Mrs. Nash sat up a trifle straighter and pointed to the bureau.
“You will find a roll of money in the top drawer,” she said. “Bring it over here.” Pierre complied with her directions so speedily that she had but a second in which to secrete the paper. Taking the money from the chauffeur, she handed him a generous sum. “Be watchful, Pierre,” she cautioned, as he put back the remainder of the bills in their place in the drawer. “Overlook nothing.”
“Oui, Madame.” Pierre halted on his way to the hall door, struck by a sudden idea. “The nurse, Mees Ward—”
“Well, what about her?” as he hesitated.
“She plans to leave to-night.”
Mrs. Nash’s color changed. “How do you know?” she demanded sharply.
“I heard her telephone to Doctor Roberts to bring another nurse to take her place.” Pierre explained, and then waited respectfully for her to address him.
Mrs. Nash viewed the chauffeur in silence and then glanced about the sunny room. It seemed suddenly cold and bare to her. When she spoke her voice had altered to a shriller key.
“As you go along the hall, Pierre, ask my niece to return,” she directed, and closing her eyes she laid down again, one hand stroking, as if for companionship, the tongue of the brass bell.
Miriam’s walk along the Patuxent River finally brought her to a bridge connecting the highway, and she paused to rest on its parapet. It was a rolling country and she had walked up hill and down dale before striking the river bank. She had put on her high boots for cross-country walking, but she had not found the ground as soft as she anticipated, the snow of four days before having entirely vanished except in a few sheltered nooks and crannies.