The
shock was so great that I had just strength enough to totter to a
chair and drop into it, and sit there staring vaguely at that dark
splotch on the carpet. I told myself that I was the victim of a
dreadful nightmare; that all this was the result of over-wrought
nerves and that I should wake presently. No doubt I had been working
too hard. I needed a vacation--well, I would take it....
And all the time I knew that it was not a nightmare, but grim
reality; that Philip Vantine was dead--killed by a woman. Who had
told me that? And then I remembered the sobbing voice....
Two or three persons came into the room--Parks and the other
servants, I suppose; I heard Godfrey's voice giving orders; and
finally someone held a glass to my lips and commanded me to drink. I
did so mechanically; coughed, spluttered, was conscious of a grateful
warmth, and drank eagerly again. And then I saw Godfrey standing over
me.
"Feel better?" he asked.
I nodded.
"I don't wonder it knocked you out," he went on. "I'm feeling shaky
myself. I had them call Vantine's physician--but he can't do
anything."
"He's dead, then?" I murmured, my eyes on that dark and crumpled
object which had been Philip Vantine.
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