“Well, this won’t do, will it?” Reggie smiled cheerfully and sat down beside the bed. “So why are you like this?” “Haven’t you heard?” she cried. “I’ve heard and seen,” Reggie said. “I can’t do any more there. But perhaps I can here.” He began to feel her pulse. “I’m not ill.” “Well, you never know.” He let her wrist go and bent over her. “Sleep rather sound, don’t you?” “Oh!” She shuddered. “Why do you look at me like that?” Reggie bent suddenly closer, and as suddenly sat up again. Then he laughed. “Like what, my dear?” She stared at him and her lip quivered. “You--you! Oh, do you think I can be mad?” Reggie shook his head. “Let’s begin quite at the beginning. Let’s preserve absolute calm. You dined with Miss Bolton last night alone? After dinner you went to her boudoir? That would be about nine?” “Yes, yes. Mr. Ford came just after the coffee.” “Ah! And who is Mr. Ford?” May Weston blushed abundantly. “We--he has been here a good deal,” she stammered. “Oh, Dr. Fortune, it isn’t his fault.” “Young or old, rich or poor--what is he?” “Of course he’s young. I suppose he’s rich. His father makes engines or something in Leeds, and he is in the London office.” “Sounds solid,” Reggie agreed. “And why does Mr. Ford call at nine p.m.?” Miss Weston’s blushes were renewed. “He has been very often,” she said, and wrung her hands. “I shall have to tell, doctor, shan’t I? Yes. He met Miss Bolton once at supper and then he used to come here.” “Ah! Good-looking fellow, is he?” “Oh, yes. He is very big and handsome.” “And Miss Bolton liked him. Well, well.” Reggie understood now why poor Birdie Bolton had been dreaming dreams of nights. “Yes,” said May Weston faintly. “Oh, it’s a shame! But I must tell. She thought he came to see her, but----” “But it was really to see you. Now, let’s get back to the coffee.” “He came last night. We were so gay. Miss Bolton--oh, poor Birdie!” “We can’t undo that, my dear. Let’s do what we can for her. Did he stay late?” “Rather. I don’t know. I was sleepy. But Birdie was so gay. And then--and then he went away and Birdie began to talk about him. I don’t know how it happened. She said something--and I felt I just had to tell her--I told her he had proposed to me. And then she was furious. Oh, have you ever seen her in one of her rages? She was terrible. She said dreadful things. And I--I felt as if I couldn’t do anything at all. I was dazed and faint and just sat. I know she hit me.” “I saw the bruise,” Reggie said gently, looking at the blue mark on her neck. “Then she stormed out of the room, and--oh, doctor, I don’t know--perhaps I fainted--it was as if I was all lead in that chair. I thought I was asleep. And then it was like a horrible, horrible dream--I saw her being killed. She was on the sofa, and some one was hitting at her. Oh, doctor, did I do it? Was it a dream? Did I really do it?” “You saw--or you dreamed--who was it struck her in your dream?”