“Well, it appears strange.”
“It could not have been a chill. The symptoms——”
“A chill?—bah!” interrupted Monsieur Podevin. “We shall know more after the post-mortem,” he added, taking up his hat. “Of course there must be one.”
Wishing his brother practitioner good-night, he left. Monsieur Dupuis went looking about for Captain Fennel, and found him in the kitchen, standing by the hot stove, and drinking a glass of hot brandy-and-water. The rest were upstairs.
“This event has shaken my nerves, doctor,” apologized the captain, in reference to the glass. “I never was so upset. Shall I mix you one?”
Monsieur Dupuis shook his head. He never took anything so strong. The most calming thing, in his opinion, was a glass of eau sucrée, with a teaspoonful of orange-flower water in it.
“Sir,” he went on, “I have been conversing with my esteemed confrère. We cannot, either of us, decide what mademoiselle has died of, being unable to see any adequate cause for it; and we wish to hold a post-mortem examination. I presume you will not object to it?”
“Certainly not; I think there should be one,” briskly spoke Captain Fennel after a moment’s pause. “For our satisfaction, if for nothing else, doctor.”
“Very well. Will nine o’clock in the morning suit you, as to time? It should be made early.”