“Of course it is. And you’re her maid, of course. Flora, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, doctor. Ah, you have seen Miss Bolton! You cannot do anything—no?”
“Miss Bolton is dead, Flora.”
“I was so fond of her,” Flora sighed.
“Well, I liked her. I suppose you heard nothing last night?”
“Ah, no. She have sent me to bed. And I sleep so sound.”
Reggie nodded. “It’s a bad business, Flora. Take me to Miss Weston’s room, will you?”
“Miss Weston! Ah!” Flora said, with tragic intensity.
“H’m. You think she——”
“I do not think. I feel,” Flora said.