From the room outside came a woman’s cry, then a deep man’s voice in some agitation, and Lomas opened the door. “This is Mr. Fortune, the surgeon who was with your father at once. Major Dean and Mrs. Dean, Fortune.” Reggie bowed and studied them. The man was a soldierly fellow, with his father’s keen, wary face. But it was the woman Reggie watched, the woman who was saying, “I was with him only half an hour ago,” and twisting her hands nervously. “Most of that half-hour he has been dead. Where did you leave him, madam?” Reggie said. Husband and wife stared at him. “Why, in the Royal Enclosure, of course. In the crowd when the King came. I--I lost him. Somebody spoke to me. Yes, it was Sybil. And I never saw him again.” Reggie stepped aside from the body. She shuddered and hid her face in her hands. “His eyes--his eyes,” she murmured. Major Dean blew his nose. “This rather knocks one over,” he said. “What’s the cause of death, sir?” “Can you help me?” said Reggie. “I? What do you mean?” “Nothing wrong with his heart, was there?” “Never heard of it. He didn’t use doctors. Never was ill.” Reggie stroked his chin. “I suppose he hadn’t been to an oculist lately?” “Not he. His eyes were as good as mine. Wonderful good. He used to brag of it. He was rising seventy and no glasses. Good Lord, what’s that got to do with it? I want to know why he died.” “So do I. And I can’t tell you,” said Reggie. “What? I say--what? You mean a post-mortem. That’s horrible.” “My dear Major, it is most distressing,” Lomas purred. “I assure you anything in our power--sympathize with your feelings, quite, quite. But the Coroner would insist, you know; we have no choice.” “As you were saying,” Reggie chimed in, “we want to know why he died.” Major Dean drew a long breath. “That’s all right, that’s all right,” he said. “The old dad!” and he came to his father’s side and knelt down, and his wife stood by him, her hand on his shoulder. He looked a moment into the dead face, and closed the eyes and looked long. From this scene Reggie and Lomas drew back. In the silence they heard the man and woman breathing unsteadily. Lomas sighed his sympathy. Mrs. Dean whispered, “His mouth! Oh, Claude, his mouth!” and with a sudden darting movement wiped away some froth from the pale lips. Then she too knelt and she kissed the brow. Her husband lifted the dead right hand to hold it for a while. And then he reached across to the key chain, took off the keys, slipped them into his pocket and helped his wife to her feet. Reggie turned a still expressionless face on Lomas. Lomas still exhibited grave official sorrow. “Well--er--thanks very much for all you’ve done,” Major Dean addressed them both. “You’ve been very kind. We feel that. And if you will let me know as soon as you know anything--rather a relief.”