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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

The Mysterious Affair at Styles