“I then notified Mr. Wyndham,” she concluded.
“Did you visit your patient during the night?” questioned Thorne, never taking his eyes from the beautiful woman facing him.
“Yes, doctor, at half past one o’clock. Mr. Brainard was fast asleep.”
“And the remainder of the night—”
“I spent with my other patient, Mr. Craig Porter.” Vera moved restlessly. “If you do not require my assistance, doctor, I will return to Mr. Porter,” and barely waiting for Thorne’s affirmative nod, she slipped away, and resumed her seat in the adjoining bedroom halfway between the window and Craig Porter’s bedside.
From that vantage point she had an unobstructed view of the shapely head and broad shoulders of the young athlete whose prowess in college sports had gained a name for him even before his valor in the aviation corps of the French army had heralded him far and near. He had been taken from under his shattered aëroplane six months before in a supposedly dying condition, but modern science had wrought its miracle and snatched him from the grave to bring him back to his native land a hopeless paralytic, unable to move hand or foot.
As she listened to Craig Porter’s regular breathing Vera permitted her thoughts to turn to Beverly Thorne; his quiet, self-possessed manner, his finely molded mouth and chin and expressive gray eyes, had all impressed her favorably, but how account for his lack of interest in Bruce Brainard—he had never once glanced toward the bed while she was recounting her discovery of the tragedy. Why had he looked only at her so persistently?
Had Vera been able to see through lath and plaster, her views would have undergone a change. Working with a skill and deftness that aroused Wyndham’s reluctant admiration, Beverly Thorne made a thorough examination of the body and the bed, taking care not to disarrange anything. Each piece of furniture and the articles on tables, dresser, and mantel received his attention, even the curtains before the window were scrutinized.
“Has anyone besides you and Miss Deane been in this room since the discovery of the tragedy?” asked Thorne, breaking his long silence.
“No.”