The butler shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not, but there is a way that I've heard the doctors use----" He shambled to Helen's dressing table where he picked up a silver-backed hand-mirror; then he returned to the limp form on the couch and held the glass close to her lips. "Yes, I know," Gilmore muttered thickly, watching him with a fascinated stare. "If any breath of life remains, there will be moisture on the mirror." He leaned forward tensely. "What--what does it show, Bates?" The butler inspected it briefly. "There is no breathing," he answered; "I was right, sir; your wife is quite dead. But I will phone for the doctor; that is, I believe, the customary thing in cases like this." As the servant moved toward the door, he paused suddenly, a startled look coming into his eyes. "It is very strange," he muttered; "yes, very strange." Gilmore looked at him dully. "What is strange?" he demanded heavily. "That--that she should have shot herself with the door standing open, sir. If you will pardon me, I know that I wouldn't kill myself--with a door open. I would lock myself in. And"--his voice sank to a tense, vibrating whisper--"Mr. Kirklan, did you hear a door slamming shut, as we were coming up the stairs just a moment ago?" "I heard a noise, Bates, yes. You are sure, Bates, that it was a closing door?" "Quite sure of it!" cried Bates. "There is something else, too. If she shot herself, why did she scream? My word, sir, don't you understand? Your wife has been murdered!" CHAPTER X COMMON SENSE "Your wife has been murdered sir," repeated the butler, with growing conviction of his sudden theory. "I am not a detective, but I am sure, were it suicide, the door here would have been closed--locked. That is only common sense, Mr. Kirklan." Kirklan Gilmore forced his eyes to that lifeless, crimson-stained form which so recently had been alive, that lovely creature whom he had married only three weeks before. His face was set in a rigid paralysis of horror, which did not change even when he turned his head away and closed his eyes. "No, Bates, no!" he cried thickly. "It--it couldn't be. Look! There is the gun beside her, where it must have dropped from her fingers after--after she pressed the trigger. Your first impression was the right one; Helen has killed herself." But the butler was not to be shaken. "You heard the scream, sir," he argued; "the scream that sounded before we heard the shot--the scream that I thought was Miss Joan's." "What nonsense!" muttered Gilmore, pressing his hands to his temple. "A scream is a scream, Bates; they all sound alike." "Of course I was mistaken," the butler broke in hastily. "I had heard Miss Joan scream once, the time you were thrown by the horse, and we all thought you had been killed. It sounded so much like that, sir, I thought for a moment----But naturally it could not have been Miss Joan."