“Ah, then you came down on a night train from New York?”
“But, no, Monsieur. Doctor Nash and Miss Carter leave me on the train at Baltimore on Monday afternoon, and the doctor he reach home on Tuesday morning.”
Roberts’ glance at Pierre became a stare. “And Miss Carter?” he questioned quickly.
A shrug of Pierre’s shoulders was most expressive. “I know nothing, Monsieur. I leave the house early to go to the garage and put Madame’s car in order.” Swiftly he changed the subject. “Does Madame wish me to come back from Washington to-night?”
“Yes, and I imagine from what she said, that Mrs. Nash will be impatient for your return,” replied Roberts, going toward the door. “Report to the nurse when you reach here.”
“Oui, Monsieur.” Pierre touched his forehead with his finger, then as Roberts disappeared up the walk he turned and stared at his reflection in the polished surface of the Rolls-Royce. His little pig eyes were keenly alert and he flecked an infinitesimal speck of dirt from the car door before turning away and going to his room on the floor above.
“I am to see the nurse,” he muttered below his breath. “Eh bien—perhaps!”
Most of the snow had melted in the sudden thaw of the night before and a comparatively mild temperature and brilliant sunlight tempted Roberts to stay out of doors. Turning about he strode briskly away from the house. He had traversed half the distance to the Patuxent River when he caught sight of a woman approaching along the path. Her quick, buoyant step and fine carriage first attracted his attention, and as she drew nearer he recognized Miriam Ward. At sight of him she hastened her footsteps.
“Good afternoon, Doctor,” she exclaimed. “Have you seen Mrs. Nash?”
“I have just come from her bedroom,” he answered. “When do you go on duty, Miss Ward?”