Reggie Fortune, one of the few, remained on his seat. He heard the cheering down the course and had sufficient presence of mind to stand up and take off his hat as the distant band began to play. Over the heads of the crowd he saw the red coats of the postilions and a gleam of the grey of the team as the King’s carriage swept round into the enclosure. The rest of the procession passed and the crowd melted away. But one man remained by the railings alone. He was tall and thin and he leaned limply against the railings, one arm hanging over them. After a little while he turned on his heel and fell in a heap. Two of the green-coated wardens of the gate ran up to him. “Oh, Lord,” Reggie Fortune groaned, “why did I be a doctor?” But before he could get through the flurry of people the man was being carried away. The gift of Lomas for arriving where he wants to be displayed itself. Lomas slid through the crowd and took his arm, “Stout fellow! Come along. It’s Sir Arthur Dean. Touch of sun, what?” “Arthur Dean? That’s the Persia man, pundit on the Middle East?” “That’s the fellow. Getting old, you know. One of the best.” Into the room where the old man lay came the shouting over the first race. By the door Lomas and an inspector of police talked in low tones, glancing now and then at Reggie, who was busy. “Merry Man! Merry Man! Merry Man!” the crowd roared outside. Reggie straightened his bent back and stood looking down at his patient. Lomas came forward. “Anything we can get you, Fortune? Would you like some assistance?” “You can’t assist him,” said Reggie. “He’s dead.” “Merry Man!” the crowd triumphed. “Merry Man!” “Good Gad!” said Lomas. “Poor fellow. One of the best. Well, well, what is it? Heart failure?” “The heart generally fails when you die,” Reggie mumbled: he still stared down at the body and the wonted benignity of his face was lost in expressionless reserve. “Do you know if he has any people down here?” “It’s possible. There is a married son. I’ll have him looked for.” Lomas sent his inspector off. “I saw the old man with a woman just before he died,” Reggie murmured, and Lomas put up his eyeglass. “Did you though? Very sudden, wasn’t it? And he was all alone when he died.” “When he fell,” Reggie mumbled the correction. “Yes, highly sudden.” “What was the cause of death, Fortune?” “I wonder,” Reggie muttered. He went down on his knees by the body, he looked long and closely into the eyes, he opened the clothes . . . and to the eyes he came back again. Then there was a tap at the door and Lomas having conferred there came back and said, “The son and his wife. I’ll tell them. I suppose they can see the body?” “They’d better see the body,” said Reggie, and as Lomas went out he began to cover and arrange it. He was laying the right arm by the side when he checked and held it up to the light. On the back of the hand was a tiny drop of blood and a red smear. He looked close and found such a hole as a pin might make.