The Mysterious Affair at Styles (Hercule Poirot 1)

CHAPTER III. THE NIGHT OF THE TRAGEDY

To make this part of my story clear, I append the following plan of thefirst floor of Styles. The servants' rooms are reached through thedoor B. They have no communication with the right wing, where theInglethorps' rooms were situated.

It seemed to be the middle of the night when I was awakened by LawrenceCavendish. He had a candle in his hand, and the agitation of his facetold me at once that something was seriously wrong.

"What's the matter?" I asked, sitting up in bed, and trying to collectmy scattered thoughts.

"We are afraid my mother is very ill. She seems to be having some kindof fit. Unfortunately she has locked herself in."

"I'll come at once."

I sprang out of bed; and, pulling on a dressing-gown, followed Lawrencealong the passage and the gallery to the right wing of the house.

John Cavendish joined us, and one or two of the servants were standinground in a state of awe-stricken excitement. Lawrence turned to hisbrother.

"What do you think we had better do?"

Never, I thought, had his indecision of character been more apparent.

John rattled the handle of Mrs. Inglethorp's door violently, but withno effect. It was obviously locked or bolted on the inside. The wholehousehold was aroused by now. The most alarming sounds were audible fromthe interior of the room. Clearly something must be done.

"Try going through Mr. Inglethorp's room, sir," cried Dorcas. "Oh, thepoor mistress!"

Suddenly I realized that Alfred Inglethorp was not with us--that healone had given no sign of his presence. John opened the door of hisroom. It was pitch dark, but Lawrence was following with the candle, andby its feeble light we saw that the bed had not been slept in, and thatthere was no sign of the room having been occupied.

We went straight to the connecting door. That, too, was locked or boltedon the inside. What was to be done?

"Oh, dear, sir," cried Dorcas, wringing her hands, "what ever shall wedo?"

"We must try and break the door in, I suppose. It'll be a tough job,though. Here, let one of the maids go down and wake Baily and tell himto go for Dr. Wilkins at once. Now then, we'll have a try at the door.Half a moment, though, isn't there a door into Miss Cynthia's rooms?"

"Yes, sir, but that's always bolted. It's never been undone."

"Well, we might just see."

He ran rapidly down the corridor to Cynthia's room. Mary Cavendishwas there, shaking the girl--who must have been an unusually soundsleeper--and trying to wake her.

In a moment or two he was back.

"No good. That's bolted too. We must break in the door. I think this oneis a shade less solid than the one in the passage."

We strained and heaved together. The framework of the door was solid,and for a long time it resisted our efforts, but at last we felt it givebeneath our weight, and finally, with a resounding crash, it was burstopen.

We stumbled in together, Lawrence still holding his candle. Mrs.Inglethorp was lying on the bed, her whole form agitated by violentconvulsions, in one of which she must have overturned the table besideher. As we entered, however, her limbs relaxed, and she fell back uponthe pillows.

John strode across the room, and lit the gas. Turning to Annie, one ofthe housemaids, he sent her downstairs to the dining-room for brandy.Then he went across to his mother whilst I unbolted the door that gaveon the corridor.

I turned to Lawrence, to suggest that I had better leave them now thatthere was no further need of my services, but the words were frozen onmy lips. Never have I seen such a ghastly look on any man's face. He waswhite as chalk, the candle he held in his shaking hand was sputteringonto the carpet, and his eyes, petrified with terror, or some suchkindred emotion, stared fixedly over my head at a point on the furtherwall. It was as though he had seen something that turned him to stone.I instinctively followed the direction of his eyes, but I could seenothing unusual. The still feebly flickering ashes in the grate, and therow of prim ornaments on the mantelpiece, were surely harmless enough.

The violence of Mrs. Inglethorp's attack seemed to be passing. She wasable to speak in short gasps.

"Better now--very sudden--stupid of me--to lock myself in."

A shadow fell on the bed and, looking up, I saw Mary Cavendish standingnear the door with her arm around Cynthia. She seemed to be supportingthe girl, who looked utterly dazed and unlike herself. Her face washeavily flushed, and she yawned repeatedly.

"Poor Cynthia is quite frightened," said Mrs. Cavendish in a low clearvoice. She herself, I noticed, was dressed in her white land smock. Thenit must be later than I thought. I saw that a faint streak of daylightwas showing through the curtains of the windows, and that the clock onthe mantelpiece pointed to close upon five o'clock.

A strangled cry from the bed startled me. A fresh access of pain seizedthe unfortunate old lady. The convulsions were of a violence terribleto behold. Everything was confusion. We thronged round her, powerless tohelp or alleviate. A final convulsion lifted her from the bed, until sheappeared to rest upon her head and her heels, with her body arched inan extraordinary manner. In vain Mary and John tried to administer morebrandy. The moments flew. Again the body arched itself in that peculiarfashion.

At that moment, Dr. Bauerstein pushed his way authoritatively into theroom. For one instant he stopped dead, staring at the figure on thebed, and, at the same instant, Mrs. Inglethorp cried out in a strangledvoice, her eyes fixed on the doctor:

"Alfred--Alfred----" Then she fell back motionless on the pillows.

With a stride, the doctor reached the bed, and seizing her arms workedthem energetically, applying what I knew to be artificial respiration.He issued a few short sharp orders to the servants. An imperious wave ofhis hand drove us all to the door. We watched him, fascinated, though Ithink we all knew in our hearts that it was too late, and that nothingcould be done now. I could see by the expression on his face that hehimself had little hope.

Finally he abandoned his task, shaking his head gravely. At that moment,we heard footsteps outside, and Dr. Wilkins, Mrs. Inglethorp's owndoctor, a portly, fussy little man, came bustling in.

In a few words Dr. Bauerstein explained how he had happened to bepassing the lodge gates as the car came out, and had run up to the houseas fast as he could, whilst the car went on to fetch Dr. Wilkins. With afaint gesture of the hand, he indicated the figure on the bed.

"Ve--ry sad. Ve--ry sad," murmured Dr. Wilkins. "Poor dear lady. Alwaysdid far too much--far too much--against my advice. I warned her.Her heart was far from strong. 'Take it easy,' I said to her,'Take--it--easy'. But no--her zeal for good works was too great. Naturerebelled. Na--ture--re--belled."

Dr. Bauerstein, I noticed, was watching the local doctor narrowly. Hestill kept his eyes fixed on him as he spoke.

"The convulsions were of a peculiar violence, Dr. Wilkins. I am sorryyou were not here in time to witness them. They were quite--tetanic incharacter."

"Ah!" said Dr. Wilkins wisely.

"I should like to speak to you in private," said Dr. Bauerstein. Heturned to John. "You do not object?"

"Certainly not."

We all trooped out into the corridor, leaving the two doctors alone, andI heard the key turned in the lock behind us.

We went slowly down the stairs. I was violently excited. I have acertain talent for deduction, and Dr. Bauerstein's manner had started aflock of wild surmises in my mind. Mary Cavendish laid her hand upon myarm.