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Chapter III. The Night Of The Tragedy

           Inglethorp’sowndoctor,aportly,fussylittleman,camebustlingin.

           InafewwordsDr.Bauersteinexplainedhowhehadhappenedtobepassingthelodgegatesasthecarcameout,andhadrunuptothehouseasfastashecould,whilstthecarwentontofetchDr.Wilkins.Withafaintgestureofthehand,heindicatedthefigureonthebed.

           “Ve—rysad.Ve—rysad,”murmuredDr.Wilkins.“Poordearlady.Alwaysdidfartoomuch—fartoomuch—againstmyadvice.Iwarnedher.Herheartwasfarfromstrong.‘Takeiteasy,’Isaidtoher,‘Take—it—easy’.Butno—herzealforgoodworkswastoogreat.Naturerebelled.Na—ture—re—belled.”

           Dr.Bauerstein,Inoticed,waswatchingthelocaldoctornarrowly.Hestillkepthiseyesfixedonhimashespoke.

           “Theconvulsionswereofapeculiarviolence,Dr.Wilkins.Iamsorryyouwerenothereintimetowitnessthem.Theywerequite—tetanicincharacter.”

           “Ah!”saidDr.Wilkinswisely.

           “Ishouldliketospeaktoyouinprivate,”saidDr.Bauerstein.HeturnedtoJohn.“Youdonotobject?”

           “Certainlynot.”

           Wealltroopedoutintothecorridor,leavingthetwodoctorsalone,andIheardthekeyturnedinthelockbehindus.

           Wewentslowlydownthestairs.Iwasviolentlyexcited.Ihaveacertaintalentfordeduction,andDr.Bauerstein’smannerhadstartedaflockofwildsurmisesinmymind.MaryCavendishlaidherhanduponmyarm.

           “Whatisit?WhydidDr.Bauersteinseemso—peculiar?”

           Ilookedather.

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