Mr. Moreton patted him on the back. They had reached now the outskirts of the little group.
'Theirs,' he said gravely, 'was the real dance. You have been fortunate, young man. Your journey from Europe has been worth while, after all. You have seen the Hamlin Trio in their Jugglers' Dance, and you have seen here in the sunshine, under the green trees, with all the dramatic environment possible, the greatest dance of all—the dance of death.'
Lavendale felt the blood once more flowing freely in his veins. He turned almost fiercely upon his companion as he pushed his way through the gathering crowd.
'You don't mean that they are really dead?' he cried.
'Even your wonderful friend Bowden,' Mr. Moreton assured him sweetly, 'could never wake a single beat in their hearts again.'
An ambulance had just glided up. A man who seemed to be a doctor rose to his feet, shaking the dust from his knees.
'These three people are dead,' he pronounced sombrely. 'The symptoms are inexplicable.'
He suddenly recognized Moreton, who held out his hand genially towards him.
'Dr. Praxton, is it not?' he remarked. 'It is very fortunate that I should have so reliable a witness upon the spot. I shall be obliged, doctor, if you will take the bodies of these fortunate people into your keeping and prepare a careful examination of their condition.'
'Do you know anything about their death?' the doctor asked.