‘When you stepped out into the moonlight the other night,’ she said in a low, hurried voice, ‘it was – it was like a dream a dream of deliverance. I didn’t know who you were or where you came from, but it gave me hope and I determined to come and find you – and – tell you.’ ‘That’s right,’ said Bobby encouragingly. ‘Tell me. Tell me everything.’ She drew her hand away suddenly.
‘If I do, you’ll think I’m mad – that I’ve gone wrong in my head from being in that place with those others.’ ‘No, I shan’t. I shan’t, really.’ ‘You will. It sounds mad.’ ‘I shall know it isn’t. Tell me. Please tell me.’ She drew a little farther away from him, sitting very upright, her eyes staring Straight in front of her.
‘It’s just this,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to be murdered.’ Her voice was dry and hoarse. She was speaking with obvious self-restraint but her hands were trembling.
‘Murdered?’ ‘Yes, that sounds mad, doesn’t it? Like – what do they call it?
– persecution mania.’ ‘No,’ said Bobby. ‘You don’t sound mad at all – just frightened. Tell me, who wants to murder you and why?’ She was silent a minute or two, twisting and untwisting her hands. Then she said in a low voice: ‘My husband.’ ‘Your husband?’ Thoughts whirled round in Bobby’s head: ‘Who are you -‘ he said abruptly.
It was her turn to look surprised.
‘Don’t you know?’ ‘I haven’t the least idea.’ She said: ‘I’m Moira Nicholson. My husband is Dr Nicholson.’ • ‘Then you’re not a patient there?’ ‘A patient? Oh, no!’ Her face darkened suddenly. ‘I suppose you think I speak like one.’ ‘No, no, I didn’t mean that at all.’ He was at pains to reassure her. ‘Honestly, I didn’t mean it that way. I was only surprised at finding you married – and – all that. Now, go on with what you’re telling me – about your husband wanting to murder you.’ ‘It sounds mad, I know. But it isn’t – it isn’t! I see it in his eyes when he looks at me. And queer things have happened accidents.’
‘Accidents?’ said Bobby sharply.
‘Yes. Oh! I know it sounds hysterical and as though I was making it all up ‘ ‘Not a bit,’ said Bobby. ‘It sounds perfectly reasonable. Go on. About these accidents.’ ‘They were just accidents. He backed the car not seeing I was there – I just jumped aside in time – and some stuff that was in the wrong bottle – oh, stupid things – and things that people would think quite all right, but they weren’t – they were meant. I know it. And it’s wearing me out – watching for them – being on my guard – trying to save my life.’ She swallowed convulsively.
‘Why does your husband want to do away with you?’ asked Bobby.
Perhaps he hardly expected a definite answer – but the answer came promptly: ‘Because he wants to marry Sylvia Bassingtonffrench.’ ‘What? But she’s married already.’ ‘I know. But he’s arranging for that.’ ‘How do you mean?’ ‘I don’t know exactly. But I know that he’s trying to get Mr Bassington-ffrench brought to the Grange as a patient.’ And then?’ ‘I don’t know, but I think something would happen.’ She shuddered.
‘He’s got some hold over Mr Bassington-ffrench. I don’t know what it is.’ ‘Bassington-ffrench takes morphia,’ said Bobby.
‘Is that it? Jasper gives it to him, I suppose.’ ‘It comes by post.’ ‘Perhaps Jasper doesn’t do it directly – he’s very cunning, Mr Bassington-ffrench mayn’t know it comes from Jasper but I’m sure it does. And then Jasper would have him at the Grange and pretend to cure him – and once he was there ‘ She paused and shivered.
‘All sorts of things happen at the Grange,’ she said. ‘Queer things. People come there to get better – and they don’t get better – they get worse.’ As she spoke, Bobby was aware of a glimpse into a strange, evil atmosphere. He felt something of the terror that had enveloped Moira Nicholson’s life so long.
He said abruptly: ‘You say your husband wants to marry Mrs Bassingtonffrench?’