A throng followed the silent figure, borne on the shoulders of some grounds workmen, but only club members were admitted to the house. And among them buzzed talk of the tragedy that had so suddenly ended the day of sports.
“He looked all right when he started to play,” said one. “Never saw him in better form, and some of his shots were marvelous.”
“He'd been drinking a little too much for a man to play his best, especially on a hot day,” ventured another. “He must have been taken ill from that, and the excitement of trying to win over the major, and it affected his heart.”
“Never knew him to have heart disease,” declared Bruce Garrigan.
“Lots of us have it and don't know it,” commented Tom Sharwell. “I suppose it will take an autopsy to decide.”
“Rather tough on Miss Carwell,” was another comment.
“That's true!” several agreed.
The body of Horace Carwell was placed in one of the small card rooms, and the door locked. Then followed some quick telephoning on the part of Dr. Baird, who had recently joined the golf club, and who had arrived at the clubhouse shortly before Mr. Carwell dropped dead.
It was at the suggestion of Harry Bartlett that Dr. Addison Lambert, the Carwell family physician, was sent for, and that rather aged practitioner arrived as soon as possible.
He was taken in to view the body, together with Dr. Baird, who was almost pathetically deferential to his senior colleague. The two medical men were together in the room with the body for some time, and when they came out Viola Carwell was there to meet them. Dr. Lambert put his arms about her. He had known her all her life—since she first ventured into this world, in fact—and his manner was most fatherly.