Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе
Chapter III. The Night Of The Tragedy
Asweentered,however,herlimbsrelaxed,andshefellbackuponthepillows.
Johnstrodeacrosstheroom,andlitthegas.TurningtoAnnie,oneofthehousemaids,hesentherdownstairstothedining-roomforbrandy.ThenhewentacrosstohismotherwhilstIunboltedthedoorthatgaveonthecorridor.
IturnedtoLawrence,tosuggestthatIhadbetterleavethemnowthattherewasnofurtherneedofmyservices,butthewordswerefrozenonmylips.NeverhaveIseensuchaghastlylookonanyman’sface.Hewaswhiteaschalk,thecandleheheldinhisshakinghandwassputteringontothecarpet,andhiseyes,petrifiedwithterror,orsomesuchkindredemotion,staredfixedlyovermyheadatapointonthefurtherwall.Itwasasthoughhehadseensomethingthatturnedhimtostone.Iinstinctivelyfollowedthedirectionofhiseyes,butIcouldseenothingunusual.Thestillfeeblyflickeringashesinthegrate,andtherowofprimornamentsonthemantelpiece,weresurelyharmlessenough.
TheviolenceofMrs.Inglethorp’sattackseemedtobepassing.Shewasabletospeakinshortgasps.
“Betternow—verysudden—stupidofme—tolockmyselfin.”
Ashadowfellonthebedand,lookingup,IsawMaryCavendishstandingnearthedoorwithherarmaroundCynthia.Sheseemedtobesupportingthegirl,wholookedutterlydazedandunlikeherself.Herfacewasheavilyflushed,andsheyawnedrepeatedly.
“PoorCynthiaisquitefrightened,”saidMrs.Cavendishinalowclearvoice.Sheherself,Inoticed,wasdressedinherwhitelandsmock.ThenitmustbelaterthanIthought.
