The captain was on the point of asking why, when Dr. Lambert motioned to him to step into a little reception room off the main hall. Somewhat wonderingly, Captain Poland obeyed, and when the door had closed, shutting him in with the two doctors, he turned to the older physician and asked:
“Is anything the matter?”
“Well, we have completed the autopsy,” said Dr. Lambert.
“That's good. Then you are ready to sign a certificate, or at least get Dr. Rowland to, so that we can proceed with the arrangements. Miss Mary Carwell is anxious to have—”
“Well, I suppose the funeral will have to be held,” said Dr. Lambert slowly. “That can't be held up very long, even if it was worse than it is.”
“Worse than it is! What do you mean?” cried Captain Poland sharply. “Is there any suspicion—”
“There is more than suspicion, my dear sir,” went on Dr. Lambert, as he sank into a chair as though very, very tired. “There is, I regret to say, certainty.”
“Certainty of what?”
“Certainty that my old friend, Horace Carwell, committed suicide!”
“Suicide!”