“So you’re still stuck on that, are you?” said Lestrade. “I won’t take responsibility for her, and if she comes, Watson stays out. This is a police investigation, damn it! Not a tea party. Anyway, he’ll need to watch that hellcat—Evans is not a nursemaid.”
The asylum grounds were surrounded by a brick wall topped with metal spikes. It was almost twice Mary’s height, and the front gates were spiked at the top as well. Mary wondered how the lunatic had gotten out. The place seemed impregnable.
They rang a bell, and an attendant in a white coat came running across the lawn. “Hello!” he called. “Is that Scotland Yard? We’ve been expecting you.” When he reached the gates, he looked at them curiously. Evidently, he had not expected Scotland Yard to bring two young women. However, Lestrade confirmed their identity.
The attendant opened one of the gates and ushered them in. He was a large, clumsily built man with a ruddy face and blond hair that looked as though he’d been running his hands through it. “Dr. Balfour will be glad to see you, Inspector. I’m Joe Abernathy, one of the day attendants. I was the one as found Renfield, wandering about the grounds.” He led them up a flagstone path across the lawn, toward the asylum. It was a building in the modern style, also of brick, and looked as though it might have been an ordinary if rather large house—but the windows on the third story were barred.
“I’m surprised your patient was able to escape,” said Holmes. “Those walls are high, and I imagine the spikes on top are sharp.”
“Oh, we’re not as secure here as we oughter be,” said Joe. “The wall is high enough between the road and the asylum, but on the other side is Carfax House, which has been empty these many years. It’s surrounded by woods—Carfax Woods, they’re called—and they stretch back a ways, wild and overgrown. The wall on that side belongs to Carfax, not the asylum, and it’s their responsibility to maintain it—but being as nobody’s there, it’s tumbled down in places. This isn’t the first time the old devil has gotten out, either.”
“So this man Renfield has escaped before?” said Lestrade.
“Oh, aye. He makes a regular career of it. He’s been here as long as I can remember, and I’ve been here these ten years at least. He’s gotten out every few months, regular. I used to think he just wanted to stretch his legs and go on a little walk by moonlight. He seemed such a harmless old devil, until this happened.”
“So there’s never been a problem with him before?” said Watson.
“No, and I was shocked to hear him say he’d killed those women. I’ve never heard of him hurting anyone before—except his flies. But Dr. Balfour will tell you all about it.”
Except his flies? Mary wondered what that could mean. They walked up the front steps of the asylum and into an entrance hall, painted a plain and glaring white, with wooden benches along the walls. From the inside, the building reminded her of a hospital. There was the same smell of carbolic, the same bustle of attendants in white coats. Here and there she could see what were evidently patients, because they were dressed in uniforms of light blue serge: shirts and trousers for the men, gowns for the women, all shapeless.
They followed Joe Abernathy up a flight of stairs and down a corridor, to a door marked GABRIEL BALFOUR, M.D. Joe knocked on the door, opened it just a crack, and said, “Sir, the inspector from Scotland Yard is here to see you.”
“Why, let him in, man,” said a cheerful voice with a strong Scottish accent.
Dr. Balfour’s office was a mess. There were piles of medical books on the floor, beside empty shelves, and files spilling out of boxes. Several framed diplomas, one from the University of Edinburgh, leaned against the walls.
“I take it you’re the director of the asylum,” said Lestrade, looking around him with a frown. Obviously, he did not think much of the director’s organizational skills.
“The director!” said Dr. Balfour. “Oh Lord, no. I’m the assistant director, hired only a month ago after the former assistant director, Dr. Hennessey, retired—rather suddenly, I gather. The director is Dr. Seward, but he’s been away for the last three weeks. I’d only just completed my medical training when I applied for this position, and I thought myself lucky to get it, the economic situation being what it is in England and Scotland, both. But a week after I arrived, Dr. Seward went off to Amsterdam to consult on a patient, and he hasn’t returned since. I understand it was a situation that demanded his immediate attention—nevertheless, he could have given me some time to learn the ropes, so to speak. Meanwhile, one of the patients goes missing, and when he turns up again, he confesses to four murders! Honestly, Inspector, I’m glad you’re here to take charge of this affair. They didn’t teach us to deal with murderers in medical school.”
“Well, let’s see what this lunatic has to say for himself,” said Lestrade. “Mr. Holmes and I will see him—and yes, Miss Jekyll too, if Holmes still insists on such a foolish procedure. If it turns out that he’s our murderer, Evans and I will take him to Newgate. Before we left London, I sent a message to the warden, directing him to send a wagon for the prisoner. It should be here within the hour.”
“How did he come to tell you he had murdered those women?” asked Holmes.
“Well, I was assured he was harmless—it’s a pleasure to meet you, of course, Mr. Holmes. I’ve read Dr. Watson’s fascinating accounts of your cases. When I was a medical student, it was my favorite way to avoid studying for exams!”
Mary looked quickly at Holmes and tried not to smile. Although he listened and nodded politely, she could tell he was annoyed. A distraction from studying for exams! It was certainly not how he wanted his work to be perceived. She could not help being amused. Despite her respect for him, he could sometimes be a little . . . self-important? But now was not the time to think about Mr. Holmes, whatever his character. What had Dr. Balfour been saying? “He’s run away before, so the staff thought nothing of it. He usually turns up again in a day or two, when he gets hungry. When he did not return after several days, we alerted the local police. But we never imagined he would harm anyone. We assumed he would be the one in danger, from boys throwing sticks or from inclement weather. Yesterday afternoon, Joe found him wandering about the grounds. His clothes were filthy and spotted with blood. When we asked where he had been, he told us he’d been in London, and done terrible things there. Those are the words he used—terrible things. When we asked him what he had done that was so terrible, he said he’d killed four—women of the streets, if the young ladies will pardon the expression. But you’ll want to hear all this from him directly.”
“Indeed,” said Holmes. “Can you take us to him? Inspector Lestrade, Sergeant Evans, Miss Jekyll, and I will accompany you. Could the others wait here?”