"I am all right, Helen." Barbara waved her away impatiently.
"What caused Jimmie's death?"

"Angina pectoris," declared Rochester. "Too much excitement brought
on a fatal attack." Barbara nodded dazedly. "I knew he had heart
trouble, but -" She stepped toward Turnbull and her voice quivered
with feeling. "Don't leave Jimmie lying there; take him to his
room, doctor," turning entreatingly to Stone.

The physician looked at her compassionately. "I will, just as soon
as the coroner views the body," he promised. "But come away now,
Babs; this is no place for you and Helen." He signed to the deputy
marshal to open the door as he walked across the room, Barbara
keeping step with him, and her sister following in their wake.
At the door Barbara paused and looked back.

"Will there be an inquest?" she asked.

"That's for the coroner to decide," responded Ferguson. "As long
as Mr. Turnbull entered your house on a wager and died from an
attack of angina pectoris the inquest is likely to be a mere
formality. Ah, here is the coroner now," as a man paused in the
doorway.

Helen McIntyre moved back from the door to make room for Coroner
Penfield. Having had occasion to attend court that morning, he
was passing the door when attracted by the group just inside the
room. Courteously acknowledging Helen's act, Penfield stepped
briskly across the threshold and stopped abruptly on catching sight
of the lonely figure on the floor.