IN A TRAP.
For a sane person to find himself suddenly incarcerated in a lunatic
asylum is enough to excite a thrill of horror in the most stolid.
Ben shuddered and started back, pale and sick with apprehension. He
was a brave boy, but it required more courage than he possessed to
preserve his coolness under such circumstances.
"What does it mean?" he ejaculated.
"It means, my friend," answered M. Bourdon, with a sardonic smile,
"that you are not quite right here," and he tapped his forehead
significantly.
He spoke English correctly, but with an accent, having, when a young
man, passed several years in England.
"It is a lie!" exclaimed Ben, indignantly, his terror giving place
to anger. "My mind is not in the least affected."
M. Bourdon shrugged his shoulders, with another aggravating smile.
"They all say so," he answered.
"I am as sane as you are!" continued Ben, hotly.
"Well, well, I may be a little touched myself--who knows?" said M.
Bourdon, or the doctor, as we may call him, in a tone of banter.
It was hard for Ben to restrain himself, so impressed was he by the
outrage of which he was the victim. It would have been a relief to
attack the doctor, and seek deliverance by forcible means, but a
glance at the well-knit frame of M. Bourdon, and the certainty of
his being able to summon assistance, deterred him and led him to
control his rash impulse. One thing he could do, and that was to
ascertain, if possible, Major Grafton's motive in subjecting him to
imprisonment.
"What proof have you that I am insane?" he asked, more calmly.
"Your appearance."
"You have not had time to examine me."
"The doctors are able to judge from very slight examination," said
M. Bourdon, smiling.
"Did Major Grafton tell you I was insane?" asked Ben.
"You mean the gentleman who came here with you?"
"Yes."
"He has assured me of it."
"What did he say? How did he tell you I had shown signs of insanity?"
"He said you had tried to drown yourself in the lake, and, being
foiled in that, had made an attempt to poison him. Surely this is
enough to warrant his sending you to me."
"Did he utter these infamous falsehoods?" demanded Ben, startled.
"Of course you pronounce them falsehoods, my young friend, and
doubtless you believe what you say. I am quite sure you have no
recollection of what you did. This is one of your sane periods. At
this moment you are as sane as I am."
"You admit that?" said Ben, in surprise.
"Certainly, for it is true. Your insanity is fitful--paroxysmal.
Half an hour hence you may stand in need of a strait-jacket. If you
were always as clear in mind as at present there would be no need of
detaining you. I would open my door and say, 'Go, my young friend.
You do not need my care.' Unfortunately, we do not know how long
this mood may last."
The doctor spoke smoothly and plausibly, and it was hard for Ben to
tell whether he was really in earnest or not. He regarded M. Bourdon
intently, and thought he detected a slight mocking smile, which
excited his doubt and distrust anew. To appeal to such a man seemed
well-nigh hopeless, but there was nothing else to do.
"Are you the doctor?" he asked.
"Yes; I am Dr. Bourdon," was the reply.
"And you are at the head of this establishment?" continued Ben.
"I have that honor, my young friend," answered Bourdon.
"Then I wish to tell you that Major Grafton has deceived you. He
has an object to serve in having me locked up here."
"Doubtless," answered the doctor, with an amused smile, taking a
pinch of snuff.
"He is afraid I would reveal a secret which would strip him of his
income," continued Ben.
"And that secret is----?" said the doctor, not without curiosity.
Ben answered this question as briefly and clearly as he could.
The doctor listened with real interest, and it might have been
satisfactory to Ben had he known that his story was believed. M.
Bourdon was a shrewd man of the world, and it struck him that this
knowledge might enable him to demand more extortionate terms of
Major Grafton.
"Don't you believe me?" asked Ben, watching the face of his listener.
"I hear a great many strange stories," said the doctor. "I have to
be cautious about what I believe."
"But surely you will believe me, knowing that I am perfectly sane?"
"That is the question to be determined," said M. Bourdon, smiling.
"Won't you investigate it?" pleaded Ben. "It is a crime to keep me
here, when I am of sound mind."
"Whenever I am convinced of that I will let you go. Meanwhile you
must be quiet, and submit to the rules of my establishment."
"How long do you expect to keep me here?" asked Ben.
"As long as you require it and your board is paid."
Ben looked despondent, for this assurance held out very little hope
of release. Still he was young, and youth is generally hopeful.
Something might turn up. Ben was determined that something should
turn up. He was not going to remain shut up in a mad-house any
longer than he could help. He remained silent, and M. Bourdon
touched a little bell upon a small table beside the door.
The summons was answered by a stout man with rough, black locks, who
looked like a hotel porter.
"Francois," said the doctor, in the French language, "conduct this
young man to No. 19."
"At once, _Monsieur le Docteur_," answered the attendant. "Come with
me, young man."
He signed to Ben to follow him, and our hero, realizing the utter
futility of resistance, did so.
"Go ahead, monsieur," said Francois, when they came to a staircase.
Ben understood him very well, though he spoke in French, thanks to
his assiduous study of the last four weeks.
They walked along a narrow corridor, and Francois, taking from his
pocket a bunch of keys, carefully selected one and opened the door.
"_Entrez monsieur._"
Ben found himself in an apartment about the size of a hall bedroom,
with one window, and a narrow bedstead, covered with an exceedingly
thin mattress. There was no carpet on the floor, and the furniture
was very scanty. It consisted of but one chair, a cheap bureau, and
a washstand. And this was to be Ben's home--for how long?
"I must get acquainted with this man," thought Ben. "I must try to
win his goodwill, and perhaps he may be able to help me to escape."
"Is your name Francois?" he asked, as the man lingered at the door.
"_Oui, monsieur._"
"And how long have you been here--in this asylum?"
"How long, monsieur? Five years, nearly."
"There is some mistake about my being here, Francois. I don't look
crazy, do I?"
"No, monsieur; but----"
"But what?"
"That proves nothing."
"There is a plot against me, and I am put here by an enemy. I want
you to be my friend. Here, take this."
Ben produced from his pocket a silver franc piece and offered it
to Francois, who took it eagerly, for the man's besetting sin was
avarice.
"Thanks, monsieur--much thanks!" he said, his stolid face lighting
up. "I will be a friend."
"Francois!"
At the call from below Francois hastily thrust the coin into his
pocket, nodded significantly to Ben, and, retiring, locked the door
behind him.