"I don't know, dear. We'll have to see how things turn out. Well, you go ahead, Rudolph, you'll have to hustle to get over to the train. And there are a few matters I wish you'd look after for me." The two men went off to discuss these matters, and then Doctor Wayburn, who had been telephoning, announced that the coroner could not come until the next day, as he was in another township attending to some duties. "And I'm glad of it," said Eve, "for we've had enough excitement for one day." And so, by ten or eleven o'clock, the house was locked up and the members of the household gone to bed, all except old Thorpe, who sat in the great hall, with the two doors open into the rooms where the still, tragic figures lay. Before him, on a table, Hester had placed coffee and sandwiches, and the old man sat, brooding on the awful events of the afternoon. CHAPTER VIII By What Means The night was full of restlessness. Tracy and Professor Hardwick, in their adjoining rooms, were the only ones in the wing that had the night before also housed Braye and Gifford Bruce. "Shall we leave the door between open?" Tracy asked, more out of consideration for the Professor's nerves than his own. "Yes, if you will. And don't go to bed yet. I can't sleep, I know, and I must discuss this thing with somebody, or go mad!" "All right, sir," and Tracy took off his coat and donned an old-fashioned dressing-gown. Hardwick smiled. "That's the first ministerial garb I've seen you wear," he said. "I'd pick that up for a dominie's negligé every time!" "I'm rather attached to the old dud," and Tracy patted it affectionately. "Queer, how one comes to love a worn garment. No, I don't wear clerical togs when off on a vacation. I used to, till some one told me it cast a restraint over the others, and I hate to feel I'm doing that." "You'd never do that, my friend. You've a natural tact that ought to carry you far toward general popularity. But, tell me, as man to man, how do you size up this awful mystery?" "I don't know, Professor. At times my mind's a blank,--and then, I get a hint or,--well, I can't call it a suspicion,--but a thought, say, in one direction, and it's so fearfully absurd, I discard it at once. Then comes another idea, only to be dismissed like the first. What do you think?" "I am a complete convert to the supernatural. You know, Sir Oliver Lodge and many other scientists only believed after they had had undeniable personal experience. Now, here were warnings,--definite, positive prophecies, and they were fulfilled. What more can any one ask?" Tracy mused over this. "I know that," he said, at last, "but I can't quite swallow it whole, like that. Do you mean there was no physical cause? Such as fright, expectant attention,----"