Trenholm walked by her and, raising the window nearest the four-post bedstead, looked outside. “It gives on the roof of the verandah,” he said, drawing in his head. “An easy climb from the ground for an agile man. It is a reasonable hypothesis that the murderer gained entrance that way.”
“Wouldn’t he have left tracks in the snow?” she broke in quickly.
“He probably did, but there was a second fall of snow about five this morning which obliterated all marks.” The sheriff closed the window. “This screen made an admirable hiding place, I have no doubt. He probably sprang from behind it and chloroformed you.”
Miriam shivered. “When I came to myself this morning I was lying just about here”—she pointed with her foot to a spot midway between the bed and the screen.
“And you detected no sound—no odd noises when the murderer entered the room?” questioned Trenholm and his gaze never left her face.
“I heard nothing to make me suspect that any one was in the room except Mr. Abbott and me,” she stated. “You recollect that I was absent several times; once when I went downstairs to admit Miss Betty Carter and her companion,” she hesitated. “And when I went to the head of the staircase at their departure.” Again she hesitated. “I also left the room on an errand while they were here.”
Trenholm eyed her oddly. “What was the errand and who sent you on it?”
“The lamp went out and the clergyman asked me to get one from downstairs,” she explained, tersely.
He considered her statements for several moments, then nodded his head thoughtfully. “The man probably selected one of the times when Paul was left alone—preferably the last occasion, for then there was less danger of detection. You were chloroformed immediately upon your return?”
“Y-yes. I lost consciousness—I—” Her hesitation caught his attention. “It is all very confused; I cannot think clearly.”