necessary to have an autopsy.
This death is mysterious, to say the least. It's unusual, too, in some
of its aspects."

"Do what you like," said Thorpe, "but--but I'd rather not be present. I
think I'll go down to the Cranes' and tell them,--while you--you go on
with your work."

"All right," said Doctor Frost, "I'd just as lief have you out of the
way. Leave me the telephone call that will reach you."

* * * * *

As Thorpe went off, he realized that he'd had no breakfast. He felt
little like eating, but dropped into a restaurant for a cup of coffee.

He found himself totally unable to drink it, and leaving it untasted he
went on to the Crane house.

He told the story to Benjamin Crane, who was shocked indeed.

"But I'm not greatly surprised," Mr. Crane said; "I've been thinking for
some time that Blair didn't look well. A sort of pallor, you know, and
he was thin. I don't think the Labrador trip agreed with him at all. And
Peter's death affected him deeply. No; Blair hasn't been well for
months."

"What are you doing here at this time in the morning, McClellan?" asked
a laughing voice, as Julie Crane came into the room.

But her laughter was hushed as she was told the news.

"Oh, Mac, what an awful ordeal for you," she exclaimed, her sorrow at
Blair's death apparently lost sight of in sympathy for Thorpe.

"It was, Julie," he returned, earnestly; "I'm--I'm positively foolish
about such things,--death, I mean. I,--I almost went all to pieces."

"Of course you did! Had you had your breakfast?"

"No; I tried to take some coffee, but I couldn't."

"You will now," said the girl, decidedly. "You come with me, to the
dining room, and I'll make you some coffee myself, on the electric
percolator, and some toast, too, and if you don't enjoy them, I'll be
mad at you."

He followed her in a sort of daze, turning back to say:

"Are you going up to the studio, Mr. Crane?"

"Yes, at once. You go along with Julie, and let her look after you. And,
Julie, you must tell your mother. It will be a shock,--she loves all
Peter's friends."

The two went to the dining-room, where Julie, housewifely girl that she
was, brewed golden coffee and made toast with no aid from the servants.

Mrs. Crane joined them, and Julie told her mother the sad news.

"Poor Gilbert," she said, wiping her tears away. "Peter loved him. Have
you told Kit Shelby?"

"Not yet," Thorpe said; "I'm so broken up mysel