“I can’t get over for an hour or two,” he called. “You say you have no physician--let me see! Ah, yes! Send for Beverly Thorne; he’s a justice of the peace as well as a physician. Tell him to take charge until I come;” and click went his receiver on the hook. Vera looked dubiously at the telephone as she hung up the receiver. Pshaw! It was no time for indecision--what if an ancient feud did exist between the Thornes and the Porters, as testified by the “spite wall” erected by a dead and gone Porter to obstruct the river view from “Thornedale”! In the presence of sudden death State laws had to be obeyed, and such things as the conventions, aye, and feuds, must be brushed aside. Only two days before, when motoring with Mrs. Porter, that stately dame had indicated the entrance to “Thornedale” with a solemn inclination of her head and the statement that its present owner, Dr. Beverly Thorne, would never be received at her house. But Coroner Black desired his immediate presence there that morning! In spite of all she had been through, a ghost of a smile touched Vera’s lovely eyes as she laid aside the telephone directory and again called “Central.” Five seconds, ten seconds passed before the operator, more awake, reported that there was no response to her repeated rings. “Keep it up,” directed Vera, and waited in ever growing irritation. “Well?” came a masculine voice over the wires. “What is it?” “I wish to speak to Dr. Beverly Thorne.” “This is Dr. Thorne at the telephone--speak louder, please.” Vera leaned nearer the instrument. “Mr. Bruce Brainard has died suddenly while visiting Mrs. Lawrence Porter. Kindly come at once to Dewdrop Inn.” No response; and Vera, with rising color, was about to repeat her request more peremptorily when Thorne spoke. “Did Mr. Brainard die without medical attendance?” he asked. It was Vera’s turn to hesitate. “I found him dead with his throat cut,” she stated, and the huskiness of her voice blurred the words so that she had to repeat them. This time she was not kept waiting for a reply. “I will be right over,” shouted Thorne. [Illustration: “Yes, I heard,” Millicent could hardly articulate.] As Vera rose from the telephone stand a sound to her left caused her to wheel in that direction. Leaning for support against a revolving bookcase stood Millicent Porter, and her waxen pallor brought a startled cry to Vera’s lips. “Yes, I heard.” Millicent could hardly articulate, and her glance strayed hopelessly about the room. “I--I must go to mother.” “Surely.” Vera laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. “But first take a sip of this,” and she poured out a glass of cognac from the decanter left in the room after the dinner the night before. She had almost to force the stimulant down the girl’s throat, then, placing her arm about her waist, she half supported her out of the room and up the staircase.