“I admire your discretion,” he said. “If I can be of any service at any time call upon me,” and with a friendly wave of his hand, he continued his interrupted stroll toward the river.
As Miriam approached the house she walked more slowly. Her hour in the fresh, invigorating air had done her more good than any tonic, and her long, uninterrupted sleep that morning had refreshed her. It was her first walk about the grounds since coming to Abbott’s Lodge, and she had admired the scenery and well-kept appearance of the estate. For the first time she realized the size of the house as she went around the path that skirted it; it was far larger than she had supposed. Entering through the sunparlor, she halted in the dining room at sight of Sheriff Trenholm conversing with Charles Corbin, the caretaker.
Trenholm’s attention was diverted from Corbin by the nurse’s arrival, and the caretaker seized the chance to edge his portly form nearer the pantry door. He stopped abruptly as the sheriff’s hawklike gaze turned swiftly back to him, and rubbed the back of his hand across his dry lips.
“Don’t go, Miss Ward,” exclaimed Trenholm. “You have come most opportunely. Exactly where did you find the bowl of nuts last night?”
“Standing on the small lamp table in the room now occupied by Mrs. Nash,” she replied. “It was pushed back against the wall.”
“When did you take that nut dish there, Corbin?” Trenholm stepped closer as he put the question and the caretaker wriggled his shoulders against the wall; the support brought back his lost sense of security. He had no love for the sheriff of the county.
“Mr. Abbott brought the nuts in some time last week,” he retorted. “I disremember the exact day, but he poured them in a bowl that usually sits over yonder on the sideboard, and he took it away—I don’t know where.”
“Think again, Corbin,” cautioned Trenholm as the man moved uneasily. “When did you last see that bowl and the nut pick?”
“I told you I can’t think of the exact day,” was the surly reply. An idea occurred to him and his parchment-like face brightened. “I’ll get Martha; she’ll know.”
“Wait!” Trenholm’s voice rang out clearly and Corbin stopped where he was. “I’ll talk to your wife later. Who used Mrs. Nash’s bedroom?”