The footsteps hesitated for a moment on the landing below, then began again, nearer, louder now, and suddenly a big, red-faced policeman stood in the doorway. "Here?" he inquired, in that queer, impersonal voice that speaks of long acquaintance with the tragedies of life. "Yes," replied John, hoarsely, "here." An ambulance surgeon entered in response to the officer's nod, and following him came another policeman and a white-coated driver; between them on a stretcher they bore a covered form, very quiet, so quiet that not even a movement stirred the blanket that covered it. As they put their burden down gently on the worn old couch the young surgeon turned to Dr. Barnhelm, who stepped forward. "It is no use, sir. You can't do anything. It was the heart, I think. She was not crushed, but she died instantly. Can any of you give me the facts for my report?" Maria had entered the adjoining room, attracted by the unusual sounds, and heard what he said, and as she heard she cried out pitifully. The sound seemed to add the finishing touch to the strain they were under, and they turned sharply. "Go, Maria!" said the Doctor, coldly. "Answer any questions this gentleman asks of you. Compose yourself, please, and go." The girl turned without a word, and followed by the surgeon went out into the hall, the driver and one of the policemen joining them, while the other crossed and touched Dick Fenway on the arm. "You'll have to come with me, sir," he said quietly. Fenway for a moment looked at him bewildered, then stooped and picking up the hat he had dropped on the floor, slowly walked to the door. At the door he stopped and looked back at the covered figure on the couch, shuddered and went out, the officer following. John closed the door softly behind them and turned back to where the two men stood, Paul Crossett's hand on the father's shoulder. "Can't--can't you do anything," he questioned, "anything at all?" "Wait!" The word came like a command, sharply, from Dr. Barnhelm's lips. "Paul! You know what I am going to do?" Dr. Crossett nodded slightly. The meaning of it came suddenly to John, and he cried out in protest, "Doctor!" "You see her there! Dead!" The father spoke slowly, calmly. "Well, I can bring her back! She is my daughter." He turned quietly to John, but with a look in his eyes that few men would have dared oppose. "Shall I let her die? I--who can save her?" "No," the young man spoke humbly, "no. I--I love her too." "Go--wait outside. Go--now!" and John went with just one look at the still form on the couch. "I am ready, Martin," said Dr. Crossett, when they were alone, and he threw off his coat and stepping to the table starting to connect the batteries and adjust his instrument with the practical hand of an expert. For just one moment the father faltered. "It is only a theory, Paul. It may fail."