Williard Lyall fainted and his gang busted

Mercia halfway through a rippling medley of sharps and naturals stopped with a jerk, her white fingers poised daintily above the keys.

 "What was that?" she said in a puzzle voice to herself. What had seemed just like an unmistakable bump had just sounded in the next room. She thought something must have fallen over but one can never tell with a half a dozen servants busy about the house. They make such queer noises at times, shifting furniture about and doing the myriad things that only servants seem to find necessary to do.

 "That you dad?" she called. And no answering hail came from the next room.

 "Dad are you there?" she called again rising from her stool. And there was silence in the study.

 Mercia ran in. Her father was lying prone on the floor, his face buried in the thick pile of the carpet almost suffocating.

 "mummy come quickly," she cried through the door.

 "Dad has fainted quickly phone the doctor.