion being the better part of valour, I took his suggestion, gathered up my things and hastened into the waiting cab.

Concluded in the Epilogue!