Some of the more adventurous tried to peer through the windows at
the lower end of the saloon. Others rushed off to interview the
guard. In a very few minutes, however, the station-master
reappeared upon the scene, accompanied by the doctor. The little
crowd stood on one side and the two men stepped into the car.

The doctor proceeded at once with his examination. Mr. Hamilton
Fynes, this mysterious person who had succeeded, indeed, in
making a record journey, was leaning back in the corner of his
seat, his arms folded, his head drooping a little, but his eyes
still fixed in that unseeing stare. His body yielded itself
unnaturally to the touch. For the main truth the doctor needed
scarcely a glance at him.

"Is he dead?" the station-master asked.

"Stone-dead!" was the brief answer.

"Good God!" the station-master muttered. "Good God!"

The doctor had thrown his handkerchief over the dead man's face.
He was standing now looking at him thoughtfully.

"Did he die in his sleep, I wonder?" the station-master asked.
"It must have been horribly sudden! Was it heart disease?"

The doctor did not reply for a moment. He seemed to be thinking
out some problem.

"The body had better be removed to the station mortuary," he said