"There was a most peculiar attitude at dinner, sir; Mr. Sarbella and her"--pointing toward the sheet-covered lounge--"did not so much as speak once, while I was serving. They were all on edge--even Mr. Kirklan. I didn't understand it; I don't understand it now. After dinner the younger Mrs. Gilmore went very quickly to her room; she was pale and nervous. I don't think I know anything more, doctor." "Just one more question, Bates. You and Mr. Kirklan were downstairs. Sarbella was upstairs. Who else?" "The elder Mrs. Gilmore, Miss Joan, and her." Again he pointed to the dead woman. "What about the other servants?" "Elizabeth, the maid, went to Yonkers yesterday, sir. She pleaded that her mother was ill, but I doubt it. She don't know what the truth is, that girl; she's always making excuses, and Mrs. Gilmore is that soft-hearted she never refuses her." "Or doubts her stories," added Doctor Bushnell with a faint smile. "A most credulous woman, Mrs. Gilmore." "Exactly, sir," agreed the butler. "Mrs. Bogart, the cook, does not sleep at Greenacres; she comes every morning from the village and goes home again at night. And the gardener isn't employed full time--only three days a week." "To me it looks very much like Mr. Sarbella," murmured the doctor and glanced around the room. For all that the physician knew there might be clews within touching distance, but which he, untrained as he was in such business, would never be able to recognize as clews. "I am going to lock this door, Bates," he said. "No one must enter it without my express permission. I am going downstairs now. I suppose you might as well go to bed." "What's the use?" muttered Bates. "Not a wink of sleep would I get after this." The key was in the lock; Doctor Bushnell removed it and put it in the outside of the door. Then he turned off the lights, stepped into the hall, shot the bolt, put the key in his pocket, and went down the stairs. He found Kirklan Gilmore and Victor Sarbella in the library, the latter sitting in a chair, puffing nervously at a cigarette, while the novelist paced back and forth like a caged beast. At the doctor's step, Gilmore swung around. "You found her dead, of course?" he muttered thickly. "Yes, Kirklan, I found her beyond all help." Doctor Bushnell gave a quick glance at Sarbella, who returned it steadily for a moment with his intense black eyes. "I would like to talk with you, Kirklan, privately if I may. Suppose we go across the hall into the den." Sarbella inhaled deeply at his cigarette and got to his feet. "I am going to my room," he announced; "if you need me for anything, I shall be at your service." He moved perhaps three paces toward the stairs and then turned; his face was in the shadows, so that it was impossible to see any expression that may have been on his features, as he asked: "You discovered that it was self-destruction?"