Neither Maida nor Corole seemed inclined to break that brittle silence, so I settled wearily into a chair.
“Huldah seems to resent the French pastries,” I said. “Where did you get them, Corole? At Pierre’s?”
“She resents everything,” said Corole indolently. “Yes. At Pierre’s. You must try them. I’ll make some fresh tea. Do sit down, Maida. You make me nervous, standing there so stiff.”
I think Maida was about to say something, but just then Jim Gainsay lounged into the room, straightened up with interest when he saw Maida, and she subsided into a chair while he greeted us with every evidence of pleasure.
It was, however, a very uncomfortable hour, with the conversation painfully limited to commonplaces, Jim trying in vain to catch Maida’s eyes, and Huldah slapping down the tea things with venom and making it distressingly clear that I, alone of the company, was in her good graces. Corole was almost indecently easy and flippant in her manner, and Maida very quiet.
As for me, I was reminded vividly of the last time we had been together in that room, especially after Dr. Balman arrived. His coming made the gathering begin to seem too much like a party, so I prepared to leave. But Dr. Balman had come on business, and after speaking in a low aside to Corole he went to Dr. Letheny’s desk, glanced hastily through a card index, and noted something in his small notebook. I remember thinking as he did so that Dr. Balman was not having an easy time of it; it is difficult enough to step suddenly into the position of head of a hospital, without having the burden of investigations into two murders on one’s hands. And Dr. Balman looked as if he were feeling the strain of his duties, for his mild eyes had circles under them, his scant eyebrows wore a perplexed frown, and his pale cheeks were hollow. He looked as if he had not been eating much lately, and indeed, I didn’t wonder at it. The bruise on his cheek had not received proper attention, for it was dark and ugly-looking and I longed to take it in hand.
“Is that what you wanted, Dr. Balman?” asked Corole.
“Yes—yes. This is all.” He was writing busily.
“You must have some tea,” offered Corole graciously.
“What?— Oh, tea?” Dr. Balman compared the notes he had written with the original and raised his eyes to glance about the room with rather obvious distaste. He was always a man of keen sensibility and I daresay he felt much as I had felt on entering this room that spoke so clearly of Dr. Letheny.