"Oh, what's the use of discussing my butler's notions. He seems to think that he ought to be a detective, that's all. She killed herself, and"--his voice became edged with bitterness--"it was you who drove her to do it." The artist tossed out his hands in an imploring gesture. "That is unfair," he protested. "Perhaps her conscience, but am I responsible for her conscience? Am I responsible for--for her sins?" Kirklan Gilmore staggered to his feet. "What do you mean--her sins?" he cried hoarsely. "Am I never to know the truth about her?" Sarbella shook his head. "Not from my lips," he answered; "she is dead. Let what past there be buried with her. It will be better that way, Kirklan--better for every one." "Who is dead?" came a tremulous question from the hall. The novelist recognized the voice of Mrs. Gilmore, his stepmother, and leaped forward to prevent her entrance. He knew, high-strung, nervous woman that she was, the gruesome sight would be a tremendous, perhaps even dangerous, shock to her. "You--you mustn't come in here, mother. Something--something has happened to Helen." "You mean," gasped Mrs. Gilmore, clutching at the casing of the door for support, "that she is dead?" "Yes, Helen is dead," finished Kirklan. "Go back to your room, please." "I was awakened by something. I am not certain just what it was," whispered the little, gray-haired woman. "And then there was a shot. You mean, Kirklan, that your wife----" The novelist inclined his head. "Helen has--has killed herself. Bates has gone to telephone Doctor Bushnell; there is nothing you can do--nothing. Now please return to your room." Mrs. Gilmore began to sob wildly, perhaps not so much from grief as from the hysteria of horror. "She has killed herself--suicide! Oh, the disgrace, the scandal of it; three weeks married and--a suicide. I--I knew that something awful would happen. It was in the air. I had a presentiment of it at dinner. All of you acted so strangely, so tragic. Kirklan, what made her do it?" "I don't know," he answered thickly. "Perhaps the reason for it died with her. I--I don't want to talk any more about it, mother; it's all I can do to hold myself together. Won't you please go back to your room?" Mrs. Gilmore, making a move to obey him, released her fingers from the support of the door casing and staggered; thus, unintentionally, she reeled just within the door. As she saw the crimson-stained form on the lounge, a scream tore up through her throat. She swayed dizzily, her knees crumpled beneath her, and she would have fallen to the floor in a limp heap, had not Kirklan reached out and caught her in his arms. "Sarbella!" he called. "She--has fainted. I knew that would happen if--if she saw it. Won't you help me with her? I--I suppose we'd better take her to Joan's room; she can't be left alone in this condition."