"Well, Trant, what is it?" the trustee asked. He had opened the door of the limousine and was preparing to descend.
"Mr. Branower," Trant replied, "Dr. Lawrie was found this morning dead in his office."
"Dead? This morning?" A muddy grayness appeared under the flush of Branower's cheeks. "Why! I was coming to see him—even before I heard from Joslyn. What was the cause?"
"The room was filled with gas."
"Asphyxiation!"
"An accident?" the woman asked, leaning forward. Even as she whitened with the horror of this news, Trant found himself wondering at her beauty. Every feature was so perfect, so flawless, and her manner so sweet and full of charm that, at this first close sight of her, Trant found himself excusing and approving Branower's marriage. She was an unknown American girl, whom Branower had met in Paris and had brought back to reign socially over this proud university suburb where his father's friends and associates had had to accept her and—criticise.
"Dr. Lawrie asphyxiated," she repeated, "accidentally, Mr. Trant?"
"We—hope so, Mrs. Branower."
"There is no clew to the perpetrator?"
"Why, if it was an accident, Mrs. Branower, there was no perpetrator."
"Cora!" Branower ejaculated.
"How silly of me!" She flushed prettily. "But Dr. Lawrie's lovely daughter; what a shock to her!"
Branower touched Trant upon the arm. After his
