Mrs. Nash smiled tolerantly and swiftly changed the subject.
“Who were all those people tramping by my door a short time ago?” she asked.
“The coroner’s jury,” responded Roberts, putting his stethoscope and sphygmomanometer in his bag.
“Oh!” Mrs. Nash sat upright; her cheeks a brighter pink. “Is the inquest being held here?”
“Not now. It met, was sworn in, and viewed the body,” replied Roberts concisely. “And then Coroner Dixon asked for a postponement—”
“Why, for goodness’ sakes!” demanded Mrs. Nash. “Doesn’t the man wish to catch Paul’s murderer?“
“Of course he does!” Roberts was conscious of a feeling of irritation; Mrs. Nash’s interminable questions were getting on his nerves. “Sheriff Trenholm wished more time before presenting the case, and the inquest is held over for a few days.”
“Does that mean that the burial has to be postponed?” she asked.
Roberts shook his head. “The body will be removed to the vault at the cemetery,” he answered. “I do not know what arrangements Alan Mason has made, further than that. Now, Mrs. Nash, you must not excite yourself,” observing her flushed appearance with concern. “Please lie down.”
Mrs. Nash subsided among the pillows, of which she had collected four, arranged entirely to her liking after earnest effort on Martha’s part to carry out her orders.