His peculiar expression had aroused my curiosity at the station, and his next remark confirmed my suspicion.
"You see, he showed unmistakable symptoms of going mad——"
(I had heard that madmen invariably think every one around them is mad, and that they themselves are sane.)
"——so I felt it my duty to shoot him; it was all over in a moment."
"Poor Jack!" I cried involuntarily.
"Yes," he answered, "but I should do just the same again if the occasion arose."
And he looked at me fixedly.
I felt horribly frightened. Did he think I was mad? And I fell to wondering, when he put his hand in his pocket, whether he had the revolver there. We had reached our garden gate by this time, where, to my infinite relief, we were joined by Gerald, flushed and triumphant after winning his match.
After an agonised aside "Don't ask about Jack," I murmured an introduction, and we all walked up to the house together. In the hall I managed to tell Gerald of our dreadful position, and implored him to humour the madman as much as possible until we could form some plan for his capture.
"We'll give him dinner just as if nothing has happened, and after that I'll arrange something," said Gerald hopefully; "don't you worry."