"It is a very puzzling business," murmured Doctor Bushnell. "Very," nodded Sarbella. "How long have you known the--ah--the dead woman?" The artist hesitated briefly, and when he did reply gave the shrewd doctor the impression of carefully chosen words. "I met her last evening for the first time," he said. "I had never met her before." "During the dinner," pursued the physician, watching the man's face closely, "did you notice anything strange?" Sarbella shot him a quick glance. "She may have been depressed," he answered evasively. "Other than that I can tell you nothing--absolutely nothing. Please do not let me keep you from attending Mrs. Gilmore." The doctor had the baffled feeling that something was being hidden, that Sarbella knew a great deal more than he was willing to tell. Yet he felt that this was the wrong time to ply questions, that he would only muddle things until he was better fortified for a cross-examination. So he turned and retraced his steps around the hall to Joan's room. Even before he rapped, he heard the sound of moans, punctuated by a hysterical rambling of speech. His knuckles descended upon the panel, and Joan promptly admitted him. Mrs. Gilmore tossed upon the bed like a woman in physical pain. "I am glad you have come, Doctor Bushnell," murmured Joan. "Mother is almost beside herself with the horror of it." "Kirklan was so upset that he didn't tell me until just a moment ago. Your mother fainted, I believe." "Yes, she was awakened by the shot and went to investigate. She saw--her." "I knew something was going to happen!" moaned Mrs. Gilmore. "It was in the air. I felt it--impending disaster. Every one acted so strange." There she broke off into wild weeping. The doctor reached for Mrs. Gilmore's wrist and took her pulse. He decided that it was safe enough to administer a soothing hypodermic. When this had been done, and the morphia had taken effect, Bushnell turned to Joan. "What does she mean by saying that she felt something was going to happen?" he asked. "Did you notice anything peculiar in the behavior of Kirklan's wife last night?" Joan hesitated, twisting her fingers and biting her lip. "I--I don't think she was quite herself," she answered, her voice very low. "She seemed greatly worried." "And the guest, Mr. Sarbella?" A gasp escaped the girl's lips, as she gave the physician a startled, wide-eyed stare. "Why--why do you ask about him?" she whispered. "Joan, you are holding back something, and you have no right to do that. This atmosphere of secrecy, concealment--what does it mean? You are a sensible girl, and I feel that I can tell you something confidentially. Kirklan's wife did not end her own life." Standing near the foot of the bed, one of the girl's hands clutched at the rail. "Kirklan said that--that she had--killed herself. So you think that she was shot by some one else? What makes you think that?"