Mason turned on him. "Shut up, you fool!" He laid a gentle hand on
Holloway's shoulder. "Tell us about it, old chap."
Holloway turned his burning eyes on the closed door to the next room.
"She's in there. I wanted to get rid of you. I was afraid you would
take her away from me. But it's no use. I can't hold my consciousness
much longer. Then she will vanish."
Holloway tried weakly to rise from his chair. He called,
"Melody--Melody baby!"
The door opened. A beautiful girl in a blue dressing gown came
gracefully into the room. She walked straight to Holloway and took his
tortured head into her soft hands. Her eyes pleaded with the men. "He
suffers so. He will not sleep. I can't make him sleep. I--I don't
understand."
Holloway's head dropped suddenly onto his chest. He slumped down in
his chair. And as he did so, a change took place. The two men stood
rooted, staring.
As Melody began to fade. Slowly, slowly, into a transparent image,
into a mist, into a handful of sparkling fog.
Then she was gone.
Mason knelt by the bone-thin body in the chair. He made a quick
examination and got wearily to his feet.
"Holloway is dead," he murmured. "Drugs of that nature would kill an
elephant. I can't understand how he lived so long."
Kennedy blinked and seemed to come out of a trance. He frowned. "And
the investigation hardly started."
Mason shook his head and looked pityingly at Kennedy. It was just no
use with a man like him. Mason said. "There's one point entirely
apparent without an investigation."
"What's that?"
Mason's voice was sharp and cold. "That our little playboy, for all
his reputation of frivolity, was a better man than you and I put
together. Does that register, Mr. Kennedy?"