direction of the elevator. The exercise brought back some semblance of
self-control, and her eyes were beginning to take on their wonted snap
when Whitney rose unsteadily and stepped toward the elevator. Miss
Kiametia's voice stopped him on its threshold.

"I wouldn't go in there again," she advised. "Wait until the
coroner comes."

"The coroner?" staring stupidly at her.

"Yes, hadn't you better send for him?"

Whitney's hands dropped to his side with a hopeless gesture. "The
coroner," he muttered. "God help us!"

"Winslow!" Mrs. Whitney appeared in the doorway, tears streaming down
her white cheeks. "Kathleen is completely unnerved; come and help me
quiet her."

At that moment Henry arrived, tray in hand. "I couldn't find the whiskey,
sir," he explained, breathless with hurry. "But here's some cognac, sir.
Let me pour it out," and he handed a filled liqueur glass to Whitney, who
swallowed the stimulant at a gulp.

"Shouldn't mind having some of that myself," announced Miss Kiametia.
"Bring the tray here, Henry," walking over to a table. "And, Winslow,
take a glass to Kathleen; it will do her good. Henry, did Vincent
telephone for the doctor?" she added below her breath, as Whitney and his
wife disappeared in the latter's bedroom and closed the door.