“This is Dr. Thorne at the telephone—speak louder, please.”
Vera leaned nearer the instrument. “Mr. Bruce Brainard has died suddenly while visiting Mrs. Lawrence Porter. Kindly come at once to Dewdrop Inn.”
No response; and Vera, with rising color, was about to repeat her request more peremptorily when Thorne spoke.
“Did Mr. Brainard die without medical attendance?” he asked.
It was Vera’s turn to hesitate. “I found him dead with his throat cut,” she stated, and the huskiness of her voice blurred the words so that she had to repeat them. This time she was not kept waiting for a reply.
“I will be right over,” shouted Thorne.
“Yes, I heard,” Millicent could hardly articulate.
As Vera rose from the telephone stand a sound to her left caused her to wheel in that direction. Leaning for support against a revolving bookcase stood Millicent Porter, and her waxen pallor brought a startled cry to Vera’s lips.
“Yes, I heard.” Millicent could hardly articulate, and her glance strayed hopelessly about the room. “I—I must go to mother.”