“I am acting as coroner’s officer,” he explained in reply to my interrogatory glance, “and I have come to notify you that the funeral will have to be postponed as the coroner has decided to hold an inquest. I have seen the undertakers and explained matters to them.”
“Do you know what reason there is for an inquest?” I asked. “The cause of death was certified in the regular way.”
“I know nothing beyond my instructions, which were to notify Mrs. Monkhouse that the funeral is put off and to serve the summonses for the witnesses. I may as well do that now.”
With this he laid on the table six small blue papers, which I saw were addressed respectively to Barbara, Madeline, Wallingford, the housemaid, the cook and myself.
“Have you no idea at all why an inquest is to be held?” I asked as I gathered up the papers.
“I have no information,” he replied, cautiously, “but I expect there is some doubt about the exact cause of death. The certificate may not be quite clear or it may be that some interested party has communicated with the coroner. That is what usually happens, you know, Sir. But at any rate,” he added, cheerfully, “you will know all about it the day after to-morrow, which, you will observe, is the day fixed for the inquest.”
“And what have we to do meanwhile?” Barbara asked. “The inquest will not be held in this house, I presume.”
“Certainly not, Madam,” the sergeant replied. “A hearse will be sent round to-night to remove the body to the mortuary, where the post mortem examination will be carried out, and the inquest will be held in the parish hall, as is stated on the summons. I am sorry that you should be put to this inconvenience,” he concluded, moving tentatively towards the door, “but—er—it couldn’t be helped, I suppose. Good morning, Madam.”
I walked with him to the door and let him out, while Barbara waited for me in the hall, not unobserved by Wallingford, whose eye appeared in a chink beside the slightly open dining room door. I pointedly led her back into the drawing room and closed the door audibly behind us. She turned a pale and rather shocked face to me but she spoke quite composedly as she asked:
“What do you make of it, Rupert? Is it Amos?”