seemed so nice and normal that at last I determined to confide in her. A
merciful providence just saved me in time from falling into the trap. My door
happened to be ajar, and I heard her talking to some one in the passage. SHE WAS
ONE OF THEM! They still fancied it might be a bluff on my part, and she was put
in charge of me to make sure! After that, my nerve went completely. I dared
trust nobody.
“I think I almost hypnotized myself. After a while, I almost forgot that I
was really Jane Finn. I was so bent on playing the part of Janet Vandemeyer
that my nerves began to play me tricks. I became really ill–for months I sank
into a sort of stupor. I felt sure I should die soon, and that nothing really
mattered. A sane person shut up in a lunatic asylum often ends by becoming
insane, they say. I guess I was like that. Playing my part had become second
nature to me. I wasn’t even unhappy in the end–just apathetic. Nothing seemed
to matter. And the years went on.
“And then suddenly things seemed to change. Mrs. Vandemeyer came down from
London. She and the doctor asked me questions, experimented with various
treatments. There was some talk of sending me to a specialist in Paris. In the
end, they did not dare risk it. I overheard something that seemed to show that
other people–friends–were looking for me. I learnt later that the nurse who
had looked after me went to Paris, and consulted a specialist, representing
herself to be me. He put her through some searching tests, and exposed her loss
of memory to be fraudulent; but she had taken a note of his methods and
reproduced them on me. I dare say I couldn’t have deceived the specialist for a
minute–a man who has made a lifelong study of a thing is unique–but I managed
once again to hold my own with them. The fact that I’d not thought of myself as
Jane Finn for so long made it easier.
“One night I was whisked off to London at a moment’s notice. They took me
back to the house in Soho. Once I got away from the sanatorium I felt
different–as though something in me that had been buried for a long time was
waking up again.
“They sent me in to wait on Mr. Beresford. (Of course I didn’t know his
name then.) I was suspicious–I thought it was another trap. But he looked so
honest, I could hardly believe it. However, I was careful in all I said, for I
knew we could be overheard. There’s a small hole, high up in the wall.
“But on the Sunday afternoon a message was brought to the house. They were
all very disturbed. Without their knowing, I listened. Word had come that he
was to be killed. I needn’t tell the next part, because you know it. I thought
I’d have time to rush up and get the papers from their hiding-place, but I was
caught. So I screamed out that he was escaping, and I said I wanted to go back
to Marguerite. I shouted the name three times very loud. I knew the others
would think I meant Mrs. Vandemeyer, but I hoped it might make Mr. Beresford
think of the picture. He’d unhooked one the first day–that’s what made me
hesitate to trust him.”
She paused.
“Then the papers,” said Sir James slowly, “are still at the back of the
picture in that room.”
“Yes.” The girl had sunk back on the sofa exhausted with the strain of the
long story.
Sir James rose to his feet. He looked at his watch.
“Come,” he said, “we must go at once.”
“To-night?” queried Tuppence, surprised.
“To-morrow may be too late,” said Sir James gravely. “Besides, by going
to-night we have the chance of capturing that great man and super-criminal–Mr.
Brown!”
There was dead silence, and Sir James continued:
“You have been followed here–not a doubt of it. When we leave the house
we shall be followed again, but not molested, FOR IT IS MR. BROWN’S PLAN THAT