XXIVMartin Oakley met them with a flat refusal.
“My wife’s ill. She can’t see anyone.”
“Have you a doctor’s certificate, Mr. Oakley?”
“No, I haven’t, and I don’t need one. I know my wife a great deal better than any doctor. She’s not fit to see anyone. Good heavens, man—a gentle, delicate woman has a man killed practically next door to her, and you expect her to be able to discuss it! Why, the shock was enough to kill her. And she’s got nothing to say, any more than I have myself. We were all there, standing close together. Mr. Porlock had gone over towards the stairs. Then he began to come towards us again, and the lights went out. We heard a groan and a fall, and less than a minute after that the lights came on, and there was Porlock lying dead on the floor with a dagger in his back.
