Chapter 10 Chapter Nine: Mrs. Lidler's Anecdote

We just finished lunch.Mrs. Leidner retired to her room to rest as usual.I put her to bed, gave her several pillows, and the book she wanted to read.When I was about to leave her room, she called me back. "Miss Nurse, don't go. I have something to tell you." I went back to her room again. "Close the door." I follow suit. She got out of bed and started pacing up and down.I could tell she was making up her mind to do something and didn't want to disturb her.She clearly has one thing, hesitating. Finally, she seems to have the courage to do what she needs to do.So she turned around and suddenly said to me, "Sit down."

I sat quietly at the table.She said nervously, "Maybe you don't understand what's going on?" I didn't say anything, just nodded. "I've made up my mind to tell you—everything! I've got to tell someone, or I'm going crazy." "Well," I said, "I really thought it would be good for you to do that. It's not easy to know what's best when one doesn't know what to do." She paced back and forth restlessly, now facing me. "Do you know what I'm afraid of?" "A man," I said. "Yes—but I didn't say who—I meant what."

I wait for her to go on. She said, "I'm afraid that people will be killed!" Ah, now it's said.I can't express that I have any particular concerns, she has become almost hysterical. "Gee," I said, "I see, really?". So she laughed.She laughed, laughed, laughed until tears came out. "How ridiculous you talk like that!" she said, "how ridiculous you talk like that!" "Well, well," I said, "this is not okay," I said sternly, and I pushed her into a chair and sat down, and went to the wash-basin, soaked a sponge in cold water, and washed her face. Forehead and wrist.

"Stop talking," I said, "and tell me everything calmly and firmly." With that said, her laughter stopped.She sat up and spoke in her usual natural voice. "Miss Nurse, you are invaluable," she said. "You make me feel like I'm six, and I'll tell you." "That's right." I said, "Don't be busy, don't be in a hurry." She began to speak, slowly and unhurriedly: "When I was a girl of twenty, I got married." The other party was a young man working in the State Department, and that was in 1918. ". "I know," I said. "Mrs. McGado told me he was killed in the Great War."

But Mrs Leidner shook her head. "That's what she thinks, that's what everyone thinks. Actually, it was a completely different thing, Miss Nurse, and I was a weird, very patriotic, passionate girl, with a lot of idealism in my head." Thoughts. When I was only a few months married, I discovered, by an unexpected accident, that my husband was a spy paid for by the Germans. I later learned that it was his information that directly caused the The sinking of an American transport ship, and the loss of many lives. I don't know what most people do when it happens to them, but I'll tell you what I did. My father was in the Military and Political Department, and I went straight to him There, tell him the truth. Frederick wasn't actually killed in action—he was executed for espionage in America."

"Oh, dear, dear!" I exclaimed, "how dreadful!" "Yes," she said, "it was terrible, and he was kind and gentle. But still—but I don't hesitate. Perhaps, I'm wrong." "It's hard to say," I said, "I really don't know what a person should do in such a situation." "The things I told you are not public outside the State Department. On the surface, my husband was killed while fighting on the front line. I am a widow of a fallen soldier, and I have received a lot of sympathy and care from all parties. She looked distressed and I nodded very understandingly. "Many men have tried to marry me, but I always say no. I've been so devastated that I can no longer trust anyone."

"Yes, I can imagine a man feeling the way you do." "Then I fell in love with a young man and I was hesitating when an amazing thing happened! I got a disturbing letter - from Frederick - saying : If I marry another man, he will kill me!" "From Frederick? From your dead husband?" "Yes, of course, at first I thought I was crazy, or dreaming, and finally, I went to my father, and he told me the truth, that my husband was not shot, he ran away— — But his escape was still in vain. A few weeks later, a train derailed and he was on board. Among the dead, his body was found. My father kept his escape a secret I, he thought there was no reason to tell me since the man was dead anyway. He didn't tell me the truth until it happened.

"However, as soon as that letter came, people had some new speculations. Maybe my husband is actually still alive? "My father studied the matter as closely as he could. His conclusion was that, as far as human beings are concerned, we may believe that the body buried as Frederick's body was Frederick's. The body The face was already quite difficult to recognize. Therefore, he could not say categorically that it must be, but he repeatedly said solemnly that he believed that Frederick was dead, and the letter must be written by a cruel and vicious person. play tricks on me.

"The same thing has happened more than once, and if I get close to any guy, I get a threatening letter." "Is it your husband's handwriting?" She said slowly: "It's hard to say. I haven't kept his letter. I can only judge from memory." "Is there any reference to the past in the letter, or some special wording, which will enable you to be sure that it was written by him?" "No. There were some words in the past--such as nicknames--words that we used frequently between the two of us--if those words are written or quoted in the letter, I can be sure."

"Yes," I said thoughtfully, "that's very strange. It doesn't look like your husband wrote it, though. But could it have been written by someone else?" "There is a possibility that Frederick had a younger brother—he was a boy of ten or twelve when we married, and his name was William. He adored Frederick, and Frederick I liked him very much, but what happened to the boy, I don't know. I think, since he worshiped his brother so fanatically, when he grows up, it seems likely that I should be responsible for his death. Maybe he will figure out A plot to punish me."

"It's possible," I said. "It's amazing how little kids remember it when they get hit." "I know that the boy may have spent his whole life in revenge." "Please go on." "There isn't much else to say, I met Eric three years ago, I was planning on never getting married, but Eric made me change my mind, and until the day we got married, I was waiting for another threatening letter , but there was none. So I came to a conclusion: Whoever wrote that kind of letter is either dead now, or he feels tired of playing that cruel game. However, after our marriage On the third day, I received this letter." She pulled a small briefcase from the table, unlocked it, and took out a letter, which she handed to me. The ink is slightly faded, the handwriting is rather feminine, and the font is slanted forward: You didn't listen to me, now you can't escape, you can only be Frederick Basner's wife!You must die! I was scared—but, first of all, not as scared as I was before, I felt safe with Eric, and then, a month later, I got another: I haven't forgotten, I'm planning, you must die, why don't you listen to me? "Does your husband know about this?" Mrs. Leidner replied slowly: "He knew I was being threatened. When the second letter came, I showed him both letters. He thought it was all a trick to me. He thought, maybe Someone pretended that my ex-husband was still alive to blackmail me." She paused for a moment, then continued. "A few days after I got the second letter, we nearly died from gas poisoning. While we were asleep, someone came into our apartment and turned on the gas stove, and luckily I woke up in time to smell the gas. Later, I lost my nerve and told Eric I had been suffering from this for years. I told him again that I believed this madman - whoever he was - was really trying to kill me. For the first time I Thought it was indeed Frederick, there was always a little grimness behind his gentle surface. "I thought Eric wasn't as panicked as I was. He wanted to report to the police. Of course I didn't let him do that. In the end we all thought I should come here with him. In the summer, if I don't go back to the United States, and Better to stay in Paris or London. "We carried out our plan, and everything went well. I think everything must be all right now, after all, half the world is between us and the enemy. "So, then—more than three weeks ago—I got a letter—with an Iraqi stamp on it." She handed me another letter: You thought you could get away with it, you were wrong.I forbid you to be unfaithful to me and still live, as I have always told you in the past, your time of death is coming. "Then, a week ago—this—was the letter that lay on the table here, and it didn't even go through the post office." I took the letter from her hand, and there was only a sentence scrawled on it: I've already arrived. She stared at me intently. "Do you see? Do you understand: he's going to kill me. It may be Frederick—maybe it's Little William—but he's going to kill me." Her voice trembled and became high, and I quickly grabbed her wrist. "Okay, okay." I warned her, "You have to try to control your emotions, we will take care of you, do you have any volatile salt?" She nodded and looked towards the bathroom.So, I gave her a fairly large dose. "That's better," I said, as the color came back to her cheeks. "Yes, I feel better now. But, ah, nurse, do you know why I'm so disturbed? When I saw that man peeking in the window, I thought, Here he comes! Even yours I got suspicious too. I thought you might be a man pretending to be—” "What a bizarre idea!" "Oh, I know what I'm saying sounds funny. But maybe you're in cahoots with him—not a nurse from the hospital at all." "But, you are talking nonsense!" "Yes, maybe. But, I've grown out of my mind." I suddenly had an idea and said, "I think you will recognize your husband, right?" She said slowly, "I don't even know that, it was fifteen years ago, and I probably didn't recognize his face." Then she trembled with terror. "One night I saw his face—but it was the face of a dead man. There was a knocking on the window-pane, clack! clack! clack! Then I saw a face, a dead man's face, Ghostly, grinning, clinging to the windowpane, I kept screaming, but they said there was nothing there!" This reminds me of Mrs. McGado's statement. "You don't think," I said hesitantly, "that you saw it in a dream?" "I'm sure it's not a dream." I'm not so sure, it's one of those nightmares that is likely to happen in such a situation, and it's easy to wake up thinking it's real.Even so, I never pick a fight with my patients.I tried my best to comfort her, and pointed out to her that if a stranger came into the neighborhood, someone would know about it. When I left her, I thought, she felt a little relieved.Then I went to Dr. Leidner and told him about our conversation. "I'm glad she's told you," he said only. "It worries me very much. I believe that the faces, and the knocking on the window-panes, were entirely in her imagination. I never Knowing what the best course of action is, what do you think about the whole thing?" I don't know the tone of his voice very well, but I answered fairly quickly. "It is quite possible," said I, "that these letters may be the result of some cruel and malicious trick." "Yes, it is quite possible. But what shall we do? These letters are driving her mad, and I don't know what to do." I don't know, I think this matter may have something to do with a woman, the handwriting on those letters is feminine, and there is a shadow of Mrs. McGado in my heart. Perhaps she had chanced to find out the truth about Mrs. Leidner's first marriage, and perhaps she had tried to vent her resentment by intimidation. I don't really want to suggest to Dr. Leidner that it's hard to know how other people feel about your words. "Ah," I said optimistically, "we've got to think for the best, and I think Mrs. Leidner seems much more comfortable just talking about it. You know, it's always good to talk about it and keep things to yourself." It's going to be annoying." "I like it, she's told you," he repeated, "and it's a good sign that she likes you and trusts you. I still don't know what to do, I'm at my wits end .” I wanted to ask him if he had considered prudently hinting at the local police station, but I was at the end of my mouth, so I decided not to say it.In hindsight, I was glad I didn't do that. This is what happened next.The next day, Coleman was going into town to collect the workers' wages, and he was also taking all the letters to catch the airmail. All the letters, after they were written, were thrown into a wooden box on the windowsill of the dining room.The last thing Mr. Coleman did that night was take out the letters and tie them into bundles with rubber bands. Suddenly, he uttered a cry. "What's the matter?" I asked. "It's from our lovely Louise - she's so queer, she's really gone crazy. She addressed the envelope to someone, Forty-second Street, Paris, France. I think so It’s not written right, don’t you? You take it to her and ask her what it means, okay? She just went back to her room to rest.” I got the letter, and hurried to Mrs. Leidner's room to get her to change the address. It was the first time I saw Mrs. Leidner's handwriting.So I happened to think that I had seen this handwriting somewhere before, because it looked very familiar, and I suddenly remembered it in the middle of the night.Except that the handwriting is larger and messier, it is very similar to the handwriting on those anonymous letters. I had a sudden inspiration, and I had a new idea. Maybe those letters were written by Mrs. Leidner herself?Did Dr. Leidner have any knowledge of this?