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  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

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  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."

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  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

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  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.