"Well, sir, when we got there it was as though bedlam had broke loose; the neighbors were pouring out on all sides; some society affair was going on last night, and most of them had just got home. A woman was running up and down the Westbrook front gallery, wringing her hands in a distracted way, and every now and then stopping to scream 'Murder!'
"Stop a moment, Mac," interposed Converse..... "Chief, call a cab, please; I don't want to waste any time—I can listen to Mac as we ride..... Now, Mac, go on."
"Well, as Mike and I vaulted the front fence, I yelled out that we were officers, and Mike set his whistle going for Hartman and Corrigan in the next beat, in case we should need help; though they never heard it. The lady fell back against one of the big gallery pillars and waited till we came up. Then we saw it was Mrs. Westbrook. She looked as if she were being beaten by some one we couldn't see, and was trying to shrink away from the blows.
"The whole house was a blaze of light, every electric lamp being turned on, it seemed like; and the niggers—well, sir, they were all plum crazy. Mrs. Westbrook had evidently been to whatever was going on, because she was all dressed up in one of those shiny white dresses, and had lots of jewelry on. I could see the diamonds on her fingers sparkling with her heart-beats, for she had her hands locked tight together and pressed against her bosom. When we got close enough to her we could hear her moaning to herself, 'Oh, my God! Peyton! Peyton! Peyton! Oh, my God! Peyton!' over and over again, like a machine, and it was some time before we could get her to notice us.
"Just then two or three of the neighbors came up. One of them, a lady, grabbed Mrs. Westbrook, and asked, 'What is it, Lou?' and Mrs. Westbrook just had time to whisper, 'Peyton—in there—dead!' before slipping down the pillar in a faint.
"Of course we waited for nothing more. Leaving her with the lady, we hurried into the house through the front door, which was standing wide open.
"I never saw anything like it in my life, Captain; back under the stairs a big yellow wench was sitting on the floor, holding Miss Westbrook's head in her lap, and moaning and rocking to and fro. The young lady herself was lying out in such a way that we thought at first she was dead too. The telephone was right above her head—"
Here the recital was once more broken in upon, this time by the arrival of the cab. Mr. Converse and the patrolman hastened into it. "General Westbrook's—hurry!" said the Captain to the driver, who, having had experience in such matters, lashed the horses to a gallop in an effort to obey the injunction.
Once under way, Officer McCaleb resumed his story:
"As I was saying, the telephone was right above where Miss Westbrook was lying. She was still holding the receiver in her hand, a part of the cord attached to it, the whole thing torn loose—evidently while she was trying to use the 'phone. She must have fainted then. It took only a second or two to see that nothing worse was the matter with her; and after stirring the nigger woman up to getting water and bringing her mistress round, we went on hunting for the General. We had to search, too; for every one that hadn't fainted was wild with terror.