“This is turrible, turrible. This certainly is turrible,” murmured the commercial-looking gentleman, and revealed himself an American.

“You’d better get rid of your congregation,” said the doctor abruptly. He spoke directly to the priest.

Father Garnette had said nothing. He had not moved. He still looked a striking enough figure, but the virtue had gone out of him. He did not answer.

“Will you tell them to go?” asked Dr. Kasbek.

“Wait a moment.”

Nigel heard his own voice with a sensation of panic. They all turned to him, not in surprise, but with an air of bewilderment. He was conscious of a background of suppressed murmur in the hall. He felt as though his vocal apparatus had decided to function independently.

“Has this lady died naturally?” he asked the doctor.

“As you see, I have only glanced at her.”

“Is there any doubt?”

“What do you mean?” demanded the priest suddenly, and then: “Who are you?”

“I was in the congregation. I am sorry to interfere, but if there is any suspicion of unnatural death I believe no one should—”

“Unnatural death? Say, where d’you get that idea?” said the American.

“It’s the mouth and eyes, and — and the smell. I may be wrong.” Nigel still looked at the doctor. “But if there’s a doubt I don’t think anybody should leave.”

The doctor returned his look calmly.

“I think you are right,” he said at last.

They had none of them raised their voices, but something of what they said must have communicated itself to the congregation. A number of people had moved out into the center aisle. A murmur had swelled. Several voices rang out loudly and suddenly a woman screamed. There was a movement, confused and indeterminate, towards the chancel.