tened?

"Mrs. Chesney ..." said the valet. "Pardon me, but you must know. I've
thought different. Now it's plain. This bottle was more than half full
at five this afternoon. Now, you see, madam; you see for yourself...."

Sophy stared bewildered.

"I don't understand," she said, full of vague terror herself now. "What
was in the bottle? Why is it empty?"

"Spirit, madam; ninety-five-proof spirit--for the little spirit lamp I
use for Mr. Chesney, madam. It was two-thirds full six hours ago. Oh,
don't you see, madam? And now the master's door is locked. He won't
answer--I've knocked and knocked. He laughed once--so he's not
unconscious, madam."

Sophy stood staring.

"Do you mean...?" she whispered finally. "You don't mean that he ...
he...?"

"Oh, madam! What else can I think? It began yesterday. I thought one of
the maids had upset it and didn't like to say--they never do, madam.
Full a pint went yesterday. But as there was enough left in the bottle
for the making of his morning coffee, I didn't trouble to fill it till
this afternoon. But now.... And he was so strange an hour ago. So
wild-like ... different...."

"I didn't know...." murmured Sophy, her eyes fixed in horror on the
empty bottle. "I didn't know that ... that.... I thought it was
poisonous...."

"Oh, no, madam! It's methylated spirits you're thinking of. This is
ninety-five-proof--pure alcohol. It's done, madam. I've heard of it's
being done. But I never thought...."

He too stopped, overcome.

Sophy looked at the little servant helplessly.

"I don't know what to do, Gaynor," she said, in the voice of a child.
"What can I do?"

"Would you come speak to him, madam, through the door? He might answer
you."

"Yes, I'll come," she said. She looked at him out of appalled eyes. "But
don't leave me, Gaynor, will you? Come, too."

"No, no, madam. I'll not leave you. Never fear."

Together the little grey figure and the tall white one stole down the
corridor to Chesney's door.

Sophy put her mouth close to the crevice of the door. Her heart was
beating so that it shook her lips against the wood.

"Cecil--Cecil!" she called softly. "It's I--Sophy. I'm so afraid you're
ill. Won't you speak to me, Cecil?"

There was no answer. She tried again and again. Presently she heard that
low, ominous laugh.

"It's no use," she whispered, drawing away in terror. "Have you told
Doctor Bellamy?"

"No, madam. No one but you. I didn't like to."

"I know