something over in his mind since then and had thought better of it. At
any rate, his manner was cordial enough now.

As he closed the doors to his office, he began to pace the floor. "Mr.
Andrews," he said, "I am in some doubt whether I had better tell you or
the coroner what I know. There are certain professional secrets that a
doctor must, as a duty to his patients, conceal. That is professional
ethics. But there are also cases when, as a matter of public policy, a
doctor should speak out."

He stopped and faced us.

"I don't mind telling you that I dislike the publicity that would attend
any statement I might make to the coroner."

"Exactly," said Andrews. "I appreciate your position exactly. Your other
patients would not care to see you involved in a scandal--or at least
you would not care to have them see you so involved, with all the
newspaper notoriety such a thing brings."

Doctor Thornton shot a quick glance at Andrews, as if he would like to
know just how much his visitor knew or suspected.

Andrews drew a paper from his pocket. "This is a copy of the
death-certificate," he said. "The Board of Health has furnished it
to us. Our physicians at the insurance company tell me it is rather
extraordinarily vague. A word from us calling the attention of the
proper authorities to it would be sufficient, I think. But, Doctor, that
is just the point. We do not desire publicity any more than you do. We
could have the body of Mr. Morowitch exhumed and examined, but I
prefer to get the facts in the case without resorting to such extreme
measures."

"It would do no good," interrupted the doctor hastily. "And if you'll
save me the publicity, I'll tell you why."

Andrews nodded, but still held the death-certificate where the doctor
was constantly reminded of it.

"In that certificate I have put down the cause of death as congestion
of the lungs due to an acute attack of pneumonia. That is substantially
correct, as far as it goes. When I was summoned to see Mr. Morowitch
I found him in a semiconscious state and scarcely breathing. Mrs.
Morowitch told me that he had been brought home in a taxicab by a man
who had picked him up on William Street. I'm frank to say that at first
sight I thought it was a case of plain intoxication, for Mr. Morowitch
sometimes indulged a little freely when he made a splendid deal. I
smelled his breath, which was very feeble. It had a sickish sweet odour,
but that did not impress me at the