“Well, what do you think, Jim?” McGowan said at last in a subdued, baffled voice.
“Well, there ain't no use thinkin', Mac. If it's writ that way, it's writ that way; that's all there is to it—” and the two joined Jack who had stepped into the hall, his eyes up the stairway as if he was listening intensely.
“Then you say, Mr. Breen, that Mr. Minott will meet us at the Board meeting on Monday?”
Jack was about to reply when he caught sight of the doctor, his hand sliding rapidly down the stair-rail as he approached.
McGowan, fearing to be interrupted, repeated his question in a louder voice:
“Then you say I'll see Mr. Minott on Monday?”
The doctor crossed to Jack's side. He was breathing heavily, his lips quivering; he looked like a man who had received some sudden shock.
“Go up to Mrs. Minott,” he gasped. “It's all over, Breen. He's dying. He took the whole bottle.”
At this instant an agonizing shriek cut the air. It was the voice of Corinne.