"I have finished my breakfast, I'll go," volunteered Mrs. Whitney, and she hastened into the pantry where a branch telephone had been installed for the use of the servants. Before the swing door closed tightly, they heard her say: "Oh, Kiametia ..." "What is the reason the servants are so anxious to decamp?" asked Whitney, handing Kathleen the dish of fruit, which she declined. "You forget this house has become a chamber of horrors." Kathleen's voice shook, and she paused to take a hasty swallow of hot coffee. "Possibly the presence of the detectives makes them nervous." "Well, a sudden leave-taking from here will probably center the detectives' attention upon them more than if they stayed and did their work." "That is highly probable. Tell me, Dad"--Kathleen regarded Whitney intently--"how is it that I am not in jail? Did not the coroner's jury convict me?" "Their verdict read that you were responsible for Spencer's death, and as such you are under suspicion and will be held for the Grand Jury." "Oh!" Kathleen shuddered slightly. "I had no difficulty arranging bail," continued Whitney. "The officials themselves realize--must realize," he interjected, with bitter force--"there is little _real_ evidence against you. The coroner's jury--the d----fools"--the words escaped between his clenched teeth--"to place faith in circumstantial evidence!" Whitney's clenched fist descended on the table with a force that made the goblets ring. "My dear, why, why did you try to whitewash Julie?" "Because I knew she had nothing to do with Sinclair Spencer's death." "You knew nothing of the sort"--with subdued violence. "You are totally wrong. That Julie ran away is confession of complicity in the crime." "I don't believe Julie ran away; I do not"--meeting her father's angry eyes steadily. "I believe she was enticed away. I tell you, Dad, if this mystery is ever to be cleared, you must find...." "Captain Miller," announced Vincent, drawing back the portieres from the doorway, and Miller, emerging from the hall, advanced into the room. Kathleen's coffee cup descended with a clatter on its saucer as her nerveless fingers released their hold, and placing one hand on the back of her chair to steady herself, she rose slowly to her feet. "Senator Foster would like to speak to you a minute, Mr. Whitney," added Vincent. "He is waiting at the front door, sir." "Certainly." Whitney shook Miller's hand cordially. "Excuse me a second, Captain, I'll be back in a jiffy," and he followed Vincent from the room. Impulsively Miller stepped toward Kathleen, hands extended and eyes alight with passionate tenderness. "My love, my dear, dear love!" "Stop!" Kathleen spoke in a dangerously low tone. "I must request you to leave this house at once." "Kathleen!" "You understand the English tongue?" Her cold repellent manner caused him to pause in uncertainty. "Or shall I translate my request into German?"