“I have been a hospital matron, doctor, and I have no doubt about it.” She commenced to lead the way upstairs, the doctor and the manageress following her.
In a few minutes the manageress reappeared.
“Telephone to the village and tell them that someone is to come from the police-station at once.”
This was unpleasant, and I must confess to a dismally nervous feeling, but I was somewhat reassured by hearing the manageress say in conversation with the widow:
“I think it must have been suicide.”
“They seemed very happy,” said the widow.
“Lately married, I suppose.” And the manageress raised her eyebrows and looked at the widow interrogatively.
“One must not judge, but I fancy——” the widow stopped. She did not look the sort of woman who would take the least pleasure in scandal.
The doctor sent down again in a few minutes instructions to send a messenger for another medical man. The driver of the hotel fly mounted a horse and rode off in hot haste. We wondered whether it was possible that after all they were not dead. I scarcely knew which I hoped for. I was not sufficiently hardened to be without a vague desire that they should be alive. At the same time, it would be a terrible nuisance to have to do the work all over again.
Our doubts were soon set at rest. When the doctor came down he announced that there was no longer the least doubt that life was extinct. Gascoyne’s card-case and his town address had been discovered, and his father had been wired for, who replied that he would be down by the next train. At the time he was expected I went out. A nameless horror came over me at the idea of seeing the father’s face in its first grief and despair.