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Updated: June 28, 2025
Certain solid facts convinced me of its stern, astounding reality. The man upon whose body I had helped to make an autopsy was actually alive. In reply to my questions my visitor told me that she was staying at Martin's, in Cork Street a small private hotel which the Mivarts had patronised for many years and that on the following morning she intended returning again to Neneford.
People form a natural conclusion, of course," said the fair-haired, fussy little woman, whose married state gave her the right to censure me on my neglect. "Ethelwynn is, of course, still with you?" I asked, in anger that outsiders should seek to interfere in my private affairs. "She still makes our house her home, not caring to go back to the dulness of Neneford," was her reply.
The few words upon the flimsy paper increased the mystery to an even more bewildering degree than before! The astounding message, despatched from Neneford and signed by Parkinson, the butler, ran as follows: "Regret to inform you that Mrs. Courtenay was found drowned in the river this morning. Can you come here? My mistress very anxious to see you."
Mivart, at Neneford asking me to go down there without delay, but giving no reason for the urgency. I had always been a favourite with the old lady, and to obey was, of course, imperative even though I were compelled to ask Bartlett, one of my colleagues, to look after Sir Bernard's private practice in my absence.
Her conversation was carried on in a mechanical manner, as though distracted by her inner thoughts; and when, after having tea together in Bond Street, we drove to the station, and I saw her off on her return to Neneford, my mind was full of darkest apprehensions. Yes. That interview convinced me more than ever that she was, in some manner, cognisant of the truth. The secret existence of old Mr.
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