The Mysterious Affair at Styles Read Online Free PDF Page A

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
     awestricken 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