“Where did that come from?” I asked. My heart sank, fearing he was going to affirm what I was thinking.

“The parlor where we saw Quentin and Trisha,” he said. “Come on.”

We ran back down the hall. Other guests popped out of their rooms and followed us as we hurried by. The door was still open just a bit and Harry shoved it wide. Trisha was trapped under the inert weight of Quentin. She was pushing at him and screaming.

“Something’s wrong with him. Get him off me!” she cried. She was wriggling beneath Quentin, who was completely slack.

“Trisha, stop!” I said. “We need to lift him off you.”

“Hurry! I can’t breathe,” she cried. She began to sob.

Harry and I stepped forward, but one of the male guests nudged me aside to help Harry lift Quentin off Trisha. As soon as they got him up, Trisha scrambled over the arm of the couch and stood, righting her clothing and fluffing her hair.

“What’s going on in here?” Piper May came charging into the room with Detective Stewart beside her.

“He’s not breathing,” Harry said. He looked at the detective. “We need an ambulance. Now!”

One of the constables appeared and at the detective’s order, he ushered everyone out of the room. Harry and I were the last to leave while Trisha was detained by the detective since she was with Quentin when he blacked out or fainted or whatever was happening.

Harry and I stood in the hallway with the others. Viv and Andre appeared, and Harry told them what had happened.

“To be clear,” Viv said. “The two of them were . . . and then he . . .”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, that’s sorted,” Andre said. He raised his hands in the air in exasperation. “Details, spell it out please.”

I was about to explain in greater detail when a constable stepped out of the red salon, closing the door behind him. Questions were fired at him by the guests in the hallway, and he held up his hands in a gesture to be quiet.

“Everyone is to go to their rooms. Keep your doors locked, and await further instructions,” he said. “Detective Inspector Stewart will be visiting each of your rooms to interview you personally.”

“Is he dead?” Piper asked.

A couple of medics appeared, taking the stairs two at a time. The officer gestured for them to go into the room. I glanced inside when the door opened, and Quentin was still on the floor, where Harry and the other man had put him. That didn’t bode well.

“I’m not at liberty to answer any questions at this time,” the constable said. He made a shooing gesture with his hands and the crowd started to disperse.

Harry and I followed Viv and Andre back to our suite. I leaned close to Harry and asked, “Do you think he was murdered, too?”