At one end of the desk was a telephone. Taylor Dodge was lying on
the floor at that end of the desk--perfectly rigid--his face
distorted--a ghastly figure. A pet dog ran over, sniffed
frantically at his master's legs and suddenly began to howl
dismally.

Dodge was dead!

"Help!" shouted Jennings.

Others of the servants came rushing in. There was for the moment
the greatest excitement and confusion.

Suddenly a wild figure in flying garments flitted down the stairs
and into the library, dropping beside the dead man, without
seeming to notice us at all.

"Father!" shrieked a woman's voice, heart broken. "Father! Oh--my
God--he--he is dead!"

It was Elaine Dodge.

With a mighty effort, the heroic girl seemed to pull herself
together.

"Jennings," she cried, "Call Mr. Bennett--immediately!"

From the one-sided, excited conversation of the butler over the
telephone, I gathered that Bennett had been in the process of
disrobing in his own apartment uptown and would be right down.