It was Miss Manvers.
There was an anxious look upon her face, and in her eyes a shadow of what I had once discovered there, when, myself unseen, I had witnessed her interview with Arch Brookhouse on the day of the garden party. She was pale, and exceedingly nervous.
She said very little. Indeed her strongest effort to preserve her self-control seemed almost a failure, and was very evident to each of us. She listened with set lips to the doctor's description and opinion of the case, and then entered the inner room, and stood looking down at the figure lying there, so stalwart, yet so helpless. For a moment her features were convulsed, and her hands clenched each other fiercely. Her form was shaken with emotion so strong as to almost overmaster her. It was a splendid picture of fierce passion held in check by an iron will.
She came out presently, and approached me.
"You were one of the first to know this, I am told," she said, in a low, constrained tone. "Please tell me about it."
I told her how I was called to the rescue by Jim, and gave a brief outline of after events.
"And has all been done that can be?" she asked, after a moment of silence.
"Not quite all, Miss Manvers. We have yet to find this would-be murderer and bring him to justice." I spoke with my eyes fixed on her face.
She started, flushed, and a new excited eagerness leaped to her eyes.