“I was at the garage with Mr. Allen, and two chauffeurs—the Wheelers’ man and Mr. Appleby’s man. Together, and with the help of a gardener or two, we put the fire out. Then Mr. Allen said: ‘Let’s go to the house and tell them there’s no danger. They may be worried.’ Mr. Allen started off and I followed. He preceded me into the den——”
“Then you tell what you saw there, Mr. Allen.”
“I saw, first of all,” began Jeffrey, “the figure of Mr. Appleby sitting in a chair, near the middle of the room. His head hung forward limply, and his whole attitude was unnatural. The thought flashed through my mind that he had had a stroke of some sort, and I went to him—and I saw he was dead.”
“You knew that at once?”
“I judged so, from the look on his face and the helpless attitude. Then I felt for his heart and found it was still.”
“You a doctor?”
“No; but I’ve had enough experience to know when a man is dead.”
“All right. What was Mr. Wheeler doing?”
“Nothing. He stood on the other side of the room, gazing at his old friend.”
“And Miss Wheeler?”