chocolates, sent by her lover, and playfully feeding one of them
to her beautiful collie, "Laddie," as he romped about upon a
divan and almost smothered her with affection. The vivacity and
charm of the scene were in sad contrast with what lay before me.

As I looked more carefully I saw now that her full, well-rounded
face was contorted with either pain or fear--perhaps both. Even
through the make-up one could see that her face was blotched and
swollen. Also, the muscles were contorted; the eyes looked as if
they might be bulging under the lids; and there was a bluish
tinge to her skin. Evidently death had come quickly, but it had
not been painless.

"Even the coroner has not disturbed the body," Mackay hastened to
explain to Kennedy. "The players, the camera men, all were sent
out of the room the moment Doctor Blake was certain something
more than a natural cause lay behind her death. Mr. Phelps
telephoned to me, and upon my arrival I ordered the doors and
windows closed, posted my deputies to prevent any interference
with anything in the room, left my instructions that everyone was
to be detained, then got in touch with you as quickly as I
could."

Kennedy turned to him. Something in the tone of his voice showed
that he meant his compliment. "I'm glad, Mackay, to be called in
by some one who knows enough not to destroy evidence; who
realizes that perhaps the slightest disarrangement of a rug, for
instance, may be the only clue to a murder. It's--it's rare!"

The little district attorney beamed. If he had found it necessary