had so suddenly ended the day
of sports.

"He looked all right when he started to play," said one. "Never saw him
in better form, and some of his shots were marvelous."

"He'd been drinking a little too much for a man to play his best,
especially on a hot day," ventured another. "He must have been taken ill
from that, and the excitement of trying to win over the major, and it
affected his heart."

"Never knew him to have heart disease," declared Bruce Garrigan.

"Lots of us have it and don't know it," commented Tom Sharwell. "I
suppose it will take an autopsy to decide."

"Rather tough on Miss Carwell," was another comment.

"That's true!" several agreed.

The body of Horace Carwell was placed in one of the small card rooms,
and the door locked. Then followed some quick telephoning on the part of
Dr. Baird, who had recently joined the golf club, and who had arrived at
the clubhouse shortly before Mr. Carwell dropped dead.

It was at the suggestion of Harry Bartlett that Dr. Addison Lambert,
the Carwell family physician, was sent for, and that rather aged
practitioner arrived as soon as possible.

He was taken in to view the body, together with Dr. Baird, who was
almost pathetically deferential to his senior colleague. The two medical
men were together in the room with the body for some time, and when they
came out Viola Carwell was there to meet them. Dr. Lambert put his arms
about her. He had known her all her life--since she first ventured into
this world, in fact--and his manner was most fatherly.

"Oh, Uncle Add!" she murmured to him--for she had long called him by
this endearing title--Oh, Uncle Add! What is it? Is my father--is he
really--"

"My dear little girl, your father is dead, I am sorry to say. You must
be very brave, and bear up. Be the brave woman he would want you to be."

"I will, Uncle Add. But, oh, it is so hard! He was all I had! Oh, what
made him die?"

She questioned almost as a little child might have done.

"That I don't know, my dear," answered Dr. Lambert gently. "We shall
have to find that out later by--Well, we'll find out later, Dr. Baird
and I. You had better go home now. I'll have your car brought around. Is
that--that Frenchman here--your chauffeur?"

"Yes, he was here a little while ago. But I had rather not go home with
him--at least, unless some one else comes with me. I don't like--I don't
like that big, new car.

"If you will come with me, Viola--" began Bartlett