"Won't you hold an autopsy, Ferguson?" asked Clymer, breaking his
long silence.

"No, sir, we never do when the cause of death is apparent," the
detective bowed to Coroner Penfield. "Isn't that so, Coroner?"

Penfield nodded. "Unless the condition of the body indicates foul
play or the relatives specially request it, we do not perform
autopsies," he answered. "What has happened here?" and he gazed
about with quickened interest.

"Mr. Turnbull, who masqueraded as a burglar on a wager with Miss
McIntyre died suddenly from angina pectoris," explained the deputy
marshal.

"Just a case of death from natural causes," broke in Rochester.
"Please write out a permit for me to remove Turnbull's body, Dr.
Penfield."

Helen McIntyre took a step forward. Her eyes, twice their
accustomed size, shone brightly, in contrast to her dead white
face. Carefully avoiding her sister's glance she addressed the
coroner.

"I must insist," she began and stopped to control her voice. "As
Mr. Turnbull's fiancee, I -" she faltered again. "I demand that
an autopsy be held to determine the cause of his death."