My Dangerous Maniac

BY

LESLIE M. OYLER

It was a glorious July morning, the kind of morning that makes you feel how good it is to be alive and young--and, incidently, to hope that the tennis-courts won't be too dry.

You see Gerald, my brother, and I were invited to an American tournament for that afternoon, which we were both awfully keen about; then mother and father were coming home in the evening, after having been away a fortnight, and, though on the whole I had got on quite nicely with the housekeeping, it _would_ be a relief to be able to consult mother again. Things have a knack of not going so smoothly when mothers are away, as I daresay you've noticed.

I had been busy making strawberry jam, which had turned out very well, all except the last lot. Gerald called me to see his new ferret just after I had put the sugar in, and, by the time I got back, the jam had, most disagreeably, got burnt.

That's just the way with cooking. You stand and watch a thing for ages, waiting for it to boil; but immediately you go out of the room it becomes hysterical and boils all over the stove; so it is borne in on me that you must 'keep your eye on the ball,' otherwise the saucepan, when cooking.

However, when things are a success it feels quite worth the trouble. Gerald insisted on 'helping' me once, rather against cook's wish, and made some really delicious meringues, only he _would_ eat them before they were properly baked!

The gong rang, and I ran down to breakfast; Gerald was late, as usual, but he came at last.

'Here's a letter from Jack,' I remarked, passing it across; 'see what he says.'

GERALD LOOKED PUZZLED.

Jack was one of our oldest friends; he went to school with Gerald, and they were then both at Oxford together. He had always spent his holidays with us as he had no mother, and his father, who was a most brilliant scholar, lived in India, engaged in research work; but this vac. Mr. Marriott was in England, and Jack and he were coming to stay with us the following day.

Gerald read the letter through twice, and then looked puzzled.

'Which day were they invited for, Margaret?' he asked.

'To-morrow, of course, the 13th.'

'Well, they're coming this evening by the 7.2.'

I looked over his shoulder; it _was_ the 12th undoubtedly. 'And mother and father aren't coming till the 9.30,' I sighed; 'I wish they were going to be here in time for dinner to entertain Mr. Marriott; he's sure to be eccentric--clever people always are.'

'Yes,' agreed Gerald, 'he'll talk miles above our heads; but never mind, there'll be old Jack.'

Cook and I next discussed the menu. I rather thought curry should figure in it, as Mr. Marriott came from India; but cook overruled me, saying it was 'such nasty hot stuff for this weather, and English curry wouldn't be like Indian curry either.'

When everything was in readiness for our guests Gerald and I went to the Prescotts', who were giving the tournament.

We had some splendid games, and Gerald was still playing in an exciting match when I found that the Marriotts' train was nearly due. Of course he couldn't leave off, so I said that I would meet them and take them home; we only lived about a quarter of a mile from the station, and generally walked.

I couldn't find my racquet for some time, and consequently had a race with the train, which luckily ended in a dead heat, for I reached the platform just as it steamed in.

The few passengers quickly dispersed, but there was no sign of Jack; a tall, elderly man, wrapped in a thick overcoat, in spite of the hot evening, stood forlornly alone. I was just wondering if he could be Jack's father when he came up to me and said, 'Are you Margaret?'

'Yes,' I answered.

'I have often heard my boy speak of you,' he said, looking extremely miserable.

Jack does not Come

'But isn't he coming?' I cried.

He replied 'No' in such a hopeless voice and sighed so heavily that I was beginning to feel positively depressed, when he changed the subject by informing me that his bag had been left behind but was coming on by a later train, so, giving instructions for it to be sent up directly it arrived, I piloted him out of the station.

I had expected him to be eccentric, but he certainly was the oddest man I had ever met; he seemed perfectly obsessed by the loss of his bag, and would talk of nothing else, though I was longing to know why Jack hadn't come. The absence of his dress clothes seemed to worry him intensely. In vain I told him that we need not change for dinner; he said he must, and wouldn't be comforted.

'How is Jack?' I asked at last; 'why didn't he come with you?'

He looked at me for a moment with an expression of the deepest grief, and then said quietly, 'Jack is dead.'

'_Dead?_' I almost shouted. 'Jack dead! You can't mean it!'

 But he only repeated sadly, 'Jack is dead,' and walked on.

It seemed incredible; Jack, whom we had seen a few weeks before so full of life and vigour, Jack, who had ridden with us, played tennis, and been the leading spirit at our rat hunts, it was too horrible to think of!

I felt quite stunned, but the sight of the poor old man who had lost his only child roused me.

'I am more sorry than I can say,' I ventured; 'it must be a terrible blow to you.'

'Thank you,' he said; 'you, who knew him well, can realise it more than any one; but it was all for the best--I felt that when I did it.'

'Did what?' I inquired, thinking that he was straying from the point.

'When I shot him through the head,' he replied laconically, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

If he had suddenly pointed a pistol at _my_ head I could not have been more astonished; I was absolutely petrified with horror, for the thought flashed into my brain that Jack's father must be mad!

His peculiar expression had aroused my curiosity at the station, and his next remark confirmed my suspicion.

'You see, he showed unmistakable symptoms of going mad----'

A Knife Trick

(I had heard that madmen invariably think every one around them is mad, and that they themselves are sane.)

'----so I felt it my duty to shoot him; it was all over in a moment.'

'Poor Jack!' I cried involuntarily.

'Yes,' he answered, 'but I should do just the same again if the occasion arose.'

And he looked at me fixedly.

I felt horribly frightened. Did he think I was mad? And I fell to wondering, when he put his hand in his pocket, whether he had the revolver there. We had reached our garden gate by this time, where, to my infinite relief, we were joined by Gerald, flushed and triumphant after winning his match.

After an agonised aside 'Don't ask about Jack,' I murmured an introduction, and we all walked up to the house together. In the hall I managed to tell Gerald of our dreadful position, and implored him to humour the madman as much as possible until we could form some plan for his capture.

'We'll give him dinner just as if nothing has happened, and after that I'll arrange something,' said Gerald hopefully; 'don't you worry.'

Never shall I forget that dinner! We were on tenterhooks the whole time, and it made me shudder to see how Mr. Marriott caressed the knives. I could scarcely prevent myself screaming when he held one up, and, feeling the blade carefully with his finger, said:

'I rather thought of doing this little trick to-night, if you would like it; it is very convincing and doesn't take long.'

I remembered his remark, 'it was all over in a moment,' and trembled; but Gerald tactfully drew his attention to something else, and dinner proceeded peaceably; but he had a horrible fondness for that knife, and, when dessert was put on the table, kept it in his hand, 'to show us the trick afterwards.'

I stayed in the dining-room when we had finished; I couldn't bear to leave Gerald, and he and I exchanged apprehensive glances when Mr. Marriott refused to smoke, giving as his reason that he wanted a steady hand for his work later.

He worried ceaselessly about his bag (I began to think the revolver must be there), and when, at last, it came he almost ran into the hall to open it.

Then Gerald had a brilliant inspiration. Seizing the bag, he carried it up to his room, which was at the top of the house. Mr. Marriott eagerly followed, and when he was safely in we shut the door and bolted it securely on the outside.
 

'That was a good move, Gerald,' I cried, heaving a sigh of relief, 'we can keep him there till mother and father come home; they can't be very long now; perhaps he won't notice he's locked in for some time.'

But unfortunately he _did_ notice, for very soon we heard him rattling the door handle, and when no one came (for we had had to explain matters to the maids, whereat they had all rushed, panic-stricken, to the servants' hall), he started banging and shouting louder than ever.

It was an awful time for us; every minute I expected him to burst the door open and come tearing downstairs. Gerald wanted to go up and try to pacify him, but I told him I was too frightened to be left, which, I knew, was the only way of preventing him.

We walked down the garden to see if mother and father were in sight, and then----

'Awfully sorry we missed the train,' said a cheerful voice, and _Jack_, followed by another figure, came through the gate!

'You aren't dead then?' was all I could manage to gasp.

'No, rather not! Very much alive. Here's the pater; but first, tell me, why should I be dead?'

Gerald and I began to speak simultaneously, and in the midst of our explanations mother and father arrived, so we had to tell them all over again.

'The question is, who _is_ your lunatic?' said father, 'and----'

But just at that moment we heard frantic shouts from Gerald's bedroom window, and found the sham Mr. Marriott leaning out of it in a state of frenzy.

He was absolutely furious; but we gathered from his incoherent remarks that he was getting very late for a conjuring performance which he had promised to give at a friend's house. He vowed that there was some conspiracy to prevent him going there at all; first his bag was lost, then some one pretended to be his friend's daughter, whom he had never seen, and finally he was locked in a room with no means of escape!

Then, and only then, did we realise our mistake! The others seemed to find it very amusing and shrieked with laughter, but the humour of it didn't strike Gerald and me any more than it did the irate conjuror, who was promptly released with profuse apologies, and sent in our car to his destination. It transpired that his conversation which had so alarmed me referred only to a favourite dog of his, and I, of course, had unconsciously misled Gerald.

Mr. Marriott proved to be most interesting and amusing, anything but eccentric; but I shall _never_ hear the last of my mistake, and to this day he and Jack tease me unmercifully about my 'dangerous maniac!'