scarcely to be heard above the hum of gay voices and peals of gay
laughter, "oh, _somebody_, please!"

I looked across the room, and in the wide hall doorway stood a man,
who was quite evidently a waiter. He was white-faced and staring-eyed,
and he fairly hung on to a portiere for support, as he repeated his
agonized plea.

"What is it?" said Mrs. Reeves, as everybody else stared at the man.
"What do you want?" She stepped toward him, and we all turned to look.

"Not you--no, Madame. Some man, please--some doctor. Is there one
here?"

"Some of the servants ill?" asked Mrs. Reeves, kindly. "Doctor Remson,
will you come?"

The pleasant-faced capable-looking woman paused only until Doctor
Remson joined her, and the two went into the hall, the waiter
following slowly.

In a moment I heard a shriek, a wild scream. Partly curiosity and
partly a foreboding of harm to Vicky Van, made me rush forward.

Mrs. Reeves had screamed, and I ran the length of the hall to the
dining room. There I saw Somers on the floor, and Remson bending over
him.

"He's killed! He's stabbed!" cried Mrs. Reeves, clutching at my arm
as I reached her. "Oh, what shall we do?"