told he isn't in the running," I replied, lightly; for, as Mr. Maxwell was deaf, I didn't care to discuss this matter in tones loud enough to be heard in other rooms.
"I dare say,—I dare say," Mr. Maxwell replied, but the blank look on his face made me think he hadn't heard me clearly. However, I went on through the study, and, lifting the portiere, passed into the billiard-room.
Here I found Gilbert Crane, alone, and sitting with his face buried in his hands in an attitude of deepest dejection.
I suddenly realized that, as I was obliged to speak to Mr. Maxwell in a loud, clear voice, Mr. Crane must necessarily have heard what I said. He looked up as I entered, and his face showed bitter despair.
He said nothing, however, and as I had nothing in particular to say to him, I went on through the drawing-room, across the main hall and into the music-room.
Pretty Edith Whiting was dancing with a Mr. Hunt, whom I knew, and as I passed Tom Whiting, I praised his wife's grace.
His kindly, good-natured face lighted up. "She is a beautiful dancer," he said, "try to get a turn with her, King."
"I will," I responded, and went on. I soon found a partner, and later, another, so that two or three dances passed before I had a chance to ask Edith Whiting.
But I finally did so, and with a pretty gesture she laid her hand on my arm and we whirled away. It chanced that we were just opposite the door into the hall, when suddenly, Gilbert Crane appeared in the doorway. His face was white with terror and wild with fright, and he cried:
"Dr. Sheldon, Philip and Mildred have shot each other! Come up to the library. Quick!"
Although Dr. Sheldon was quick in his response to Gilbert Crane's summons, I was quicker, and, dashing up-stairs, I reached the library door first, with Edith and Tom Whiting close behind me.
Of course Gilbert's statement that they had shot each other was manifestly improbable, and was doubtless the irresponsible speech of frenzy.
My first glance at the tragedy showed me Philip stretched on the floor, apparently dead, and Mildred fallen in a heap, a few feet away.
I did not touch them, but I saw she had a pistol grasped in her right hand.
In a moment Dr. Sheldon and several others came hastening in. I had expected to see the whole crowd, but as I learned afterward, Lord Clarence, with rare good judgment and presence of mind, had insisted on most of the guests remaining downstairs until more particulars of the accident were learned.
Dr. Sheldon gave a quick look at Philip, flung open his clothing, placed his hand on his heart, and after a moment, said gently:
"He is dead."
Then he turned to Mildred, and stooping, took her unconscious form in his arms.
"She is not," he said eagerly. "Telephone for my assistant, Dr. Burton, to come at once and bring my instruments. I think we can yet save her life. Tell him to fly. Tell him what has happened, but don't delay him."
Dr. Sheldon, who was acting as rapidly as he talked, took the weapon from Mildred's hand and laid it on the table.
"Let no one touch that," he ordered, "and let no one touch Philip Maxwell's body. Send for the coroner at once.
"Mr. Crane, will you keep guard in this room? And, Mr. King, will you dismiss the guests, and inform Mr. Maxwell and his sister what has happened? Mr. and Mrs. Whiting will assist me with Miss Leslie."
Tom Whiting and the doctor bore Mildred to her room, and I, not at all liking the part assigned to me, went toward Miss Maxwell's door. But I suddenly thought of Irene Gardiner, and resolved to tell her first, thinking she could break the news to the dear old lady with a better grace than I could.
I stepped out on the front balcony, wondering if I would find her around the corner where I had left her, but to my surprise she was seated near the front window, and was weeping violently.
"Irene," I said, as I touched her shoulder, "Miss Gardiner, do you know what has happened?"
"What?" she said, still shaking with convulsive sobs.
I told her, and her piercing shriek brought Miss Maxwell to her door.
"What is it?" she cried, as she flung open the door. "What is the matter?"
Suddenly Miss Gardiner grew calm, and with a return to her own tactful manner, she took the old lady in her arms, and told her the sad news.
Miss Maxwell's face turned white with grief and shock; she tottered, but she did not faint. Then her loyal heart prompted her to cry out:
"My brother! Does he know? Has he been told?"
"No," I said, "but I will tell him."
"Do," she said, "you know and love him." Then, supported by Irene, she returned to her room.
I hurried down-stairs, and found Mr. Maxwell still alone and undisturbed in his study. It was the hardest task I had ever had to do in my life.
The old man laid down his paper, stretched his arms, and said:
"Well, have you come for our smoke?"
"No, Mr. Maxwell," I said, "I am the bearer of sad news. Philip has been hurt."
"Eh?" he said, not quite hearing my words.
"Philip has been hurt," I repeated, "shot."
"Shot!" and the old man's face grew ashy pale, as he leaned back in his chair.
I had heard hints of heart disease, and I was thoroughly frightened. But just then Dr. Burton came in, and I begged him to take a look at Mr. Maxwell, even before he went up-stairs to Mildred Leslie.
Dr. Burton gave the old gentleman a stimulant of some sort, and I resumed my awful errand.
He was very quiet, seemingly stunned by the news, and after a few moments, his sister came into the room. I believe I never was so glad to see any one in my life, and feeling now that they were better alone, I left them.
Chapter VI.
“He Shot Me!”
I went next to the music-room, where Lord Clarence was dismissing the guests who, less than a half-hour before, had been so hilarious.
The Earl acted like a splendid fellow, and his cool head and capable management proved to be just what was needed for the sorry situation.
In a short time nearly all the guests had gone. Gilbert Crane remained, and Mr. Hunt, who was a sort of society detective, asked to be allowed to stay. The coroner arrived just then, and learning in a few words the facts of the case, he advised Hunt to stay, for a time, at least.
Miss Lathrop, a trained nurse, who had been sent for by Dr. Sheldon, also came, and she was taken at once to Mildred's apartment.
"Mysterious case," said the coroner, after a long look at the room and its contents. "Might be an attempt at double suicide, or suicide and murder."
"Or double murder," said Mr. Hunt.
The coroner gave him a quick glance.
"We must work on evidence," he said, "not imagination."
"What evidences do you see?" asked Gilbert Crane.
"Very little, I confess," replied the coroner, who was a frank, straightforward sort of a man, and whose name, as I afterward learned, was Billings.
"But," he went on, "when a gentleman is found dead, and a wounded lady near-by, with a pistol in her hand, it doesn't require an unusual intellect to deduce that she probably shot him. Unless, as I said, it is a double suicide, and he shot himself first, and then she shot herself."
"Is Philip's wound one that could have been self-inflicted?"