"No, no--leave me. I'd rather be alone. Let me just be quiet
for a minute or two. Go down to the others."

I obeyed her reluctantly. John and Lawrence were in the
dining-room. I joined them. We were all silent, but I suppose I
voiced the thoughts of us all when I at last broke it by saying:

"Where is Mr. Inglethorp?"

John shook his head.

"He's not in the house."

Our eyes met. Where _was_ Alfred Inglethorp? His absence was
strange and inexplicable. I remembered Mrs. Inglethorp's dying
words. What lay beneath them? What more could she have told us,
if she had had time?

At last we heard the doctors descending the stairs. Dr. Wilkins
was looking important and excited, and trying to conceal an
inward exultation under a manner of decorous calm. Dr.
Bauerstein remained in the background, his grave bearded face
unchanged. Dr. Wilkins was the spokesman for the two. He
addressed himself to John:

"Mr. Cavendish, I should like your consent to a postmortem."

"Is that necessary?" asked John gravely. A spasm of pain crossed
his face.