Her buoyancy was becoming a trifle oppressive now, so she rang off, and a few moments later discovered that her last inhalation of the drug was beginning to affect her heart. Before long its palpitation had become unpleasant, though not alarming as yet and probably no more than a passing phase. However, since ample time remained, she decided to lie down. The reclining position gave her some relief, but that odd, nightmarish over-stimulation continued; in fact, it increased until it became almost unbearable. She closed her eyes only to behold a whirling confusion of shapes and visions. Gradually her mind became peopled by distorted fancies. The moments crept on and the phantasmagoria continued... Lilas realized at last that she was ill. She was confused, hysterical, wretched. She tried to rise, but failed... She found herself swimming through space; blinding lights and choking vapors enveloped her. She noted with a dull sense of alarm that her heart was skipping; this frightened her into calling for help, but her voice sounded weak and unreal... Everything was unreal; objects in the room were distorted and queer... What was it that so terrified her? ... Was it death? CHAPTER XXVIII Late that night John Merkle telephoned Bob Wharton to say: "Headquarters just rang me up and told me--prepare yourself for a shock--Lilas Lynn is dead." "Dead?" Bob cried, in a startled voice. "Dead! How? When did it happen? I can't believe it." Merkle made known the details that had come to him. "Looks like suicide, but they're not sure. Anyhow, she took too much dope of some sort. You can sleep easy now. I wish I could." "I suppose it's the law of compensation." "Compensation?" Merkle's voice sounded querulous. "There's no such thing. Don't talk to a Wall Street man about the law of compensation." "Well, then, call it Providence." "Providence has too much on its hands to bother with people like her. No, there is a certain--well, immovability about the conventional, and Lilas wasn't strong enough to topple it over." "I--I'm shocked, of course, and yet I can't help feeling greatly relieved. Rotten thing to say--" "Not at all. I'm delighted." "Once I read about a flare-back on a battle-ship, and how a fellow threw himself into the door of the powder-magazine to prevent an explosion. That's me! I'm nearly scorched to death."