Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Miserable Night

To make this part of my story clear, I have attached the following floor plan of the second floor of Styles Manor.Pass door B to the servant's room.They do not communicate with the right-hand room in which the Inglethorp's room is located. Too bad she locked herself inside anyway. " "I'll be right there." I jumped out of bed hastily, put on my dressing gown, and followed Lawrence down the corridor and corridor to the right side of the house. John Cavendish came too, and one or two servants stood around in awe and excitement.Lawrence turned to his brother and said:

"What do you think we can do?" I don't think that his indecision was ever more pronounced than it is now. John rattled Mrs. Inglethorp's doorknob vigorously, but in vain.Evidently, it was locked or bolted inside.Now the whole family is awakened.An extremely frightening sound could be heard coming from the room.It was clear that something must have happened. "Try through Mr. Inglethorp's room, sir," cried Dorcas. "Oh, poor mistress!" It occurred to me that Alfred Inglethorp was not there—only he was invisible.John opened the door of his room.The room was pitch-dark, and Lawrence followed in with a candle, and by the faint candlelight, we found that no one had slept in his bed, and there was no sign of anyone staying in the room.

We went straight to the door leading to the next room.But the inside is also locked or bolted.How to do it? "Oh, dear, sir!" exclaimed Dorcas, squeezing his hand. "How can this be done?" "I reckon we'll try to bark the door, rough as it is. Now, go maid, go downstairs and wake Bailey up and fetch Dr. Wilkins at once. Come, we'll try to lock the door." Open it. No, wait a minute, Miss Cynthia's room has a door?" "Yes, sir, but the door was always bolted and never opened." "Okay, let's go take a look first." He hurried down the passage to Cynthia's room.Mary Cavendish was there, trying to wake the girl, who was so soundly asleep, by shaking her.

After a while, he came back. "Bad. That door is barred, too. We'll pry it in anyway. I think this one is a little weaker than the one in the passage." We rammed hard together.The door frame was strong, and it took us a long time and a lot of effort to get in.Later, we found that under our slamming, it couldn't support it after all, and finally it rattled loudly and was knocked away. We stumbled into the room together, Laurence still holding the candle.Mrs. Inglethorp lay in bed, her whole body trembling with violent convulsions, which on one occasion must have overturned the table beside her.As soon as we were inside, however, her limbs relaxed and she sank back onto the pillow.

John strode across the room and lit the gas lamp.Then he turned to Anne, the maid, and bade her go at once into the dining-room and fetch the brandy.Then he went to mother's bedside, and I went to unbolt the door that led to the passage. I turned to Lawrence, intending to suggest that now that my help was no longer needed, it would be better for me to leave.But the words stopped on the verge of speaking.I never saw such a pallor in anyone's face, he was as white as chalk, and the candle in his trembling hand spilled the oil on the carpet, and his eyes were full of ecstasy. Frightened, or by some emotion like it, I fixed myself and stared blankly over my head at a point on the far wall.He seemed to see something that turned him to stone.Instinctively I looked in the direction of his gaze, but saw nothing in particular.The still flickering ashes in the hearth, and the neat rows of liturgical objects on the mantel, looked in no way harmful.

The severe moment of Mrs. Inglethorp's sickness seemed to be passing, and she was able to speak in short breaths. "It's better now—suddenly—what a fool I was—locking myself in the room." A shadow fell on the bed, and I looked up to see Mary Cavendish standing by the door, with one arm round Cynthia's waist.She seemed to be trying to hold the girl up.The girl looked completely befuddled, unlike her original self.Her face was flushed and she was yawning constantly. "Poor Cynthia is frightened," whispered Mrs. Cavendish clearly.She herself, I discovered, was wearing a white work coat.Time, a little later than I imagined.I saw a dim ray of morning light through the curtains, and the clock on the mantelpiece was almost five o'clock.

A choked scream from the bed startled me.Pain returned to the unfortunate old lady.She was convulsing so badly that it was horrible to watch, and everything was in a mess.We crowded around her, but there was nothing we could do to help her or ease her pain, until at last the convulsions caused her to rise from the bed until, thrusting her head and heels, her body was bent into a strange arched.Mary and John tried in vain to pour her more brandy.After a while, her body bent into that strange look again. Just then, Dr. Bauerstein authoritatively pushed through the crowd and entered the room.He stood still suddenly, contemplating the shape of the body on the bed, and at that very moment Mrs. Inglethorp, fixing her eyes on the doctor, cried in a stifled voice:

"Alfred—Alfred—" Then he fell back on the pillow, motionless. The doctor strode over to the bed, grabbed her arms, and pulled them vigorously. I knew that this was artificial respiration.He gave a few terse orders to the servants, and with an imperious wave of his hand, drove us all to the door.We stared at him blankly, though I think we all knew in our hearts that it was too late and there was nothing we could do.From the expression on his face, I can also tell that he himself thinks that there is little hope. Finally, he finally gave up his first aid work and shook his head with a heavy heart.Just then we heard steps outside the door, and Mrs. Inglethorp's personal physician, Mrs. Wilkins, hurried in, a short, fat, chattering man.

Dr. Bauerstein explained a few words, saying that when the car drove out, he happened to pass the gate of the manor, so he ran to the house as quickly as possible, and let the car go on to pick up Dr. Wilkins.He pointed to the man lying on the bed with a feeble gesture. "It's—it's—sad. It's—it's—sad," muttered Dr. Wilkins. "Poor lady, there's always so much work—it's too much— —doesn't listen to my advice. I've warned her. Her heart is far from healthy. 'Don't be nervous,' I said to her, 'you can't—can—be nervous'. But she couldn't,— —She is too enthusiastic about various charitable causes. She has a stubborn temper. Temp-qi-stub-strength-ah."

I noticed that Dr. Bauerstein was keeping a close eye on the local doctor.He kept his eyes fixed on him as he spoke. "The intensity of the old lady's convulsions is rare, Dr. Wilkins. I regret that you did not come in time to witness it. It was a wholly tonic convulsion in character." "Ah!" replied Dr. Wilkins wisely. "I want to speak to you individually," Dr. Bauerstein said.Then he turned to John and asked, "You don't object?" "Of course not." We all went down the hall, leaving only the two doctors, and I heard the door lock behind us.

We walked slowly down the stairs.I am very excited.I have a faculty of reasoning.Dr. Bauerstein's attitude caused a lot of wild speculation in my mind.Mary Cavendish put her hand on mine. "What's the matter? Why is Dr. Bauerstein acting so—strangely?" I look at her. "Do you know what I'm thinking?" "What are you thinking?" "Listen to me!" I looked around, and the others were all far away, so they wouldn't hear me.I said in a low voice, "I think she was poisoned! I'm sure Dr. Bauerstein already has his doubts." "What?" She leaned back against the wall, her eyes flustered.Then, to my astonishment, she cried out suddenly, "No, no—that's not that—that's not that!" and ran away from me, and up the stairs.I followed her closely, for fear that she would pass out immediately.I found her leaning against the railing, her face dead.She waved impatiently and told me to go away immediately. "Don't come, don't come—leave me. I'd rather be here alone. Just let me be quiet for a while. Go down to the other people." I obeyed her reluctantly.John and Lawrence were in the dining room, and I went in too.We were all silent, but when I finally broke the silence and spoke, I guess I said what we were all thinking. "Where is Mr. Inglethorp?" John shook his head. "he is not at home." Our eyes met.Where is Alfred Inglethorp?His absence is odd and inexplicable.I thought of Mrs. Inglethorp's dying words.What's down there?If only she had time.What else does he have to tell us? Finally, we heard the doctor come downstairs.Dr. Wilkins looked heavy and agitated, but he tried to hide his inner agitation under a cultivated calm demeanor.Doctor Boosedan followed, his dark, bearded face unchanged.Dr. Wilkins was their spokesman.He said to John: "Mr Cavendish, I would like your consent to an autopsy." "Is it necessary?" John asked gravely, a look of pain flitting across his face. "It's absolutely necessary," Dr. Bauerstein said. "What do you mean by that—?" "Because neither Dr. Wiljus nor I can issue a death certificate under such circumstances." John caved. "In that case, I have no choice but to agree." "Thank you," replied Dr. Wilkins lightly. "We suggest it should be done tomorrow night—or just this evening." He glanced toward the dawn light. "Under the circumstances, it seems to me that a trial is almost unavoidable--such formalities are necessary, but please don't let yourself be distressed by it." There was a pause, and then Dr. Bauerstein took two keys from his pocket.Handed over to John. "Here's the key to that room. I've locked them. I think it's better to keep them locked for the time being." Both doctors then left. I have an idea running through my head that I feel I can bring up at this point for discussion.However, I'm a bit of a bur to do this.I know John's worst fear is spreading the word.Moreover, he is a laid-back optimist who never wants to encounter trouble on the way.This may be the difficulty in convincing him of the soundness of my plan.Lawrence, on the other hand, was less conventional and more fanciful.I think I can be counted as an assistant.There is no doubt that it is now up to me to lead the charge. "John," I said, "I'm going to ask you a question." "What's up?" "You remember that I spoke to you about my friend Poirot? Do you remember that this Belgian is here? He is a most famous detective!" "yes." "I want you to let me go and get him now--ask him to look into the matter." "What—now? Before the autopsy?" "Yes, if--if--it is indeed an outrage, the sooner the time comes, the better." "Nonsense!" Lawrence yelled angrily. "The way I see it, it's all Baustein's trick! Wilkins didn't think that way. Baustein put it in his head. But, like all experts, Baustein's The nerves are a little off, too. Poisons are his hobby. So it seems to him that there are poisons everywhere." I confess that I was surprised at Lawrence's attitude, a man who is rarely so emotional about anything. John hesitated. "I don't see it as you do, Lawrence," he said at last. "I'm in favor of letting Hastings deal with it, but I'd rather wait and let's not create unnecessary gossip about it." "No, no," I cried eagerly, "you needn't worry about that. Poirot is very cautious." "Very well, then leave it to you, and I leave the matter to you. But if it turns out to be what we suspect, it is a very clear case. If I have wronged him, God will forgive me!" I looked at my watch, it was six o'clock.I decided not to waste time.However, I allowed myself five minutes of delay.I spent the time poking around in the library until I found a book that described toxicity.

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