Hasty Death by Marion Chesney Page B

was out there on a sad case. It’s an asylum for the rich run by a Dr McWhirter. A certain heiress, Miss Penelope Parry, escaped and got
as far as Barnet, crying to the townspeople that she was not mad, that her family had put her away there to get their hands on her money. Police were called. I was called out on it. There was
nothing I could do. The family had signed the papers to have her committed and the good Dr McWhirter testified that she was mad. Two days later, she hanged herself in her room. Tragic’
    ‘I’ll see what I can do and let you know,’ said Harry.
    He put down the receiver and turned to Daisy. ‘It’s an asylum. What on earth possessed Lady Rose’s parents to send her there?’
    ‘They were furious because she turned down a proposal of marriage from Sir Richard Devizes. I think that maid, Humphrey, had something to do with it. Oh, blimey, Humphrey was visiting some
doctor in Harley Street for her bleeding nerves.’ In her distress, Daisy’s Cockney accent was coming back.
    ‘I’ll bet,’ said Harry, ‘that this doctor is a charlatan. I think he hopes to drive Lady Rose mad and have her there for life.’
    ‘Like poor Lady Mordaunt,’ wailed Daisy.
    Lady Mordaunt’s husband had found out that she had been having an affair with the king. So he had taken his pistol, shot all her horses, and had her locked away in a madhouse for life.
    ‘Let me think,’ said Harry. ‘I know. Daisy, I am going to give you a lesson in lock-picking if it takes all night, and I shall give you some thin files to sew into your
clothes. In fact, better sew them into your stays in case they take your outer garments away.
    ‘Tomorrow, I will take you out to The Grange. McWhirter doesn’t know me, so I shall use a false name and say you are my mad niece and you must act mad.’
    ‘I’ll do anything to save Rose.’
    Daisy proved a quick learner in the art of lock-picking and so was able to return to Eaton Square late that evening. She went up to her room and packed a bag. She took off her stays and removed
two of the steels and slipped two files in instead. Harry had told her to return and spend the night at Water Street.
    Daisy was carrying her bag down the stairs when she found herself confronted by Humphrey.
    ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ said Humphrey.
    ‘Getting out of here.’
    ‘You are supposed to pack up Lady Rose’s things.’
    ‘Pack them yourself, you old trout.’
    Rose had never felt so frightened in her life before. She had arrived with Humphrey. Dr McWhirter had met her and said he would take her upstairs to see his
‘patient’.
    Rose had felt decidedly uneasy. There was the sound of someone sobbing. The stairs were thickly carpeted and the air smelt of cheap cooking and disinfectant. Her mother had said that a Mrs
Prothero was an old friend. Still, better get it over with. She would only stay for a few minutes.
    Dr McWhirter was joined on the first landing by a burly man in a white coat. ‘My assistant, Philips,’ he murmured.
    He led the way on up and along a corridor at the top of the building and swung open a door. Rose walked into a barely furnished room. There was a narrow bed against one wall. A curtained recess
by the window served as a wardrobe. The floor was covered in shiny dark green linoleum.
    Rose swung round. Dr McWhirter was standing in the doorway with his powerful-looking assistant.
    ‘Where is Mrs Prothero?’ demanded Rose.
    ‘There is no Mrs Prothero. This is an asylum for ladies with fragile nerves. You will be kept here – on instructions from your parents – until we consider you are well
again.’
    ‘This is an asylum! I am not mad!’
    He wagged a playful finger at her. ‘Ah, the mad never know it themselves. But you are in good hands here. If you behave yourself, you will be allowed to join our other guests in the
evenings for quiet recreation.’
    Rose made a frantic dash for the door, but Dr McWhirter stepped aside and his