The Sleeping Sphinx

occasions. 'There's a funny streak in our family, y’know. One of my granddaughters is all right, but I've been worried about the other ever since she was a little child.' And, of course, that remark was applied to the wrong person.

'Suspect Margot, the hearty and athletic? In England, good sirs? Damme! Fie upon you! So they never guessed, any more than her own sister guessed, that Margot Devereux was a hysteric with the potentialities of a dangerous hysteric.”

'But Mammy Two knew. The family doctor knew. Obey and Cook: be sure they knew. And they waited (with God knows what fear in their hearts; I am not looking at Dr. Shepton now) while Margot grew up into a very beautiful woman. Even then stark tragedy might have been averted, if . . .'

Holden sat up straight

'If—what?' he demanded.

'If Margot' replied Dr. Fell, 'had not married.'

Celia was trembling violently. Holden did not look at her.

'I will not' scowled Dr. Fell, 'discuss the various physical causes which may bring about hysteria. Except to say this: that the hysteric becomes dominated by a fixed idea. She believes, let us say, that she is blind. To all intents and purposes, she is blind.”

'In a case like that of Margot Devereux, it is plain that to marry almost any man would be dangerous. Except in the remote chance of finding the right man, it would be disastrous. For its root is sexual.

'Once married, she discovers (or thinks she discovers, which is the same thing) that physical intimacy with her husband is a matter of horror. She screams when he approaches her. His mere touch is nausea. And the poor devil of a husband, wondering bewilderdly what is wrong and why he has turned into a leper, is faced with a raging madwoman. And this may go on for years. And nobody ever knows.'

Dr. Fell paused. Distressed and yet dogged, he would not look round; he kept his eyes fixed on the crystal.

And Holden, with a chill at his heart, recognized that his most poignant memory—the marriage in Caswall Church, with the colored dresses and the echo of music—must subtly alter in line. He must reinterpret the odd looks and tears of both Mammy Two and Obey. He must reinterpret now he remembered it the frankly dubious gaze of Dr. Shepton.

But above all (curse himself for being so blind!) he must reinterpret Thorley Marsh.

He must recognize why, in seven years, there had been changes in Thorley. Moods, expressions, whole sentences spoken by Thorley, crowded back to trouble him. Best of all he remembered Thorley being questioned by Dr. Fell in the Long Gallery last night. How do you know the door to your wife's bedroom was locked on her side? 'It always was.' And again Thorley's blank-voiced, groping cry: 'Liquor always used to make me feel happy. It never does, now.'

'Dr. Fell!' Holden said softly.

'Eh?'

'This plain speaking is right Ifs got to be done. But do you think, in front of Celia—?' 'I know,' said Celia, and turned suddenly and put her cheek against his shoulder. 'I heard about it this afternoon. But I never knew before. Dr. Fell! Tell them about . . . the seizures.'

'Yes, by thunder!' said Dr. Fell in a different voice.

He put down his pipe, which had gone out.

'The hysteric, under these conditions, is afflicted with attacks in the form of physical seizures. They may be brought on by a word, a look, by nothing at all. The husband, on one occasion, may completely lose his head. To quiet that screaming, he may strike his wife across the face with a razor strap; or try to choke the cries in her throat with his hands.

'On other occasions, the attacks may be more severe. They may need medical aid. When the hysteric is afflicted like this, she has a tetanic attack—limbs rigid, body arched— exactly, to the eye of an uninformed person who sees it, like a case of strychnine poisoning.'

Here Dr. Fell, wheezing angrily, looked at Danvers Locke.

'And then the hysteric, as hysterics will, admits to Celia Devereux that she has swallowed strychnine to end her tragic life! Archons of Athens! Can you wonder that another girl, perfectly normal but frightened half out of her wits because no one has seen fit to tell her, misunderstands all this? Can you wonder Celia Devereux thought what she did think? Good God, what would you expect?'

Dr. Fell controlled himself.

Breathing noisily, he wedged himself back into the chair. He was silent for a moment, one hand shading his eyeglasses. Then he addressed Dr. Shepton very quietly.

'Sir,' he said, 'it is not my place to question your professional conduct of this case.'

'Thank you.' Dr. Shepton looked back at him steadily.

'But why couldn't you have told Celia?'

Dr. Shepton, though he looked very old and very tired, kept the stubborn set of his jaw. He was bending forward, his big-knuckled hands holding the Panama hat.

'It's a pity,' he murmured, shaking his head. 'It's all such a pity!'

'I quite agree with you.'

'But is it possible,' insisted Shepton, 'that you of all people still do not understand? I feared—we all feared— that...'

'That Celia, being Margot’s sister, might be a hysteric too? And that to tell her all this might do her much harm?' 'In fact, yes.'

('Easy, Celia!' murmured Holden.)

'Ah!' said Dr. Fell. 'But, previous to Margot Marsh's death, had you ever any reason to suppose this about Celia?'

'It was always a risk. It was always a risk!'

'Sir, that was not the question I asked you. Had you any reason to suppose it?'

'Nol No! I distinctly told Sir Donald Holden, two nights ago'—Dr. Shepton lifted his Panama hat and pointed with it—'that in Celia's version of what she called strychnine poisoning, there might have been room for . .. well! certain unavoidable misunderstandings.'

'There might have been room?'

'Yes. And I would have told Sir Donald the whole story, too, if he had only come around to my hotel as I suggested. In reply to your main question: no! I had no concrete reason for suspecting Celia of hysterical delusions until .. .'

Dr. Fell bent forward.

'Until, in somebody's phrase, she began seeing ghosts all over the place? Is that correct?' 'Yes.'

Unexpectedly, Dr. Fell began to chuckle.

It began, with slow earthquake violence, in the lower ridges of his waistcoat It traveled up the tentlike alpaca suit in a spasm of uproarious amusement. Suddenly becoming conscious of Shepton's outraged look, Dr. Fell clapped his hand over his mouth and turned to Holden.

'Forgive me!' he pleaded. 'I was guilty of another such unmannerly outburst, if you recall, when I met you in the Long Gallery at Caswall. But, as we clear away the poisonous nonsense, I think you will join in. Will you cast your mind back to Wednesday evening about dusk?'

'Well?'

'To the first time you went out to the Regent's Park house?' 'Well?' repeated Holden. 'Well,' said Dr. Fell simply, 'I shadowed you.' 'You what?'

'I,' Dr. Fell announced proudly, 'shadowed somebody. Didn't I tell you you'd allowed me to accomplish something I never believed was possible? At first I didn't shadow you consciously, of course. Let me explain.'

All the amusement faded out of Dr. Fell's expression. In that dim light his face looked grave and even sinister.

'Celia Devereux's letter to the police had been received two days before. It was handed over to me, who already knew something of the matter from having sealed the vault.

All the major events were outlined in that letter, including the ghosts of the Long Gallery. And I was disturbed. It seemed to me that in the elder sister we were dealing with a case of sexual hysteria—'