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I am so positive that he is what he represents himself to be that I have given him letters to influential men in my State." "That possibly explains his many abrupt absences from the city," commented Miss Kiametia sagely. "He has the habit of backing out of dinner engagements at the eleventh hour. But tell me, do you know nothing about the man's family his character?" "Not a word.
"The idea of waving the bloody shirt of '76!" exclaimed Kathleen. "For shame, Miss Kiametia! We Anglo-Saxons must stand together. And another thing: Germany may have wiped the Belgians off the map, but she's lodged them in every American heart." "And we'll wake up some day and find the Germans sitting in Canada," retorted Miss Kiametia. "Looking at U. S."
What can have brought on this attack of hysterics, Kiametia?" "The Lord knows. Perhaps the machinery's out of order and she's been stuck between floors." The spinster, suddenly remembering her extremely light attire, backed toward her room. Whitney, reentering the hall, caught her words.
"Did she say nothing to you and Minna when you were with her before the doctor arrived?" questioned Miss Kiametia, smothering her eagerness with difficulty. "Nothing that made sense." Whitney ran his fingers through his gray hair until it stood upright. "She babbled Spencer's name, alternating with the moaning cry, 'Kaiser blumen."
It had few facts to thrive upon, as both the coroner and the police refused to give out the slightest detail. "Good gracious!" ejaculated Miss Kiametia, as the touring car in which she and Senator Foster were riding threaded its tooting way through the many vehicles. "This street resembles Connecticut Avenue on Saturday afternoon. Where is the morgue?"
"We will only keep you a few minutes," he began, after the preliminary questions had been asked the spinster. "I understand you were accidentally shown into the bedroom already occupied by Mr. Spencer." "I was," stated Miss Kiametia, as the coroner paused. "Neither Mrs. Whitney nor I was aware he was within a mile of us." "Did you discover his presence at once?" "No."
"I fear, Mitchell, you have wasted both my time and yours. Remember this, sir." He stepped directly in front of the detective. "Those making a charge must prove it. Now go." Miss Kiametia Grey waited until the sound of Whitney's, Miller's and the detective's footsteps had died away down the hall before addressing Senator Foster.
"That was a foregone conclusion, you modest child." Again Whitney kissed her. "Congratulations, my darling, though why you should want it...." Mrs. Whitney laughed good-naturedly. "I'm too happy today to argue the question," she broke in. "Kiametia Grey frightened us all last night by fainting ..." "Fainting! Kiametia? I thought she was as tough as a horse?"
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then glanced hastily about the room. In one corner the Whitney servants, their inward perturbance showing in their white scared faces, sat huddled together, but there was no sign of Mr. and Mrs. Whitney and Kathleen. Apparently he and Miss Kiametia were earlier than he had at first thought.
Slipping her hand inside Kathleen's arm she led her to the cloakroom. "Catch me asking fourteen to dinner again!" she exclaimed. "It always dwindles to thirteen at the last moment, and I have a nervous chill until the number is completed." "Whose place did I fill?" asked Kathleen, presenting her cloak check to the maid. "Nobody's, to be quite candid," Miss Kiametia smiled ruefully.
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