Roberts looked from her to Trenholm. “No,” he replied, and would have added more, but Trenholm cut in.
“I have not discussed my theories with any one,” he said smoothly. “But your suggestion is a good one. Sit here,” dragging forward a chair, “and we will talk the situation over. Doctor Roberts, you and Alan—and perhaps”—his smile was enigmatic. He did not complete his sentence, but waited patiently for Betty to seat herself.
With a swift glance about her she mastered her hesitation—her inclination to run away. She had come there with a purpose, and until that was accomplished—her fingers clenched about her stick; it required all her self-control not to strike the tall man at her elbow. He dwarfed her in size, but the smoldering resentment in her eyes flamed up as he bent toward her.
“Do sit down,” repeated Trenholm with gentle insistence. “Take your old chair, Roberts,” and he dropped into one next the physician as Alan and Betty followed his example. “Now, Miss Carter—” he prompted.
Betty glanced at him for a fraction of a second, then her gaze swept the library. It was the first time she had ever been in Trenholm’s house. Slowly her eyes traveled about the room, noting each object, until finally her gaze rested on a large silver frame standing on the big mahogany table. It was one she had given to Trenholm in Paris. She caught her breath slightly—the frame was empty. She suddenly grew conscious of the concentrated regard of her companions and involuntarily her glance sought Alan, sitting across from her.
“Well, Betty, we are waiting,” he exclaimed.
“For the sheriff,” she broke in. “Come, sir, do not keep us longer.”
Trenholm took out a cigarette case and offered it to Betty, but she waved it away. “I’ll take some coffee,” she said. “Thanks, Alan,” as he filled a cup for her. Again she turned to Trenholm. “Go on.”
“Suppose we reconstruct the scene on Monday night,” began Trenholm slowly. “Roberts turns Paul over to his trained nurse and leaves. Corbin and his wife go to bed, and Miss Ward is alone with her patient....”
“What then?” asked Alan, bending forward, his eyes fastened on Betty, who sat sipping her coffee. Trenholm answered his question with another.