“In the library, ma am.
“Very well. I'll see him.”
Mr. Carwell's sister literally swept down the stairs, her black silk dress rustling somberly and importantly. She was a large woman, and her bearing and air were in keeping.
“It was very good of you to come,” she murmured, as she sank, with more rustling and shimmerings, into a chair, while the captain waited for her to be settled, like a boat at anchor, before he again took his place. “Viola will be down presently. I gave her a powder the doctor left for her, and she slept, I hope, since we were both awake nearly all of last night.”
“I should imagine so. The strain and shock must have been intense. But please don't disturb her if she is resting. I merely called to see if I could do anything.”
“Thank you so much. We are waiting for the doctors' report. It was necessary to have an autopsy, I understand?” she questioned.
“Yes. The law requires it in all cases of sudden and mysterious death.”
“Mysterious death, Captain Poland!”
Mary Carwell seemed to swell up like a fretful turkey.
“Well, by that I mean unexplained. Mr. Carwell dropped dead suddenly and from no apparent cause.”