Part 31 (1/2)

He shut the door and turned to the couch.

Jones caught a glimpse of himself in a big mirror, happily un-smashed, caught a glimpse of himself all tumbled and towsled with Simms beside him and Cavendish standing by, re-fixing his gla.s.ses.

He recognised a terrible fact; though he had smashed hundreds of pounds'

worth of property, though he had fought these men like a mad bull, now that the fight was over, they showed not the least sign of resentment.

Simms was patting his shoulder.

He had become possessed of the mournful privilege of the insane, to fight without raising ire in one's antagonists, to smash with impunity--to murder without being brought to justice.

Also he recognised that he had been a fool. He had acted like a mad-man--that is to say, like a man furious with anger. Anger and madness have awful similarities.

He moved slightly away from Simms.

”I reckon I've been a fool,” said he, ”three to one is not fair play.

Come, let my hands free, I won't fight any more.”

”Certainly,” said Simms. ”But let me point out that we were not fighting you in the least, only preventing you from taking a course detrimental to your health. Cavendish, will you kindly untie that absurd handkerchief?”

Cavendish obeyed, and Jones, his hands freed, rubbed his wrists.

”What are you going to do now?” asked he.

”Nothing,” said Simms, ”you are perfectly free, but we don't want you to go out till your health is perfectly restored. I know, you will say that you feel all right. No matter, take a physician's advice and just remain here quiet for a little while. Shall we go to the library where you can amuse yourself with the newspaper or a book whilst I make up a little prescription for you?”

”Look here,” said Jones. ”Let's talk quietly for a moment--you think I'm mad.”

”Not in the least!” said Simms. ”You are only suffering from a nerve upset.”

”Well, if I'm not mad you have no right to keep me here.”

This was cunning, but, unfortunately, cunning like anger, is an attribute of madness as well as of sanity.

”Now,” said Simms, with an air of great frankness, ”do you think that it is for our pleasure that we ask you to stay here for a while? We are not keeping you, just asking you to stay. We will go down to the library and I will just have a prescription made up. Then, when you have considered matters a bit you can use your own discretion about going.”

Jones recognized at once that there was no use in trying to fight this man with any other weapon than subtlety. He was fairly trapped. His tale was such that no man would believe it, and, persisting in that tale, he would be held as a lunatic. On top of the tale was Rochester's bad reputation for sanity. They called him mad Rochester.

Then as he rose up and followed to the library, a last inspiration seized him.

He stopped at the drawing-room door.

”Look here,” said he, ”one moment. I can prove what I say. You send out a man to Philadelphia and make enquiries, fetch some of the people over that knew me. You'll find I'm--myself and that I've told you no lie.”

”We will do anything you like,” said Simms, ”but first let us go down to the library.”

They went. It was a large, pleasant room lined with books.

Simms sat down at the writing-table, whilst the others took chairs. He wrote a prescription, and the Duke, ringing the bell, ordered a servant to take the prescription to the chemists.