Evelyn sighed with relief as she took the medicine. “Oh, thank you, doctor,” she exclaimed, “if you will just——” She stopped speaking as the portières were pulled back and Mrs. Ward, looking very much agitated, ushered in a tall man whose travel-stained appearance did not detract from his air of distinction. Evelyn stared at him as if unable to believe her eyes.
“Mr. Maynard!” she exclaimed. “Dear Mr. Maynard! Where did you come from?”
Dan Maynard clasped her eagerly extended hand in both of his.
“Just back from France,” he explained, and at the sound of his voice Hayden’s memory quickened; its charm across the footlights had lured him often to the theater to see the man whose fame as an actor was international. “I wired Mr. Burnham——”
“Beg pardon,” Mrs. Ward insinuated herself into the little group by the door. “Your telegram was forwarded to Chelsea, Mr. Maynard, and Mrs. Burnham told me to prepare a bedroom for you, sir. It would have been ready but for this——,” and the housekeeper’s gesture toward the tragic figure by the fireplace completed her sentence.
Maynard stared but before Evelyn could offer any explanation the front door bell rang loudly and Mrs. Ward hastened to answer it.
“I imagine that is the coroner,” began Hayden, but an exclamation from Evelyn checked him; in her excitement she had not grasped the use of the word “Coroner” before Penfield’s name.
“A coroner! Good gracious, doctor, why send for him?”
“Because a sudden death cannot be examined without his presence,” Hayden explained. “Go and take your medicine, Evelyn.”
Evelyn’s hesitation was brief; she knew Hayden of old and that he did not permit disobedience from his patients.