ad clerk, leaped forward in a quick offer of assistance.
He remained a minute or two in the private office, then emerged,
haggard, with eyes staring.

"Mr. Whitmore's been shot!" burst from his lips. "Get a policeman. He's
dead," he added with a sob.

The news seemed to strike the office dumb. The clerks regarded each
other like bewildered sheep, awed, terrified, a vague fear gripping
their hearts. In the midst of their furious, living activity, the
specter of death had suddenly appeared. It had crept in on them
silently, stealthily, selecting the most shining mark as its victim.
Unannounced, it had proclaimed the frailty of human life more
effectively than if it had revealed itself in a lightning bolt. With
noiseless, unseen hands, it had abducted the most beloved figure among
them, deprived them forever of the kindly, fatherly personality of the
man whom they had come to regard more as a friend than an employer.

Recovering from their first terror, the clerks left their desks and
massed forward toward the partition, but the head clerk waved them back.

"Everyone remain in his place until after the police have arrived," he
ordered.

The office boy, who had gone to summon a policeman, now returned with
the bluecoat. The latter examined the dead man an instant, then,
following the usual custom, summoned an ambulance and notified the
coroner.

"Looks like a suicide," he declared over the telephone.

The ambulance was the first to arrive and the young surgeon, after
listening vainly for a promising flutter of the heart, officially
pronounced the merchant dead. When the coroner arrived, he was assured
that nothing in the private office had been disturbed, after which he
proceeded with his investigation.

Almost the first object which he noticed was a shiny revolver lying on
the desk, about an inch from the dead man's fingers. As he lifted the
weapon, he observed that the merchant had been shot in the side, and,
turning toward the policeman, said:

"A plain case of suicide."

More as a matter of form, rather than with any hope of discovering
anything of value, the coroner opened the revolver, and, as he did so,
an exclamation of surprise escaped his lips. His eyes fixed themselves
on the loaded chambers of the barrel in a puzzled stare until he was
convinced that his senses were not deceiving him.

The revolver was fully loaded. It had never been fired.

Switching on the electric lights, the coroner examined t