She stole downstairs after him. The portières in the library doors were drawn, but voices could be heard quite distinctly, and Wayne recognized the shrill pipe of Gregory raised in angry denunciation; Mrs. Craighill was greatly perturbed and clung to Wayne’s arm as the angry debate continued. The discussion seemed to be approaching an acute phase, and Wayne strode toward the door. Gregory had not been treated right; Wayne had felt that from the beginning, and for Jean’s sake he had meant to effect some adjustment with the old man; but Gregory’s presence in the house created a new situation. Jean’s letter was in his pocket, asking him to see that no harm came to her grandfather. It was his first commission from her hand and the thought of this sent him on to the door. Gregory was not sparing of vituperation; he heaped harsh Saxon epithets upon Colonel Craighill, who roared back at him angrily. “Get out of my house! You had no right to come here with your preposterous claim; I told you my lawyer would attend to you!” “You didn’t send me to your lawyer when you wanted my property, you lying hypocrite. And I’m going to publish you to the world now for what you are. There’s no bigger scoundrel in the State of Pennsylvania than you; but now----” There was a dull sound as of a blow struck and a heavy fall as Wayne flung back the curtains. Colonel Craighill stood there, gazing down at old man Gregory, who lay upon his side, very still. Colonel Craighill’s arm was extended, his body pitched slightly forward, as though palsied at the moment the blow had been struck. He turned a white face toward Wayne, who sprang into the room, with Mrs. Craighill close behind. Wayne straightened the crumpled figure on the floor and Mrs. Craighill brought water and brandy from the dining room. The two bent over the fallen man, whose breath came in hard gasps. His eyes opened and shut several times and he tried to speak; then his muscles relaxed and he lay still. The marks of death were on him. Wayne and Mrs. Craighill exchanged a glance. She was perfectly cool and said calmly: “It looks bad. Shall I call a doctor?” “Wait a moment.” [Illustration: “THERE WAS A DULL SOUND AS OF A BLOW STRUCK”] Wayne turned to his father, who had sunk into a chair and was cowering there, his eyes staring at the silent, inert figure stretched out on the floor. He knelt and put his head to Gregory’s breast. “He’s dead, father,” said Wayne quietly. “Oh, God! he can’t be dead! My blow could never have killed him!” “There’s no pulse--it’s all over. We’d better think about this pretty hard for a minute. It will be too late when the doctor comes and the servants find out. We must know what story you want told about it.” Mrs. Craighill still crouched by the old man, and she put her hand to his heart now and satisfied herself that it had ceased to beat. She remained where she was, while Wayne stepped to the doorway and flung the curtains together.