Lady Dorothy and Jocelyn looked at him, expecting more.
“What happened to his child?” asked Dorothy.
“I was going to ask the same question,” said Jocelyn.
“It was burnt to death. It’s rather an awful story, and I don’t wonder he went mad. I believe he had only been married two or three years when it happened. He was in the Carabineers, I believe; at all events they went to India as soon as they were married, and it was while they were there that his father died and he came into the estate. But he did not mean to leave the service, and he sent his wife to England with the little baby, six months before the regiment was ordered home. Half an hour before he got to his place, when he came home himself, the house took fire, and his wife and child were burnt to death. He went mad then and there, and there was nothing to be done but to lock him up.”
“How awful!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I shall never forget his voice.”
The four were silent, and as nothing happened Jocelyn unlocked the door and opened it a little. In the distance sounds of footsteps could still be heard in the passages, and the opening and shutting of a door now and then, and voices from different directions, but that was all. The patients who occupied the nearest rooms were either already locked in, or were of a quieter sort and had been allowed to stay downstairs.
Jocelyn was just going to shut the door again, when Mrs. Williams appeared. He admitted her, and she looked round quietly before speaking.
“Of course, you must have understood where you are,” she said gravely. “This is a private asylum—Dr. Steele’s Sanatorium. The patients who are considered harmless play games and dine together, and the Doctor takes none who are already violent or have shown homicidal or suicidal tendencies. It is a very exclusive establishment, especially for gentlemen of position and means. I may say that I was housekeeper at the late Duke of Barchester’s before I came here. The Doctor wishes me to say how sorry he is that there was trouble just this evening. Lunatics don’t mind anything so much as a thunderstorm, and thunder and lightning just drive them out of their poor senses, such as they are, which isn’t much to boast of. There’s that poor Mr. Weede, for instance, such a quiet gentleman, and a Christian soul if ever there was one. They never knew he was at all queer till one day, while he was preaching, he just stopped a minute and called out ‘Fore!’ as the gentlemen do when they play; and then he went on preaching about golf being the only salvation for sinners’ souls, till the congregation all ran out and the sexton and policeman got him into a cab, still preaching.”
“Something like a sermon, that,” observed Jocelyn stolidly.
“Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Williams gravely; “they say he was at it for more than half an hour, and hadn’t half finished when they took him away. But I came to say,” she went on, speaking to Bob Trevelyan, “that the Doctor would like to speak to you alone, sir, if you don’t mind. He will come to your room, or see you in his study, as you prefer, but he is very anxious to see you.”