My evening was utterly and entirely spoilt by the presence of Dr.
Bauerstein. It seemed to me the man would never go. He rose at
last, however, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'll walk down to the village with you," said Mr. Inglethorp.
"I must see our agent over those estate accounts." He turned to
John. "No one need sit up. I will take the latch-key."
CHAPTER III.
THE NIGHT OF THE TRAGEDY
To make this part of my story clear, I append the following plan
of the first floor of Styles. The servants' rooms are reached
through the door B. They have no communication with the right
wing, where the Inglethorps' rooms were situated.
It seemed to be the middle of the night when I was awakened by
Lawrence Cavendish. He had a candle in his hand, and the
agitation of his face told me at once that something was
seriously wrong.
"What's the matter?" I asked, sitting up in bed, and trying to
collect my scattered thoughts.
"We are afraid my mother is very ill. She seems to be having
some kind of fit.
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