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Copyright 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part. WCN 02-200-203
 S EC O N D ED I T I O N

Strategies for
Including Children
with Special Needs
in Early Childhood Settings

Ruth E. Cook, Ph.D.

Anne Marie Richardson-Gibbs, M.A.

Laurie Nielsen Dotson, M.A.

Australia ● Brazil ● Mexico ● Singapore ● United Kingdom ● United States

Copyright 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part. WCN 02-200-203
 This is an electronic version of the print textbook. Due to electronic rights restrictions,
some third party content may be suppressed. Editorial review has deemed that any suppressed
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 Strategies for Including Children © 2018, 2001 Cengage Learning
with Special Needs in Early Childhood
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this work covered by the copyright herein
Settings, Second Edition
may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, except as
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Contents

Preface xv

PART 1 Special Education Foundations: Understanding

●

Special Needs and Universal Instructional Strategies

CHAPTER 1

The Origin and Dimensions of Quality Inclusion 1

Chapter-at-a-Glance 2
Introduction 2
Historical Overview of Special Education Law and Inclusion 2
Americans with Disabilities Act: Provision of Equal Opportunity for All 3
Head Start 3
A Major Shift in Service Delivery 5
Defining Features of High-Quality Early Childhood Inclusion 5
Dimensions of Inclusion Support 6
Delivery of Supports and Services in Inclusive Preschool Settings 7
Direct versus Indirect (Consultative) Supports 7
Collaboration: The Key to Successful Inclusion 7
Pull-Out versus Push-In 8
Examples of Inclusion Support “Models” 8
Benefits of Inclusion 9
Diversity Awareness 10
Summary 10
Read–Reflect–Discuss 11
Welcoming Patricia 11
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 12
Key Terms 12
Helpful Resources 12

CHAPTER 2

Instructional Strategies Supporting the Inclusion

of Young Children with Special Needs 14
Chapter-at-a-Glance 15
Introduction 15

iii

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 Adaptation Strategies: The Bridge to Facilitating Inclusion 15
Levels of Support 16
Tools that Facilitate Adaptations 18
Universal Teaching Strategies: Specific Challenges 20
Getting Their Attention 20
Conducting a High-Preference Inventory 21
Unique Ways of Expressing Interest and Attention 21
Diversity Awareness 22
Working in the Learning Zone: Understanding the Zone of Proximal
Development 22
Scaffolding 22
Doing it Again and Again: The Importance of Repetition
and Routine 23
Creating Predictable Routines 23
Planning Transitions 24
One Step at a Time: Making Skills Easier to Learn Through
Task Analysis 24
Analyzing the Sequence 24
Training Each Step 24
Talking to Children Makes a Difference 25
Follow the Child’s Lead 25
Use Progressive Matching 25
Use Labels and Specific Descriptors 25
Repeat Key Words and Phrases 25
Use Appropriate Pacing 26
Give Children Ample Time to Respond 26
Create the Need to Communicate 26
Using an Ounce of Prevention: Managing Challenging
Behavior 27
Strategies to Head Off Behavior Challenges 28
Instructional Strategies for Children with Mild to Moderate
Disabilities 28
Summary 28
Read–Reflect–Discuss 29
Helping Manuel Adjust 29
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 30
Key Terms 30
Helpful Resources 30

CHAPTER 3

Adaptations for Children with Specific

Disabilities 31
Chapter-at-a-Glance 32
Introduction 32

iv Contents

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Children with Down Syndrome: A Common Example of Intellectual
Disabilities 32
Physical and Health Characteristics 33
Teaching Strategies 34
Children with Autism 35
Characteristics of Autism 36
Intervention/Treatment Approaches 36
Behavior Challenges in Children with Autism 38
Teaching Strategies for Children with Autism Spectrum Disorders 39
Children with Cerebral Palsy and Other Motor Impairments 40
Characteristics of Children with Cerebral Palsy (CP) 40
Teaching Considerations for Children with Motor Disabilities 43
Children with Visual Impairment 45
Characteristics of Visual Impairment 45
General Categories of Visual Impairment 46
Strategies for Working with Children with Visual Impairments 46
Diversity Awareness 49
Children with Hearing Impairment 49
Understanding Different Types of Hearing Loss 50
Issues Related to Preferred Communication Modes: Signing versus
Speech 52
Learning Styles and Characteristics of Children with Hearing Loss 53
Teaching Strategies for Children with Hearing Loss 53
High-Incidence Disabilities 54
Learning Disability 54
Speech and Language Impairment 55
Summary 55
Read–Reflect–Discuss 55
Ryan Goes to Preschool 55
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 56
Key Terms 56
Helpful Resources 57

CHAPTER 4

Arranging the Physical Environment to Support

the Inclusion of Children with Special Needs 58
Chapter-at-a-Glance 59
Introduction 59
Creating a Safe Environment 59
Psychological Safety 59
Physical Safety 59
Encouraging Independent Access 60
Floor Plan Considerations for Children with Special Needs 61
Need for Quiet Area 61

Contents v

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 Avoidance of Large Open Areas 61
Consideration of Some Children’s Preference for Enclosed Space 62
Need for Acoustic Adaptations 62
Visually Simple Presentation of Materials to Reduce Clutter 62
Planning Activity Areas for Children with Special Needs 63
Library Corner 63
Art and Water Play Area 64
Tabletop Manipulatives Center 64
Building Area 64
Dramatic Play Area 64
Technology Center 64
Arranging Materials within Activity Areas 65
Visibility and Consistency 66
Accessibility 66
Labeling 66
Traffic Management 66
Noise Control 66
Lighting 67
Designing Specific Activity Centers 67
Reading/Preliteracy Areas 67
Sensory Experiences, Art, and Water Play Centers 67
Small Manipulative Activity Centers 68
Outdoor Play Areas 69
Diversity Awareness 70
Summary 71
Read–Reflect–Discuss 71
Boundaries for Sung and Rafik 71
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 72
Key Terms 72
Helpful Resources 72

CHAPTER 5

Preventing and Managing Challenging

Behaviors 74
Chapter-at-a-Glance: 75
Introduction 75
What Is a Challenging Behavior Anyway? 75
Behavior Challenges in Children with Special Needs 76
Neurological Disorders 76
Autism 77
Communication Disorders 77
Seizure Disorders 77
Causes/Functions of Inappropriate Behavior 77
Escape 77

vi Contents

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 Attention Seeking 78
Gaining Access 79
The Impact of Language Differences on Behavior 80
General Strategies for Preventing and Reducing the Occurrence
of Challenging Behaviors 80
Keep the Number of Rules/Expectations Small 80
Select Rules/Expectations Carefully 80
Be Clear and Consistent about Enforcement 81
Avoid Overstimulating, Disorganized Environments 81
Maintain a Predictable Daily Schedule with Regular Routines 81
Carefully Plan Transitions 81
Give Attention Before Inappropriate Behavior Occurs 82
Use Touch to De-Escalate Behavior 82
Multitiered Systems of Support 82
Behavior Modification and the Use of Functional Behavior Assessment
and Positive Behavior Support 83
Identifying a Reinforcer 84
Decreasing Undesirable Behaviors 84
Use of Extinction 85
Problems with the Use of Punishment/Negative Consequences 85
Designing Positive Behavior Support Plans 87
Understanding Challenging Behaviors as Communication 87
Assigning a One-to-One Aide 90
A Word of Caution on the Use of One-to-One Aides 92
Summary 92
Read–Reflect–Discuss 92
Julian’s Towel 92
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 93
Key Terms 93
Helpful Resources 93

PART 2 Adapting Daily Activities in Inclusive

●

Early Childhood Settings

CHAPTER 6

Monitoring Individual Child Progress 95

Chapter-at-a-Glance 96
Introduction 96
The Individualized Family Service Plan (IFSP) 96
Family Concerns 97
Outcome Statements 97
The Individualized Education Program (IEP) 98
Identifying Individuals Responsible for Achievement of Goals 98
Goals and Objectives 98
Daily Instructional Objectives 99

Contents vii

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 Monitoring Progress 99
Implementation of the IEP and IFSP Goals and Objectives 99
Rationale for Progress Monitoring 101
Types of Data Recording 102
Issues Related to Resources for Progress Monitoring 104
Planning Inclusion Support 105
Summary 108
Read–Reflect–Discuss 108
Lazaro’s Potty Learning Experience 108
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 108
Key Terms 109
Helpful Resources 109

CHAPTER 7

Managing Arrival, Departure, and Other

Transitions 110
Chapter-at-a-Glance 111
Introduction 111
Arrival 111
Arrival: The Challenge of a New Experience 111
Learning Opportunities during Arrival 112
Useful Strategies during Arrival Time 112
Diversity Awareness 115
Planning Effective Departures 116
Establish a Consistent Departure Routine 116
Support Development of Time Concepts 117
When Children Arrive and Depart via Bus Transportation 117
Planning Other Transitions 117
Challenges Posed by Transitions 117
Learning Opportunities during Transitions 118
Successful Transition Strategies 118
Examples of Effective Transition Cues 119
Summary 120
Read–Reflect–Discuss 121
Marta’s Dessert 121
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 121
Key Terms 121
Helpful Resources 121

CHAPTER 8

Engaging Children with Special Needs

in Free Play 122
Chapter-at-a-Glance 123
Introduction 123

viii Contents

Copyright 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part. WCN 02-200-203
Possible Challenges of Free Play for Children with Special Needs 123
Special Opportunities to Assist Learning in Free Play 124
An Opportunity for Self-Initiated Exploration 124
Teaching Children How to Play with Toys 124
Opportunities for One-on-One Interaction 125
Building Language Skills during Free Play 125
Demonstrating Interaction and Teaching Strategies to Families 126
Encouraging Children to Play with Peers 126
Helping to Develop Crowd Tolerance 128
Diversity Awareness 129
Selecting Toys and Materials for Free Play 129
Toys That Appeal to Different Developmental Levels 129
Considerations for Children who are Developmentally Young 130
Common Toy and Activity Categories 131
Summary 138
Read–Reflect–Discuss 138
Shopping Mini-Script for Raul 138
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 140
Key Terms 140
Helpful Resources 140

CHAPTER 9

Circle Time, including Music and Rhythm

Activities 141
Chapter-at-a-Glance 142
Introduction 142
Learning Opportunities During Circle Time 142
Opportunities for Creating a Sense of Community and a Sense of Self 142
Opportunities to Encourage Speech and Language Skills 143
Disability Awareness 143
Opportunities to Enhance Physical Awareness 144
Opportunities to Support and Reinforce Emergent Literacy 144
Opportunities to Support Cognitive Development 144
Types of Circle Time Activities and Adaptations for Children with
Special Needs 145
Attendance: Who Is Here Today? 145
Classroom Schedules and Calendars 145
Songs and Finger Plays 147
Books and Stories 148
Introduce New Activities or Concepts 149
Transitions to Next Activity 150
Final Considerations 150
Key Dimensions of Circle Time 151
Length 151
Physical Setting 151

Contents ix

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 Teacher Roles 153
Circle Time Expectations 153
Balance of Circle Time Activities 154
Consistency with Flexibility at Circle Time 154
Examples of Detailed Activity Plans 154
Toddler Circle Time Activity: What’s in the Box? 154
Preschool Circle Time Activity: Follow the Leader 157
Summary 160
Read–Reflect–Discuss 161
Amy and Bartholomew 161
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 161
Key Terms 162
Helpful Resources 162

CHAPTER 10

Tabletop Activities 163

Chapter-at-a-Glance 164
Introduction 164
Value of Tabletop Activities 164
Fine Motor Skills for School Readiness 164
Task Sequencing 164
Demonstrating Cause and Effect 165
Learning Key Vocabulary and Concepts 165
Planning Tabletop Activities for Children
with Special Needs 165
Providing a Clear Transition 165
Supporting Learning Objectives Through
Tabletop Activities 165
Fine and Gross Motor Skills 165
Diversity Awareness 167
Developing Cognitive Skills 168
Learning Key Vocabulary and Concepts 169
Development of Representational Skills 169
Enhancing Early Math Skills 170
Strategies for Children with Tactile Defensiveness 171
Use Hand-Under-Hand Guidance 171
Use the Premack Principle 172
Incorporate the Child’s Security Object 172
Provide Physical Boundaries 172
Provide Role Models 173
Summary 173
Read–Reflect–Discuss 174
Marciana’s Resistance 174
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 174

x Contents

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Key Terms 175
Helpful Resources 175

CHAPTER 11

Outside Play 176

Chapter-at-a-Glance 177
Introduction 177
Opportunities for Learning in the Outdoor Environment 177
Change of Environment 177
Opportunities for Using Large Muscles 178
Developing Play Skills 179
Developing Social Skills 181
Opportunities for Sand and Water Play 181
Encouraging Peers to Play with Children
with Special Needs 182
Diversity Awareness 183
Planning the Outdoor Environment 184
Start with a Survey 184
Selecting Materials for Outside Areas 185
Sample Outside Lesson Plan: Discovery Walk 187
Summary 188
Read–Reflect–Discuss 189
Creating Space for Leila 189
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 189
Key Terms 189
Helpful Resources 190

CHAPTER 12

Mealtimes 191

Chapter-at-a-Glance 192
Introduction 192
Learning Opportunities at Snack Times and Mealtimes 192
Developing Self-Feeding Skills 192
Teaching Other Self-Help Skills 195
Developing Social Skills 196
Encouraging Communication Skills 196
Demonstrating Mealtime Techniques 198
Special Nutritional Considerations 198
Children with Cerebral Palsy 198
Children with Epilepsy (Seizure Disorders) 199
Children with Low Muscle Tone 199
Children with Autism 199
Diversity Awareness 200
Children with Prader-Willi Syndrome 200

Contents xi

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 Children with Pica 200
Children who Require Tube Feeding 200
A Word About Toileting 200
Summary 201
Read–Reflect–Discuss 201
Aaron’s Fruity Os 201
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 203
Key Terms 203
Helpful Resources 203

CHAPTER 13

Supporting Language and Emergent Literacy

in Children with Special Needs 204
Chapter-at-a-Glance 205
Introduction 205
The Relationship Between Language and Literacy 205
Supporting Literacy within Daily Routines 206
Environmental Print 206
Functional Print 206
Play Activities 207
Literacy Activities throughout the Daily Schedule 208
Diversity Awareness 213
Assisting Children with Special Needs by Using Pictures
and Print 215
Pictures and Print as Alternative Means of Expressive Language 215
Using Pictures to Assist Comprehension and Memory 217
Use of Technology Apps to Support Communication and Literacy 218
Summary 220
Read–Reflect–Discuss 221
Dahlia’s Favorite Book 221
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 221
Key Terms 221
Helpful Resources 221

PART 3 Working with the Early Childhood

●

Special Education Team

CHAPTER 14

Communicating and Collaborating with

Families 223
Chapter-at-a-Glance 224
Introduction 224

xii Contents

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Guidelines for Developing Parent-Professional Partnerships 224
Development of Trust 224
Recognizing Parents’ Knowledge and Expertise 224
Families Are the Constant in Their Children’s Lives 225
Making the Program Fit the Family’s Priorities 225
Recognizing the Stresses Families Face 227
Dealing with Multiple Needs and Multiple Agencies and Professionals 227
Increased Time Demands and the Need to Set Priorities 227
Understanding Families’ Emotional Reactions 228
Strategies for Supporting Families’ Emotional Reactions 228
Diversity Awareness 230
Communication: The Key to Building Partnerships 230
Providing Information 230
Developing Effective Communication Skills 233
Summary 233
Read–Reflect–Discuss 234
Alfredo’s Mother 234
Read–Reflect–Discuss Questions 235
Key Terms 235
Helpful Resources 235

CHAPTER 15

Collaborating with Disability Specialists

and Paraprofessionals 236
Chapter-at-a-Glance 237
Introduction 237
The Collaborative Intervention Team 237
Early Childhood Special Educators (ECSEs) 237
Inclusion Support Specialists 239
Speech-Language Specialists (SLPs) 240
Physical Therapists (PTs) 241
Occupational Therapists (OTs) 242
Visual Impairment (VI) Specialists 244
Orientation and Mobility Specialists (O & M) 244
Deaf and Hard of Hearing (DHH) Specialists 245
Behavior Specialists 245
Obtaining and Using Inclusion Support 246
Working Effectively with Paraeducators 247
Early Educators as Program Managers 248
Early Educators as Coaches 250
Early Educators as Communicators 250
Early Educators, Paraeducators, and Disability Specialists as a Collaborative
Team 251
Collaborative Problem Solving 252

Contents xiii

Copyright 2018 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be copied, scanned, or duplicated, in whole or in part. WCN 02-200-203
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of As a thief in
the night
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: As a thief in the night

Author: R. Austin Freeman

Release date: January 22, 2024 [eBook #72782]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1928

Credits: Brian Raiter

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AS A THIEF IN

THE NIGHT ***
AS A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

by

R. AUSTIN FREEMAN
 Contents
I. The Invalid
II. Barbara Monkhouse Comes Home
III. A Shock for the Mourners
IV. “How, When and Where—”
V. Madeline’s Ordeal
VI. The Verdict
VII. The Search Warrant
VIII. Thorndyke Speaks Bluntly
IX. Superintendent Miller is Puzzled
X. A Greek Gift
XI. The Rivals
XII. Thorndyke Challenges the Evidence
XIII. Rupert Makes Some Discoveries
XIV. Rupert Confides in Thorndyke
XV. A Pursuit and a Discovery
XVI. Barbara’s Message
XVII. Thorndyke Retraces the Trail
XVIII. The Final Proof
 Chapter I.
The Invalid
Looking back on events by the light of experience I perceive
clearly that the thunder-cloud which burst on me and on those who
were dear to me had not gathered unseen. It is true that it had
rolled up swiftly; that the premonitory mutterings, now so distinct
but then so faint and insignificant, gave but a brief warning. But that
was of little consequence, since whatever warnings there were
passed unheeded, as warnings commonly do, being susceptible of
interpretation only by means of the subsequent events which they
foreshadowed.
The opening scene of the tragedy—if I had but realized it—was
the arrival of the Reverend Amos Monkhouse from his far-away
Yorkshire parish at the house of his brother Harold. I happened to
be there at the time; and though it was not my concern, since
Harold had a secretary, I received the clergyman when he was
announced. We knew one another well enough by name though we
had never met, and it was with some interest and curiosity that I
looked at the keen-faced, sturdy, energetic-looking parson and
contrasted him with his physically frail and rather characterless
brother. He looked at me, too, curiously and with a certain
appearance of surprise, which did not diminish when I told him who
I was.
“Ha!” said he, “yes. Mr. Mayfield. I am glad to have the
opportunity of making your acquaintance. I have heard a good deal
about you from Harold and Barbara. Now I can fit you with a visible
personality. By the way, the maid tells me that Barbara is not at
home.”
“No, she is away on her travels in Kent.”
 “In Kent!” he repeated, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, on one of her political expeditions; organizing some sort of
women’s emancipation movement. I daresay you have heard about
it.”
He nodded a little impatiently. “Yes. Then I assume that Harold is
not so ill as I had supposed?”
I was inclined to be evasive; for, to be quite candid, I had
thought more than once that Barbara might properly have given a
little less attention to her political hobbies and a little more to her
sick husband. So I replied cautiously:
“I really don’t quite know what his condition is. You see, when a
man has chronically bad health, one rather loses count. Harold has
his ups and downs, but he always looks pretty poorly. Just now, I
should say he is rather below his average.”
“Ha! Well, perhaps I had better go up and have a look at him.
The maid has told him that I am here. I wonder if you would be so
kind as to show me the way to his room. I have not been in this
house before.”
I conducted him up to the door of the bedroom and then
returned to the library to wait for him and hear what he thought of
the invalid. And now that the question had been raised, I was not
without a certain uneasiness. What I had said was true enough.
When a man is always ailing one gets to take his ill-health for
granted and to assume that it will go on without any significant
change. One repeats the old saying of “the creaking gate” and
perhaps makes unduly light of habitual illness. Might it be that
Harold was being a little neglected? He had certainly looked bad
enough when I had called on him that morning. Was it possible that
he was really seriously ill? Perhaps in actual danger?
I had just asked myself this question when the door was opened
abruptly and the clergyman strode into the room. Something in his
expression—a mingling, as it seemed, of anger and alarm—rather
startled me; nevertheless I asked him calmly enough how he found
his brother. He stared at me, almost menacingly, for a second or
two; then slowly and with harsh emphasis he replied: “I am shocked
at the change in him. I am horrified. Why, good God, Sir! the man is
dying!”
“I think that can hardly be,” I objected. “The doctor saw him this
morning and did not hint at anything of the sort. He thought he was
not very well but he made no suggestion as to there being any
danger.”
“How long has the doctor been attending him?”
“For something like twenty years, I believe; so by this time he
ought to understand the patient’s—”
“Tut-tut,” the parson interrupted, impatiently, “what did you say
yourself but a few minutes ago? One loses count of the chronic
invalid. He exhausts our attention until, at last, we fail to observe the
obvious. What is wanted is a fresh eye. Can you give me the doctor’s
address? Because, if you can, I will call on him and arrange a
consultation. I told Harold that I wanted a second opinion and he
made no objection; in fact he seemed rather relieved. If we get a
really first-class physician, we may save him yet.”
“I think you are taking an unduly gloomy view of Harold’s
condition,” said I. “At any rate, I hope so. But I entirely agree with
you as to the advisability of having further advice. I know where Dr.
Dimsdale lives so if you like I will walk round with you.”
He accepted my offer gladly and we set forth at once, walking
briskly along the streets, each of us wrapped in thought and neither
speaking for some time. Presently I ventured to remark:
“Strictly, I suppose, we ought to have consulted Barbara before
seeking another opinion.”
“I don’t see why,” he replied. “Harold is a responsible person and
has given his free consent. If Barbara is so little concerned about
him as to go away from home—and for such a trumpery reason, too
—I don’t see that we need consider her. Still, as a matter of common
civility, I might as well send her a line. What is her present address?”
“Do you know,” I said, shamefacedly, “I am afraid I can’t tell you
exactly where she is at the moment. Her permanent address, when
she is away on these expeditions, is the head-quarters of the
Women’s Friendship League at Maidstone.”
 He stopped for a moment and glowered at me with an
expression of sheer amazement. “Do you mean to tell me,” he
exclaimed, “that she has gone away, leaving her husband in this
condition, and that she is not even within reach of a telegram?”
“I have no doubt that a telegram or letter would be forwarded to
her.”
He emitted an angry snort and then demanded:
“How long has she been away?”
“About a fortnight,” I admitted, reluctantly.
“A fortnight!” he repeated in angry astonishment. “And all that
time beyond reach of communication! Why the man might have
been dead and buried and she none the wiser!”
“He was much better when she went away,” I said, anxious to
make the best of what I felt to be a rather bad case. “In fact, he
seemed to be getting on quite nicely. It is only during the last few
days that he has got this set-back. Of course, Barbara is kept
informed as to his condition. Madeline sends her a letter every few
days.”
“But, my dear Mr. Mayfield,” he expostulated, “just consider the
state of affairs in this amazing household. I came to see my brother,
expecting—from the brief letter that I had from him—to find him
seriously ill. And I do find him seriously ill; dangerously ill, I should
say. And what sort of care is being taken of him? His wife is away
from home, amusing herself with her platform fooleries, and has left
no practicable address. His secretary, or whatever you call him,
Wallingford, is not at home. Madeline is, of course, occupied in her
work at the school. Actually, the only person in the house besides
the servants is yourself—a friend of the family but not a member of
the household at all. You must admit that it is a most astonishing
and scandalous state of affairs.”
I was saved from the necessity of answering this rather awkward
question by our arrival at Dr. Dimsdale’s house; and, as it fortunately
happened that the doctor was at home and disengaged, we were
shown almost at once into his consulting room.
I knew Dr. Dimsdale quite well and rather liked him though I was
not deeply impressed by his abilities. However, his professional skill
was really no concern of mine, and his social qualities were
unexceptionable. In appearance and manner he had always seemed
to me the very type of a high-class general practitioner, and so he
impressed me once more as we were ushered into his sanctum. He
shook hands with me genially, and as I introduced the Reverend
Amos looked at him with a politely questioning expression. But the
clergyman lost no time in making clear the purpose of his visit; in
fact he came to the point with almost brutal abruptness.
“I have just seen my brother for the first time for several months
and I am profoundly shocked at his appearance. I expected to find
him ill, but I did not understand that he was so ill as I find him.”
“No,” Dr. Dimsdale agreed, gravely, “I suppose not. You have
caught him at a rather unfortunate time. He is certainly not so well
to-day.”
“Well!” exclaimed Amos. “To me he has the look of a dying man.
May I ask what, exactly, is the matter with him?”
The doctor heaved a patient sigh and put his fingertips together.
“The word ‘exactly,’ ” he replied, with a faint smile, “makes your
question a little difficult to answer. There are so many things the
matter with him. For the last twenty years, on and off, I have
attended him, and during the whole of that time his health has been
unsatisfactory—most unsatisfactory. His digestion has always been
defective, his circulation feeble, he has had functional trouble with
his heart, and throughout the winter months, more or less
continuous respiratory troubles—nasal and pulmonary catarrh and
sometimes rather severe bronchitis.”
The Reverend Amos nodded impatiently. “Quite so, quite so. But,
to come from the past to the present, what is the matter with him
now?”
“That,” the doctor replied suavely, “is what I was coming to. I
mentioned the antecedents to account for the consequents. The
complaints from which your brother has suffered in the past have
been what are called functional complaints. But functional disease—
if there really is such a thing—must, in the end, if it goes on long
enough, develop into organic disease. Its effects are cumulative.
Each slight illness leaves the bodily organs a little less fit.”
 “Yes?”
“Well, that is, I fear, what is happening in your brother’s case.
The functional illnesses of the past are tending to take on an organic
character.”
“Ha!” snorted the Reverend Amos. “But what is his actual
condition now? To put it bluntly, supposing he were to die to-night,
what would you write on the death certificate?”
“Dear me!” said the doctor. “That is putting it very bluntly. I hope
the occasion will not arise.”
“Still, I suppose you don’t regard his death as an impossible
contingency?”
“Oh, by no means. Chronic illness confers no immortality, as I
have just been pointing out.”
“Then, supposing his death to occur, what would you state to be
the cause?”
Dr. Dimsdale’s habitual suavity showed a trace of diminution as
he replied: “You are asking a very unusual and hardly admissible
question, Mr. Monkhouse. However, I may say that if your brother
were to die to-night he would die from some definite cause, which
would be duly set forth in the certificate. As he is suffering from
chronic gastritis, chronic bronchial catarrh, functional disorder of the
heart and several other morbid conditions, these would be added as
contributory causes. But may I ask what is the object of these very
pointed questions?”
“My object,” replied Amos, “was to ascertain whether the
circumstances justified a consultation. It seems to me that they do. I
am extremely disturbed about my brother. Would you have any
objection to meeting a consultant?”
“But not in the least. On the contrary, I should be very glad to
talk over this rather indefinite case with an experienced physician
who would come to it with a fresh eye. Of course, the patient’s
consent would be necessary.”
“He has consented, and he agreed to the consultant whom I
proposed—Sir Robert Detling—if you concurred.”
“I do certainly. I could suggest no better man. Shall I arrange
with him or will you?”
 “Perhaps I had better,” the parson replied, “as I know him fairly
well. We were of the same year at Cambridge. I shall go straight on
to him now and will let you know at once what arrangement he
proposes.”
“Excellent,” said the doctor, rising with all his suavity restored. “I
shall keep to-morrow as free as I can until I hear from you, and I
hope he will be able to manage it so soon. I shall be glad to hear
what he thinks of our patient, and I trust that the consultation may
be helpful in the way of treatment.”
He shook our hands heartily and conducted us to the street door,
whence he launched us safely into the street.
“That is a very suave gentleman,” Amos remarked as we turned
away. “Quite reasonable, too; but you see for yourself that he has
no real knowledge of the case. He couldn’t give the illness an
intelligible name.”
“It seemed to me that he gave it a good many names, and it may
well be that it is no more than he seems to think; a sort of collective
illness, the resultant of the various complaints that he mentioned.
However, we shall know more when Sir Robert has seen him; and
meanwhile, I wouldn’t worry too much about the apparent neglect.
Your brother, unlike most chronic invalids, doesn’t hanker for
attention. He has all he wants and he likes to be left alone with his
books. Shall you see him again to-day?”
“Assuredly. As soon as I have arranged matters with Detling I
shall let Dr. Dimsdale know what we have settled and I shall then go
back and spend the evening with my brother. Perhaps I shall see you
to-morrow?”
“No. I have to run down to Bury St. Edmunds to-morrow morning
and I shall probably be there three or four days. But I should very
much like to hear what happens at the consultation. Could you send
me a few lines? I shall be staying at the Angel.”
“I will certainly,” he replied, halting and raising his umbrella to
signal an approaching omnibus. “Just a short note to let you know
what Sir Robert has to tell us of poor Harold’s condition.”
He waved his hand, and stepping off the kerb, hopped on to the
foot-board of the omnibus as it slowed down, and vanished into the
interior. I stood for a few moments watching the receding vehicle,
half inclined to go back and take another look at the sick man; but
reflecting that his brother would be presently returning, I abandoned
the idea and made my way instead to the Underground Railway
station and there took a ticket for the Temple.
There is something markedly infectious in states of mind.
Hitherto I had given comparatively little attention to Harold
Monkhouse. He was a more or less chronic invalid, suffering now
from one complaint and now from another, and evidently a source of
no particular anxiety either to his friends or to his doctor. He was
always pallid and sickly-looking, and if, on this particular morning, he
had seemed to look more haggard and ghastly than usual, I had
merely noted that he was “not so well to-day.”
But the appearance on the scene of the Reverend Amos had put
a rather different complexion on the affair. His visit to his brother
had resulted in a severe shock, which he had passed on to me; and
I had to admit that our interview with Dr. Dimsdale had not been
reassuring. For the fact which had emerged from it was that the
doctor could not give the disease a name.
It was very disquieting. Supposing it should turn out that Harold
was suffering from some grave, even some mortal disease, which
ought to have been detected and dealt with months ago. How
should we all feel? How, in particular, would Barbara feel about the
easygoing way in which the illness had been allowed to drift on? It
was an uncomfortable thought; and though Harold Monkhouse was
really no concern of mine, excepting that he was Barbara’s husband,
it continued to haunt me as I sat in the rumbling train and as I
walked up from the Temple station to my chambers in Fig Tree
Court.
 Chapter II.
Barbara Monkhouse Comes Home
In the intervals of my business at Bury St. Edmunds I gave more
than a passing thought to the man who was lying sick in the house
in the quiet square at Kensington. It was not that I had any very
deep feeling for him as a friend, though I liked him well enough. But
the idea had got into my mind that he had perhaps been treated
with something less than ordinary solicitude; that his illness had
been allowed to drift on when possibly some effective measures
might have been taken for his relief. And as it had never occurred to
me to make any suggestions on the matter or to interest myself
particularly in his condition, I was now inclined to regard myself as a
party to the neglect, if there had really been any culpable failure of
attention. I therefore awaited with some anxiety the letter which
Amos had promised to send.
It was not until the morning of my third day at Bury that it
arrived; and when I had opened and read it I found myself even less
reassured than I had expected.

“Dear Mayfield,” it ran. “The consultation took place this

afternoon and the result is, in my opinion, highly unsatisfactory. Sir
Robert is, at present, unable to say definitely what is the matter with
Harold. He states that he finds the case extremely obscure and
reserves his opinion until the blood-films and other specimens which
he took, have been examined and reported on by an expert
pathologist. But on one point he is perfectly clear. He regards
Harold’s condition as extremely grave—even critical—and he advised
me to send a telegram to Barbara insisting on her immediate return
home. Which I have done; and only hope it may reach her in the
course of the day.
That is all I have to tell you and I think you will agree that it is
not an encouraging report. Medical science must be in a very
backward state if two qualified practitioners—one of them an
eminent physician—cannot between them muster enough
professional knowledge to say what is the matter with a desperately
sick man. However, I hope that we shall have a diagnosis by the
time you come back.
Yours sincerely,
Amos Monkhouse.”

I could not but agree, in the main, that my clerical friend’s rather
gloomy view was justified, though I thought that he was a trifle
unfair to the doctors, especially to Sir Robert. Probably a less
scientific practitioner, who would have given the condition some sort
of name, would have been more satisfying to the parson.
Meanwhile, I allowed myself to build on “the blood-films and other
specimens” hopes of a definite discovery which might point the way
to some effective treatment.
I despatched my business by the following evening and returned
to London by the night train, arriving at my chambers shortly before
midnight. With some eagerness I emptied the letter-cage in the
hope of finding a note from Amos or Barbara; but there was none,
although there were one or two letters from solicitors which required
to be dealt with at once. I read these through and considered their
contents while I was undressing, deciding to get up early and reply
to them so that I might have the forenoon free; and this resolution I
carried out so effectively that by ten o’clock in the morning I had
breakfasted, answered and posted the letters, and was on my way
westward in an Inner Circle train.
It was but a few minutes’ walk from South Kensington Station to
Hilborough Square and I covered the short distance more quickly
than usual. Turning into the square, I walked along the pavement on
the garden side, according to my habit, until I was nearly opposite
the house. Then I turned to cross the road and as I did so, looked
up at the house. And at the first glance I stopped short and stared in
dismay: for the blinds were lowered in all the windows. For a couple
of seconds I stood and gazed at this ominous spectacle; then I
hurried across the road and, instinctively avoiding the knocker, gave
a gentle pull at the bell.
The door was opened by the housemaid, who looked at me
somewhat strangely but admitted me without a word and shut the
door softly behind me. I glanced at her set face and asked in a low
voice:
“Why are all the blinds down, Mabel?”
“Didn’t you know, Sir?” she replied, almost in a whisper. “It’s the
master—Mr. Monkhouse. He passed away in the night. I found him
dead when I went in this morning to draw up the blinds and give
him his early tea.”
I gazed at the girl in consternation, and after a pause she
continued:
“It gave me an awful turn, Sir, for I didn’t see, at first, what had
happened. He was lying just as he usually did, and looked as if he
had gone to sleep, reading. He had a book in his hand, resting on
the counterpane, and I could see that his candle-lamp had burned
itself right out. I put his tea on the bedside table and spoke to him,
and when he didn’t answer I spoke again a little louder. And then I
noticed that he was perfectly still and looked even paler and more
yellow than usual and I began to feel nervous about him. So I
touched his hand; and it was as cold as stone and as stiff as a
wooden hand. Then I felt sure he must be dead and I ran away and
told Miss Norris.”
“Miss Norris!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, Sir. Mrs. Monkhouse only got home about an hour ago. She
was fearfully upset when she found she was too late. Miss Norris is
with her now, but I expect she’ll be awfully glad you’ve come. She
was asking where you were. Shall I tell her you are here?”
“If you please, Mabel,” I replied; and as the girl retired up the
stairs with a stealthy, funereal tread, I backed into the open doorway
of the dining room (avoiding the library, in case Wallingford should
be there) where I remained until Mabel returned with a message
asking me to go up.
I think I have seldom felt more uncomfortable than I did as I
walked slowly and softly up the stairs. The worst had happened—at
least, so I thought—and we all stood condemned; but Barbara most
of all. I tried to prepare some comforting, condolent phrases, but
could think of nothing but the unexplainable, inexcusable fact that
Barbara had of her own choice and for her own purposes, gone
away leaving a sick husband and had come back to find him dead.
As I entered the pleasant little boudoir—now gloomy enough,
with its lowered blinds—the two women rose from the settee on
which they had been sitting together, and Barbara came forward to
meet me, holding out both her hands.
“Rupert!” she exclaimed, “how good of you! But it is like you to
be here just when we have need of you.” She took both my hands
and continued, looking rather wildly into my face: “Isn’t it an awful
thing? Poor, poor Harold! So patient and uncomplaining! And I so
neglectful, so callous! I shall never, never forgive myself. I have been
a selfish, egotistical brute.”
“We are all to blame,” I said, since I could not honestly dispute
her self-accusations; “and Dr. Dimsdale not the least. Harold has
been the victim of his own patience. Does Amos know?”
“Yes,” answered Madeline, “I sent him a telegram at half-past
eight. I should have sent you one, too, but I didn’t know that you
had come back.”
There followed a slightly awkward silence during which I
reflected with some discomfort on the impending arrival of the dead
man’s brother, which might occur at any moment. It promised to be
a somewhat unpleasant incident, for Amos alone had gauged the
gravity of his brother’s condition, and he was an outspoken man. I
only hoped that he would not be too outspoken.
The almost embarrassing silence was broken by Barbara, who
asked in a low voice: “Will you go and see him, Rupert?” and added:
“You know the way and I expect you would rather go alone.”
I said “yes” as I judged that she did not wish to come with me,
and, walking out of the room, took my way along the corridor to the
well-remembered door, at which I halted for a moment, with an
unreasonable impulse to knock, and then entered. A solemn dimness
pervaded the room, with its lowered blinds, and an unusual silence
seemed to brood over it. But everything was clearly visible in the
faint, diffused light—the furniture, the pictures on the walls, the
bookshelves and the ghostly shape upon the bed, half-revealed
through the sheet which had been laid over it.
Softly, I drew back the sheet, and the vague shape became a
man; or rather, as it seemed, a waxen effigy, with something in its
aspect at once strange and familiar. The features were those of
Harold Monkhouse, but yet the face was not quite the face that I
had known. So it has always seemed to me with the dead. They
have their own distinctive character which belongs to no living man
—the physiognomy of death; impassive, expressionless, immovable;
fixed for ever, or at least, until the changes of the tomb shall
obliterate even its semblance of humanity.
I stepped back a pace and looked thoughtfully at the dead man
who had slipped so quietly out of the land of the living. There he lay,
stretched out in an easy, restful posture, just as I had often seen
him; the eyes half-closed and one long, thin arm lying on the
counterpane, the waxen hand lightly grasping the open volume;
looking—save for the stony immobility—as he might if he had fallen
asleep over his book. It was not surprising that the housemaid had
been deceived, for the surroundings all tended to support the
illusion. The bedside table with its pathetic little provisions for a sick
man’s needs: the hooded candle-lamp, drawn to the table-edge and
turned to light the book; the little decanter of brandy, the unused
tumbler, the water-bottle, the watch, still ticking in its upright case,
the candle-box, two or three spare volumes and the hand-bell for
night use; all spoke of illness and repose with never a hint of death.
There was nothing by which I could judge when he had died. I
touched his arm and found it rigid as an iron bar. So Mabel had
found it some hours earlier, whence I inferred that death had
occurred not much past midnight. But the doctors would be able to
form a better opinion, if it should seem necessary to form any
opinion at all. More to the point than the exact time of death was
the exact cause. I recalled the blunt question that Amos had put to
Dr. Dimsdale and the almost indignant tone in which the latter had
put it aside. That was less than a week ago; and now that question
had to be answered in unequivocal terms. I found myself wondering
what the politic and plausible Dimsdale would put on the death
certificate and whether he would seek Sir Robert Detling’s
collaboration in the execution of that document.
I was about to replace the sheet when my ear caught the
footsteps of some one approaching on tip-toe along the corridor. The
next moment the door opened softly and Amos stole into the room.
He passed me with a silent greeting and drew near the bed, beside
which he halted with his hand laid on the dead hand and his eyes
fixed gloomily on the yellowish-white, impassive face. He spoke no
word, nor did I presume to disturb this solemn meeting and farewell,
but silently slipped out into the corridor where I waited for him to
come out.
Two or three minutes passed, during which I heard him, once or
twice, moving softly about the room and judged that he was
examining the surroundings amidst which his brother had passed the
last few weeks of his life. Presently he came out, closing the door
noiselessly behind him, and joined me opposite the window. I looked
a little nervously into the stern, grief-stricken face, and as he did not
speak, I said, lamely enough:
“This is a grievous and terrible thing, Mr. Monkhouse.” He shook
his head gravely. “Grievous indeed; and the more so if one suspects,
as I do, that it need not have happened. However, he is gone and
recriminations will not bring him back.”
“No,” I agreed, profoundly relieved and a little surprised at his
tone; “whatever we may feel or think, reproaches and bitter words
will bring no remedy. Have you seen Barbara?”
“No; and I think I won’t—this morning. In a day or two, I hope I
shall be able to meet and speak to her as a Christian man should.
To-day I am not sure of myself. You will let me know what
arrangements are made about the funeral?”
I promised that I would, and walked with him to the head of the
stairs, and when I had watched him descend and heard the street
door close, I went back to Barbara’s little sitting-room.
I found her alone, and, when I entered she was standing before
a miniature that hung on the wall. She looked round as I entered
and I saw that she still looked rather dazed and strange. Her eyes
were red, as if she had been weeping but they were now tearless,
and she seemed calmer than when I had first seen her. I went to her
side, and for a few moments we stood silently regarding the smiling,
girlish face that looked out at us from the miniature. It was that of
Barbara’s step-sister, a very sweet, loveable girl, little more than a
child, who had died some four years previously, and who, I had
sometimes thought, was the only human creature for whom Barbara
had felt a really deep affection. The miniature had been painted
from a photograph after her death and a narrow plait of her
gorgeous, red-gold hair had been carried round inside the frame.
“Poor little Stella!” Barbara murmured. “I have been asking
myself if I neglected her, too. I often left her for days at a time.”
“You mustn’t be morbid, Barbara,” I said. “The poor child was
very well looked after and as happy as she could be made. And
nobody could have done any more for her. Rapid consumption is
beyond the resources of medical science at present.”
“Yes, unfortunately.” She was silent for a while. Then she said: “I
wonder if anything could have been done for Harold. Do you think it
possible that he might have been saved?”
“I know of no reason for thinking so, and now that he is gone I
see no use in raising the question.”
She drew closer to me and slipped her hand into mine.
“You will be with us as much as you can, Rupert, won’t you? We
always look to you in trouble or difficulty, and you have never failed
us. Even now you don’t condemn me, whatever you may think.”
“No, I blame myself for not being more alert, though it was really
Dimsdale who misled us all. Has Madeline gone to the school?”
“Yes. She had to give a lecture or demonstration, but I hope she
will manage to get a day or two off duty. I don’t want to be left
alone with poor Tony. It sounds unkind to say so, for no one could
be more devoted to me than he is. But he is so terribly high-strung.
Just now, he is in an almost hysterical state. I suppose you haven’t
seen him this morning?”
“No. I came straight up to you.” I had, in fact, kept out of his
way, for, to speak the truth, I did not much care for Anthony
Wallingford. He was of a type that I dislike rather intensely; nervous,
high-strung, emotional and in an incessant state of purposeless
bustle. I did not like his appearance, his manners or his dress. I
resented the abject fawning way in which he followed Barbara
about, and I disapproved of his position in this house; which was
nominally that of secretary to Barbara’s husband, but actually that of
tame cat and generally useless hanger-on. I think I was on the point
of making some disparaging comments on him, but at that moment
there came a gentle tap at the door and the subject of my thoughts
entered.
I was rather sorry that Barbara was still holding my hand. Of
course, the circumstances were very exceptional, but I have an
Englishman’s dislike of emotional demonstrations in the presence of
third parties. Nevertheless, Wallingford’s behaviour filled me with
amazed resentment. He stopped short with a face black as thunder,
and, after a brief, insolent stare, muttered that he “was afraid he
was intruding” and walked out of the room, closing the door sharply
after him.
Barbara flushed (and I daresay I did, too), but made no outward
sign of annoyance. “You see what I mean,” she said. “The poor
fellow is quite unstrung. He is an added anxiety instead of a help.”
“I see that plainly enough,” I replied, “but I don’t see why he is
unstrung, or why an unstrung man should behave like an ill-
mannered child. At any rate, he will have to pull himself together.
There is a good deal to be done and he will have to do some of it. I
may assume, I suppose, that it will be his duty to carry out the
instructions of the executors?”
“I suppose so. But you know more about such things than I do.”
“Then I had better go down and explain the position to him and
set him to work. Presently I must call on Mr. Brodribb, the other
executor, and let him know what has happened. But meanwhile
there are certain things which have to be done at once. You
understand?”
“Yes, indeed. You mean arrangements for the funeral. How
horrible it sounds! I can’t realize it yet. It is all so shocking and so
sudden and unlooked-for. It seems like some dreadful dream.”
“Well, Barbara,” I said gently, “you shan’t be troubled more than
is unavoidable. I will see to all the domestic affairs and leave the
legal business to Brodribb. But I shall want Wallingford’s help, and I
think I had better go down and see him now.”
“Very well, Rupert,” she replied with a sigh. “I shall lean on you
now as I always have done in times of trouble and difficulty, and you
must try to imagine how grateful I am since I can find no words to
tell you.”
She pressed my hand and released me, and I took my way down
to the library with a strong distaste for my mission.
That distaste was not lessened when I opened the door and was
met by a reek of cigarette smoke. Wallingford was sitting huddled up
in an easy chair, but as I entered, he sprang to his feet and stood
facing me with a sort of hostile apprehensiveness. The man was
certainly unstrung; in fact he was on wires. His pale, haggard face
twitched, his hands trembled visibly and his limbs were in constant,
fidgety movement. But, to me, there seemed to be no mystery about
his condition. The deep yellow stains on his fingers, the reek in the
air and a pile of cigarette-ends in an ash-bowl were enough to
account for a good deal of nervous derangement, even if there were
nothing more—no drugs or drink.
I opened the business quietly, explaining what had to be done
and what help I should require from him. At first he showed a
tendency to dispute my authority and treat me as an outsider, but I
soon made the position and powers of an executor clear to him.
When I had brought him to heel I gave him a set of written
instructions the following-out of which would keep him fairly busy for
the rest of the day; and having set the dismal preparations going, I
went forth from the house of mourning and took my way to New
Square, Lincoln’s Inn, where were the offices of Mr. Brodribb, the
family solicitor and my co-executor.
 Chapter III.
A Shock for the Mourners
It was on the day of the funeral that the faint, unheeded
mutterings of the approaching storm began to swell into audible and
threatening rumblings, though, even then, the ominous signs failed
to deliver their full significance.
How well do I recall the scene in the darkened dining room
where we sat in our sable raiment, “ready to wenden on our
pilgrimage” to the place of everlasting rest and eternal farewell.
There were but four of us, for Amos Monkhouse had not yet arrived,
though it was within a few minutes of the appointed time to start;
quite a small party; for the deceased had but few relatives, and no
outsiders had been bidden.
We were all rather silent. Intimate as we were, there was no
need to make conversation. Each, no doubt, was busy with his or
her own thoughts, and as I recall my own they seem to have been
rather trivial and not very suitable to the occasion. Now and again I
stole a look at Barbara and thought what a fine, handsome woman
she was, and dimly wondered why, in all the years that I had known
her, I had never fallen in love with her. Yet so it was. I had always
admired her; we had been intimate friends, with a certain amount of
quiet affection, but nothing more—at any rate on my part. Of her I
was not so sure. There had been a time, some years before, when I
had had an uneasy feeling that she looked to me for something
more than friendship. But she was always a reticent girl; very self-
reliant and self-contained. I never knew a woman better able to
keep her own counsel or control her emotions.
She was now quite herself again; quiet, dignified, rather reserved
and even a little inscrutable. Seated between Wallingford and
Madeline, she seemed unconscious of either and quite undisturbed
by the secretary’s incessant nervous fidgeting and by his ill-
concealed efforts to bring himself to her notice.
From Barbara my glance turned to the woman who sat by her
side, noting with dull interest the contrast between the two; a
contrast as marked in their bearing as in their appearance. For
whereas Barbara was a rather big woman, dark in colouring, quiet
and resolute in manner, Madeline Norris was somewhat small and
slight, almost delicately fair, rather shy and retiring, but yet with a
suggestion of mental alertness under the diffident manner. If
Barbara gave an impression of quiet strength, Madeline’s pretty,
refined face was rather expressive of subtle intelligence. But what
chiefly impressed me at this moment was the curious inversion of
their attitudes towards the existing circumstances; for whereas
Barbara, the person mainly affected, maintained a quiet, untroubled
demeanour, Madeline appeared to be overcome by the sudden
catastrophe. Looking at her set, white face and the dismay in her
wide, grey eyes, and comparing her with the woman at her side, a
stranger would at once have assumed the bereavement to be hers.
My observations were interrupted by Wallingford once more
dragging out his watch.
“What on earth can have happened to Mr. Amos?” he exclaimed.
“We are due to start in three minutes. If he isn’t here by then we
shall have to start without him. It is perfectly scandalous! Positively
indecent! But there, it’s just like a parson.”
“My experience of parsons,” said I, “is that they are, as a rule,
scrupulously punctual. But certainly, Mr. Amos is unpardonably late.
It will be very awkward if he doesn’t arrive in time. Ah, there he is,”
I added as the bell rang and a muffled knock at the street door was
heard.
At the sound, Wallingford sprang up as if the bell had actuated a
hidden spring in the chair, and darted over to the window, from
which he peered out through the chink beside the blind.
“It isn’t Amos,” he reported. “It’s a stranger, and a fool at that, I
should say, if he can’t see that all the blinds are down.”
 We all listened intently. We heard the housemaid’s hurried
footsteps, though she ran on tip-toe; the door opened softly, and
then, after an interval, we heard some one ushered along the hall to
the drawing room. A few moments later, Mabel entered with an
obviously scandalized air.
“A gentleman wishes to speak to you, Ma’am,” she announced.
“But, Mabel,” said Barbara, “did you tell him what is happening in
this house?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I explained exactly how things were and told him
that he must call to-morrow. But he said that his business was
urgent and that he must see you at once.”
“Very well,” said Barbara. “I will go and see what he wants. But it
is very extraordinary.”
She rose, and nearly colliding with Wallingford, who had rushed
to open the door—which was, in fact, wide open—walked out
quickly, closing the door after her. After a short interval—during
which Wallingford paced the room excitedly, peered out of the
window, sat down, got up again and looked at his watch—she came
back, and, standing in the doorway, looked at me.
“Would you come here for a minute, Rupert,” she said, quietly.
I rose at once and walked back with her to the drawing room, on
entering which I became aware of a large man, standing
monumentally on the hearth-rug and inspecting the interior of his
hat. He looked to me like a plainclothes policeman, and my surmise
was verified by a printed card which he presented and which bore
the inscription “Sergeant J. Burton.”
“I am acting as coroner’s officer,” he explained in reply to my
interrogatory glance, “and I have come to notify you that the funeral
will have to be postponed as the coroner has decided to hold an
inquest. I have seen the undertakers and explained matters to
them.”
“Do you know what reason there is for an inquest?” I asked.
“The cause of death was certified in the regular way.”
“I know nothing beyond my instructions, which were to notify
Mrs. Monkhouse that the funeral is put off and to serve the
summonses for the witnesses. I may as well do that now.”
 With this he laid on the table six small blue papers, which I saw
were addressed respectively to Barbara, Madeline, Wallingford, the
housemaid, the cook and myself.
“Have you no idea at all why an inquest is to be held?” I asked as
I gathered up the papers.
“I have no information,” he replied, cautiously, “but I expect
there is some doubt about the exact cause of death. The certificate
may not be quite clear or it may be that some interested party has
communicated with the coroner. That is what usually happens, you
know, Sir. But at any rate,” he added, cheerfully, “you will know all
about it the day after to-morrow, which, you will observe, is the day
fixed for the inquest.”
“And what have we to do meanwhile?” Barbara asked. “The
inquest will not be held in this house, I presume.”
“Certainly not, Madam,” the sergeant replied. “A hearse will be
sent round to-night to remove the body to the mortuary, where the
post mortem examination will be carried out, and the inquest will be
held in the parish hall, as is stated on the summons. I am sorry that
you should be put to this inconvenience,” he concluded, moving
tentatively towards the door, “but—er—it couldn’t be helped, I
suppose. Good morning, Madam.”
I walked with him to the door and let him out, while Barbara
waited for me in the hall, not unobserved by Wallingford, whose eye
appeared in a chink beside the slightly open dining room door. I
pointedly led her back into the drawing room and closed the door
audibly behind us. She turned a pale and rather shocked face to me
but she spoke quite composedly as she asked:
“What do you make of it, Rupert? Is it Amos?”
I had already reluctantly decided that it must be. I say,
reluctantly, because, if this were really his doing, the resigned tone
of his last words to me would appear no less than sheer, gross
hypocrisy.
“I don’t know who else it could be,” I answered. “The fact that he
did not come this morning suggests that he at least knew what was
happening. If he did, I think he might have warned us.”
 “Yes, indeed. It will be a horrid scandal; most unpleasant for us
all, and especially for me. Not that I am entitled to any sympathy.
Poor Harold! How he would have hated the thought of a public fuss
over his dead body. I suppose we must go in now and tell the
others. Do you mind telling them, Rupert?”
We crossed the hall to the dining room where we found the two
waiting impatiently, Madeline very pale and agitated while
Wallingford was pacing the room like a wild beast. Both looked at us
with eager interrogation as we entered, and I made the
announcement bluntly and in a dozen words.
The effect on both was electrical. Madeline, with a little cry of
horror, sank, white-faced and trembling, into a chair. As for
Wallingford, his behaviour was positively maniacal. After staring at
me for a few moments with starting eyes and mouth agape, he flung
up his arms and uttered a hoarse shout.
“This,” he yelled, “is the doing of that accursed parson! Now we
know why he kept out of the way—and it is well for him that he did!”
He clenched his fists and glared around him, showing his
tobacco-stained teeth in a furious snarl while the sweat gathered in
beads on his livid face. Then, suddenly, his mood changed and he
dropped heavily on a chair, burying his face in his shaking hands.
Barbara admonished him, quietly.
“Do try to be calm, Tony. There is nothing to get so excited
about. It is all very unpleasant and humiliating, of course, but at any
rate you are not affected. It is I who will be called to account.”
“And do you suppose that doesn’t affect me?” demanded
Wallingford, now almost on the verge of tears.
“I am sure it does, Tony,” she replied, gently, “but if you want to
be helpful to me you will try to be calm and reasonable. Come, now,”
she added, persuasively, “let us put it away for the present. I must
tell the servants. Then we had better have lunch and go our several
ways to think the matter over quietly each of us alone. We shall only
agitate one another if we remain together.”
I agreed emphatically with this sensible suggestion. “Not,” I
added, “that there is much for us to think over. The explanations will
have to come from Dimsdale. It was he who failed to grasp the
seriousness of poor Harold’s condition.”
While Barbara was absent, breaking the news to the servants, I
tried to bring Madeline to a more composed frame of mind. With
Wallingford I had no patience. Men should leave hysterics to the
other sex. But I was sorry for Madeline; and even if she seemed
more overwhelmed by the sudden complications than the occasion
justified, I told myself that the blow had fallen when she was already
shaken by Harold’s unexpected death.
The luncheon was a silent and comfortless function; indeed it
was little more than an empty form. But it had the merit of brevity.
When the last dish had been sent away almost intact, Wallingford
drew out his cigarette case and we all rose.
“What are you going to do, Madeline?” Barbara asked.
“I must go to the school, I suppose, and let the secretary know
that—that I may have to be absent for a day or two. It will be
horrid. I shall have to tell him all about it—after having got leave for
the funeral. But it will sound so strange, so extraordinary. Oh! It is
horrible!”
“It is!” exclaimed Wallingford, fumbling with tremulous fingers at
his cigarette case. “It is diabolical! A fiendish plot to disgrace and
humiliate us. As to that infernal parson, I should like—”
“Never mind that, Tony,” said Barbara; “and we had better not
stay here, working up one another’s emotions. What are you doing,
Rupert?”
“I shall go to my chambers and clear off some correspondence.”
“Then you might walk part of the way with Madeline and see if
you can’t make her mind a little more easy.”
Madeline looked at me eagerly. “Will you, Rupert?” she asked.
Of course I assented, and a few minutes later we set forth
together.
For a while she walked by my side in silence with an air of deep
reflection, and I refrained from interrupting her thoughts, having no
very clear idea as to what I should say to her. Moreover, my own
mind was pretty busily occupied. Presently she spoke, in a tentative
way, as if opening a discussion.