Of this particular letter he remarked
only that it was in a curious envelope, that it was in a man's
handwriting, that the postscript was Buenos Ayres, and the stamp of the
Argentine Republic. It was the first letter which he had ever known
Dr. Lana to have from abroad and this was the reason why his attention
was particularly called to it before he handed it to the local postman. It was delivered by the evening delivery of that date. Next morning--that is, upon the 4th of June--Dr. Lana called upon Miss
Morton, and a long interview followed, from which he was observed to
return in a state of great agitation. Miss Morton remained in her room
all that day, and her maid found her several times in tears. In the
course of a week it was an open secret to the whole village that the
engagement was at an end, that Dr. Lana had behaved shamefully to the
young lady, and that Arthur Morton, her brother, was talking of
horse-whipping him. In what particular respect the doctor had behaved
badly was unknown--some surmised one thing and some another; but it was
observed, and taken as the obvious sign of a guilty conscience, that he
would go for miles round rather than pass the windows of Leigh Hall,
and that he gave up attending morning service upon Sundays where he
might have met the young lady. There was an advertisement also in the
Lancet as to the sale of a practice which mentioned no names, but which
was thought by some to refer to Bishop's Crossing, and to mean that Dr.
Lana was thinking of abandoning the scene of his success. Such was the
position of affairs when, upon the evening of Monday, June 21st, there
came a fresh development which changed what had been a mere village
scandal into a tragedy which arrested the attention of the whole
nation. Some detail is necessary to cause the facts of that evening to
present their full significance. The sole occupants of the doctor's house were his housekeeper, an
elderly and most respectable woman, named Martha Woods, and a young
servant--Mary Pilling. The coachman and the surgery-boy slept out. It
was the custom of the doctor to sit at night in his study, which was
next the surgery in the wing of the house which was farthest from the
servants' quarters. This side of the house had a door of its own for
the convenience of patients, so that it was possible for the doctor to
admit and receive a visitor there without the knowledge of anyone. As
a matter of fact, when patients came late it was quite usual for him to
let them in and out by the surgery entrance, for the maid and the
housekeeper were in the habit of retiring early. On this particular night Martha Woods went into the doctor's study at
half-past nine, and found him writing at his desk. She bade him good
night, sent the maid to bed, and then occupied herself until a quarter
to eleven in household matters. It was striking eleven upon the hall
clock when she went to her own room. She had been there about a quarter
of an hour or twenty minutes when she heard a cry or call, which
appeared to come from within the house. She waited some time, but it
was not repeated. Much alarmed, for the sound was loud and urgent, she
put on a dressing-gown, and ran at the top of her speed to the doctor's
study. "Who's there?" cried a voice, as she tapped at the door. "I am here, sir--Mrs. Woods." "I beg that you will leave me in peace. Go back to your room this
instant!" cried the voice, which was, to the best of her belief, that
of her master. The tone was so harsh and so unlike her master's usual
manner, that she was surprised and hurt. "I thought I heard you calling, sir," she explained, but no answer was
given to her. Mrs. Woods looked at the clock as she returned to her
room, and it was then half-past eleven. At some period between eleven and twelve (she could not be positive as
to the exact hour) a patient called upon the doctor and was unable to
get any reply from him. This late visitor was Mrs. Madding, the wife
of the village grocer, who was dangerously ill of typhoid fever. Dr.
Lana had asked her to look in the last thing and let him know how her
husband was progressing. She observed that the light was burning in
the study, but having knocked several times at the surgery door without
response, she concluded that the doctor had been called out, and so
returned home. There is a short, winding drive with a lamp at the end of it leading
down from the house to the road. As Mrs. Madding emerged from the gate
a man was coming along the footpath. Thinking that it might be Dr.
Lana returning from some professional visit, she waited for him, and
was surprised to see that it was Mr. Arthur Morton, the young squire. In the light of the lamp she observed that his manner was excited, and
that he carried in his hand a heavy hunting-crop. He was turning in at
the gate when she addressed him. "The doctor is not in, sir," said she. "How do you know that?" he asked harshly. "I have been to the surgery door, sir." "I see a light," said the young squire, looking up the drive. "That is
in his study, is it not?" "Yes, sir; but I am sure that he is out." "Well, he must come in again," said young Morton, and passed through
the gate while Mrs. Madding went upon her homeward way. At three o'clock that morning her husband suffered a sharp relapse, and
she was so alarmed by his symptoms that she determined to call the
doctor without delay. As she passed through the gate she was surprised
to see someone lurking among the laurel bushes. It was certainly a man,
and to the best of her belief Mr. Arthur Morton. Preoccupied with her
own troubles, she gave no particular attention to the incident, but
hurried on upon her errand. When she reached the house she perceived to her surprise that the light
was still burning in the study. She therefore tapped at the surgery
door. There was no answer. She repeated the knocking several times
without effect. It appeared to her to be unlikely that the doctor
would either go to bed or go out leaving so brilliant a light behind
him, and it struck Mrs. Madding that it was possible that he might have
dropped asleep in his chair. She tapped at the study window,
therefore, but without result. Then, finding that there was an opening
between the curtain and the woodwork, she looked through. The small room was brilliantly lighted from a large lamp on the central
table, which was littered with the doctor's books and instruments. No
one was visible, nor did she see anything unusual, except that in the
farther shadow thrown by the table a dingy white glove was lying upon
the carpet. And then suddenly, as her eyes became more accustomed to
the light, a boot emerged from the other end of the shadow, and she
realized, with a thrill of horror, that what she had taken to be a
glove was the hand of a man, who was prostrate upon the floor.