The Death of a Doctor in the Tropics

My mother died eight years ago in a railway dent near crew. Doctor roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in london and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at stokemoran. The money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness. But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. A series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the police court, until at last he became the terror of the village. Last week, he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a stream. And it was only by paying