With nervous fingers, the attendant lifted the sheet at the head
of the bed and turned it back. As he let it fall across the chest
of the dead man, he drew back and turned his face away.

She bent forward and then straightened her figure to its full
height, without for an instant removing her gaze from the face of
the man who lay before her: a dark-haired man grey in death, who
must have been beautiful to look upon in the flush of life.

For a long time she stood there looking, as motionless as the object
on which she gazed. Behind her were the tense, keen-eyed men, not
one of whom seemed to breathe during the grim minutes that passed.
The wind howled about the corners of the inn, but no one heard it.
They heard the beating of their hearts, even the ticking of their
watches, but not the wail of the wind.

At last her hands, claw-like in their tenseness, went slowly to
her temples. Her head drooped slightly forward, and a great shudder
ran through her body. The coroner started forward, expecting her
to collapse.

"Please go away," she was saying in an absolutely emotionless voice.
"Let me stay here alone for a little while."

That was all. The men relaxed. They looked at each other with a
single question in their eyes. Was it quite safe to leave her alone
with her dead? They hesitated.

She turned on them suddenly, spreading her arms in a wide gesture
of self-absolution. Her sombre eyes swept the group.