“Keep up the same treatment, Miss Deane,” directed Noyes. “I may be back in an hour, or not for several days. Come, sheriff,” and they filed from the room, Nichols’ glance lighting for an instant on the large open transom over Craig Porter’s bed, but his last look was for Vera who stood with head half averted, watching her patient.
The shutting of the door roused Vera from her contemplation and she went busily about her duties, and when at last she sat down the room was in apple-pie order. There was little she could do for Craig, except rearrange pillows and adjust sheets, and while Craig could not by sign or word make known his wants, she had the knack of making her patients comfortable. But Vera was not left long to her own reflections, for a tap at the door was followed by Murray’s entrance.
“Here is the bouillon, Miss Deane,” he said, placing the tray on a stand. “And I brought an additional pint of milk. Shall I put it in the refrigerator?”
“Yes, thanks.” And Vera hastened to place a screen so that the wind would not blow on Craig as the footman opened the lower section of the window and stepped out on the little gallery where stood the small ice-box in which were kept supplies for the sick room.
Murray was some seconds in arranging the bottles to his satisfaction, and Vera relished the cool wind as it fanned her hot cheeks. She longed to be out-of-doors, but with Millicent ill she felt that it was but right to relieve Mrs. Hall so that the day nurse could attend the latest case. She, personally, did not require a great amount of sleep, and the events of the night before had effectually deprived her of peaceful slumber during the two hours she had lain down earlier in the morning. She felt that she could not rest until the mystery of the razor was explained, and yet how could she get an explanation from Millicent as to how the razor came into her possession, when she was too ill to be interviewed?
She had the alternative of asking Beverly Thorne if he had taken the razor from her as they knelt in the shelter of the hedge waiting for Detective Mitchell to depart. But at the idea Vera’s heart beat with uncomfortable haste. Among her chaotic experiences following her pursuit of Millicent one incident was indelibly impressed upon her memory—Thorne’s impassioned whisper, “Vera, my love, my love!” as they crouched by the hedge, had not only reached her ears but found response in her heart.
“Have you heard the news, miss?” asked Murray, after carefully closing the window, and Vera, on the point of replacing the screen in its corner, paused and eyed him sharply.
“What news?”
“Dr. Noyes has been took.”
“Took?”