“You did!” Barbara's fresh young voice rose in astonishment.
“Hush, miss!” The butler raised both hands. “Hush!” He glanced cautiously around, then continued. “Colonel McIntyre sent me to the druggist with a prescription from Dr. Stone for Mrs. Brewster when she had romantic neuralgia.”
“Had what?” Barbara looked puzzled, then giggled, but her mirth quickly altered to seriousness at sight of the butler's expression. “Mrs. Brewster had a touch of rheumatic neuralgia the first of the month; do you refer to that?”
“Yes, miss.” Grimes spoke more rapidly, but kept his voice lowered. “The druggist told me what the pills were when I exclaimed at their size—regular little pellets, no bigger than that,” he demonstrated the size with the tip of his little finger, and would have added more but the gong over the front door rang out with such suddenness that both he and Barbara started violently.
“Just a moment, miss,” and he hurried to the front bell, to return after a brief colloquy with a messenger boy, bearing a letter. “It's for Mrs. Brewster, miss,” he explained, as Barbara held out her hand.
“I'll give it to her and this also,” Barbara took the envelope and a small ice pitcher and glass. “Good night, Grimes. Oh,” she stopped midway up the staircase and waited for the butler to overtake her, “Grimes, to whom did you give the aconitine on Sunday?”
“I didn't give it to nobody, miss.” The butler was a trifle short of breath; his years did not permit him to keep pace with the twins. “I was in a great hurry as the druggist kept me waiting, and I had to serve tea at once.”
“But what did you do with the aconitine pills?” demanded Barbara.
“I left the box on the hall table, miss—”
“Great heavens!” Barbara stared at the butler, then without a word she raced up the staircase and disappeared through the open door of Mrs. Brewster's bedroom.