We did, standing there now in the hall. Kennedy was the only one of us who was cool. Jennings' face blanched, then he turned tremblingly and went down to the library door whence the sounds had seemed to come.
He called but there was no answer. He turned the knob and opened the door. The Dodge library was a large room. In the center stood a big flat-topped desk of heavy mahogany. It was brilliantly lighted.
At one end of the desk was a telephone. Taylor Dodge was lying on the floor at that end of the desk—perfectly rigid—his face distorted—a ghastly figure. A pet dog ran over, sniffed frantically at his master's legs and suddenly began to howl dismally.
Dodge was dead!
"Help!" shouted Jennings.
Others of the servants came rushing in. There was for the moment the greatest excitement and confusion.
Suddenly a wild figure in flying garments flitted down the stairs and into the library, dropping beside the dead man, without seeming to notice us at all.
"Father!" shrieked a woman's voice, heart broken. "Father! Oh—my
God—he—he is dead!"
It was Elaine Dodge.
With a mighty effort, the heroic girl seemed to pull herself together.