“Where is Mrs. Mackenzie, Emma?”
“In the sitting room, sir, with Rev. Playfair and Deacon Cotton.”
“Then we’ll not disturb her till they have gone. I’ve brought a friend, who is visiting me, and we’ll go in and look at the remains, if you have no objections.”
“Why, certainly not, doctor,” was the stout woman’s reply, but Nick was aware that she was at the same time staring at him with a gaze which was full of suspicion or curiosity.
Abbott and Nick followed Emma through the first door on the right, into a room which had all the blinds drawn and was but faintly illuminated by a lamp burning low.
The servant turned up the light, and Nick saw a coffin resting on two chairs near the mantel.
Softly and silently he and Abbott walked forward and looked down at the dead man.
They saw the face of what was undoubtedly a corpse; the face of an old man, with very white hair and very white beard.
Abbott looked but a few moments. Then he turned away, while tears trickled down his face.
Nick stood a little longer, carefully noting every feature of the dead man in the coffin, and all this time he was aware of the fact that the stout woman never once took her eyes off his face. When they emerged from the parlor, the minister and deacon were just leaving. Abbott, therefore, instructed the servant to conduct them to the widow.