Pitter-patter, pitter-patter--fainter and fainter.
And then--silence.
The Strange Cose
of Sir . bur ¢armichM
(Taken from the notes of the late Dr. Edward Carstairs,
M.D., the eminent psychologist.)
I am perfectly aware that there are two distinct ways of
looking at the strange and tragic events which I have set
down here. My own opinion has never wavered. I have been
persuaded to write the story out in full, and indeed I believe
it to be due to science that such strange and inexplicable
facts should not be buried in oblivion.
It was a wire from my friend, Dr. Settle, that first introduced
me to the matter. Beyond mentioning the name
Carmichael, the wire was not explicit, but in obedience to
it I took the 12:20 train from Paddington to Wolden, in
Herefordshire.
The name of Carmichael was not unfamiliar to me. I had
been slightly acquainted with the late Sir William Carmichael
of Wolden, though I had seen nothing of him for the last eleven years. He had, I knew, one son, the present
baronet, who must now be a young man of about twenty-three.
I remembered vaguely having heard some rumours
about Sir William's second marriage, but could recall nothing
definite unless t were a vague impression detrimental
to the second Lady Carmichael.
Settle met me at the station.
"Good of you to come," he said as he wrung my hand.
"Not at all. I understand this is something in my line?"
"Very much so."
"A mental case, then?" I hazarded. "Possessing some
unusual features?"
We had collected my luggage by this time and were
164
THE STRANGE CASE OF SIR ARTHUR CARMICHAEL 165
seated in a dogcart driving away from the station in the direction of Wolden, which lay about three miles away.
Settle did not answer for a minute or two. Then he burst
out suddenly.
"The whole thing's incomprehensible! Here is a young man, twenty-three years of age, thoroughly normal in every
respect. A pleasant amiable boy, with no more than his fair
share of conceit, not brilliant intellectually perhaps, but an
excellent type of the ordinary upper-class young Englishman.
Goes to bed in his usual health one evening, and is
found the next morning wandering about the village in a
semi-idiotic condition, incapable of recognizing his nearest
and dearest."
"Ah!" I said, stimulated. This case promised to be interesting. "Complete loss of memory? And this occurred-?''
"Yesterday morning. The ninth of August."
"And there has been nothing--no shock that you know
of--to account for this state?"
"Nothing."
I had a sudden suspicion.
"Are you keeping anything back?"
"N-no."
His hesitation confirmed my suspicion.
"I must know everything."
"It's nothing to do with Arthur. It's to do withmwith the house."
"With the house," I repeated, astonished.
"You've had a great deal to do with that sort of thing, haven't you, Carstairs? You've 'tested' so-called haunted
houses. What's your opinion of the whole thing?"
"In nine cases out of ten, fraud," I replied. "But the tenthmwell, I have come across phenomena that is absolutely
unexplainable from the ordinary materialistic standpoint.
I am a believer in the occult."
Settle nodded. We were just turning in at the Park gates. He pointed with his whip at a low-lying white mansion on
the side of a hill.
"That's the house," he said. "And--there's something in that house, something uncannyhorrible. We all feel
it .... And I'm not a superstitious man .... "
166 Agatha Christie
"What form does it take?" I asked.
He looked straight in front of him. "I'd rather you knew
nothing. You see, if you--coming here unbiased--know-lng
nothing about it--see it too--well---"
"Yes," I said, "it's better so. But I should be glad if you
will tell me a little more about the family."
"Sir William," said Settle, "was twice married. Arthur
is the child of his fa'st wife. Nine years ago he married
again, and the present Lady Carmichael is something of a
mystery. She is only half English, and, I suspect, has Asiatic
blood in her veins."
He paused.
"Settle," I said, "you don't like Lady Carmichael."
He admitted it frankly. "No, I don't. There has always
seemed to me to be something sinister about her. Well, to
continue, by his second wife Sir William had another child,
also a boy, who is now eight years old. Sir William died
three years ago, and Arthur came into the title and place.
His stepmother and half-brother continued to live with him
at Wolden. The estate, I must tell you, is very much impoverished.
Nearly the whole of Sir Arthur's income goes
to keeping it up. A few hundreds a year was all Sir William
could leave his wife, but fortunately Arthur has always got
on splendidly with his stepmother, and has been only too
delighted to have her live with him. Now--"
"Yes?"
"Two months ago Arthur became engaged to a charming
girl, a Miss Phyllis Patterson." He added, lowering his voice
with a touch of emotion: "They were to have been married
next month. She is staying here now. You can imagine her
distress---"
I bowed my head silently.
We were driving up close to the house now. On our right
the green lawn sloped gently away. And suddenly I saw a
most channing picture. A young girl was coming slowly
across the lawn to the house. She wore no hat, and the
sunlight enhanced the gleam of her glorious golden hair.
She carried a great basket of roses, and a beautiful grey
Persian cat twined itself lovingly round her feet as she walked.
I looked at Settle interrogatively.
"That is Miss Patterson," he said.
TE STRArC CASE OF sin AUR CARM^ 167
"Poor girl," I said, "poor girl. What a picture she makes
with her roses and her grey cat."
I heard a faint sound and looked quickly round at my
friend. The reins had slipped out of his fingers, and his face
was quite white.
"What's the matter?" I exclaimed.
He recovered himself with an effort.
"Nothing," he said, "nothing."
In a few moments more we had arrived, and I was following
him into the green drawing room, where tea was
laid out.
A middle-aged but still beautiful woman rose as we entered
and came forward with an outstretched hand.
"This is my friend, Dr. Carstairs, Lady Carmichael."
I cannot explain the instinctive wave of repulsion that
swept over me as I took the proffered hand of this charming
and stately woman who moved with the dark and languorous
grace that recalled Settle's surmise of Oriental blood.
"It is very good of you to come, Dr. Carstairs," she said
in a low musical voice, "and to try and help us in our great
trouble."
I made some trivial reply and she handed me my tea.
In a
few minutes the girl I had seen on the lawn outside
entered the room. The cat was no longer with her, but she
still carded the basket of roses in her hand. Settle introduced me and she came forward impulsively.
"Oh! Dr. Carstairs, Dr. Settle has told us so much about
you. I have a feeling that you will. be able to do something
for poor Arthur.'?
Miss Patterson was certainly a very lovely girl, though
her cheeks were pale, and her frank eyes were outlined with
dark circles.
"My dear young lady," I said reassuringly, "indeed you
must not despair. These cases of lost memory, or secondary
personality, are often of very short duration. At any minute
the patient may return to his full powers."
She shook her head. "I can't believe in this being a second
personality," she said. "This isn't Arthur at all. It is no
personality of his. It isn't him. I---"
"Phyllis, dear," said Lady Carmichael's soft voice, "here
is your tea."
168
Agatha Christie
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 pussycat going to have a saucer of
milk?"
She looked at me rather strangely.
'l'he--pussycat?"
"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 pouting 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 we went in.
A 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 on 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 Aahur uncoiled himself, limb by limb, from his huddled position
and walked slowly over to the table. I recognized suddenly
o sin AgrHuR CARMIC169
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, he 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
rembling all over.
"Oh! Dr. Carsairs," she cried. "It isn't him--that thing
in there isn't Arthur! I should feel--I should knowm"
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 Carmichacl
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 were 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
170
Agatha Christie
stiffly on the topics of the day when the cat began to miaw
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 round.
"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
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 miawing
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, thou
gh the
miawing 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 Car-michael's
room was situated. I turned therefore to the right,
but had taken but a few paces when the noise broke out
again from behind me. I turned sharply and the sound came
THE STRANGE CASE OF SIR ARTHUR cARMICHAI 171
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.