Miriam’s hesitation was interrupted by a low tap on the bedroom door, and walking swiftly over to it she found Doctor Roberts standing in the hall.
“I am on my way to bed,” he said, softly. “How is Mrs. Nash?”
“Her general condition is better now.” Miriam slipped outside and held the door so that their voices would not carry into the bedroom. “But when I came on duty I found her cyanosed, so I gave her stimulation and applied heat locally.”
Doctor Roberts stroked his chin thoughtfully, then moved toward the door and Miriam held it open. Mrs. Nash greeted him with a frown.
“Some more horrid medicine,” she grumbled. “Well, all paths lead to the grave.”
“A cheerful outlook,” smiled Roberts as he took her pulse. “You ought to be asleep at this hour.”
“I never felt more wakeful,” and Mrs. Nash’s alert look confirmed her words. “Where have you been all the evening?”
“At Sheriff Trenholm’s—Alan Mason and I dined with Trenholm, and your husband drove us back.”
“What was he doing there?” The look which she flashed at him startled the physician.
“He had come for Betty Carter, having missed her at the cemetery,” replied Roberts. He was commencing to feel uncomfortable under Mrs. Nash’s steady stare. Quickly he rose to forestall other questions. “We returned together a few minutes ago. Now, Mrs. Nash, it is after midnight and you must get to sleep.”