Jenkins took the receiver from my nerveless hand and spoke into the phone. "Yes, sir. I'll tell him, yes, sir." He rang off and turned to me, his long face graver than ever.
"He says there is no mistake, sir. And he'd be obliged if you and Mr. Trenton would receive Detective Jones and give him all necessary information, sir."
"Would you tell him—now?" I asked dully.
"It would be far kinder, sir," answered Jenkins. "I'm very sorry, sir."
I went slowly back into the library wondering how best to break the news to Mr. Trenton. My face must have told him much, for he sprang toward me with a sharp exclamation.
"Dick!" he cried. "You have news of Dick?"
I nodded, for I was unable to speak.
"Don't keep me in suspense, Carlton! What is it? Have they—" Then he turned away and sought a chair. "You need not tell me," he said very quietly. "I know that he is dead."
"Yes." I found my voice, but I hardly knew it for my own. "Yes, he—he drowned himself in the East River early this morning!"