For a moment I own that I was dismayed by this evil-looking woman's line
of attack. If there be one act of grave injustice in England easier to
manage than another it is this: to trump up some false charge of lunacy
against a sane but unconscious person. If, in addition, you can assert
that the alleged maniac is one fleeing from justice, or, worse still,
consigned to some living tomb of convicted criminals like Broadmoor, you
are pretty sure to get public sympathy and support on your side, for the
vast majority of persons fear the insane with a wild, unreasoning kind
of panic, and are only too glad to interpose the burly forms of keepers
and doctors between themselves and the objects they dread.
Doubtless this wretched creature knew this, for her tones were those of
an absolute mistress of herself and of that most perplexing situation.
Her attitude, too, suggested a consciousness of triumph, for she just
looked at Camille Velasquon with a look of gravity and warning that she
must be careful if she wished to have any peace or kindness hereafter,
whereas for me she had nothing but hot scorn or an icy contempt.
"Did you say you had other keepers with you?" I queried at length, more
anxious to gain time before I showed my real hand than to elicit
information.
"Yes; I did. There are two assistant warders. I am the principal."
"Women, I suppose?"
"Both women!"
"Both women! Where do they come from?"
"From Broadmoor, like myself." And she turned her head in the direction
of the carriage window, as though she were tired of the conversation and
desired me for the rest of the time to mind my own business.
Camille Velasquon now plucked me nervously by the arm. "This woman's
story is a tissue of lies," she whispered. "I am no criminal and no
lunatic. Why, I never set foot in England till I got off the ship on to
Southampton Dock with you a few minutes ago!"
"Of course you didn't," I replied in a low tone, which, luckily, the
rattle of the wheels prevented that grim-looking figure in the corner
making the true sense. "Don't you see that this is the plot Don Jose
Casteno warned you against? Indeed, this is why I came down to meet
you, to protect you. The trouble is, I don't know who has put her up to
this crowning piece of impudence. If it is just some obscure enemy of
Casteno or of the Order of St Bruno it's all right, I'll rescue you;
but if it has some diplomatic importance, and behind this creature
stands some great personage who is playing some game of European
importance, it won't be so easy as it might seem. Money may have been
spent like water, and, at a pinch, they may prove to be really warders
sent from Broadmoor with false instructions about you, and a false
scent."
"But you will save me, won't you?" pleaded the girl, her eyes lustrous
with tears. "Don't leave me near that dreadful creature. We women can
read women much more rapidly than men can, even the cleverest; and I am
sure she has never occupied any official position at an asylum--she
looks more like a murderess herself!"
"Well, I will certainly do my best," I replied soothingly, turning again
and facing Miss Velasquon. England is a queer place, and it is very
easy to get a crowd together and to weep to them and to stuff them with
a lot of lies. Many wicked people get the better of the innocent by
cheap and foolish tricks like those.
I stood up and piloted myself to a position opposite to the stranger.
"As you can see," I began quietly but firmly, moving my head in the
direction of my companion, "Miss Velasquon and I are together. Your
information has distressed me very much. I was under the impression
that my friend was quite a different personage to the one you make out.
All the same, I don't want to do anything that might seem to you
unnecessarily hostile. You say you have two other warders with you. Do
you mind, now that the train is stopping, inviting them to come into
this carriage?"
For the first time the woman's eyes fell. She could not divine what I
was up to. Somehow she felt herself being pushed into a position, but
she could not foresee where it would terminate.
"I don't see the need," she blurted out at length.
"But the authorities at Broadmoor did. That is why they sent them with
you, you know. Believe me, you will incur a very grave responsibility
if you don't let them do their duty now that I have pointed out how
extremely important it is that they should. Suppose Miss Velasquon grew
dangerous, for instance, and sprang out of the carriage window on to the
metals before you could lift a hand to stop her, what would the railway
people say, the asylum authorities, the police, the coroner? Why, I
should hurry forward to give evidence against you, madam, and you would
be convicted of nothing less than manslaughter by neglect." And to add
irritation to my words I broke into a low mocking laugh, while poor
Camille Velasquon, who knew I was up to some trick, but couldn't see
what it was, gave way to a fit of tears.
"Yours is a pretty picture," the woman snapped, and now she looked more
evil than ever, "but it's too melodramatic for my taste. Just get out
of this carriage yourself, then I can manage the patient all right. If
anything happens it will be your fault, not mine."
"I am not so sure about that," I retorted blithely. "But am I to
understand you decline my suggestion? If so, I can only say you have
told me an untruth for some purpose of your own, which it will be my
duty to ferret out. I can tell you openly that you have no warders with
you."
"I have."
"Produce them."
"I can."
"Produce them," I replied, and I made a movement as though I would
signal to some porters who were standing near and would call upon them
to judge between me and herself.
The ruse succeeded. With a muttered curse the woman placed a small
silver whistle to her lips and blew thereon a curious signal, rather
low, but very penetrating and distinctive. The next moment she was
answered. Two women in the uniform of hospital nurses appeared suddenly
at the window, and, obeying a sign from their superior, they sprang into
the carriage and took seats, one on one side of, and the other opposite
to, Camille Velasquon, who, now fearing that I had muddled everything,
began to cry in sober earnest.
Undaunted, I held on to the course I had marked out for myself when I
started. Turning to the woman, as the train once again steamed off, I
said with ironical politeness: "I must really apologise for the
scepticism with which I treated you. I see, now, that you have two
assistants from Broadmoor, but why don't they wear Broadmoor uniforms?"
"They do," she cried, and then she stopped and bit her lip. All at once
she realised she had fallen into the pit I had dug so carelessly in
front of her.
"Oh no, indeed, they do not," I answered sweetly. "The uniforms which
these women have on are only worn by nurses at Guy's Hospital. The fact
is, I have been often to Broadmoor myself, and I know the nurses there
wear a totally different garb." And I shot a glance out of the corner
of my eyes at the pseudo-nurses themselves. One had flushed crimson,
the other had gone deathly white, and was playing nervously with her
pocket-handkerchief. They were impostors, I am certain.
The woman in black, however, rose with magnificent impudence to the
occasion. "You, sir," she said, "have been good enough to brand me with
falsehood, and I have borne it without a murmur, striving only to prove
to you, in the discharge of my duty, that I spoke fairly and truthfully.
Now, however, you go too far when you attack my assistants. I repeat
they are dressed properly, and I say that your statement that you have
been often in our asylum, is so much fudge. Only doctors and police and
inspectors from the Home Office go there as a regular rule."
I waited for a moment before I answered, like a clever actor pauses
before he puts in his most effective point.
"You are impetuous, madam," I said, taking out my snuff-box with studied
deliberation and pretending to take a pinch; "very impetuous. You ought
to have asked who I was before you branded me, too, as an impostor. As
a matter of fact, I do belong to the police. Here is my card." And I
quietly produced a card of Detective-Inspector Naylor's which I happened
to have in my waistcoat pocket.
The effect of my act was almost magical. The woman in front of me
started violently and shivered. Then with a great effort she recovered
herself and gave me another look of defiance. "I see," she said, taking
the piece of cardboard I handed to her with apparent carelessness. "I
suppose you have been sent to look after Miss Velasquon by some friend
of hers who does not know her real identity or crimes. It's a pity, a
great pity, for you will have your journey wasted. The patient, of
course, is now in our care, and must go with us."
"I don't know so much about that," I returned, although I admit I was
startled with the daring and resource which this woman was showing, and
which proved that she was up to every trick and turn and corner of those
wretched lunacy laws of ours. "Do you mind showing me the authority
under which you are acting?"
"Not at all," she said in her most patronising and offensive tones, and
feeling in a reticule that depended from her waist she produced this
strange communication:
By Royal Authority.
Criminal Lunatic Asylum, Broadmoor.
_To all whom it may concern_.
This is to Certify that the Bearer of this warrant, Joan Virtue Hand, is
a principal warder in the above Institution, and is now absent on a
mission to recover possession of a particularly daring and dangerous
inmate, named Camille Velasquon, who has escaped therefrom, although she
is a fully certified lunatic and has been incarcerated here in the above
Institution on a lawful warrant from His Majesty's judge sitting at the
Central Criminal Court, whereat she was charged with the killing and
slaying of two of her sisters, aged five and seven respectively.
All good and law-abiding citizens, and particularly members of the
police force, station-masters, porters, sailors, shipmasters, cab
proprietors, lodging-house keepers, and hotel managers, are requested to
give her every assistance in conveying her patient to the above
Institution. And all persons are warned against impeding the said Joan
Virtue Hand in the execution of her mission, for by so doing they render
themselves liable to the Lunacy Act 1875, c vii s 5, 6, ss 3, and on
conviction may be punished by a term of imprisonment not exceeding six
calendar months.
(Signed) Douglas Llewelyn, _Chief Registrar_.
Very carefully I read this document through three or four times before I
made any comment, any remark, about it at all. I could feel, of course,
that the woman was watching me and every second was growing more and
more uneasy under the stress of my unexpected recourse to silence. But
still I said nothing to her; and at last she could bear it no longer.
"Now, Mr Naylor," she said, speaking to me in my assumed name, but her
voice was shrill with apprehension, "perhaps you will have the goodness
to admit that you have been playing a very dangerous game with me and
that if I liked I could make it very awkward for you at Scotland Yard
for interfering between a warder and an escaped lunatic without proper
inquiry or warrant."
"Humph," I returned coldly, "I don't know so much about that." And
before she could have the slightest notion what I was up to I coolly
lowered the carriage window, and tearing her authority quickly into
three or four pieces I flung the fragments out on to the railway as the
train was whirling along at a rate of about twenty miles an hour.
"Man," she stormed, as soon as she saw what I had done, springing to her
feet and grabbing me by the arm, "are you mad?"
"I hope not," I said courteously. "I try to keep sane, although I admit
it is hard sometimes when one meets such odd people."
"But do you realise what you have done? You have torn up my warrant."
"I know," I returned sadly. "But then it was no good, you see. It was
a fraud. It had no more to do with Broadmoor than yonder telegraph
post. It was designed to mislead people, and so, to save misconception,
I destroyed it." And with a sardonic smile I threw myself back in my
seat and folded my arms.
"Oh! you shall pay for this," she hissed, her features working
convulsively. "Dearly, dearly shall you pay for this! This girl shall
never escape me--never!" And she shot out a threatening finger in the
direction of poor Camille.
"Unfortunately, my dear Mrs Hand," I said in my most lofty tone, "you
have come upon the scene a trifle late for heroics like these. As a
matter of fact, you are in the awkward position, not I at all. On the
whole you have been precipitate, very precipitate, I regret to observe.
Thus you never got to know by what right I met Miss Velasquon. You
never inquired, indeed. Even when I handed you my card you did not
pause and ask yourself whether you were not going just a trifle too far
in your rudeness to me and your interference with my good wishes."
"Good wishes? Rubbish," she snapped!
"My good wishes, I repeat," I said with a good deal of firmness, for was
I not about to play my last and most triumphant trump card? "As a
matter of fact, those good wishes of mine are very important to you and
to these two disguised females whom you drag about with you," and I
casually nodded in the direction of the pseudo-nurses, "for long before
any of you appeared on the scene I had arrested Camille Velasquon! She
was a prisoner, and you have all rendered yourselves liable to
punishment for attempting to get her out of my hands!"
"Oh, that's impossible," Joan Hand cried; but there was no conviction in
her tones, and her two confederates sprang up and made as though they
would slip out of the carriage forthwith.
In an instant I planted myself between them and the door--the only door
that remained unlocked. "Excuse me, ladies," I said; "I cannot permit
you to leave me in this unceremonious fashion."
"Why, we've done nothing," one of them gasped. "We are free."
"Not at all," I blithely observed, "you are all three my prisoners. I
charge all of you with falsely representing yourselves to be nurses
engaged at the Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum, and, whilst doing so,
endeavouring to rescue a prisoner lawfully in my custody on the charge
of a series of frauds in the Mexican Republic,--a girl whom I am taking
to the Extradition Court at Bow Street to await the arrival of the
necessary papers; and I warn you all to be careful what you say to me.
Any remark you happen to make now I shall use in evidence against you,
and if the lot of you don't get put away for a long term of penal
servitude it will be mighty odd to me. You are certainly the wickedest
gang of females I have ever struck."
"And I'll strike you, you wretch," screamed the woman Hand, and before I
could turn the woman in black caught me a blow on the side of the head
that sent me crashing to my seat.
That was the only chance they had, but they took it almost in a flash.
Just then the train was drawing into Vauxhall, and like lightning they
tore open the door of the carriage and sprang on to the platform, to
disappear instantly in a bewildering network of waiting-rooms.
For my own part, I was rather relieved than otherwise at their flight,
and I turned to congratulate Camille Velasquon on the skill with which
we had managed to outwit them.
But she, too, had disappeared!