A Case of Insanity

Chapter Three

I returned in exile to my bed, but it was not to sleep. After such a revelation, rest was impossible.

As was his custom, Holmes had told me what he thought I needed to know, which in this instance fell woefully short of a complete picture of his condition. I had heard enough to stir my concern and leave me with many questions, none of which Holmes was prepared to answer. Long exposure to his aloofness and unnecessary secrecy had made me immune to its effects on a personal level, but speaking professionally it was frustrating.

As Holmes was fond of saying, theorising before the acquisition of sufficient data is a capital mistake. Here I had a patient who had provided me with the barest of details and then left me scrabbling in the dark. Rather than confide the depth of his problem, I fancy he would have preferred to sit in his chair and quietly go mad – a possibility which I had yet to discount.

What I did know, however, was that his calm assertion that his condition was likely to vanish in its own time was likely misjudged. Three months after the event, he should not still have been plagued by nightmares, the lingering legacy of that accursed poison. That they were as potent as they had ever been was worrying. Were his nightly torments coming to an end, I should have expected reports of the beginning of an improvement.

With the sky lightening above the roofs of the houses above, I asked myself the pivotal question. Why, with our shared experience and equal exposure, was Holmes still affected long while I was not?

He had lit the lamp and perhaps had inadvertently inhaled the first concentrated gases. I had had my back to the window, with the breath of the freshening wind to clear my head when the toxic fumes began to take hold. I had pulled him out – and the memory of his horror-stricken face was one which shall stay with me forever.

The other factor which I could not discount was his condition at the time. He had been low in spirits and health, and any benefits he may have derived from our short holiday had not had long enough to make a difference before we were thrown headlong into the Tregennis case. The introduction of such a poison into a mind already weakened was likely to be more devastating than to one in relative health, as I had been. Add to that the endless nights without sleep, and I began to see why he was held still under the spell of the Devil's-foot root.

At the time, Holmes had in jest described our actions as insanity; how ironic then that the folly of our actions might yet result in that very state.

The situation could not continue. Unless some intervention took place and soon, his condition would not resolve itself happily. That sinister impression that had left its mark upon my mind the day I had witnessed the removal of the Tregennis brothers with their wild glazed eyes and contorted faces to the Helston asylum now hardened into a very real fear that I would live to see the day when that same fate awaited my friend. It drove me up from my bed and downstairs, where I found Holmes nodding over a Cornish dictionary.

I gently shook him back to his senses. He awoke with a start and stared wide-eyed at me as though I was the very Devil incarnate. Then, with a sigh of relief, his features relaxed into a weary smile and he patted the hand I had laid on his shoulder.

"Watson, it's you," said he. "What are you doing up? I thought you had gone back to bed."

"I could not sleep," I admitted. "Holmes, we must talk."

He shook his head. "We have nothing to talk about, my dear fellow. Let the matter lie."

"I must insist. We must get you help, and now while there is still time."

His expression hardened. He flung the book away and sprang from his chair to round on me. "I thought we had agreed that I am the best judge of my condition," said he fiercely. "You are meddling in matters that do not concern you, Doctor."

Holmes, when his temper is roused, presents a formidable opponent, one liable to intimidate a lesser man by the force of his demeanour alone. It is not often that I rise to the challenge, but on occasion I can prove myself his equal, as I did now. What was at stake was too important to let him have his way.

"I cannot stand idly by and watch while you…" I could not bring myself to say it. "Suffer," I finished, although the word was quite inadequate. "I would not see a dog endure such torments as you are now."

"You dissemble poorly as usual," said he. "What you meant to say was 'go mad'."

"Yes, to put it bluntly. Speaking as your doctor—"

"Ah, I thought I recognised that superior tone."

"And your friend, I am deeply concerned."

"And I am deeply irritated that you persist," he retorted.

"As I am, that you blatantly refuse to acknowledge the seriousness of your condition," I replied hotly. "For how much longer do you think this nonsensical talk of Phoenician tin traders and mutated diphthongs will hold the inevitable at bay?"

"Nonsensical?" he echoed.

There is a good reason why I do not let my temper get the better of me. It is because I lose all sense of self-regulation and touch on subjects in anger which would better be left unsaid. In this respect, Holmes makes for an uncomfortable sparring partner, for he is wont to take offence where other men would counter with a comment on my own shortcomings. Now, as ever, I regretted my hasty words. Having come this far, however, I could not so easily take them back.

"Is that your opinion?" he asked, too calmly for my liking.

"Yes," I admitted. "I had hoped you would see it for yourself long before now."

"I see," said he coldly. "I had anticipated opposition to my thesis, but not from this quarter. I understand now – yes, it explains all those snide remarks of yours. Did you intend to undermine my research? You have clearly sided with those who trump the Brythonic theory over all the evidence to the contrary and have systematically attempted to sabotage my work!"

"Holmes, if you believe that, then your judgement is worse affected than I feared. Do you really imagine that the origin of a dead language matters one jot to me compared with the damage you are doing to your health?"

I searched his expression for an answer, and found there only simmering resentment. "Strangely enough, Doctor, your attitude does not surprise me. I am tempted to remind you of Johnson's repost to Boswell: 'you have but two topics, yourself and me. I am sick of both'. Never was a truer word spoken or more apt!"

In the long silence that followed, I became aware that we were not alone. In the doorway, in dressing gown and shawl was Mrs Hudson, the look of embarrassment on her face quite the equal of mine. Holmes bowed his head and turned away to gaze out of the window, leaving me to mollify the awkward situation.

"You'll forgive me for interrupting, sirs," said the good lady. "But I thought you should know that I've given up trying to sleep now."

"I'm sorry we disturbed you, Mrs Hudson," I apologised. "We were…" I glanced across at Holmes, who still had his back to me. "Discussing a few matters, that's all."

"Yes, I heard you. Well, now I'm up, I was going to put the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea, sir?"

"That would be most welcome."

"I'll make it sweet," said she, casting a doubtful glance in my silent companion's direction. "Nothing like a nice cup of tea for settling the nerves after an upset. I won't be long."

She departed, closing the door behind her. From the slump of Holmes's shoulders and the general air of despondency that his posture suggested, I thought it best to let him speak in his own time. Gradually, and with the deepest sigh that is possible for a human being to produce, he straightened and forced himself to speak.

"When a man," he began slowly, "finds himself making more apologies than sensible conversation, he must face the inevitable truth that he has fallen far from that behaviour expected by decent society and…" He paused for emphasis. "And that which is owed to a friend."

"I am not without fault in the matter," I admitted. "If I am guilty of single-mindedness, then it springs only from concern for a person I have come to know and admire."

He turned but would not meet my eye. "Very well, Watson, you shall have your way. I am in your hands. What is to be my penance?"

"Our first call should be to Dr Agar."

"He is not a specialist in the area of exotic poisons."

"No, but his particular province is that of the mind, Holmes, and that is where your problem lies. If he cannot help, then he may be able to suggest someone who can. We shall see him on Monday."

"I very much doubt it," said he. "The good doctor is most likely to have left Monday clear in his appointment book. Apart from a few poor souls in mental anguish, the capital is in festive mood. Have you forgotten that Tuesday has been set aside for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee?"

It had slipped my mind, although quite how, when the papers had been full of nothing else for the past few weeks, was probably due to my having concerns closer to home. On Tuesday, 22nd June, was to be held a public celebration of the Queen's sixty years upon the throne. The bunting was already out, buildings had been cleaned and the roads scrubbed. There was to be parade through the streets, on a route that would take the Queen's open carriage through the highest and lowest areas of the capital, culminating in a Service of Thanksgiving at St Paul's Cathedral. With people from home and abroad converging on London's hotels and boarding houses, the crowds were expected to be in their thousands.

With the city in uproar, it did not surprise me at all that Dr Agar was likely to be unavailable until later in the week when the disruption to normal practice had died down. It was a blow, but having waited this long, a few more days did not seem to me to make much difference.

"Wednesday then," I said. "In the meantime, you shall stay with me in Richmond."

Holmes grimaced.

"I must insist."

"And I see that I must comply," said he ruefully.

Despite his reluctance, I fancy that the quaint riverside town did not entirely fail to impress. By afternoon, we were wandering along the dappled towpath, watching the ebb and flow of the Thames as it lapped at the embankment. The change of scenery had a most beneficial effect on him, going some way to resurrecting the spark of that keen power of mental detachment which had served him so well in the past.

For three hours we walked, up through Kingston and past the red-brick pile of Hampton Court Palace. Holmes discoursed at length on our return journey about the Tudor monarchs and their dynastic ambitions which lay at the heart of their complex marital affairs, ending with the comment that the history of these isles might have looked very different if King Henry VIII's first wife had borne him a son.

"But he did have a male heir," I reminded him.

"Only after he had divorced his first wife and beheaded his second, acquiring two daughters in the process," my companion explained. "By which time the religious and political implications were already far advanced."

"Well, well," I remarked, "one lives and learns."

"And then one dies and everything becomes an irrelevance," Holmes countered, drawing deeply on his cigarette.

"I cannot agree with you there," I had countered, concerned by the sudden morbid turn his thoughts had taken. "If you take that line, then what is the point of doing anything?"

"It passes the time."

"My dear friend—"

"Have you ever thought," said he suddenly, his gaze fixed upon a crust of bread that was bobbing on the brown water and attracting the attention of several sucking mouths from the depths, "that roach lead a most charmed existence?"

"Not particularly. The prospect of ending up in a frying pan has very little appeal."

"Ah, but that is where they have the upper hand. Mankind is plagued with the knowledge of his own mortality. Your roach, however, lives for the moment. He acknowledges his hunger and acts upon it. He seizes the worm without thought to the consequences."

"And ends up on the fisherman's hook."

"That is the chance he takes. Even when he is plucked from the waters, he does not realise his ultimate fate."

"If he did, he would not take the worm."

"Granted," Holmes mused. "If he did, he would be stifled into inaction. That he does not is evidence of his advantage over mankind. Foresight is nothing short of a curse."

"You will not pretend," I said with amusement, "that you are able to foresee the future?"

He shrugged lightly. "We all must die, Watson. That much is certain. However, I contend that the short-term prediction is by far the most detrimental to the human condition."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"A practical demonstration shall prove the point well enough," he explained. "If I tell you that the 23rd of next month will find you at the Lyceum Theatre at 7.30 in the evening—"

"That is unfair. You bought the tickets."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "I have, however, made a prediction based on the known facts. By that same process have I glimpsed my own immediate future and it does not bode well."

I caught his arm and brought him to a halt. "What is it?"

"That Dr Agar will recommend my removal for a period of time to a private asylum."

I fear that for a good few moments, I stared at him in muted stupefaction, entirely taken aback that such a thought had ever crossed his mind.

"Do not look so shocked, my dear fellow," said Holmes, offering me a faint smile. "It is not a pleasant prospect, but the most likely. How better to ensure that I follow his direction? I took his advice last time and the result is stood before you, clear for all to see. By returning to him on Wednesday, I acknowledge that he is better placed to determine my care than am I and agree to submit to more drastic action to arrest what you yourself have described as a worsening condition."

His earlier musings, coupled with this admission, suddenly began to make sense. "This concern of yours is why you have not acted before?"

He nodded. "It was a consideration, yes."

"It will not come to that," I tried to assure him. "Dr Agar is a most reasonable man—"

"Dealing with a most unreasonable patient who chose to ignore his previous advice in the most blatant manner and comes to him again seeking treatment for a condition of his own making. Now, Doctor, what would you do with such a person in order to save him from his own folly?"

"What you suggest would be my last resort."

Holmes frowned and began walking again, using the tip of his cane to sweep pebbles from his path and into the water where they disappeared into the murky depths.

"I fancy I have come to mine," said he. "No, Watson, let me finish. I am quite resolved to my fate. Perhaps it is for the best. My faith in my own judgement is shaken to the core. The accusations I levelled at you this morning are proof to me of that. If I can believe such things of the most honest and loyal of souls that it has ever been my pleasure to know, then of what else am I capable? You tell me to take cases, but if I cannot trust my own judgement, then why should anyone else? What errors should I make if I am turned loose on the problems of another? Heaven forbid that my mistaken testimony should send an innocent to the gallows."

I gave his words due thought. "There may be a simple answer to your problem."

"Oh, I trust there is. However…" He sunk his chin upon his chest and fixed his gaze upon the ground. "If it cannot be avoided, I would ask one thing of you."

"Anything."

"Do not visit."

I came to an abrupt halt. "Holmes, how can you—"

He held up his hand. "I'm afraid I must insist. If I am beyond redemption, tell the world I am dead and let that be an end of the matter. 'Better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad'. Words to the wise, Watson."

I began to protest, but Holmes continued regardless.

"Now, I must return to London. This Surrey air is far too heady. It lacks that taint of pollution that makes our city air so fortifying."

"I thought we agreed you would stay with me."

Holmes shook his head. "If I am to lose my liberty on Wednesday, then there are things that must be done. Mycroft will have to be told, of course; that is not an interview I relish. My brother can be as ruthless as those old Tudor monarchs when the mood takes him. He operates from a position of pure logic that permits little room for sentiment. If he considered it expedient, I dare say he would have me carted off to the nearest asylum without a second thought."

"All the same, I would prefer that you are not alone. As to the future, I still think you are mistaken about Dr Agar."

"Perhaps," said he absently. "Certainly if we prepare for the worst eventuality, we stand only to be pleasantly surprised when it does not come to pass. No, I would be more comfortable in my surroundings for the next few days. Even the condemned man gets one last meal of his choosing. And I shall be seeing you again the day after tomorrow. Would you have any objection if I book a table at Marcini's for Tuesday evening? I feel as if I shall be in need of one other gaudy night, as Shakespeare so ably put it. Therefore, we shall fill our bowls once more and mock the midnight bell! Well, I shall bid you farewell, Watson, for I see a steam launch ahead that is London-bound. Until Tuesday, my friend."

Continued in Chapter Four