efully.

Lawrence followed him, and Mrs. Cavendish sat down by us.

We three sat for some time in silence. It was a glorious night, hot and
still. Mrs. Cavendish fanned herself gently with a palm leaf.

"It's almost too hot," she murmured. "We shall have a thunderstorm."

Alas, that these harmonious moments can never endure! My paradise was
rudely shattered by the sound of a well known, and heartily disliked,
voice in the hall.

"Dr. Bauerstein!" exclaimed Cynthia. "What a funny time to come."

I glanced jealously at Mary Cavendish, but she seemed quite undisturbed,
the delicate pallor of her cheeks did not vary.

In a few moments, Alfred Inglethorp had ushered the doctor in, the
latter laughing, and protesting that he was in no fit state for a
drawing-room. In truth, he presented a sorry spectacle, being literally
plastered with mud.

"What have you been doing, doctor?" cried Mrs. Cavendish.

"I must make my apologies," said the doctor. "I did not really mean to
come in, but Mr. Inglethorp insisted."

"Well, Bauerstein, you are in a plight," said John, strolling in from
the hall. "Have some coffee, and tell us what you have been up to."

"Thank you, I will." He laughed rather ruefully, as he described how he
had discovered a very rare species of fern in an inaccessible place,
and in his efforts to obtain it had lost his footing, and slipped
ignominiously into a neighbouring pond.

"The sun soon dried me off," he added, "but I'm afraid my appearance is
very disreputable."

At this juncture, Mrs. Inglethorp called to Cynthia from the hall, and
the girl ran out.

"Just carry up my despatch-case, will you, dear? I'm going to bed."

The door into the hall was a wide one. I had risen when Cynthia did,
John was close by me. There were therefore three witnesses who could
swear that Mrs. Inglethorp was carrying her coffee, as yet untasted, in
her hand.

My evening was utterly and entirely spoilt by the presence of Dr.
Bauerstein. It seemed to me the man would never go. He rose at last,
however, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll walk down to the village with you," said Mr. Inglethorp. "I must
see our agent over those estate accounts." He turned to John. "No one
need sit up. I will take the latch-key."

CHAPTER III. THE NIGHT OF THE TRAGEDY

To make this part of my story clear, I append the following plan of the
first floor of Styles. The servants' rooms are reached through the
door B. They hav