The Golf Course Mystery Read online

  CHAPTER II. THE NINETEENTH HOLE

  For several seconds after Mr. Carwell fell so heavily on the puttinggreen, having completed the last stroke that sent the white ball intothe cup and made him club champion, there was not a stir among the otherplayers grouped about him; nor did the gallery, grouped some distanceback, rush up. The most natural thought, and one that was in the mindsof the majority, was that the clubman had overbalanced himself in makinghis stance for the putt shot, and had fallen. There was even a littlethoughtless laughter from some in the gallery. But it was almostinstantly hushed, for it needed but a second glance to tell thatsomething more serious than a simple fall had occurred.

  Or if it was a fall caused by an unsteady position, taken when hemade his last shot, it had been such a heavy one that Mr. Carwell wasoverlong in recovering from it. He remained in a huddled heap on theshort-cropped, velvety turf of the putting green.

  Then the murmurs of wonder came, surging from many throats, and thefriends of Mr. Carwell closed around to help him to his feet-to renderwhat aid was needed. Among them were Captain Poland and Harry Bartlett,and as the latter stepped forward he glanced up, for an instant, at theblue sky.

  Far above the Maraposa golf links circled a lone osprey on its way tothe inlet or ocean. Rather idly Bartlett wondered if it was the same onehe and Captain Poland had seen dart down and kill the fish just beforethe beginning of the big match.

  "What's the matter, Horace? Sun too much for you?" asked Major Wardell,as he leaned over his friend and rival. "It is a bit hot; I feel itmyself. But I didn't think it would knock you out. Or are you done upbecause you beat me? Come--"

  He ceased his rather railing talk, and a look came over his face thattold those near him something serious had happened. There was a rushtoward the prostrate man.

  "Keep back, please!" exclaimed the major. "He seems to have fainted. Heneeds air. Is Dr. Rowland here? I thought I saw him at the clubhouse awhile ago. Some one get him, please. If not--"

  "I'll get him!" some one offered

  "Here, give him a sip of this--it's brandy!" and an automobilist, whohad come across the links from the nearest point to the highway, offeredhis flask.

  The major unscrewed the silver top, which formed a tiny cup, and triedto let some of the potent liquor trickle between the purplish lips ofthe unconscious victor in the cup-winners' match. But more of the liquidwas spilled on his face and neck than went into his mouth. The airreeked with the odor of it.

  "What has happened? Is he hurt?" gasped Viola, who made her way throughthe press of people, which opened for her, till she stood close besideher father. "What is it? Oh, is he--?"

  "He fell," some one said.

  "Just as he made his winning stroke," added another.

  "Oh!" and Viola herself reeled unsteadily.

  "It's all right," a voice said in her ear, and though it was in theordinary tones of Captain Poland, to the alarmed girl it seemed asthough it came from the distant peaks of the hills. "He'll be all rightpresently," went on the captain, as he supported Viola and led her outof the throng.

  "It's just a touch of the sun, I fancy. They've gone for a doctor."

  "Oh, but, Captain Poland--father was never like this before--he wasalways so strong and well--I never knew him to complain of the heat. Andas for fainting--why I believe I almost did it myself, just now, didn'tI?"

  "Almost, yes."

  "But father never did. Oh, I must go to him!"

  She struggled a little and moved away from his half encircling arm, forhe had seen that her strength was failing her and had supported her ashe led her away. "I must go to him!"

  "Better not just now," said Captain Poland gently. "Harry is there withhim, the major and other friends. They will look after him. You hadbetter come with me to the clubhouse and lie down. I will get you a cupof tea."

  "No! I must be with my father!" she insisted. "He will need me whenhe--when he revives. Please let me go to him!"

  The captain saw that it was of little use to oppose her so he led herback toward the throng that was still about the prostrate player. Aclubman was hurrying back with a young man who carried a small blackbag.

  "They've got a doctor, I think," said Gerry. "Not Dr. Rowland, though.However, I dare say it will be all right."

  A fit of trembling seized Viola, and it was so violent that, for amoment, Captain Poland thought she would fall. He had to hold her close,and he wished there was some place near at hand to which he mighttake her. But the clubhouse was some distance away, and there were noconveyances within call.

  However, Viola soon recovered her composure, or at least seemed to, andsmiled up at him, though there was no mirth in it.

  "I'll be all right now," she said. "Please take me to him. He will askfor me as soon as he recovers."

  The young doctor had made his way through the throng and now kneltbeside the prostrate man. The examination was brief--a raising of theeyelids, an ear pressed over the heart, supplemented by the use of thestethoscope, and then the young medical man looked up, searching thering of faces about him as though seeking for some one in authority towhom information might be imparted. Then he announced, generally:

  "He is dead."

  "Dead!" exclaimed several.

  "Hush!" cautioned Harry Bartlett "She'll hear you!"

  He looked in the direction whence Viola and Captain Poland wereapproaching the scene.

  "Are you sure, Dr. Baird?" he asked.

  "Positive. The heart action has entirely stopped."

  "But might that not be from some cause--some temporary cause?"

  "Yes, but not in this case. Mr. Carwell is dead. I can do nothing forhim."

  It sounded brutal, but it was only a medical man's plain statement ofthe case.

  "Some one must tell her," murmured Minnie Webb, who had been attractedto the crowd, though she was not much of a golf enthusiast. "Poor Viola!Some one must tell her."

  "I will," offered Bartlett, and he made his way through a living lanethat opened for him. Then it closed again, hiding the body from sight.Some one placed a sweater over the face that had been so ruddy, and wasnow so pale.

  Captain Poland, still supporting Viola on his arm, saw Bartlettapproaching. Somehow he surmised what his fellow clubman was going tosay.

  "Oh, Harry!" exclaimed Viola, impulsively holding out her hands to him."Is he all right? Is he better?"

  "I am sorry," began Harry, and then she seemed to sense what he wasgoing to add.

  "He isn't--Oh, don't tell me he is--"

  "The doctor says he is dead, Viola," answered Bartlett gently. "Hepassed away without pain or suffering. It must have been heart disease."

  But Viola Carwell never heard the last words, for she really faintedthis time, and Captain Poland laid her gently down on the soft, greengrass.

  "Better get the doctor for her," he advised Bartlett. "She'll need him,if her father doesn't." As Harry Bartlett turned aside, waving backthe curiosity seekers that were already leaving the former scene ofexcitement for the latest, LeGrand Blossom came up. He seemed very cooland not at all excited, considering what had happened.

  "I will look after Miss Carwell," he said.

  "Perhaps you had better see to Mr. Carwell--Mr. Carwell's remains,Blossom," suggested Captain Poland. "Miss Carwell will be herself verysoon. She has only fainted. Her father is dead.

  "Dead? Are you sure?" asked LeGrand Blossom, and his manner seemed atrifle more naturally excited.

  "Dr. Baird says so. You'd better go to him. He may want to ask somequestions, and you were more closely associated with Carwell than any ofthe rest of us."

  "Very well, I'll look after the body," said the secretary. "Did thedoctor say what killed him?"

  "No. That will be gone into later, I dare say. Probably heart disease;though I never knew he had it," said Bartlett.

  "Nor I," added Blossom. "I'd be more inclined to suspect apoplexy. Butare you sure Miss Carwell will be all right?"

  "Yes," answered Captain Poland, w
ho had raised her head after sprinklingin her face some water a caddy brought in his cap. "She is reviving."

  Dr. Baird came up just then and gave her some aromatic spirits ofammonia.

  Viola opened her eyes. There was no comprehension in them, and shelooked about in wonder. Then, as her benumbed brain again took up itswork, she exclaimed:

  "Oh, it isn't true! It can't be true! Tell me it isn't!"

  "I am sorry, but it seems to be but too true," said Captain Polandgently. "Did he ever speak of trouble with his heart, Viola?"

  "Never, Gerry. He was always so well and strong."

  "You had better come to the clubhouse," suggested Bartlett, and she wentwith them both.

  A little later the body of Horace Carwell was carried to the "nineteenthhole"--that place where all games are played over again in detail as thecontestants put away their clubs.

  A throng followed the silent figure, borne on the shoulders of somegrounds workmen, but only club members were admitted to the house. Andamong them buzzed talk of the tragedy that had so suddenly ended the dayof sports.

  "He looked all right when he started to play," said one. "Never saw himin 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 illfrom that, and the excitement of trying to win over the major, and itaffected 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. "Isuppose 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 ofDr. Baird, who had recently joined the golf club, and who had arrived atthe 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 agedpractitioner arrived as soon as possible.

  He was taken in to view the body, together with Dr. Baird, who wasalmost pathetically deferential to his senior colleague. The two medicalmen were together in the room with the body for some time, and when theycame out Viola Carwell was there to meet them. Dr. Lambert put his armsabout her. He had known her all her life--since she first ventured intothis world, in fact--and his manner was most fatherly.

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

  "My dear little girl, your father is dead, I am sorry to say. You mustbe 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, whatmade him die?"

  She questioned almost as a little child might have done.

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

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

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

  "Yes, Harry, I'll go with you. Oh, poor Aunt Mary! This will be aterrible shock to her. I--"

  "I'll telephone," offered Dr. Lambert. "She'll know when you arrive. AndI'll be over to see you, Viola, as soon as I make some arrangements."

  "And will you look after--after poor father?"

  "Yes, you may leave it all to me."

  And so, while the body of the dead clubman remained at the nineteenthhole, Viola Carwell was taken to 'The Haven' by Harry Bartlett, whileCaptain Poland, nodding farewell to LeGrand Blossom and some of hisother friends, left the grounds in his gray car.

  And as he rode down past the inlet where the tide was now running out tothe sea, he saw an osprey dart down and strike at an unseen fish.

  But the bird rose with dripping pinions, its talons empty.

  "You didn't get any one that time!" murmured the captain.