"My friend! Be brave!" and Paul Crossett put his arm about his old friend's shoulders. "We will fight for her life, you and I together, as life is not often fought for."
The footsteps had grown nearer, in the room there was silence as the four men waited, in the court-yard below a street organ began to play, and the foolish, empty tune burned itself forever into their memories as they stood there.
The footsteps hesitated for a moment on the landing below, then began again, nearer, louder now, and suddenly a big, red-faced policeman stood in the doorway.
"Here?" he inquired, in that queer, impersonal voice that speaks of long acquaintance with the tragedies of life.
An ambulance surgeon entered in response to the officer's nod, and following him came another policeman and a white-coated driver; between them on a stretcher they bore a covered form, very quiet, so quiet that not even a movement stirred the blanket that covered it.
As they put their burden down gently on the worn old couch the young surgeon turned to Dr. Barnhelm, who stepped forward.
"It is no use, sir. You can't do anything. It was the heart, I think. She was not crushed, but she died instantly. Can any of you give me the facts for my report?"
Maria had entered the adjoining room, attracted by the unusual sounds, and heard what he said, and as she heard she cried out pitifully. The sound seemed to add the finishing touch to the strain they were under, and they turned sharply.
"Go, Maria!" said the Doctor, coldly. "Answer any questions this gentleman asks of you. Compose yourself, please, and go."
The girl turned without a word, and followed by the surgeon went out into the hall, the driver and one of the policemen joining them, while the other crossed and touched Dick Fenway on the arm.
"You'll have to come with me, sir," he said quietly.
Fenway for a moment looked at him bewildered, then stooped and picking up the hat he had dropped on the floor, slowly walked to the door. At the door he stopped and looked back at the covered figure on the couch, shuddered and went out, the officer following.
John closed the door softly behind them and turned back to where the two men stood, Paul Crossett's hand on the father's shoulder.
