general of
finance was in his room upstairs fighting the hardest battle of his
life, fighting for that life itself. A door at the end of the library, a
door which I had not noticed before, was partially open and from within
sounded at intervals a series of sharp clicks, the click of a telegraph
instrument. I remembered that Colton had told me, in one of his
conversations, that he had both a private telephone and telegraph in his
house.

Miss Colton closed the door behind us, and turned to me.

"Thank you for coming," she said, again. "I need help and I could think
of no one but you. You have hurried dreadfully, haven't you!"

She was looking at my forehead. I caught a glimpse of my face in the
mirror above the mantel and reached for my handkerchief.

"I must have run every step of the way," I answered. "I didn't realize
it. But never mind that. Tell me about your father."

"He was taken ill soon after he returned from your house. He was in the
library here and I heard him call. When I reached him he was lying upon
the couch, scarcely able to speak. He lost consciousness before we could
get him to his room. The doctor says it is what he has feared, an attack
of acute indigestion, brought on by anxiety and lack of rest. It was my
fault, I am afraid. Last night's worry--Poor Father!"

For just a moment I feared she was going to break down. She covered her
eyes with her hand. But she removed it almost immediately.

"The doctor is confident there is no great danger," she went on.
"Danger, of course, but not the greatest. He is still unconscious
and will be for some time, but, if he is kept perfectly quiet and not
permitted to worry in the least, he will soon be himself again."

"Thank God for that!" I exclaimed, fervently. "And your mother--Mrs.
Colton--how, is she?"

Her tone changed slightly. I inferred that Mrs. Colton's condition was
more trying than serious.

"Mother is--well, in her nervous state any shock is disturbing. She is
bearing the anxiety as well as we should expect."

I judged that not much was expected.

"It was not on account of Father's illness that I sent for you, Mr.
Paine," she went on. "If he had not been ill I should not have needed
you, of course. But there is something else. It could not have happened
at a more unfortunate time and I am afraid you may not be able to give
me the help I need. Oh, I hope you can! I don't know what to do. I know
it must be dreadfully important. Father has