Distinctly, both girls heard an answering cry, but the words were unintelligible. The sound had come from the direction of the kitchen.
“Mrs. Marborough must be ill!” Penny gasped, for the voice had been very weak.
Hesitating no longer, she entered the house, and with Rhoda trailing close behind, ran to the kitchen. Mrs. Marborough, still garbed in night clothing, lay on the daybed, her face ashen. The woman breathed with the greatest of difficulty, and both girls knew at once that she was seriously ill.
“My heart—” Mrs. Marborough whispered. “An attack—last night.”
“Rhoda, run as fast as you can and get Doctor Hamilton,” Penny said tersely. “I’ll stay here.”
As soon as her friend had gone, she busied herself trying to make Mrs. Marborough comfortable. She rearranged the disordered blankets, and fanned air toward the woman, making it easier for her to breathe.
“My pearls,” Mrs. Marborough whispered after a moment. “They’re gone.”
Penny thought little of the remark, deciding that the widow was not entirely rational.
“Oh, you have the necklace,” she said soothingly. “Don’t you remember? We found it yesterday.”
“Gone—” Mrs. Marborough repeated. “It gave me such a shock—I had hidden the pearls in the teapot. This morning—”