Death was no disaster for Tom, so the doctor had said.  What worthless wisdom!  And perhaps not even wisdom.  Who knows what a disaster death may be?  And who would ever know what he had felt at the end, or what his mind had suffered if time had been given him to understand that he was going to die?  She worked herself into agony, lost self-control at last and wept, with Jane Bond’s arms round her.

“And I was so troubled, because I thought he had been called back to his ship!” she said.

“He’s called to a better place than a ship, dear love,” sobbed Jane.

After they left her, Sir Walter and Dr. Mannering had entered the Grey Room for a moment and, standing there, spoke together.

“I have a strange consciousness that I am living over the past again,” declared the physician.  “Things were just so when that poor woman, Nurse Forrester—­you remember.”

“Yes.  I felt the same when Caunter was breaking open the door.  I faced the worst from the beginning, for the moment I heard what he had done, I somehow knew that my unfortunate son-in-law was dead.  I directly negatived his suggestion last night, and never dreamed that he would have gone on with it when he knew my wish.”

“Doubtless he did not realize how much in earnest you were on the subject.  This may well prove as impossible to understand as the nurse’s death.  I do not say it will; but I suspect it will.  A perfectly healthy creature cut off in a moment and nothing to show us why—­absolutely nothing.”

“A death without a cause—­a negation of science surely?”

“There is a cause, but I do not think this dreadful tragedy will reveal it,” answered the doctor.  “I pray it may, however, for all our sakes,” he continued.  “It is impossible to say how deeply I feel this for her, but also for you, and myself, too.  He was one of the best, a good sportsman and a good man.”

“And a great loss to the Service,” added Sir Walter.  “I have not considered all this means yet.  My thoughts are centred on Mary.”

“You must let me spare you all I can, my friend.  There will be an inquest, of course, and an inquiry.  Also a post-mortem.  Shall I communicate with Dr. Mordred to-day, or would you prefer that somebody else—­”

“Somebody else.  The most famous man you know.  From no disrespect to Dr. Mordred, or to you, Mannering.  You understand that.  But I should like an independent examination by some great authority, some one who knew nothing of the former case.  This is an appalling thing to happen.  I don’t know where to begin thinking.”

“Do not put too great a strain upon yourself.  Leave it to those who will come to the matter with all their wits and without your personal sorrow.  An independent inquirer is certainly best, one who, as you say, knows nothing about the former case.”

“I don’t know where to begin thinking,” repeated the other.  “Such a thing upsets one’s preconceived opinions.  I had always regarded my aversion to this room as a human weakness—­a thing to be conquered.  Look round you.  Would it be possible to imagine an apartment with less of evil suggestion?”