Chapter III. The Night of the Tragedy

by Agatha Christie

　　To make this part of my story clear, I append the following planof the first floor of Styles. The servants' rooms are reachedthrough the door B. They have no communication with the rightwing, where the Inglethorps' rooms were situated.It seemed to be the middle of the night when I was awakened byLawrence Cavendish. He had a candle in his hand, and theagitation of his face told me at once that something wasseriously wrong."What's the matter?" I asked, sitting up in bed, and trying tocollect my scattered thoughts."We are afraid my mother is very ill. She seems to be havingsome 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, followedLawrence along the passage and the gallery to the right wing ofthe house.John Cavendish joined us, and one or two of the servants werestanding round in a state of awe-stricken excitement. Lawrenceturned to his brother."What do you think we had better do?"Never, I thought, had his indecision of character been moreapparent.John rattled the handle of Mrs. Inglethorp's door violently, butwith no effect. It was obviously locked or bolted on the inside.The whole household was aroused by now. The most alarming soundswere audible from the interior of the room. Clearly somethingmust 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--thathe alone had given no sign of his presence. John opened the doorof his room. It was pitch dark, but Lawrence was following withthe candle, and by its feeble light we saw that the bed had notbeen slept in, and that there was no sign of the room having beenoccupied.We went straight to the connecting door. That, too, was lockedor bolted on the inside. What was to be done?"Oh, dear, sir," cried Dorcas, wringing her hands, "what evershall we do?""We must try and break the door in, I suppose. It'll be a toughjob, though. Here, let one of the maids go down and wake Bailyand tell him to go for Dr. Wilkins at once. Now then, we'll havea try at the door. Half a moment, though, isn't there a doorinto 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. MaryCavendish was there, shaking the girl--who must have been anunusually 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. Ithink this one is a shade less solid than the one in thepassage."We strained and heaved together. The framework of the door wassolid, and for a long time it resisted our efforts, but at lastwe felt it give beneath our weight, and finally, with aresounding 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 byviolent convulsions, in one of which she must have overturned thetable beside her. As we entered, however, her limbs relaxed, andshe 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-roomfor brandy. Then he went across to his mother whilst I unboltedthe door that gave on the corridor.I turned to Lawrence, to suggest that I had better leave them nowthat there was no further need of my services, but the words werefrozen on my lips. Never have I seen such a ghastly look on anyman's face. He was white as chalk, the candle he held in hisshaking hand was sputtering onto the carpet, and his eyes,petrified with terror, or some such kindred emotion, staredfixedly over my head at a point on the further wall. It was asthough he had seen something that turned him to stone. Iinstinctively followed the direction of his eyes, but I could seenothing unusual. The still feebly flickering ashes in the grate,and the row of prim ornaments on the mantelpiece, were surelyharmless 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 Cavendishstanding near the door with her arm around Cynthia. She seemedto be supporting the girl, who looked utterly dazed and unlikeherself. Her face was heavily flushed, and she yawnedrepeatedly."Poor Cynthia is quite frightened," said Mrs. Cavendish in a lowclear voice. She herself, I noticed, was dressed in her whiteland smock. Then it must be later than I thought. I saw that afaint streak of daylight was showing through the curtains of thewindows, and that the clock on the mantelpiece pointed to closeupon five o'clock.A strangled cry from the bed startled me. A fresh access of painseized the unfortunate old lady. The convulsions were of aviolence terrible to behold. Everything was confusion. Wethronged round her, powerless to help or alleviate. A finalconvulsion lifted her from the bed, until she appeared to restupon her head and her heels, with her body arched in anextraordinary manner. In vain Mary and John tried to administermore brandy. The moments flew. Again the body arched itself inthat peculiar fashion.At that moment, Dr. Bauerstein pushed his way authoritativelyinto the room. For one instant he stopped dead, staring at thefigure on the bed, and, at the same instant, Mrs. Inglethorpcried out in a strangled voice, her eyes fixed on the doctor:"Alfred--Alfred----" Then she fell back motionless on thepillows.With a stride, the doctor reached the bed, and seizing her armsworked them energetically, applying what I knew to be artificialrespiration. He issued a few short sharp orders to the servants.An imperious wave of his hand drove us all to the door. Wewatched him, fascinated, though I think we all knew in our heartsthat it was too late, and that nothing could be done now. Icould see by the expression on his face that he himself hadlittle hope.Finally he abandoned his task, shaking his head gravely. At thatmoment, we heard footsteps outside, and Dr. Wilkins, Mrs.Inglethorp's own doctor, a portly, fussy little man, camebustling 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 tothe house as fast as he could, whilst the car went on to fetchDr. Wilkins. With a faint gesture of the hand, he indicated thefigure on the bed."Ve--ry sad. Ve--ry sad," murmured Dr. Wilkins. "Poor dearlady. Always did far too much--far too much--against my advice.I warned her. Her heart was far from strong. 'Take it easy,' Isaid to her, 'Take--it--easy'. But no--her zeal for good workswas too great. Nature rebelled. Na--ture-- re--belled."Dr. Bauerstein, I noticed, was watching the local doctornarrowly. He still kept his eyes fixed on him as he spoke."The convulsions were of a peculiar violence, Dr. Wilkins. I amsorry you were not here in time to witness them. They werequite--tetanic in character.""Ah!" said Dr. Wilkins wisely."I should like to speak to you in private," said Dr. Bauerstein.He turned to John. "You do not object?""Certainly not."We all trooped out into the corridor, leaving the two doctorsalone, and I heard the key turned in the lock behind us.We went slowly down the stairs. I was violently excited. I havea certain talent for deduction, and Dr. Bauerstein's manner hadstarted a flock of wild surmises in my mind. Mary Cavendish laidher hand upon my arm."What is it? Why did Dr. Bauerstein seem so--peculiar?"I looked at her."Do you know what I think?""What?""Listen!" I looked round, the others were out of earshot. Ilowered my voice to a whisper. "I believe she has been poisoned!I'm certain Dr. Bauerstein suspects it.""What?" She shrank against the wall, the pupils of her eyesdilating wildly. Then, with a sudden cry that startled me, shecried out: "No, no--not that--not that!" And breaking from me,fled up the stairs. I followed her, afraid that she was going tofaint. I found her leaning against the bannisters, deadly pale.She waved me away impatiently."No, no--leave me. I'd rather be alone. Let me just be quietfor a minute or two. Go down to the others."I obeyed her reluctantly. John and Lawrence were in thedining-room. I joined them. We were all silent, but I suppose Ivoiced the thoughts of us all when I at last broke it by saying:"Where is Mr. Inglethorp?"John shook his head."He's not in the house."Our eyes met. Where was Alfred Inglethorp? His absence wasstrange and inexplicable. I remembered Mrs. Inglethorp's dyingwords. What lay beneath them? What more could she have told us,if she had had time?At last we heard the doctors descending the stairs. Dr. Wilkinswas looking important and excited, and trying to conceal aninward exultation under a manner of decorous calm. Dr.Bauerstein remained in the background, his grave bearded faceunchanged. Dr. Wilkins was the spokesman for the two. Headdressed himself to John:"Mr. Cavendish, I should like your consent to a postmortem.""Is that necessary?" asked John gravely. A spasm of pain crossedhis face."Absolutely," said Dr. Bauerstein."You mean by that----?""That neither Dr. Wilkins nor myself could give a deathcertificate under the circumstances."John bent his head."In that case, I have no alternative but to agree.""Thank you," said Dr. Wilkins briskly. "We propose that itshould take place to-morrow night--or rather to-night." And heglanced at the daylight. "Under the circumstances, I am afraidan inquest can hardly be avoided--these formalities arenecessary, but I beg that you won't distress yourselves."There was a pause, and then Dr. Bauerstein drew two keys from hispocket, and handed them to John."These are the keys of the two rooms. I have locked them and, inmy opinion, they would be better kept locked for the present."The doctors then departed.I had been turning over an idea in my head, and I felt that themoment had now come to broach it. Yet I was a little chary ofdoing so. John, I knew, had a horror of any kind of publicity,and was an easygoing optimist, who preferred never to meettrouble half-way. It might be difficult to convince him of thesoundness of my plan. Lawrence, on the other hand, being lessconventional, and having more imagination, I felt I might countupon as an ally. There was no doubt that the moment had come forme to take the lead."John," I said, "I am going to ask you something.""Well?""You remember my speaking of my friend Poirot? The Belgian who ishere? He has been a most famous detective.""Yes.""I want you to let me call him in--to investigate this matter.""What--now? Before the post-mortem?""Yes, time is an advantage if--if--there has been foul play.""Rubbish!" cried Lawrence angrily. "In my opinion the wholething is a mare's nest of Bauerstein's! Wilkins hadn't an idea ofsuch a thing, until Bauerstein put it into his head. But, likeall specialists, Bauerstein's got a bee in his bonnet. Poisonsare his hobby, so of course he sees them everywhere."I confess that I was surprised by Lawrence's attitude. He was soseldom vehement about anything.John hesitated."I can't feel as you do, Lawrence," he said at last. "I'minclined to give Hastings a free hand, though I should prefer towait a bit. We don't want any unnecessary scandal.""No, no," I cried eagerly, "you need have no fear of that.Poirot is discretion itself.""Very well, then, have it your own way. I leave it in yourhands. Though, if it is as we suspect, it seems a clear enoughcase. God forgive me if I am wronging him!"I looked at my watch. It was six o'clock. I determined to loseno time.Five minutes' delay, however, I allowed myself. I spent it inransacking the library until I discovered a medical book whichgave a description of strychnine poisoning.