There was no startled cry of horror from Joan's lips, as she heard what might have been supposed to be her first news of tragedy. But was it news to her? There was not so much as an exclamation of surprise, not so much as a murmured word of sorrow or sympathy. Standing a little to one side, Victor Sarbella stared at the girl in narrow-eyed, intent interest, evidently greatly puzzled by her peculiar attitude. Joan still said nothing; almost absently she began massaging her mother's ice-cold fingers. "She faints very easily," she murmured. "It is never serious. She will be all right presently. Mr. Sarbella, will you please dampen a towel under the cold-water tap?" "I had been out at the studio," Gilmore went on, the words tumbling out jerkily. "I think I must have fallen asleep out there. When I came to the house I found that I didn't have my keys, and had to ring for Bates to let me in. My nerves were in a bad way, so I asked Bates to mix me a toddy, a nightcap. I was drinking it, when both of us--Bates and I--heard a scream. Right after that there was a shot. Bates and I rushed upstairs to find Helen dead; that's all I know." As his voice trailed off to a dull, lifeless stop, Joan gave a start and looked up to take the damp towel that Sarbella offered her. She placed it across her mother's forehead; Mrs. Gilmore stirred under this application and moaned faintly. "I think mother will be all right now," said Joan. "I don't think it will be necessary for either of you to stay. If I need you I will call." "Bates has telephoned to Doctor Bushnell. I will have him see mother when he comes, Joan." Joan nodded. "Perhaps it would be best," she agreed. "She is very high-strung, and may need an opiate. It was a tremendous shock to her--of course." Kirklan began a retreat from the room, and Sarbella, after another queer glance at Joan, followed. No word was spoken until they had come to the room of the tragedy. "I can't stand to go back in there!" Gilmore cried hoarsely. "It--it's all that I can do to hold myself together as it is. I think I'll go downstairs and have another drink." Victor Sarbella, frowning so deeply that his eyes seemed to be closed, put out his hand impulsively. "Don't do that, my friend," he murmured; "for your own sake--don't. Liquor will not help any at a time like this, and it will look bad, very bad, for you to be under the weather at a time like this." The butler came hurrying up the stairs. "I have had Doctor Bushnell on the wire, sir," he reported. "He had just got home from a call, and he says that he will be here as quickly as the car can bring him--a matter of minutes. It is only two miles from the village." Kirklan Gilmore glanced shudderingly toward the door of his wife's room. "It doesn't seem right," he muttered, "leaving her in there alone, but I can't stand to look at her again. I----"