“Influences?”
“Of course there are Influences. I can feel them myself. Gilbert is only the first to give in.”
I left this placid lady and made what speed I could up the stairs. In the passage outside Maryvale’s room on the second floor, the Coroner and the rest of the men were standing.
“Is he in there?”
“He is,” answered Crofts.
“Why don’t you go in to him?”
“Because—well, because—”
“Because we all want to stay healthy,” said Bob Cullen.
I learned what had happened. People in the Hall had seen Maryvale stagger across the lawn, in their alarm had heard him enter the armoury and disturb the weapons there. When some of the men looked into the room, Maryvale had departed, and a sword was missing. They heard him clamber up the stairs. Consulting in perplexity for a few moments, they decided to follow. The curious thing about this part of the affair is that in those doubtful moments Maryvale had not at once entered his room at the head of the second flight of stairs, but for some reason had hastened along the passage on that upper floor. For while the pursuers were on the second flight, Maryvale came rushing back, invisible (because of the curve in the staircase), and secured himself in his chamber. Knocking and calling evoked no response, save once. Then Maryvale flung wide the door, in his hand the drawn sword—a thin two-edged one like a Toledo blade.
“I’ll kill anyone who comes in here,” he said. “Leave me to do my work.”