Five minutes later they stopped in front of the Whitney house, and directing his chauffeur to wait, Foster accompanied Miller up the steps, but before either could touch the bell, the door was opened by Vincent whose white face brightened at the sight of the Senator.
"Step right in, sir," he begged. "The master was just telephoning for you, sir." Vincent paused and looked doubtfully at Miller. "Did you wish to see Miss Kathleen, sir?"
"Yes," taking out his visiting card.
"Miss Kathleen is sick in bed." Vincent appeared still more confused, but Foster, standing somewhat in shadow, caught Miller's look of alarm which the butler missed.
"What is the matter with Miss Kathleen?" demanded Miller, and there was no mistaking the feeling in his voice and manner.
"She had a shock, sir, a most awful shock." While speaking Vincent tiptoed toward the library; he felt that he could never make a loud noise in that house again. "An awful shock," he repeated. "We all felt it."
"What do you mean?" Foster laid an impatient hand on the old servant's shoulder.
"Why, sir, he's dead…."
"Whitney?" The question sprang simultaneously from Foster and Miller.
"No, no, sir. Mr. Sinclair Spencer, sir. He was murdered"—Vincent shuddered as the last word crossed his lips.