She started back, her eyes round with terror, and screamed.
Instantly the secretary was at her side, and supported her, fainting, to a seat. Other clerks rushed in at the alarm. Henderson was lifted from his chair and laid upon a lounge. When the doctor who had been called arrived, Carmen was in a heap by the low couch, one arm thrown across the body, and her head buried in the cushion close to his.
The doctor instantly applied restoratives; he sent for an electric battery; everything was done that science could suggest. But all was of no avail. There was no sign of life. He must have been dead half an hour, said the doctor. It was evidently heart-failure.
Before the doctor had pronounced his verdict there was a whisper in the Stock Exchange.
“Henderson is dead!”
“It is not possible,” said one.
“I saw him only yesterday,” said another.
“I was in his office this morning,” said a third. “I never saw him looking in better health.”
