Almost as she spoke, the Baron and the doctor entered the room. The medical man did what was required of him. He felt the heart and pulse of the corpse--turned back the eyelids--sighed professionally, and asked how long it was since it had happened. He was told that it was about an hour since they had found him. “Ah! he has been dead longer than that! Three hours at the least, maybe four! I am afraid there must be an inquest, and it would be advisable in the interests of science to have a post mortem. A great pity, a fine grown lad--nineteen years old, you say--shall probably detect hidden mischief in the heart and lungs. I will make all the necessary arrangements with the Baron. Good evening!” And the doctor bowed himself out of sight again. “It is quite true then,” articulated the Baroness thickly. “He is gone!” “Oh! yes, my lady, he is gone, poor dear boy! I felt sure of that!” “It is quite certain?” “Quite certain! The body is already stiffening!” The Baroness did not utter a sound, but Miss Wynward glancing at her, saw her body sway slowly backwards and forwards once or twice, before it fell heavily to the ground, stricken with paralysis. CHAPTER XVI. Doctor Phillips was a great favourite with the _beau sexe_. He was so mild and courteous, so benevolent and sympathetic, that they felt sure he might be trusted with their little secrets. Women, both old and young, invaded his premises daily, and therefore it was no matter of surprise to him, when, whilst he was still occupied with his breakfast on the morning following Harriet Brandt’s flight from the Red House, his confidential servant Charles announced that a young lady was waiting to see him in his consulting room. “No name, Charles?” demanded the doctor. “No name, Sir!” replied the discreet Charles without the ghost of a smile. “Say that I will be with her in a minute!” Doctor Phillips finished his cutlet and his coffee before he rose from table. He knew what ladies’ confidences were like and that he should not have much chance of returning to finish an interrupted meal. But as he entered his consulting room, his air of indifference changed to one of surprise. Pacing restlessly up and down the carpet, was Harriet Brandt, but so altered that he should hardly have recognised her. Her face was puffy and swollen, as though she had wept all night, her eyelids red and inflamed, her whole demeanour wild and anxious. “My dear young lady--is it possible that I see Miss Brandt?” the doctor began. She turned towards him and coming up close to his side, grasped his arm. “I must speak to you!” she exclaimed, without further preliminary, “you are the only person who can set my doubts at rest.” “Well! well! well!” he said, soothingly, for the girl looked and spoke as though her mind were disordered. “You may rely that I will do all I can for you! But let us sit down first!”