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admitted Doctor Gannett and stood nervously waiting as the physician stooped over the prostrate form.

Almost impatiently he pulled off the mask and tore away the filmy veil which still hid the lower portion of the face, and Henderson noticed with increased pain what a lovely face it was. Strangely enough, it was not highly colored artificially, indeed, it could scarcely be said to be made up at all.

Jack Henderson was impressionable and he turned his glance away as the doctor remorselessly, though gently, moved the wounded head and peered into the dead eyes.

Then the medical man looked up wonderingly and gazed around.

“What hit her?” he said, with a puzzled frown. “Unless she fell against something, she must have been—attacked—here, we have it!”

As he brushed aside the voluminous draperies of the Oriental costume he found that some folds of silk had covered what was without doubt the instrument of death.

It was a heavy bronze book-end, shaped like the head of a Sphinx. A quick glance showed the mate to it on the table near by.

“She was hit on the temple by this weight,” the doctor said, gravely. “It is highly improbable that the bronze was on the floor and she fell on it—it looks far more like”