She stood just in the dining-room doorway, which was at the end of the
long hall, as in most city houses. The room was but dimly lighted, the
table candles not yet burning.

"Keep the people back!" I shouted, as those in the living-room pressed
out into the hall. "Steele, keep those girls back!"

There was an awful commotion. The men urged the women back, but
curiosity and horror made them surge forward in irresistible force.

"Shut the door," whispered Remson. "This man is dead. It's an awful
situation. Shut that door!"

Somehow, I managed to get the door closed between the dining-room and
hall. On the inside were Remson, Mrs. Reeves, who wouldn't budge, and
myself. Outside in the hall was a crowd of hysterical women and
frightened men.

"Are you sure?" I asked, in a low voice, going nearer to the doctor
and looking at Somers' fast-glazing eyes.

"Sure. He was stabbed straight to the heart with--see--a small, sharp
knife."

Her hands over her eyes, but peering through her fingers, Mrs. Reeves
drew near. "Not really," she moaned. "Oh, not really dead! Can't we do
anything for him?"

"No," said Remson, rising to his feet, from his kneeling position.