The Mark of Cain by Carolyn Wells

Coroner Berg came down stairs and joined the group in the drawing-room. He was a bristling, fussy little man, with a decided sense of his own importance and evidently inclined to make much of his office. His sparse, sandy hair stood out straight from his head, and his light blue eyes darted from one to another of the impatient people awaiting his report.

"Sad case," he said, wringing his hands; "very sad case. Fine man like that, struck down in the prime of life. Awful!"