"Not today, too much cold, don't want pneumonia. Jump in, Miller." Foster signed to him to enter first. "Take us to the Whitneys', Mason," he directed, and sprang into the tonneau. Five minutes later they stopped in front of the Whitney house, and directing his chauffeur to wait, Foster accompanied Miller up the steps, but before either could touch the bell, the door was opened by Vincent whose white face brightened at the sight of the Senator. "Step right in, sir," he begged. "The master was just telephoning for you, sir." Vincent paused and looked doubtfully at Miller. "Did you wish to see Miss Kathleen, sir?" "Yes," taking out his visiting card. "Miss Kathleen is sick in bed." Vincent appeared still more confused, but Foster, standing somewhat in shadow, caught Miller's look of alarm which the butler missed. "What is the matter with Miss Kathleen?" demanded Miller, and there was no mistaking the feeling in his voice and manner. "She had a shock, sir, a most awful shock." While speaking Vincent tiptoed toward the library; he felt that he could never make a loud noise in that house again. "An awful shock," he repeated. "We all felt it." "What do you mean?" Foster laid an impatient hand on the old servant's shoulder. "Why, sir, he's dead...." "Whitney?" The question sprang simultaneously from Foster and Miller. "No, no, sir. Mr. Sinclair Spencer, sir. He was murdered"--Vincent shuddered as the last word crossed his lips. His hearers stared stupidly at each other, and then at the butler. "Who murdered him?" asked Miller, the first to recover speech. "We don't know--they say Julie; leastways we only know for positive that Miss Kathleen was with him ..." Miller turned first white then red, and an angry gleam lit his eye as he stepped nearer the agitated servant. "That will do. Go tell Mr. Whitney we are here," and his tone caused Vincent to hurry away in deep resentment. Foster gazed dazedly at Miller. "What can have happened?" he asked. "Was Spencer so foolish as to bait Winslow ..." "Careful," cautioned Miller, his quick ear detecting a footstep in the adjoining drawing-room. An instant later Miss Kiametia Grey stepped into the library. "Thank goodness you have come," she exclaimed, darting toward Foster. "I've wanted you so much ..." "My darling"--Foster, forgetful of Miller's presence, clasped her hand in both of his. "There--there--this isn't any time for sentiment," and Miss Kiametia's chilly tone recalled the Senator to the fact that they were not alone. Looking a trifle foolish, he dropped her hand and stepped back. "What can I do for you?" he asked, coldly. "You said you needed me." "Well, so I do, as legal adviser," with unflattering emphasis. "Good morning, Captain Miller; I did not recognize you at first. I suppose you have both heard of Sinclair Spencer's tragic death."