“Mr. Kent will be back to-morrow,” added the butler, as silence followed the delivery of his message. “Mr. Rochester wishes to know if he can transact any business for you.”
“Please thank him and say no.” The girl's color rose as she caught her father's disapproving look. The colonel waited until the butler had disappeared before addressing her.
“Why did you send for Harry Kent?” he questioned. “You know I do not approve of his attentions to Barbara. Rochester is well enough—”
“Speaking of Rochester”—Mrs. Brewster saw the gathering storm clouds in the girl's expressive eyes, and broke hastily into the conversation. “I see by the paper, Cousin Amos”—she turned so as to face Dr. Stone— “that Mr. Rochester declared positively that Jimmie Turnbull died from angina pectoris.”
“What's Philip's opinion worth?” The young girl smiled disdainfully. “Philip seems to think that having shared an apartment with Jimmie, gives him intimate knowledge of Jimmie's health. Philip is not a medical man.”
“No,” acknowledged her father. “But here is a medical man who was on the spot when Jimmie died. What's your opinion, Stone?”
Stone, suddenly conscious of the keen attention of his companions, spoke slowly as was his wont when making a serious statement.
“Rochester's contention that Jimmie died from angina pectoris would seem borne out by what transpired,” he said. “Undoubtedly Jimmie felt an attack coming on and used the customary remedy to relieve it—”
“And what was that remedy?” questioned Mrs. Brewster swiftly.
“Amyl nitrite.” Stone spoke with decision. “I could detect its presence by the fruity, pleasant odor which always accompanies the drug's use.”