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“
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
.
