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‘Phyllis, dear,’ said Lady Carmichael’s soft voice, ‘here is your tea.’ And something in the expression of her eyes as they rested on the girl told me that Lady Carmichael had little love for her prospective daughter-in-law.
Miss Patterson declined the tea, and I said, to ease the conversation: ‘Isn’t the pussy cat going to have a saucer of milk?’
She looked at me rather strangely. ‘The – pussy cat?’
‘Yes, your companion of a few moments ago in the garden –’
I was interrupted by a crash. Lady Carmichael had upset the tea kettle, and the hot water was pouring all over the floor. I remedied the matter, and Phyllis Patterson looked questioningly at Settle. He rose.
‘Would you like to see your patient now, Carstairs?’
I followed him at once. Miss Patterson came with us. We went upstairs and Settle took a key from his pocket.
‘He sometimes has a fit of wandering,’ he explained. ‘So I usually lock the door when I’m away from the house.’
He turned the key in the lock and went in.
The young man was sitting on the window seat where the last rays of the westerly sun struck broad and yellow. He sat curiously still, rather hunched together, with every muscle relaxed. I thought at first that he was quite unaware of our presence until I suddenly saw that, under immovable lids, he was watching us closely. His eyes dropped as they met mine, and he blinked. But he did not move.
‘Come, Arthur,’ said Settle cheerfully. ‘Miss Patterson and a friend of mine have come to see you.’
But the young fellow in the window seat only blinked. Yet a moment or two later I saw him watching us again – furtively and secretly.
‘Want your tea?’ asked Settle, still loudly and cheerfully, as though talking to a child.
He set on the table a cup full of milk. I lifted my eyebrows in surprise, and Settle smiled.
‘Funny thing,’ he said, ‘the only drink he’ll touch is milk.’
In a moment or two, without undue haste, Sir Arthur uncoiled himself, limb by limb, from his huddled position, and walked slowly over to the table. I recognized suddenly that his movements were absolutely silent, his feet made no sound as they trod. Just as he reached the table he gave a tremendous stretch, poised on one leg forward, the other stretching out behind him. He prolonged this exercise to its utmost extent, and then yawned. Never have I seen such a yawn! It seemed to swallow up his entire face.
He now turned his attention to the milk, bending down to the table until his lips touched the fluid.
Settle answered my inquiring look. ‘Won’t make use of his hands at all. Seems to have returned to a primitive state. Odd, isn’t it?’
I felt Phyllis Patterson shrink against me a little, and I laid my hand soothingly on her arm.
The milk was finished at last, and Arthur Carmichael stretched himself once more, and then with the same quiet noiseless footsteps he regained the window seat, where he sat, huddled up as before, blinking at us.
Miss Patterson drew us out into the corridor. She was trembling all over.
‘Oh! Dr Carstairs,’ she cried. ‘It isn’t him – that thing in there isn’t Arthur! I should feel – I should know –’
I shook my head sadly. ‘The brain can play strange tricks, Miss Patterson.’
I confess that I was puzzled by the case. It presented unusual features. Though I had never seen young Carmichael before there was something about his peculiar manner of walking, and the way he blinked, that reminded me of someone or something that I could not quite place.
Our dinner that night was a quiet affair, the burden of conversation being sustained by Lady Carmichael and myself. When the ladies had withdrawn Settle asked me my impression of my hostess.
‘I must confess,’ I said, ‘that for no cause or reason I dislike her intensely. You are quite right, she has Eastern blood, and, I should say, possesses marked occult powers. She is a woman of extraordinary magnetic force.’
Settle seemed on the point of saying something, but checked himself and merely remarked after a minute or two: ‘She is absolutely devoted to her little son.’
We sat in the green drawing-room again after dinner. We had just finished coffee and were conversing rather stiffly on the topics of the day when the cat began to miaow piteously for admission outside the door. No one took any notice, and, as I am fond of animals, after a moment or two I rose.
‘May I let the poor thing in?’ I asked Lady Carmichael.
Her face seemed very white, I thought, but she made a faint gesture of the head which I took as assent and, going to the door, I opened it. But the corridor outside was quite empty.
‘Strange,’ I said, ‘I could have sworn I heard a cat.’
As I came back to my chair I noticed they were all watching me intently. It somehow made me feel a little uncomfortable.
We retired to bed early. Settle accompanied me to my room. ‘Got everything you want?’ he asked, looking around. ‘Yes, thanks.’
He still lingered rather awkwardly as though there was something he wanted to say but could not quite get out.
‘By the way,’ I remarked, ‘you said there was something uncanny about this house? As yet it seems most normal.’
‘You call it a cheerful house?’
‘Hardly that, under the circumstances. It is obviously under the shadow of a great sorrow. But as regards any abnormal influence, I should give it a clean bill of health.’
‘Good night,’ said Settle abruptly. ‘And pleasant dreams.’
Dream I certainly did. Miss Patterson’s grey cat seemed to have impressed itself upon my brain. All night long, it seemed to me, I dreamt of the wretched animal.
Awaking with a start, I suddenly realized what had brought the cat so forcibly into my thoughts. The creature was miaowing persistently outside my door. Impossible to sleep with that racket going on. I lit my candle and went to the door. But the passage outside my room was empty, though the miaowing still continued. A new idea struck me. The unfortunate animal was shut up somewhere, unable to get out. To the left was the end of the passage, where Lady Carmichael’s room was situated. I turned therefore to the right and had taken but a few paces when the noise broke out again from behind me. I turned sharply and the sound came again, this time distinctly on the right of me.
Something, probably a draught in the corridor, made me shiver, and I went sharply back to my room. Everything was silent now, and I was soon asleep once more – to wake to another glorious summer’s day.
As I was dressing I saw from my window the disturber of my night’s rest. The grey cat was creeping slowly and stealthily across the lawn. I judged its object of attack to be a small flock of birds who were busy chirruping and preening themselves not far away.
And then a very curious thing happened. The cat came straight on and passed through the midst of the birds, its fur almost brushing against them – and the birds did not fly away. I could not understand it – the thing seemed incomprehensible.
So vividly did it impress me that I could not refrain from mentioning it at breakfast.
‘Do you know?’ I said to Lady Carmichael, ‘that you have a very unusual cat?’
I heard the quick rattle of a cup on a saucer, and I saw Phyllis Patterson, her lips parted and her breath coming quickly, gazing earnestly at me.
There was a moment’s silence, and then Lady Carmichael said in a distinctly disagreeable manner: ‘I think you must have made a mistake. There is no cat here. I have never had a cat.’
It was evident that I had managed to put my foot in it badly, so I hastily changed the subject.
But the matter puzzled me. Why had Lady Carmichael declared there was no cat in the house? Was it perhaps Miss Patterson’s, and its presence concealed from the mistress of the house? Lady Carmichael might have one of those strange antipathies to cats which are so often met with nowadays. It hardly seemed a plausible explanation, but I was forced to rest content with it for the moment.
Our patient was still in the same condition. This time I made a thorough examination and was able to study him more closely than the night before. At my suggestion it was arranged that he should spend as much time with the family as possible. I hoped not only to have a better opportunity of observing him when he was off his guard, but the ordinary everyday routine might awaken some gleam of intelligence. His demeanour, however, remained unchanged. He was quiet and docile, seemed vacant, but was in point of fact, intensely and rather slyly watchful. One thing certainly came as a surprise to me, the intense affection he displayed towards his stepmother. Miss Patterson he ignored completely, but he always managed to sit as near Lady Carmichael as possible, and once I saw him rub his head against her shoulder in a dumb expression of love.
I was worried about the case. I could not but feel that there was some clue to the whole matter which had so far escaped me.
‘This is a very strange case,’ I said to Settle. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘it’s very – suggestive.’
He looked at me rather furtively, I thought. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t – remind you of anything?’
The words struck me disagreeably, reminding me of my impression of the day before.
‘Remind me of what?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Perhaps it’s my fancy,’ he muttered. ‘Just my fancy.’
And he would say no more on the matter.
Altogether there was mystery shrouding the affair. I was still obsessed with that baffling feeling of having missed the clue that should elucidate it to me. And concerning a lesser matter there was also mystery. I mean that trifling affair of the grey cat. For some reason or other the thing was getting on my nerves. I dreamed of cats – I continually fancied I heard him. Now and then in the distance I caught a glimpse of the beautiful animal. And the fact that there was some mystery connected with it fretted me unbearably. On a sudden impulse I applied one afternoon to the footman for information.
‘Can you tell me anything,’ I said, ‘about the cat I see?’
‘The cat, sir?’ He appeared politely surprised. ‘Wasn’t there – isn’t there – a cat?’
‘Her ladyship had a cat, sir. A great pet. Had to be put away though. A great pity, as it was a beautiful animal.’
