Reading Help The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie. Ch.I-VI

At this juncture, Mrs. Inglethorp called to Cynthia from the
hall, and the girl ran out.

"Just carry up my despatch-case, will you, dear? I'm going to
bed."

The door into the hall was a wide one. I had risen when Cynthia
did, John was close by me. There were therefore three witnesses
who could swear that Mrs. Inglethorp was carrying her coffee, as
yet untasted, in her hand.

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. Unfortunately she has locked herself in."

"I'll come at once."

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

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

"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
with no effect. It was obviously locked or bolted on the inside.
The whole household was aroused by now. The most alarming sounds
were audible from the interior of the room. Clearly something
must be done.

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

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

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

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

"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 him to 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
Cavendish was there, shaking the girl--who must have been an
unusually sound sleeper--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 one is 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 give beneath our weight, and finally, with a
resounding crash, it was burst open.

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

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

I turned to Lawrence, to suggest that I had better leave them now
that there was no further need of my services, but the words were
frozen on my lips. Never have I seen such a ghastly look on any
man's face. He was white as chalk, the candle he held in his
shaking hand was sputtering onto the carpet, and his eyes,
petrified with terror, or some such kindred emotion, stared
fixedly over my head at a point on the further wall. It was as
though he had seen something that turned him to stone. I
instinctively followed the direction of his eyes, but I could see
nothing unusual. The still feebly flickering ashes in the grate,
and the row of prim ornaments on the mantelpiece, were surely
harmless enough.

The violence of Mrs. Inglethorp's attack seemed to be passing.
She was able 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
standing near the door with her arm around Cynthia. She seemed
to be supporting the girl, who looked utterly dazed and unlike
herself. Her face was heavily flushed, and she yawned
repeatedly.

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

A strangled cry from the bed startled me. A fresh access of pain
seized the unfortunate old lady. The convulsions were of a
violence terrible to behold. Everything was confusion. We
thronged round her, powerless to help or alleviate. A final
convulsion lifted her from the bed, until she appeared to rest
upon her head and her heels, with her body arched in an
extraordinary manner. In vain Mary and John tried to administer
more brandy. The moments flew. Again the body arched itself in
that peculiar fashion.

At that moment, Dr. Bauerstein pushed his way authoritatively
into the room. For one instant he stopped dead, staring at the
figure on the bed, and, at the same instant, Mrs. Inglethorp
cried out in a strangled voice, 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
worked them energetically, applying what I knew to be artificial
respiration. He issued a few short sharp orders to the servants.
An imperious wave of his hand drove us all to the door. We
watched him, fascinated, though I think we all knew in our hearts
that it was too late, and that nothing could be done now. I
could see by the expression on his face that he himself 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 own doctor, a portly, fussy little man, came
bustling in.

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

"Ve--ry sad. Ve--ry sad," murmured Dr. Wilkins. "Poor dear
lady. Always did 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. Nature rebelled. Na--ture--re--belled."

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

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

"Ah!" said Dr. Wilkins wisely.

"I should like to speak to you in private," said Dr. Bauerstein.