“I am.”
“I am a detective from the local office. I was ordered to inquire into the death of the young man in your house lately.”
Here was a thunderbolt! If looking upset is a sign of guilt, I must have stood confessed as a villain. It was so absolutely unexpected. I hope, however, that I had command of myself instantly.
“Pray step in!” said I. Any information I can give you is entirely at your service. Have you any objection to my friend Captain Whitehall being present?
“Not in the least.” So in we both went, taking this bird of ill-omen.
He was, however, a man of tact and with a pleasant manner.
“Of course, Dr. Munro,” said he, “you are much too well known in the town for any one to take this matter seriously. But the fact is that we had an anonymous letter this morning saying that the young man had died yesterday and was to be buried at an unusual hour to-day, and that the circumstances were suspicious.”
“He died the day before yesterday. He was buried at eight to-day,” I explained; and then I told him the whole story from the beginning. He listened attentively and took a note or two.
“Who signed the certificate?” he asked.
“I did,” said I.