"Desperate case!" and Haviland rose, and unhurriedly left the room, pinching Anita's little ear as he passed her. Another moment and Miss Frayne heard an exclamation from Haviland that made her rise from the table and go flying upstairs herself. The door of Miss Lucy's boudoir was open, and entering, she saw Pauline and Haviland with horror-stricken faces, gazing at a terrible sight. Miss Lucy Carrington, seated before her dressing-table, her face white and ghastly, her large eyes staring wide--staring horribly,--but, without doubt, unseeing. Nor was this all of the strangeness of the sight. She was robed in an embroidered Oriental-looking gown, and wore many jewels. Her red-dyed hair, dressed elaborately, as she had worn it the night before, was still crowned with the enormous comb of carved tortoise-shell, but the comb was broken to bits. One portion, still standing upright, rose above the disordered coiffure, but the rest, in broken scraps, lay scattered over the puffs of hair,--over the white hands clasped in her lap,--and on the floor at her feet. "What does it mean?" whispered Anita, shuddering, "is she--is she dead?" "Yes," answered Haviland, briefly. He stood, hands in pockets, gazing at the startling figure. "Who?--What?----" Anita's eyes riveted themselves on something else. Around the neck of Miss Lucy was,--yes, it _was_--a snake! With a low scream, Anita flung herself into Haviland's arms, but he put her gently away from him. Aghast at this repulse, Anita put her hand across her eyes and turned to leave the room. "Mind where you go, 'Nita!" called out Haviland, and the girl stopped just in time to save herself from stepping into a mass of _débris_. "Why!" she cried, "why, it's Miss Lucy's tray!" It was. The silver tray that had held the breakfast tea was on the floor, and near it a jumbled heap of silver and broken china that had once been a costly Sevres set. Dainty white serviettes were stained with the spilled tea and a huge wet spot was near the overturned silver teapot. Hastily Anita ran from the room, but she sank down on a couch in the hall just outside the door, utterly unable to go further. Fascinated by the beady eyes of the green snake, Pauline stared at it, with clenched hands. Haviland stepped nearer and lightly touched it. "Is it--is it alive?" gasped Pauline. "It's paper," replied Haviland quietly. "A paper snake, a toy,--you know." "But who put it there? Aunt Lucy is deathly afraid of snakes! Did fright kill her? Gray, is she--murdered?" "Yes, Pauline, she has been killed. But could it be--fright? Impossible!" "Not for her! You don't know her horror of snakes. Why, going through the Japanese department of a shop, I've seen her turn white and fairly fly from the counter where those paper things were displayed." "But what else killed her? There is no wound, no shot, no blood." "Get the doctor, Gray! Don't wait a minute. Telephone at once."