"Mr Stevens," she said, "Dr Meredith has arrived and gone upstairs."

 

She had spoken in a low voice, but M. Dupont behind me exclaimed immediately:

"Ah, good!"

 

I turned to him and said: "If you will perhaps follow me, sir."

 

I led him into the billiard room where I stoked the fire while he sat down in

one of the leather chairs and began to remove his shoes.

 

"I'm sorry it is rather cold in here, sir. The doctor will not be long now."

 

"Thank you, butler. You've done well."

 

Miss Kenton was still waiting for me in the hallway and we ascended through the

house in silence. Up in my father's room, Dr Meredith was making some notes and

Mrs Mortimer weeping bitterly. She was still wearing her apron which, evidently,

she had been using to wipe away her tears; as a result there were grease marks

all over her face, giving her the appearance of a participant in a minstrel

show. I had expected the room to smell of death, but on account of Mrs Mortimer

- or else her apron – the room was dominated by the smell of roasting.

 

Dr Meredith rose and said: "My condolences, Stevens. He suffered a severe

stroke.