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trouble. Others sat waiting to see what would happen.
However, to be fair, it is possible that no one thought Virginia was anything more than drunk. After all, if she were hurt, wouldn't Arbuckle come running out?
At the trials almost all those who had been present swore under oath they thought Virginia was drunk. A witness testified that she had acted hysterically once before at a party when she had had too much to drink. This testimony was never substantiated.
When Arbuckle refused to open the door and the moaning continued, Zey started to cry. Maude took more positive action. She called the desk.
"A girl is sick here," she said, "and we need help. Can you send someone up?"
The desk knew of the party and knew who was throwing it Arbuckle was an important client. They gave instant service.
The assistant manager, H. T. Boyle, was in the Arbuckle suite in five minutes.
"She's in there sick and Mr. Arbuckle won't open the door," Maude explained.
"I see," answered Boyle. Despite the fact that Arbuckle was someone special and ft was his bedroom, Boyle didn't hesitate.
He strode to the door and knocked sharply. "Open the door," he said quite loudly.
There was brief silence, then sudden footsteps. The door opened.
It was Arbuckle, with a green flowered ladies' hat cocked on his head, dripping with perspiration and dressed only in his pajama bottoms. He had a crooked smile on his face, mischievous, the same sort of smile he had used in many comedies. He turned toward the girl on the bed and said, "Shell be all right She's just drunk."
Boyle, Maude and Zey went to Virginia, lying on the bed. It never was established how much clothing she had on, if any. She was moaning and writhing, tearing at her flesh around her abdomen. "I can't breathe," she moaned. "Help me,"
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