There were quick steps in the corridor. Henry Ashbury came striding in through the open door, and stared at the party over the tops of his glasses.
Mrs. Ashbury looked at me, then at Bob, then at her husband. “Oh, Henreeeeee! Where have you been? Poor Bernard’s spent the whole night looking for you. Henry, this is the most awful thing — the most hideous thing! Henry, dear, I’m going to faint.”
She closed her eyes and swayed around on her feet. The nurse and the doctor closed in. The doctor muttered soothingly, “Now, Mrs. Ashbury, you simply can’t excite yourself.”
“If you’ll just go to bed quietly,” the nurse said.
Mrs. Ashbury let her eyelids flutter down until the eyes were almost closed. She gurgled in her throat, and tilted her head back so she could watch what was going on through the slits at the bottoms of her eyelids.
“Henry, darling.”
Ashbury didn’t pay any attention to her. He looked at me.
I said, “I’m just pinning something on Bob. I think he’s responsible for the thing you wanted investigated.”
Bob said, “I’m not. I swear you’ve got me wrong. I—”
“Stole some of Alta’s letters,” I finished.