The Hound of Death - Agatha Christie [59]
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 it 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 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 upperclass 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 9th 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 with–with 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 tenth–well, I have come across phenomena that are 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 uncanny–horrible. We all feel it…And I’m not a superstitious man…’
‘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–knowing 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 first 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 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