The Red Seal | Page 8

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."

CHAPTER III
THE ROOM WITH THE SEVEN DOORS
Mrs. Brewster regarded her surroundings with inward satisfaction. It
would have taken a far more captious critic than the pretty widow to
find fault with the large, high-ceilinged room in which she sat. The
handsome carved Venetian furniture, the rich hangings and valuable
paintings on the walls gave evidence of Colonel McIntyre's artistic taste
and appreciation of the beautiful. Mrs. Brewster had never failed,
during her visit to the McIntyre twins, to examine the rare curios in the
carved cabinets and the tapestries on the walls, but that afternoon, with
one eye on the clock and the other on her embroidery, she sat waiting in
growing impatience for the interruption she anticipated.
The hands of the clock had passed the hour of five before the buzz of a
distant bell brought her to her feet. Hurrying to the window she peeped
between the curtains in time to see a stylish roadster electric glide down
the driveway leading from the McIntyre residence and stop at the curb.
As she turned to go back to her chair Dr. Stone was ushered into the
library by the footman. Mrs. Brewster welcomed her cousin with frank
relief.
"I have waited so impatiently for you," she confessed, making room for
him to sit on the sofa by her side.
"I was detained, Margaret." Stone's voice was not over-cordial; three
imperative telephone calls from her, coming at a moment when he had
been engaged with a serious case in his office, had provoked him. "Do
you wish to see me professionally?"
"Indeed, I don't." She laughed frankly. "I am the picture of health."

Stone, observing her fine coloring and clear eyes, silently agreed with
her. The widow made a charming picture in her modish tea-gown, and
the physician, watching her with an appraising eye, acknowledged the
beauty which had captivated all Washington. Mrs. Brewster had carried
her honors tactfully, a fact which had gained her popularity even
among the dowagers and match-making mothers who take an active
part in Washington's social season.
"Then, Margaret, what do you wish to see me about?" Stone asked,
after waiting without result for her to continue speaking.
She laughed softly. "You are the most practical of men," she said. "It
would not have been so difficult to find a companion anxious to spend
the whole afternoon with me for my sake alone."
"Colonel McIntyre, for instance?" he teased, and laughed amusedly at
her heightened color. "Have a care, Margaret; McIntyre's flirtations are
all very well, but he is the type of man to be deadly in earnest when
once he falls in love."
"Thanks for your warning," Mrs. Brewster smiled, then grew serious. "I
sent for you to ask about Jimmie Turnbull's death this morning. Barbara
told me you accompanied them to the police court."
"Yes. Why weren't you with the girls?"
"Because I was told nothing of their trip to the, police court until they
had returned," she replied. "How horribly tragic the whole affair is!"
And a shiver she could not suppress crept down her spine.
"It is," agreed Stone. "What possessed Jimmie Turnbull to play so mad
a trick?"
"His wager with Barbara."
Stone leaned a little nearer. "Have you learned the nature of that
wager?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"No. Babs was in so hysterical a condition when she returned from the
police court that she gave a very incoherent account of the whole affair,
and she has kept her room ever since luncheon," explained Mrs.
Brewster.
Stone looked puzzled. "I understood that Jimmie was attentive to Helen
McIntyre and not to Barbara," he said. "But upon my word, Barbara
appeared more overcome by Jimmie's death than Helen."
Mrs. Brewster did not