sling; and although he was pale, his mouth was set in determined lines beneath the stubby gray mustache.
Nan was seated beside him, and Gene stood over by the window nervously fingering the shade-cord; but the other members of the family were not present.
As Titheredge performed the introductions Nan rose, her eyes darkening.
"A detective?" she asked quietly, but her breast rose and fell with spasmodic rapidity. "Father, what does this mean?"
"It means, my dear," Titheredge answered suavely before Lorne could speak, "that your father and I have talked things over, and he has told me the possibly imaginary but nevertheless torturing strain you have all been under since your brother's death. He shared with you the feeling that perhaps there was something more than coincidence in the two sorrows which have come into your life so closely upon the heels of each other. You know how that portrait fell last night, almost killing Gene, and what a narrow escape your father himself had this morning when the top step of the stairs collapsed and precipitated him to the bottom.
"Of course, these may all be mere coincidences; but we want to be sure of it to allay all your fears, and so we have called in this young man to make the fullest investigation. He will question everyone, and—you listen to this, too. Gene—you must be absolutely frank with him. Remember, there must be no lying, no subterfuge."
"My God!" Gene came forward. "I knew I was right! I knew that picture was meant to fall upon me and crush me! And the others—my mother and Julian—"
"Steady there, Gene," the attorney warned. "We don't
