"I am Warren Thompson, Mr. Felderson's brother-in-law," I explained. "Can you tell me how badly Mr. and Mrs. Felderson were hurt?" He put his glasses back on his nose and looked at me sympathetically. "Mr. Felderson is dead, and Mrs. Felderson is dying," he said. CHAPTER FIVE ACCIDENT OR MURDER Have you ever had the whole world stop for you? Well, that's what happened when that young interne told me that Jim was dead. I must have been half mad for a few moments, at least they said I acted that way. Sometimes, tragic news deadens the senses, like the brief numbness that follows the sudden cutting off of a limb, the pain not manifesting itself until some time afterward. But with me, the fact of Jim's death clawed and tore at the very foundation of my brain. It stamped itself into my sensibilities with such crushing force that I writhed under the burden of its bitter actuality. I felt as though I, myself, had died and my spirit, snatched from the brilliant, airy sunlight of life, had been plunged into the hammering emptiness of hell. "Jim is dead--big, happy, kind-hearted Jim is dead" ached through my brain. They gave me something to drink--ammonia, I think--and my whirling head began to clear. "Can I see Mrs. Felderson?" I asked the interne. It was he who had given me the ammonia. "I'm afraid not," he replied. "She is being prepared for the operating table." "There is a chance, then, of her being saved?" I clutched at his arm. He slowly shook his head. "One chance in a thousand only, I'm afraid. There was severe concussion of the brain and a slight displacement of one of the cranial vertebra. Luckily, Doctor Forbes is here, and if any one can save her, he can." He got up from his seat beside me. "Now, Mr. Thompson, I advise you to go home and get a good night's rest. You can do nothing here, and the next few days are bound to be a great strain." "You will telephone me at once the result of the operation?" I asked quickly. "I wouldn't count too much on the operation," he said kindly, "but I will let you know." He turned and walked back toward Helen's room. Just then the door was opened and there appeared a sort of elongated baby-cab, without a top. On this wheeling table was a still white bundle, from which a stifled moan escaped now and then. Shaken with terror and nausea, I ran for the stairs and did not stop until I got into my car and was racing away. As I drove, my brain cleared and I remembered that there were others to whom the tragedy was almost as vital as to myself and who ought to be informed. I stopped at a corner drug store and called up Mary. Mother should not be told until a physician could assure me she was strong enough to stand the shock.