A CASE HISTORY
IS altmarsh House was set pleasantly about six miles inland from the coast. It had a good train service to London fromthe five-miles-distant town of South Benham.
Giles and Gwenda were shown into a large airy sitting room with cretonne covers patterned with flowers. A verycharming-looking old lady with white hair came into the room holding a glass of milk. She nodded to them and satdown near the fireplace. Her eyes rested thoughtfully on Gwenda and presently she leaned forward towards her andspoke in what was almost a whisper.
“Is it your poor child, my dear?”
Gwenda looked slightly taken aback. She said doubtfully: “No—no. It isn’t.”
“Ah, I wondered.” The old lady nodded her head and sipped1 her milk. Then she said conversationally2, “Half pastten—that’s the time. It’s always at half past ten. Most remarkable3.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward again.
“Behind the fireplace,” she breathed. “But don’t say I told you.”
At this moment, a white uniformed maid came into the room and requested Giles and Gwenda to follow her.
They were shown into Dr. Penrose’s study, and Dr. Penrose rose to greet them.
Dr. Penrose, Gwenda could not help thinking, looked a little mad himself. He looked, for instance, much madderthan the nice old lady in the drawing room—but perhaps psychiatrists4 always looked a little mad.
“I had your letter, and Dr. Kennedy’s,” said Dr. Penrose. “And I’ve been looking up your father’s case history,Mrs. Reed. I remembered his case quite well, of course, but I wanted to refresh my memory so that I should be in aposition to tell you everything you wanted to know. I understand that you have only recently become aware of thefacts?”
Gwenda explained that she had been brought up in New Zealand by her mother’s relations and that all she hadknown about her father was that he had died in a nursing home in England.
Dr. Penrose nodded. “Quite so. Your father’s case, Mrs. Reed, presented certain rather peculiar5 features.”
“Such as?” Giles asked.
“Well, the obsession6—or delusion—was very strong. Major Halliday, though clearly in a very nervous state, wasmost emphatic7 and categorical in his assertion that he had strangled his second wife in a fit of jealous rage. A greatmany of the usual signs in these cases were absent, and I don’t mind telling you frankly8, Mrs. Reed, that had it notbeen for Dr. Kennedy’s assurance that Mrs. Halliday was actually alive, I should have been prepared, at that time, totake your father’s assertion at its face value.”
“You formed the impression that he had actually killed her?” Giles asked.
“I said ‘at that time.’ Later, I had cause to revise my opinion, as Major Halliday’s character and mental makeupbecame more familiar to me. Your father, Mrs. Reed, was most definitely not a paranoiac9 type. He had no delusions10 ofpersecution, no impulses of violence. He was a gentle, kindly11, and well-controlled individual. He was neither what theworld calls mad, nor was he dangerous to others. But he did have this obstinate12 fixation about Mrs. Halliday’s deathand to account for its origin I am quite convinced we have to go back a long way—to some childish experience. But Iadmit that all methods of analysis failed to give us the right clue. Breaking down a patient’s resistance to analysis issometimes a very long business. It may take several years. In your father’s case, the time was insufficient13.”
He paused, and then, looking up sharply, said: “You know, I presume, that Major Halliday committed suicide.”
“Oh no!” cried Gwenda.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Reed. I thought you knew that. You are entitled, perhaps, to attach some blame to us on thataccount. I admit that proper vigilance would have prevented it. But frankly I saw no sign of Major Halliday’s being asuicidal type. He showed no tendency to melancholia—no brooding or despondency. He complained of sleeplessnessand my colleague allowed him a certain amount of sleeping tablets. Whilst pretending to take them, he actually keptthem until he had accumulated a sufficient amount and—”
He spread out his hands.
“Was he so dreadfully unhappy?”
“No. I do not think so. It was more, I should judge, a guilt14 complex, a desire for a penalty to be exacted. He hadinsisted at first, you know, on calling in the police, and though persuaded out of that, and assured that he had actuallycommitted no crime at all, he obstinately15 refused to be wholly convinced. Yet it was proved to him over and overagain, and he had to admit, that he had no recollection of committing the actual act.” Dr. Penrose ruffled16 over thepapers in front of him. “His account of the evening in question never varied17. He came into the house, he said, and itwas dark. The servants were out. He went into the dining room, as he usually did, poured himself out a drink anddrank it, then went through the connecting door into the drawing room. After that he remembered nothing—nothing atall, until he was standing18 in his bedroom looking down at his wife who was dead—strangled. He knew he had done it—”
Giles interrupted. “Excuse me, Dr. Penrose, but why did he know he had done it?”
“There was no doubt in his mind. For some months past he had found himself entertaining wild and melodramaticsuspicions. He told me, for instance, that he had been convinced his wife was administering drugs to him. He had, ofcourse, lived in India, and the practice of wives driving their husbands insane by datura poisoning often comes upthere in the native courts. He had suffered fairly often from hallucinations, with confusion of time and place. Hedenied strenuously19 that he suspected his wife of infidelity, but nevertheless I think that that was the motivating power.
It seems that what actually occurred was that he went into the drawing room, read the note his wife left saying she wasleaving him, and that his way of eluding20 this fact was to prefer to ‘kill’ her. Hence the hallucination.”
“You mean he cared for her very much?” asked Gwenda.
“Obviously, Mrs. Reed.”
“And he never—recognized—that it was a hallucination?”
“He had to acknowledge that it must be—but his inner belief remained unshaken. The obsession was too strong toyield to reason. If we could have uncovered the underlying21 childish fixation—”
Gwenda interrupted. She was uninterested in childish fixations.
“But you’re quite sure, you say, that he—that he didn’t do it?”
“Oh, if that is what is worrying you, Mrs. Reed, you can put it right out of your head. Kelvin Halliday, howeverjealous he may have been of his wife, was emphatically not a killer22.”
Dr. Penrose coughed and picked up a small shabby black book.
“If you would like this, Mrs. Reed, you are the proper person to have it. It contains various jottings set down byyour father during the time he was here. When we turned over his effects to his executor (actually a firm of solicitors),Dr. McGuire, who was then Superintendent23, retained this as part of the case history. Your father’s case, you know,appears in Dr. McGuire’s book—only under initials, of course. Mr. K.H. If you would like this diary—”
Gwenda stretched out her hand eagerly.
“Thank you,” she said. “I should like it very much.”
II
In the train on the way back to London, Gwenda took out the shabby little black book and began to read.
She opened it at random24.
Kelvin Halliday had written:
I suppose these doctor wallahs know their business … It all sounds such poppycock. Was I in love with mymother? Did I hate my father? I don’t believe a word of it … I can’t help feeling this is a simple police case—criminal court—not a crazy loonybin matter. And yet—some of these people here—so natural, so reasonable—just like everyone else—except when you suddenly come across the kink. Very well, then, it seems that I, too,have a kink….
I’ve written to James … urged him to communicate with Helen … Let her come and see me in the flesh ifshe’s alive … He says he doesn’t know where she is … that’s because he knows that she’s dead and that I killedher … he’s a good fellow, but I’m not deceived … Helen is dead….
When did I begin to suspect her? A long time ago … Soon after we came to Dillmouth … Her mannerchanged … She was concealing25 something … I used to watch her … Yes, and she used to watch me….
Did she give me drugs in my food? Those queer awful nightmares. Not ordinary dreams … livingnightmares … I know it was drugs … Only she could have done that … Why?… There’s some man … Someman she was afraid of….
Let me be honest. I suspected, didn’t I, that she had a lover? There was someone—I know there wassomeone—She said as much to me on the boat … Someone she loved and couldn’t marry … It was the same forboth of us … I couldn’t forget Megan … How like Megan little Gwennie looks sometimes. Helen played withGwennie so sweetly on the boat … Helen … You are so lovely, Helen….
Is Helen alive? Or did I put my hands round her throat and choke the life out of her? I went through thedining room door and I saw the note—propped up on the desk, and then—and then—all black—just blackness.
But there’s no doubt about it … I killed her … Thank God Gwennie’s all right in New Zealand. They’re goodpeople. They’ll love her for Megan’s sake. Megan—Megan, how I wish you were here….
It’s the best way … No scandal … The best way for the child. I can’t go on. Not year after year. I must takethe short way out. Gwennie will never know anything about all this. She’ll never know her father was amurderer….
Tears blinded Gwenda’s eyes. She looked across at Giles, sitting opposite her. But Giles’s eyes were riveted26 on theopposite corner.
Aware of Gwenda’s scrutiny27, he motioned faintly with his head.
Their fellow passenger was reading an evening paper. On the outside of it, clearly presented to their view was amelodramatic caption28: Who were the men in her life?
Slowly, Gwenda nodded her head. She looked down at the diary.
There was someone—I know there was someone….

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