He regarded the scratch on his thumb. “You don’t suppose that rust harbored any tetanus germs?”
“It has bled enough by this time to clean itself,” I said without much sympathy, feeling indeed that if he would find things it served him right to get stuck!
“You nurses!” he said, looked at me and laughed. “I wish you could see yourself, Miss Keate.”
Conscious not only of my undignified posture but also of an increasing dampness penetrating my skirts, I rose. He followed me through the shrubbery toward the path.
“This is as secluded a place in which to talk as we can find, Miss Keate,” he said. “Have you come upon any new developments that I’d like to hear about?”
“How did you know I had?” I asked, not any too pleasantly.
He smiled. “By the look in your eyes and your general aspect of—er—having swallowed the canary, so to speak.”
“Well, as a matter of fact there is a thing or two.” As briefly as I could, I told him of the gold sequin and of the fact that Corole had last worn that gown the night of June seventh. I also told him that she was an adept at the use of a hypodermic needle. And then, somewhat reluctantly, and glancing rather nervously into the foggy shadows that were increasing under the dripping trees about us, I told him of the visitor to Room 18 of the previous night. He asked several questions, seeming to be extremely interested.
“It goes without saying that the person, whoever it was, who entered Room 18 last night had some purpose. That there was—or is—something yet in Eighteen that he wanted.” He frowned. “I don’t see what I could have missed.”
“There was the sequin,” I suggested.