“You struck him, and he is dead; what are we to do about it?” he demanded of his father. “Why, it isn’t possible, Wayne!” cried Colonel Craighill. “It was more in the way of pushing him from the room than a blow; it may have been on the breast--perhaps over his heart; I can’t remember, but it couldn’t have killed him--it’s a faint--he will come around again all right. Try the brandy, Addie. If we call a doctor----” He was pitiful in his agitation and kept twitching at his collar and wringing his hands. “The man is dead,” said Mrs. Craighill. “We must have the doctor; but Wayne is right: before he comes you must know what you are going to say to him; the matter will be reported; we must know what to say.” “It was heart disease; the blow could never have killed him,” muttered Colonel Craighill. Wayne knelt again by the quiet figure and laid his ear to the pulseless heart. Mrs. Craighill watched him as he rose, waiting for him to tell her to call the doctor. It was the high moment in all their lives, as she fully realized. “The situation is just this, father,” and Wayne’s calmness seemed to reassure Colonel Craighill. “Yes, yes!” he faltered. “A man has died here in your house. You admit you struck him; and no matter whether death resulted from excitement or from your blow, the thing is ugly. A doctor must be called. Addie, go and telephone for Dr. Silvan, for Gardner, too, and for Wynn--try their houses. Silvan is nearest; call him last. There’s no time for quibbling--what are we going to tell them when they come, and the coroner and the police? It’s for you to say.” “Oh, my God, Wayne, what am I to do? I tell you I didn’t kill him; I couldn’t have killed him, it was more--why Wayne, you know----” “The man’s dead, in your house, and you confess that you struck him. What are we going to say about it?” Mrs. Craighill could be heard in the telephone room calling the doctors. Colonel Craighill paced the floor nervously. He whirled round, his face twitching with excitement, and caught Wayne by the shoulder. “If we could ignore the blow--if we could say--the man--died--dropped dead--that would be true--quite the truth.” “But you told me you struck him.” “Yes, yes; but it was the slightest touch of the hand--it was more in the way of pushing him from the room--you could hardly say I struck him--you could hardly call it an assault, could you, Wayne?” It was the plea of a man begging for mercy; but contempt and scorn were gathering might in Wayne’s heart. Mrs. Craighill was calling the third doctor, who lived nearest, and the time was short. “You are Roger Craighill. What you say of this matter will be believed. But when the doctors ask how it happened, wouldn’t it be as well to remember that I was in the house--and that I have no reputation to lose?” The peace of the dead man at their feet hung upon the room. Colonel Craighill lifted his head, but he did not face his son. “I don’t understand you,” he gasped.