“Yes,” said Mr. Trigg, “that interests you. It startled me. Or rather, startled isn’t quite the word. In my oppressed state, it affected me like some kind of nightmare. I struggled upright in my chair, and the woman sank back upon her pillows.
“At that moment there came a violent ring at the bell.”
“The servant?”
“No—thank Heaven it was my taxi-driver, who had become tired of waiting. I thought—I don’t quite know what I thought—but I was alarmed. I gave some kind of shout or groan, and the man came straight in. Happily, I had left the door open as I had found it.
“I pulled myself together sufficiently to ask him to witness the will. I must have looked queer and spoken in a strange way, for I remember how he looked from me to the brandy-bottle. However, he signed the paper after Mrs. Mead, who wrote her name in a weak, straggling hand as she lay on her back.
“‘Wot next, guv’nor?’ asked the man, when this was done.
“I was feeling dreadfully ill by now. I could only say, ‘Take me home.’
“He looked at Mrs. Mead and then at me, and said, ‘Ain’t there nobody to see to the lady, sir?’
“I said, ‘Fetch a doctor. But take me home first.’
“I stumbled out of the house on his arm. I heard him muttering something about its being a rum start. I don’t remember the drive home. When I came back to life, I was in my own bed, and one of the local doctors was standing over me.