merely turning her out.'
'Melancholia?'
'That is what I just said, Sergeant. . . ?'
'Inspector Pitt.'
'Very well-Inspector! I don't know what else you think I can tell you. We cared for her for seventeen years, during which time she gave no Indication that she was homicidal. She was perfectly able to care for herself when we released her, and no longer in need of medical attention, nor had we reason to fear she would be a burden upon the rest of the community.'
Pitt did not argue; it was a moot point now, and this was not what he had come to find out.
'May I speak with those who attended her? And is there anyone among the other patients she spoke to? Someone who knew her?'
'I don't know what you imagine you can learn! We can all be wise with hindsight, you know!'
'I am not looking for signs that she was homicidal,' Pitt 281
said honestly. 'I need to know other things: her reasons for acting as she did, or what she believed were her reasons.'
'I cannot see how they can possibly matter now.'
'I am not questioning your competence in your job, sir,' Pitt replied a little testily. 'Please do not question the way I do mine. If I did not believe this was necessary, I should be at home with my family, sitting in my garden.'
The man's face grew still more pinched. 'Very well, if that is what you wish. Be so good as to follow me,' and he turned sharply on his heel and led the way down a chill stone corridor, up a flight of stairs, and along a further passageway to a door which opened into a large ward with ten beds in it. There were chairs beside the beds and set around at various places. It was Pitt's first sight of the inside of a lunatic asylum, and his immediate feeling was one of relief. There were enamel jugs with flowers, and here and mere a cushion or a blanket which was obviously not institutional. A bright yellow cloth half covered one of the small tables.
Then he looked at the people, the matron standing near the window, with the spring sun coming in through the bars and falling on her gray dress and white cap and apron. Her face was worn with tension and the sight of misery, her eyes flat. Her large hands were red-knuckled, and she had a key chain hanging from her belt.
To the left of her a woman of an age impossible to judge sat on the floor, knees hunched up to her chin, rocking back and forth ceaselessly, whispering to herself. Her hair hung over her face, matted and unkempt. Another woman with a blotchy skin and hair scraped back in a tight knot sat staring vacantly, oblivious of them all. She saw some vision of despair that excluded everything else, and when two others spoke to her she took no notice whatsoever.
Three elderly women sat at a table playing cards with vicious intensity, even though they put down a different card each time and called it always by the same name, the three of clubs.
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Another sat with an old news journal, which she held upside down, and kept repeating to herself, 'I can't find it! I can't find it! I can't find it!'
' 'The Inspector wants to speak to someone who knew Elsie Draper,' the Superintendent said tersely. 'If you can find someone I should be obliged, Matron.'
'In mercy's sake, what for?' the matron asked crossly. 'What good can it do now, I'd like to know!'
'Is there anyone?' Pitt asked, trying to force himself to smile and failing. The hopelessness of the place was creeping into his skin-the confusion, the desperate faces that stared at him, the flickers of knowledge that they were betrayed from within. 'I need to know!' He meant to keep his voice level, but a frantic note betrayed his feelings.
The matron had already heard every horror that there was; little moved her, for she could no longer find the emotion to allow it to.
'Polly Tallboys,' she said patiently. 'I suppose she might. Here-Polly! Come here and speak to the gentleman. No need to be afraid. He won't hurt you. You just answer him
