Free Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie Page A

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.”
    â€œDelusional 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?”
    â€œEh?” Dr. Kennedy stared at him. “No, of course he hadn’t. No question of such a thing.”
    â€œBut—but how do you know?” Gwenda’s voice came uncertainly.
    â€œMy 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 matters. If a man would rather his wife was dead than unfaithful, he can manage 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?”
    â€œOh, 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.
    â€œPlease,” she said. “Will you tell me all about it?”
    â€œI’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 interesting 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.
    â€œI 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 Friday, I remember, I’d just come back from the hospital and found him waiting 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. ’
    â€œFor 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?’ Hesaid, ‘It isn’t a dream this time. It’s true. She’s lying there strangled. I strangled her.’
    â€œThen 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.
    â€œYes, 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.”
    â€œBut what did my father say?”
    â€œOh, he persisted in his story, of course. He really believed it, you