‘My dear sir, you must allow it! It is the law! This poor young lady has met her death in a mysterious manner, and, until the police have evidence that it was an accident, they will not, in the cause of justice, permit the body to be tampered with.’
‘An accident! but how could it be anything but an accident?’ said Frederick, staring at the doctor.
‘I have no doubt myself whatever in the matter; but the law must be satisfied. Meanwhile, let me persuade you, Mr Walcheren, to return to the hotel and try and calm yourself. You can do no good by remaining here, and I will engage that every respect shall be paid to her remains.’
‘I go away,’ said Frederick, in a broken voice, ‘and leave her lying here? Oh, no; you mistake me! It is impossible! If I may not take her away yet, I shall stay by her till I can! Nothing shall persuade me to leave her, my darling little wife!’ and he took one of her dead hands and kissed it fondly as he spoke.
‘If you are determined—’ began Dr M‘Coll.
‘I am determined, and nothing will shake my determination. Here I remain till they take my angel from me. But is an inquest imperative? I cannot bear to think of it! It is such an indignity—such a public insult! A body of strangers, men, too, whom I would not have allowed in her presence whilst living, to be admitted to view her remains. I am rich, doctor! Can no payment of money avert this outrage?’
‘Nothing can avert it, Mr Walcheren; but I will take care it is conducted as quietly as possible. Remember, it is in the cause of justice; and now, what can I do for you? Can I wire the sad news to any of her relatives, or yours? You should have your own friends near you in this trial.’
Frederick turned and seized the doctor’s hands as if he were a child, clinging to him in his trouble.
‘Advise me, tell me what to do,’ he said. ‘I am unfit to think for the best. My head is all in a maze. Doctor, I must tell you the truth. This was a runaway marriage. She was an only child, and her parents doated on her. I dare not think what they will say. How am I to break it to them? Ought I to go myself?’
‘I don’t think they would let you leave Dover until after the inquest, Mr Walcheren, but your late wife’s relations should certainly be told at once. If you wish it, to-morrow being a free day with me, I will go and break the sad intelligence to them.’