He came to the open door of an interior room, one having no window. It was lighted only from the hall, save the artificial light, then switched off.
Nolan stopped and peered into this dim bedroom. Something on the unopened bed caught his eye—and Nolan involuntarily caught his breath.
He beheld a motionless figure, clad in a dark-blue suit, with shapely white hands crossed on its breast, with upturned, hueless face, as colorless as if death had lately claimed her—the face and figure of a surpassingly beautiful woman.
CHAPTER VI.
HOW IT WAS DONE.
Jerry Nolan was not rattled by the discovery he had made. It was not in his nature to be upset by anything short of a cyclone or an earthquake.
He gazed in for several moments at the motionless form on the bed, then tiptoed into the room to make a closer inspection.
“Is she dead?” he asked himself. “Has she been croaked by crooks?”
Nolan paused beside the bed, bending above her.
It seemed to him that he had never beheld a more beautiful face.
He touched her hand and found it cold, then listened and looked in vain for any sign that she was breathing.