He regarded her in silence, then nodded his head. “That is what Doctor Roberts told me.” Again he stroked his mustache. “Have you examined the bed since the body was removed?”
“No.”
“Then look here.” He walked with her to the four-post bedstead and drew aside the curtains. The blankets and top sheet were neatly pulled back, leaving exposed the under sheet, while the pillows lay as Miriam had last seen them. “Do you notice that there are no marks of blood, except this small stain,” motioning toward a spot near the head of the bed.
Miriam bent over the bedclothes and then looked up at the sheriff.
“I found Mr. Abbott lying partly on his left side—”
“He wasn’t stabbed in that position,” declared Trenholm vehemently. “It would have been a physical impossibility—”
“Unless the murderer stood facing him as he lay in bed and, reaching over Mr. Abbott’s shoulder, stabbed him in the back,” suggested Miriam.
Trenholm looked doubtful. “That is possible but not probable,” he retorted. “And it is not borne out by facts. If he was killed in bed, the sheets would have been stained with blood.”
His remark was caught by Alan Mason as the latter stepped inside the bedroom. At the sound of his entrance, Trenholm wheeled around and his frown at the interruption gave place to a pleased smile. Alan bowed to Miriam before addressing the sheriff.
“Coroner Dixon told me that the wound bled internally,” he pointed out. “Wouldn’t that explain the comparatively stainless condition of the sheets?”