She looked straight at him. “No. I believe the woman was almost paralyzed with fright.”
Trenholm remained silent for a few seconds, then roused himself.
“You may be right,” he said. “I hope Mrs. Nash suffers no ill effects from her rude awakening. A moment, Miss Ward,” as Miriam laid her hand on Mrs. Nash’s bedroom door. “Please tell Mr. Mason that I will remain with Abbott’s body. If you,” he lowered his voice almost to a whisper, “if you need me, you will find me there,” and turning he went down the corridor.
Alan Mason rose at Miriam’s approach and relinquished his seat by the bedside, with a relieved air.
“Mrs. Nash will talk,” he remarked, “although I tried to monopolize the conversation in the hope of making her sleepy. Is there anything more I can do?” His question was intended for Miriam but Mrs. Nash answered it.
“Close the door behind you,” she said tartly, and Alan colored as he met Miriam’s dark eyes, with a faint quizzical gleam in them.
“Sheriff Trenholm is with the body,” she murmured, as he passed her on his way out of the room. “Good night.”
“What did you say?” demanded Mrs. Nash, raising herself on her elbow.
Miriam bent over her and straightened the pillows with a practiced hand. “Isn’t that more comfortable?” she asked, as Mrs. Nash sank back with a sigh. “It is time for your medicine,” glancing, as she spoke, at her wrist watch. “Just a second,” and moving swiftly over to the table, she prepared it and then returned to the bed. She expected some difficulty in persuading Mrs. Nash to take it, but to her secret surprise the latter swallowed it without a murmur, but with a wry face.
“Roberts never prescribed an agreeable dose,” she commented, after sipping a glass of water. “Sit by me, Miss Ward, I want to ask you some questions.”