“Now we understand perfectly!” Doctor Studdiford said soothingly.  “He shot himself, poor fellow.  I’m going to take care of him, do you see?  Just keep still, Aunt Sanna, or we’ll have a crowd here.  Aunt Sanna, do you want this to get into the papers?” For Miss Toland’s surmises were delivered at a sort of shriek.

“Oo—­oo—­oo!” shuddered Julia, fearful eyes on the assembly room door.  “He was—­we were just talking—­”

“Is he dead, Jim?” asked Miss Toland fearfully.

“I think so.  I’m going to call the hospital for an ambulance, anyway.”  Doctor Studdiford was all brisk authority.

“But what ever possessed him?” shrilled Miss Toland again.  “Of all things!”

“Had you quarrelled?” asked Jim, keen eyes on Julia as he rattled the telephone hook.

“No,” Julia said shortly, like a child who holds something back.  Then her face wrinkled, and she began to cry.  “He wanted to marry me,” she said piteously.  “He wanted me to promise!  But he always has asked me—­ever since I was fifteen years old, and I always said no!”

“Well, now,” Jim said soothingly.  “Don’t cry.  You couldn’t help it.  Do you know why he carried a revolver?”

“He has to carry it, his business isn’t a very safe one,” Julia said shakily.  “He’s shown it to me once or twice!” Her voice dropped on a trembling note, and her eyes were wild with fright.

“Now, Aunt Sanna,” said Jim quietly, after telephoning, “I think that you and Miss Page ought to get out of here.  You’ll have a raft of reporters and busybodies here to-morrow.  It’s a ghastly thing, of course, and the quieter we keep it the better for every one.  I’ll manage my end of it.  I’ll have as conservative an account as I can in the papers—­simply that he was despondent over a love affair and, in a fit of temporary aberration—­and so on.  Could you close this place up for a week?”

“Certainly!” said Miss Toland, with Spartan promptness, beginning to enjoy the desperate demand of the hour.

“And could you take that poor child somewhere, out of the public eye?”

“I will indeed, Jim!”

“Well, that’s the best way to do.  You’re a trump, Aunt Sanna!  I will say that Miss Page is naturally prostrated, and gone away to friends.”

“Jim, has that poor boy a chance?”

“A chance?  No.  No; he died instantly.  It was straight through the brain.  Yes, terrible—­naturally.  Now, will you take what you need--” “Instantly!” said Miss Toland, with a shudder.  “Oh, Jim, I’m so glad you’re a doctor,” she added weakly, clutching his arm, “and so cold blooded and reliable!”

“I’m glad I was here,” Jim answered simply.  “Hello, look at poor little Miss Page!  She’s fainted!”

CHAPTER VIII