Martha’s shaking knees carried her only a few inches from the bed, and then curiosity overcame her terror. Mrs. Nash was talking in her sleep. With extreme caution she got down on her hands and knees and crept to the side of the bed. For fully fifteen minutes she crouched there, but Mrs. Nash did not speak again. Slowly and with great pains Martha straightened up sufficiently to get a good look at Mrs. Nash. She had not altered her position and lay with eyes still closed. With the determination of a weak and obstinate nature, Martha decided to remain where she was, and cast about for a satisfactory explanation of her position by the bed should Miriam Ward return. She was laboriously thinking one up when her eyes were attracted by the constant movement of a hand on the pillow. Martha wished most heartily that Mrs. Nash would keep still, and she almost gave tongue to her thoughts; but speech was arrested by the sudden realization that both of Mrs. Nash’s hands lay perfectly quiet on the counterpane.
With eyes distended to twice their natural size, Martha watched the third hand slip under the pillow and then out again. As it approached the throat of the sleeping woman, she saw clearly the long, sensitive fingers and the heavy signet ring—
Martha’s frayed nerves gave way. Her mouth dropped open and sheer terror gave strength to the shriek which broke from her. When Miriam raced into the room she found her a crumpled, unconscious heap in the center of the floor and Mrs. Nash sitting up in bed regarding her with ashen face.
“Is she dead?” she gasped.
“No; just a faint.” Miriam’s calm tones belied her feelings; she was almost as startled as Mrs. Nash. “Please lie down again, Mrs. Nash, and keep yourself covered; otherwise you will take cold.” She paused by the bedside long enough to pull up the bedclothes and make Mrs. Nash comfortable, then hurried to her emergency kit and from it took a little aromatic spirits of ammonia. Martha revived quickly under the restorative. Later she staggered to her feet and, with Miriam’s assistance, took a few halting steps toward the hall door. She stopped abruptly on the threshold at sight of Sheriff Trenholm and Alan waiting anxiously in the hall.
“What has happened?” asked Trenholm. “Is Mrs. Nash worse?”
“No,” replied Miriam. “I am not sure what occurred. Martha refuses to tell me. Perhaps if you question her—”
“I felt fainty, like,” broke in Martha with marked haste. She avoided looking at the two men. “Please, Miss—Ma’am, take me to my room.”
Trenholm read Miriam’s hesitation aright. “Go and stay with Mrs. Nash, Alan,” he directed, “until Miss Ward returns. Now, Martha,” and before the startled housekeeper could protest, he picked her up in his arms and started down the hall. Pausing only long enough to take a bottle of medicine and a glass, Miriam hurried after the sheriff, as Alan went in to speak to Mrs. Nash.
The suite of rooms, comprising sitting room, bedroom and bath, which Corbin and his wife occupied, was at one end of the winding corridor and off a landing halfway up a flight of steps leading to the garret. Miriam took note of the comfortable furniture in the bedroom as she assisted Martha out of her clothes and into bed. The housekeeper was taciturn to the point of sullenness, and Miriam finally forbore to address her.