both men by a common instinct knelt down and tried to loosen his collar. The heavy head tumbled sideways, against Denis's arm. He sprang up and retreated, with a violent shudder.

"Poor beggar! Poor beggar!" said Gardiner under his breath. "I never saw anything so ghastly in my life! This thing's like a razor." He ran his finger down the edge of the fender. "Good Lord! what an appalling business! Well, I suppose the first thing is to have in the doctor; he can't do any good, of course, but still--Luckily there's one actually staying in the house. Ring the bell, do you mind, Denis? Or, wait a bit, I don't want the maids poking round; I'll go myself."

He was halfway to the door when Denis seized his arm.

"Stop a minute, Harry. Think."

"What's the use of waiting? May as well get it over!"

"No; but think--think! Can't you see what this means?"

His agitation was contagious. "I can see it's going to be very awkward with the house full of visitors, but it's not the time to think of that, is it? What the devil are you driving at?"

"You killed him," said Denis baldly.

"I did not!"

"You did. It's manslaughter, if not murder. It might mean hanging, and it'll pretty certainly mean prison."

"Prison!"

Every trace of color went out of Gardiner's face. In the momentary pause some one tapped at the door.

Gardiner wrenched himself free, and Denis sprang to shut out the intruder; but he was too late. The door, left unlatched by Miss Marvin, slid open at a touch. There stood Mrs. Trent, in her long muffling cloak and veil; she had come in quest of her husband. Denis tried ineffectually to block out the view of the room, the lamp on the floor, the dead man, and Gardiner."You--you mustn't come in, Mrs. Trent. Your husband's had a sort of seizure--"
She said nothing, only plucked at his arm, struggling against it, her eyes, her whole being 

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