“And where was Meredith?” asked Mitchell patiently.
“Here in his room, reading in bed, as was his custom.” Hollister twisted the ends of his waxed mustache until they pointed upward.
“And did he appear in his usual health or did he evince any, eh, morbid tendencies?” Mitchell hesitated over his words, but Hollister’s reply was instant.
“He seemed to be his usual self except that he showed unusual excitement over the—” with a side-long glance at Curtis—“arrangements for the marriage of his niece, Anne, to Doctor Curtis.”
Curtis lifted his head. “Ah, then you told him the result of our conversation?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And did it appear satisfactory to him?”
“Yes.” Hollister paused before adding: “John insisted upon my drawing up the prenuptial settlements so that he might sign the agreement before I left.”
“Oh, so he signed some legal papers, did he?” Mitchell looked keenly at the lawyer and then at Curtis; the latter’s expression puzzled him, and he put his next question without removing his gaze from the blind surgeon. “Can you let me see the papers?”
Hollister shook his head. “I haven’t them,” he answered. “I left the papers lying on the bed by John Meredith.”