沉睡的谋杀案15
时间：2026-01-29 07:41:26
（单词翻译:单击）
Eight
KELVIN HALLIDAY’S DELUSION
They were in the garden on the following morning when Mrs. Cocker
came out and said: “Excuse me, sir. There’s a Doctor Kennedy on the tele-
phone.”
Leaving Gwenda in consultation with old Foster, Giles went into the
house and picked up the telephone receiver.
“Giles Reed here.”
“This is Dr. Kennedy. I’ve been thinking over our conversation yester-
day, Mr. Reed. There are certain facts which I think perhaps you and your
wife ought to know. Will you be at home if I come over this afternoon?”
“Certainly we shall. What time?”
“Three o’clock?”
“Suits us.”
In the garden old Foster said to Gwenda, “Is that Dr. Kennedy as used to
live over at West Cliff?”
“I expect so. Did you know him?”
“E was allus reckoned to be the best doctor here — not but what Dr.
Lazenby wasn’t more popular. Always had a word and a laugh to jolly you
along, Dr. Lazenby did. Dr. Kennedy was always short and a bit dry, like—
but he knew his job.”
“When did he give up his practice?”
“Long time ago now. Must be fifteen years or so. His health broke down,
so they say.”
Giles came out of the window and answered Gwenda’s unspoken ques-
tion.
“He’s coming over this afternoon.”
“Oh.” She turned once more to Foster. “Did you know Dr. Kennedy’s sis-
ter at all?”
“Sister? Not as I remember. She was only a bit of a lass. Went away to
school, and then abroad, though I heard she come back here for a bit after
she married. But I believe she run off with some chap—always wild she
was, they said. Don’t know as I ever laid eyes on her myself. I was in a job
over to Plymouth for a while, you know.”
Gwenda said to Giles as they walked to the end of the terrace, “Why is
he coming?”
“We’ll know at three o’clock.”
Dr. Kennedy arrived punctually. Looking round the drawing room he
said: “Seems odd to be here again.”
Then he came to the point without preamble.
“I take it that you two are quite determined to track down the Sanat-
orium where Kelvin Halliday died and learn all the details you can about
his illness and death?”
“Definitely,” said Gwenda.
“Well, you can manage that quite easily, of course. So I’ve come to the
conclusion that it will be less shock to you to hear the facts from me. I’m
sorry to have to tell you, for it won’t do you or anybody else a bit of good,
and it will probably cause you, Gwennie, a good deal of pain. But there it
is. Your father wasn’t suffering from tuberculosis and the Sanatorium in
question was a mental home.”
“A mental home? Was he out of his mind, then?”
Gwenda’s face had gone very white.
“He was never certified. And in my opinion he was not insane in the
general meaning of the term. He had had a very severe nervous break-
down and suffered from certain delusional obsessions. He went into the
nursing home of his own will and volition and could, of course, have left it
at any time he wanted to. His condition did not improve, however, and he
died there.”
“Delusional obsessions?” Giles repeated the words questioningly. “What
kind of delusions?”
Dr. Kennedy said drily, “He was under the impression that he had
strangled his wife.”
Gwenda gave a stifled cry. Giles stretched out a hand quickly and took
her cold hand in his.
Giles said, “And—and had he?”
“Eh?” Dr. Kennedy stared at him. “No, of course he hadn’t. No question
of such a thing.”
“But—but how do you know?” Gwenda’s voice came uncertainly.
“My dear child! There was never any question of such a thing. Helen left
him for another man. He’d been in a very unbalanced condition for some
time; nervous dreams, sick fancies. The final shock sent him over the edge.
I’m not a psychiatrist myself. They have their explanations for such mat-
ters. If a man would rather his wife was dead than unfaithful, he can man-
age to make himself believe that she is dead—even that he has killed her.”
Warily, Giles and Gwenda exchanged a warning glance.
Giles said quietly, “So you are quite sure that there was no question of
his having actually done what he said he had done?”
“Oh, quite sure. I had two letters from Helen. The first one from France
about a week after she went away and one about six months later. Oh no,
the whole thing was a delusion pure and simple.”
Gwenda drew a deep breath.
“Please,” she said. “Will you tell me all about it?”
“I’ll tell you everything I can, my dear. To begin with, Kelvin had been in
a rather peculiar neurotic state for some time. He came to me about it.
Said he had had various disquieting dreams. These dreams, he said, were
always the same, and they ended in the same way—with his throttling
Helen. I tried to get at the root of the trouble—there must, I think, have
been some conflict in early childhood. His father and mother, apparently,
were not a happy couple … Well, I won’t go into all that. That’s only inter-
esting to a medical man. I actually suggested that Kelvin should consult a
psychiatrist, there are several first-class chaps—but he wouldn’t hear of it
—thought that kind of thing was all nonsense.
“I had an idea that he and Helen weren’t getting along too well, but he
never spoke about that, and I didn’t like to ask questions. The whole thing
came to a head when he walked into my house one evening—it was a Fri-
day, I remember, I’d just come back from the hospital and found him wait-
ing for me in the consulting room; he’d been there about a quarter of an
hour. As soon as I came in, he looked up and said, ‘I’ve killed Helen.’
“For a moment I didn’t know what to think. He was so cool and matter-
of-fact. I said, ‘You mean—you’ve had another dream?’ He said, ‘It isn’t a
dream this time. It’s true. She’s lying there strangled. I strangled her.’
“Then he said—quite coolly and reasonably: ‘You’d better come back
with me to the house. Then you can ring up the police from there.’ I didn’t
know what to think. I got out the car again, and we drove along here. The
house was quiet and dark. We went up to the bedroom—”
Gwenda broke in, “The bedroom?” Her voice held pure astonishment.
Dr. Kennedy looked faintly surprised.
“Yes, yes, that’s where it all happened. Well, of course when we got up
there—there was nothing at all! No dead woman lying across the bed.
Nothing disturbed—the coverlets not even rumpled. The whole thing had
been an hallucination.”
“But what did my father say?”
“Oh, he persisted in his story, of course. He really believed it, you see. I
persuaded him to let me give him a sedative and I put him to bed in the
dressing room. Then I had a good look round. I found a note that Helen
had left crumpled up in the wastepaper basket in the drawing room. It
was quite clear. She had written something like this: ‘This is Good-bye. I’m
sorry—but our marriage has been a mistake from the beginning. I’m going
away with the only man I’ve ever loved. Forgive me if you can. Helen.’
“Evidently Kelvin had come in, read her note, gone upstairs, had a kind
of emotional brainstorm and had then come over to me persuaded that he
had killed Helen.
“Then I questioned the housemaid. It was her evening out and she had
come in late. I took her into Helen’s room and she went through Helen’s
clothes, etc. It was all quite clear. Helen had packed a suitcase and a bag
and had taken them away with her. I searched the house, but there was no
trace of anything unusual—certainly no sign of a strangled woman.
“I had a very difficult time with Kelvin in the morning, but he realized at
last that it was a delusion—or at least he said he did, and he consented to
go into a nursing home for treatment.
“A week later I got, as I say, a letter from Helen. It was posted from Biar-
ritz, but she said she was going on to Spain. I was to tell Kelvin that she did
not want a divorce. He had better forget her as soon as possible.
“I showed the letter to Kelvin. He said very little. He was going ahead
with his plans. He wired out to his first wife’s people in New Zealand ask-
ing them to take the child. He settled up his affairs and he then entered a
very good private mental home and consented to have appropriate treat-
ment. That treatment, however, did nothing to help him. He died there
two years later. I can give you the address of the place. It’s in Norfolk. The
present Superintendent was a young doctor there at the time, and will
probably be able to give you full details of your father’s case.”
Gwenda said: “And you got another letter from your sister—after that
again?”
“Oh yes. About six months later. She wrote from Florence—gave an ad-
dress poste restante as ‘Miss Kennedy.’ She said she realized that perhaps
it was unfair to Kelvin not to have a divorce—though she herself did not
want one. If he wanted a divorce and I would let her know, she would see
that he had the necessary evidence. I took the letter to Kelvin. He said at
once that he did not want a divorce. I wrote to her and told her so. Since
then I have never heard anymore. I don’t know where she is living, or in-
deed if she is alive or dead. That is why I was attracted by your advertise-
ment and hoped that I should get news of her.”
He added gently: “I’m very sorry about this, Gwennie. But you had to
know. I only wish you could have left well alone….”
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