“Well?” he questioned, and McLean’s stare grew intensified. If he had not seen Wallace’s lips move he would never have recognized his voice. With difficulty Wallace enunciated his words. “Well—what—what is it?”
“It’s a case of—”
“Sudden death.” Coroner Penfield completed McLean’s sentence.
In the silence that followed, a man who had been leaning over the railing of the gallery which circled the library, watching them, walked over to the stairs and came slowly down. At sound of his footsteps McLean glanced up and recognized Inspector Mitchell of the Central Office. He bowed courteously to the surgeon before addressing the coroner.
“If it is all right, Dr. Penfield, we’ll have the body removed,” he said. “My men are here.”
“Certainly. Call them.” Penfield turned to McLean. “I wanted you to be present as I understand you attended Miss Susan Baird.”
“Yes, I have been her family physician for years.” McLean spoke with an effort, his thoughts centered on one idea. “Where is Miss Baird’s niece, Miss Kitty Baird?”
His question went unanswered. Apparently Coroner Penfield and Inspector Mitchell failed to hear him as they busied themselves in superintending the removal of the body. McLean, after watching them for some seconds, walked over to Wallace. The latter took no notice of him whatever, his eyes remaining always on the tea table. McLean scanned his drawn face and listened to his labored breathing with growing concern. Whirling around, he opened his bag, took out a flask, detached its silver cup and poured out a liberal allowance of whisky, then, darting out of the library, he returned an instant later with some water in a glass. Slightly diluting the whisky, he thrust the cup against Wallace’s white lips.
“Drink that,” he ordered, and Wallace followed his peremptory command. “Now, sit down,” and he half-pushed, half-supported him to a large leather covered lounge.
“I—I,” protested Wallace. “I’m a bit undone, McLean,” and he raised miserable, apologetic eyes to his friend.