and placed it on the chimney-piece: " In case I
am wanted," he said.

"I suppose," said Mr. Penmore, " that it will
be desirable to make some examination as to the
cause of death."

"Oh, undoubtedly," answered the doctor, " in
the course of this afternoon."

As if this had suggested something to him,
the doctor turned round again as he was about
to leave the room, and, addressing Jane
Cantanker, said:

"What food did the lady partake of last?"

"She had her supper sent up as usual, sir—
a couple of eggs and some stout. She hardly
ate anything, though."

"Did she drink the stout?"

"Yes, sir, every drop."

The doctor was silent for a little while, and
stood looking at the corpse, as if he were
revolving something in his mind. Presently, he
stooped down, and, opening the lips of the dead
lady, smelt them very carefully, as well as the
mouth, which he also opened. This lasted some
time; it seemed as if he had a difficulty in
satisfying himself.

"There is a smell of opium," he said.

A movement of surprise, on the part of Gilbert
and Cantanker, followed this announcement.

"Was your mistress in the habit of taking
opium, do you know?" asked the doctor,
addressing Jane Cantanker.

"No, sir—certainly not, that I'm aware of."

"There is no doubt about the smell,"
continued the doctor. "You can judge for
yourself," he added to Gilbert.

Penmore bent over the body as the doctor had
done. " The smell is there, decidedly," he
answered.

"I will return by-and-by," said Doctor Giles,
"with an experienced surgeon of my acquaintance,
and we will proceed to a farther investigation.
Meanwhile, do not let the body be touched
or disturbed in any way."

"Will it be necessary to have an inquest?"
asked Penmore, who had, as we all have, a dread
of that kind of inquiry.

"I cannot tell," answered the doctor, "till the
examination I have spoken of has taken place.
After that, you shall know at once. And now,"
he continued, "I must leave you for a short
time, but I will return when I have secured the
assistance of my friend, and made what preparations
are necessary." And, so saying, the doctor
went out of the room, attended by Mr. Penmore,
and left the house as quietly as he had entered
it. But not before he had once more repeated
the caution: " Be very sure that no one meddles
at all with the body, or attempts to cleanse the
mouth or lips, while I am away."

Penmore went into the little parlour as soon
as the doctor was gone, and found his wife waiting
eagerly to hear what the medical authority
had said.

"I am afraid," said Gilbert, after relating
what had taken place, and how the doctor's
suspicions had been awakened by the smell of opium,
"I am so afraid that it will be thought necessary
to have an inquest."

"Oh!" cried Gabrielle, whom the word
frightened terribly, " I hope not. Why, surely
that can't be necessary. It implies suspicion,
doesn't it?"

"Well, not precisely. It simply implies that
there are circumstances connected with the
death which require to be investigated."

"Why, Gilbert," said his wife, " surely there
can't be anything of the sort. I thought such
things only took place in dreadful neighbourhoods,
and where deeds of violence and crime
were common."

"An inquest may be held anywhere where a
death takes place which cannot be perfectly
accounted for to the satisfaction of the medical
attendant who is called in."

Poor Mrs. Penmore's mind was greatly
disturbed by this dreadful word " inquest." There
was something terrible to her about the idea of
being thus brought into actual contact with part
of the machinery organised by the government of
the country as a means of detecting and punishing
crime. What a dreadful chance was this
which had brought such a possibility, even, so
near them. The events of this long morning
(and it seemed a week since the moment of the
first alarm) were surely bad enough already,
without this new thing to make it worse.

"It surely cannot be necessary," said
Gabrielle.

"I hope it may not prove so," replied her
husband. " I own that I should be very much
annoyed if it were considered necessary."

And now Gabrielle had to tell her husband of
that distressing interview which had taken place
in the room up-stairs between herself and Jane
Cantanker. Coming upon her so soon after that
first shock caused by the death, this scene had
shaken and disturbed her sadly, and it was a
comfort to her to speak of it to Gilbert, and the
more so as he seemed disposed to view the whole
thing as simply ridiculous.

"You did quite right," he said, " not to bandy
words with her about such folly. She is made
up of spite and venom, and would only be too glad,
no doubt, to do either of us a mischief if she could.
I believe, too, that she is really made almost
frantic with grief by this miserable business."

"I think she was really attached to her
mistress" said Gabrielle, "and her mistress to her."

"Not a doubt of it," replied Gilbert. " They
had the attraction for each other of being both——
however, I won't say that," he added, interrupting
himself. " And so my little timid woman is
to be called a murderess?" he continued. " Well,
you don't look much like it, at any rate."

And now it became necessary to think what
friends or relatives of the deceased lady it would
be right to communicate with. Penmore knew
of no relations nearer, or indeed so near, as
himself. His mother, who had been her father's
first cousin, had long been dead, and now the