It may have taken longer.

I never stopped till I found myself on the threshold of the _Buggam Arms_ in Little Buggam, beating on the door for the landlord.
I returned to Buggam Grange on the next day in the bright sunlight of a frosty November morning, in a seven-cylinder motor car with six local constables and a physician.

It makes all the difference.

We carried revolvers, spades, pickaxes, shotguns and an ouija board.
What we found cleared up for ever the mystery of the Grange.

We discovered Horrod the butler lying on the dining-room floor quite dead.
The physician said that he had died from heart failure.