The physician, whose practice embraced most of the wealthy families in and around Tarrytown, was an unusually tall, iron-gray-haired man of evident competency.  It was very plain that he resented his unavoidable connection with the case.

“She was still alive,” he responded, thoughtfully, “although breathing with difficulty.  Nearly everyone had clustered about her, so that she was getting little air, and the room was stuffy from the lights they had been using in taking the scene.  They told me she dropped unconscious and that they couldn’t revive her, but at first it did not occur to me that it might be serious.  I thought perhaps the heat—­”

“You saw nothing suspicious,” interrupted Kennedy, “nothing in the actions or manner of anyone in the room?”

“No, when I first entered I didn’t suspect anything out of the way.  I had them send everyone into the next room, except Manton and Phelps, and had the doors and windows thrown open to give her air.  Then when I examined her I detected what seemed to me to be both a muscular and nervous paralysis, which by that time had proceeded pretty far.  As I touched her she opened her eyes, but she was unable to speak.  She was breathing with difficulty; her heart action was weakening so rapidly that I had little opportunity to apply restorative measures.”

“What do you think caused the death?”

“So far, I can make no satisfactory explanation.”  The doctor shrugged his shoulders very slightly.  “That is why I advised an immediate investigation.  I did not care to write a death certificate.”

“You have no hypothesis?”

“If she died from any natural organic disorder, the signs were lacking by which I could trace it.  Everything indicates the opposite, however.  It would be hard for me to say whether the paralysis of respiration or of the heart actually caused her death.  If it was due to poison—­Well, to me the whole affair is shrouded in mystery.  The symptoms indicated nothing I could recognize with any degree of certainty.”

Kennedy stooped over, making a superficial examination of the girl.  I saw that some faint odor caught his nostrils, for he remained poised a moment, inhaling reflectively, his eyes clouded in thought.  Then he went to the windows, raising the shades an additional few inches each, but that did not seem to give him the light he wished.

In the room were the portable arcs used in the making of scenes in an actual interior setting.  The connections ran to heavy insulated junction boxes at the ends of two lines of stiff black stage cable.  Near the door the circuits were joined and a single lead of the big duplex cord ran out along the polished hardwood floor, carried presumably to the house circuit at a fuse box where sufficient amperage was available.  Kennedy’s eyes followed out the wires quickly.  Then, motioning to me to help, he wheeled one of the heavy stands around and adjusted the hood so that the full strength of the light would be cast upon Stella.  The arc in place, he threw the switch, and in the sputtering flood of illumination dropped to his knees, taking a powerful pocket lens from his waistcoat and beginning an inch by inch examination of her skin.