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Updated: June 25, 2025
On such occasions, growing each week more frequent, her sister Ethelwynn remained at home to see that Mr. Courtenay was properly attended to by the nurse, and exhibited a patience that I could not help but admire. Yes, the more I reflected upon it the more curious seemed that ill-assorted ménage.
Next day about two o'clock I was in one of the wards at Guy's, seeing the last of my patients, when a telegram was handed to me by one of the nurses. I tore it open eagerly, expecting that it was from Ethelwynn, announcing the hour of her arrival at Paddington. But the message upon which my eyes fell was so astounding, so appalling, and so tragic that my heart stood still.
Thus I wondered whether that voice I had heard was actually hers, or only a distorted hallucination. At any rate, the woman had expressed hatred of Sir Bernard just as Ethelwynn had done, and further, the old man had openly defied her, with a harsh laugh, which showed confidence in himself and an utter disregard for any statement she might make.
Ethelwynn was a woman of extraordinary character, full of picturesque charm and glowing romance.
When morning dawned two detectives from Scotland Yard arrived, made notes of the circumstances, examined the open window in the conservatory, hazarded a few wise remarks, and closely scrutinised the dagger in the hall. Ethelwynn had taken her sister to a friend in the vicinity, accompanied by the nurse and the cook.
I turned and saw Ethelwynn, a pale wan figure in her light gown and shawl, standing on the threshold, watching me intently. She stood there white and trembling, as though fearing to enter the presence of the dead. I made a hasty tour of the room, examining the window and finding it fastened. As far as I could discover, nothing whatever was disturbed.
That a remarkable conspiracy had been in progress was now made quite plain; and, further, one very valuable fact I had ascertained was that Ethelwynn was the only other person who knew the truth, and yet dared not reveal it. This man who stood before me was old Mr. Courtenay, without a doubt. That being so, who could have been the unfortunate man who had been struck to the heart so mysteriously?
The police were again re-examining the back premises below, and only Ethelwynn was present at the top of the stairs, where I arrested her progress to the dead man's room. "But is there danger?" she demanded anxiously. "Tell me." "The crisis is over," I responded ambiguously. "But is not your absence to-night rather unusual?" "It was entirely my own fault," she admitted.
Had you been in my place you would have had your curiosity and suspicion aroused to no mean degree not only by the words uttered by the woman and Sir Bernard's defiant reply, but also by the fact that the female voice sounded familiar. A man knows the voice of his love above all. The voice that I had heard in that adjoining room was, to the best of my belief, that of Ethelwynn.
While she sat in a big armchair bowed in silence, I turned to Ethelwynn and discussed the situation with her. Their friends were most kind, she said. The husband was churchwarden at Kew Church, and his wife was an ardent church worker, hence they had long ago become excellent friends. "You have your friend, Mr. Jevons, with you, I hear. Nurse has just returned and told me so." "Yes," I responded.
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