On the morning after Mrs. Atterbury's dinner party, Betty awoke from a deep sleep of mental and physical exhaustion to find that a fresh snowstorm was raging. The fine, hard-driven flakes swirled past her windows like a heavy meshed veil, obscuring even the cedars just outside and piling in soft drifts between the iron bars of the balcony.
The terrified scream which had aroused her from her reverie at midnight still rang in her ears. She was sure that it had been the voice of Mrs. Dana, and she dared not allow her thoughts to dwell on what it might portend.
Her own position in the household, now clearly defined by her discovery that she was indeed under surveillance, left her no alternative but to disarm the suspicion directed against her at all costs. An instant off guard would be fatal and she summoned all her self-command to her aid.
Nevertheless, it was with a sinking heart that she dragged herself downstairs in response to the breakfast gong, dreading lest she come upon evidences of a second tragedy. The sedate, seemingly tranquil house had become for her an abode of horror, and with each reluctant step fear gripped her more tenaciously by the throat.
To her unspeakable relief, however, she heard Mrs. Dana's high, nasal tones issuing from the dining-room and entered to find the lady herself already seated opposite her hostess. She was attired in a teagown belonging to the latter, beneath which her ample figure sagged, and her face in the cold light was ghastly and drawn.
"Sit down, my dear." Mrs. Atterbury nodded her good-morning from behind the coffee urn. "You slept well?"
"Yes, thank you. My headache has quite disappeared," Betty murmured, adding deliberately: "It was kind of you to have Caroline at hand, but I did not need her services."
For a moment they looked squarely into each other's eyes; Mrs. Atterbury's were the first to fall.
"I kept Mrs. Dana with me as you see, because of the storm. Mr. Dana stayed over night, too, of course, but he left for his office half an hour ago. We played bridge until very late."
"I'm a wreck this morning," Mrs. Dana remarked fretfully, but there was a curious quiver in her voice. "Mortie says I am the original daylight saver; I only make use of the night hours."